The Rumored Black Dragon (4)
"Mistress, are you truly certain about this?"
Late at night.
After a long day had drawn to a close, the lights leaking from houses vanished one by one so that precious candles would not burn themselves out, and in the darkness-shrouded streets an elderly man addressed a woman advancing with a robe drawn over her head.
"They might yet do you harm, Mistress."
"It's fine, Gordon. As you said yourself, people who built an organization by greasing the gate guards' palms wouldn't do anything that stupid."
"Mistress, they are creatures with nothing left to lose. They look only forward and act on impulse. Even now, it would be wise to bring an escort and meet them—"
"If we do that, we'll put pressure on them from the first impression and the deal might fall apart. Honestly speaking, we're the ones who need this more, so now is the time for us to yield."
"Mistress…"
The two of them walked on without pause and before long left the bustling thoroughfare behind, stepping into a damp, secluded alley that carried a faint reek of blood.
"Still, I trust Gordon will protect me. If it were truly dangerous, someone like you wouldn't say you'd 'consider' an escort—you'd stubbornly insist on it."
"……"
"Heh heh. How reliable. The loyal hound of the Evergarden family—they say a loyal hound doesn't merely follow its master, but protects them as well, don't they? I don't know the full measure of your skill, but this time there won't be any need for it to come out."
"Haa… as expected, I cannot win against you, Mistress. Since when have you been concealing such cleverness? This Gordon is most honored to finally behold your true self."
"I'm not particularly fond of flattery, but hearing you say that does rather lift my spirits. Is it this way?"
"Yes. According to the letter we received, they said they would come out to meet us once we arrived here…"
It was the moment they rounded the corner of the path leading to their destination, still conversing with the man called Gordon.
Clang—!
"…Oh my. I didn't expect to see them quite this quickly."
"Pardon me. It appears vermin who intend harm to your noble person have shown themselves."
Sparks flashed before her eyes, and right at her feet a dagger with a gleaming blue blade quivered where it had struck.
Gordon, who had clearly been following behind her, stepped in front of her in an instant and made a gesture. As if mechanical devices were fitted to his sleeves, two sharp daggers sprang free and snapped into his hands with the ease of long familiarity.
"So you really came with just two people. Excuse me. On the Boss's orders, I've come to fetch the two of you."
A figure who had appeared from what had been pure darkness slipped the dagger back into his coat and greeted them.
"This is quite a rude way to welcome guests. Uneducated beast pups, are you?"
"…I merely followed the Boss's orders. I'll say that I had no personal intent in it."
"How dare a beast pup who gathers mere riffraff brats and struts about like a king speak of anyone…!"
I thought he had somewhat excellent skills, but his level is higher than expected. As expected of a fantasy world? An elite guard from the Hansung Group wouldn't even come close.
Gordon, who had always worn a leisurely, kindly smile, was now freely spitting rough words and growling—the very image of a hunting dog that fawned over its master in ordinary times and protected them when it counted.
Watching him, she raised her estimation of his ability another notch.
"Gordon, calm down."
"But Mistress…!"
"Would it be all right if you guided us?"
"…Follow me."
She put a leash on the hunting dog that looked ready to leap at the man before him at any moment, settled the situation, and followed behind the figure who turned at once and strode ahead.
"…Mistress, I apologize for showing you such a rough side, but the beasts in this place are literally murderers who follow only their instincts and possess no human hearts. Please take every care of yourself—"
"But it's because Gordon is here that I can do this. You're truly reliable."
"Haha… even receiving such praise, my heart feels quite uncomfortable."
Thanks to her restraint, Gordon sheathed the daggers as swiftly as he had drawn them—so fast no one could catch it—and still seemed unable to fully settle, smiling awkwardly behind her with restless unease.
Following the man, the two of them passed through the deep alley and arrived at the front of a building.
A two-story structure with not a single light entering, bleak and quiet, looking wholly unmaintained, with a gloomy atmosphere clinging to it—it resembled an abandoned house from which a ghost might leap out at any moment.
Knock knock.
The man paid it no mind and walked over with heavy steps, knocking on a wooden door that looked ready to break at a touch.
Then—
"…Parchment."
A crack shifted in the center of the wooden door that had seemed to have no mechanism at all, opening a space, and from that hole a person's eyeball appeared and muttered an incomprehensible word.
"Onion."
"Come in."
Click—
Despite the abrupt challenge, the man answered with an equally absurd word, and the lock on the door before him released. A moment later the door swung wide open.
The password is quite familiar.
The scene called up her own military service.
Recalling a memorable challenge-and-response of "octopus's offering" and "marble," she followed the man naturally into the building's interior.
"Oh my. The interior is quite different."
"Magic tools that conceal the presence within are placed throughout. The building's exterior also appears to have illusion magic cast upon it."
"You certainly have a lot of money…"
Then her vision filled with bright light that could not be felt from outside, and with countless gazes surrounding her.
A wide hall, tables scattered about with two or three people each seated and chewing through drink and meat—the scene was not unlike the tavern she had visited on her last outing. The ominous gazes flying toward them, however, were entirely different.
There were people with rough, vicious faces that seemed to scream I'm a criminal, carrying ominous weapons; yet there were also those who would look like ordinary passersby if seen from the street, hidden throughout. She could not help but be thoroughly impressed by the organization's thoroughness.
The action faction and the intelligence-and-operations faction appeared cleanly divided.
"A noble… a real noble has come."
"Hmm… what on earth is the Boss thinking?"
"Looks like she'd snap if you poked her. Is it a girl?"
"Watch your mouth. She's a noble."
"Heh. Even without saying it, she's the Boss's guest. No intention of touching her."
"Tsk…"
Catching the whispers as they looked at one another, she could tell they were all roughly aware that she would be visiting this place.
"Where's the Boss?"
"The Boss is on the second floor."
"Got it. Going up."
A man stood at the stairs leading to the second floor in the very center of the hall.
When the guide who had brought them this far asked after the Boss's location and was about to pass straight through—
"Wait. We'll need to check your belongings first."
After the guide was dismissed, as she tried to climb the stairs, a man stretched out his hand as if to stop her and blocked the way.
"…These beasts seem to have all eaten rotten meat as a group. Do you know to whom you dare open that worthless mouth of yours?"
Gordon, whose patience had been pushed to the limit by the threats she had endured on the way here, could no longer hold back. The kindly smile crumpled from his face as he growled.
Merely having blades pointed at his master had made him want to tear them limb from limb; now they declared they would search his master's person. He could no longer endure it.
"Don't you also serve someone? When the one you serve meets a stranger, it seems you have them meet without any precautions. If that's the case, why don't you just chew on a dog treat in the yard? Fallen Hound."
But the man blocking her path made a point of showing that he, too, was a loyal dog serving a master, and answered Gordon's threat with mockery.
Fallen Hound.
She had somewhat sensed his true nature from the moment the veteran old butler of the count's mansion introduced this criminal organization, but hearing that epithet, she could confirm it.
"Even if the likes of you call me a hound now, you know that slitting the throats of the dog bastards in this place would take but an instant, don't you?"
"I know it well. Even so, we will throw our lives away and charge in to target your weakness."
Shing—
The moment the man finished answering—his face color unchanged despite Gordon's threat—those who had been sitting in their places until now rose to their feet.
Swords, daggers, crossbows, staves, chain scythes—ominous weapons filled their hands as they fixed on Gordon.
Murderous intent, an invisible form that seemed ready to take substance and fill the entire space, should have pressed down on him; Gordon merely continued to look at the man before his eyes.
Truly, as if this much were nothing special to him.
"And I trust you know well that that weakness is not your life."
"…."
With those words, Gordon could no longer open his mouth.
Because the gazes and weapons that had been aimed at him until just now were now directed at his master.