Gerard Millers' Tribulations (3)
024 Gerard Millers' Tribulations (3)
2022.05.24.
They'd barely managed to slay the monsters and smash their way into the ruins through the entrance, only to face the worst possible outcome: not a single silver ingot box anywhere in sight.
And misfortune didn't stop there.
The moment he approached the tunnel, grasping at straws, a massive explosion rocked the entire silver mine, bringing it crashing down completely.
Now, digging back to the point they'd reached before would require an enormous workforce and a vast amount of time.
Even then, with all that investment, it was questionable whether they'd break even.
"It's over... Viscount Servio won't let me off the hook."
Gerard collapsed to his knees, clutching his head in despair.
The situation had spiraled far beyond his control.
He couldn't even imagine how to break the news to his patron and superior, Viscount Servio. Darkness clouded his vision.
After agonizing for a long while, Gerard lifted his head.
A cold, murderous glint gleamed in his eyes.
"We need to activate the emergency plan, Chief Officer."
"Understood."
"I've always appreciated how reliably you've had my back."
"It's an honor, my lord."
And with that—
"Gahk!"
The chief officer plunged his sword into the mercenary mage's back.
The mage stared down at his chest in disbelief.
The blade's tip protruded there, licking greedily at the air like a serpent's tongue piercing his heart.
No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn't comprehend what was happening.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
As he gaped wordlessly like a fish, Gerard pulled him into a gentle embrace.
Then he whispered in his ear.
"Shh... easy now. It's alright. This isn't your fault. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Blood finally gushed from the mage's mouth in thick spurts.
Gerard didn't flinch even as his chest soaked through with gore. He simply patted the man's back soothingly.
It was the final courtesy for one embarking on a long journey.
Misfortune hadn't come only for him.
"Kyaak!"
"Guhk!"
"Agh!"
The porters startled at the screams, whipping their heads around. Their own allies were suddenly turning on each other.
Too late, they realized the truth.
This wasn't infighting—it was a silencing, a one-sided massacre disguised as combat.
A few quick-witted mercenaries and porters bolted for the entrance, but the caravan's direct guards and shadow unit members blocked their path.
Blood from their former comrades dripped steadily from the blades they dangled at the ready.
"Wh-what the hell is this? Why are you doing this?"
"I hold no grudge against you all."
Gerard pronounced their death sentences to the huddled group, like rabbits clustered together.
"Just think of it as bad luck. I believe only the dead can keep a secret. That's all."
Leaving only a select few loyalists, Gerard ordered the disposal of every witness, then commanded the entrance be collapsed.
The chief officer spoke up worriedly.
"Anyone else might let this slide, but Cave won't. He'll sense something's off and investigate the ruins himself."
"Even he can't report mere suspicion without evidence to the viscount. The dice have been cast. Now we follow the emergency plan to the letter."
The chief officer grasped Gerard's true intent and hardened his expression.
A few days later, Gerard secretly visited Viscount Servio's villa.
Entering the study, he saw the viscount seated with his back turned.
He must have heard Gerard approach, yet he stared silently out the window.
Gerard stood quietly, not daring to interrupt.
He was all too familiar with the viscount's peculiar habits.
The room fell into heavy silence, broken only by the steady patter of heavy rain against the panes.
At last, the viscount spoke without turning.
"I've heard the report. A perfectly fine ruin suddenly malfunctioned, triggering security protocols that unleashed traps and monsters everywhere. And then a final explosion collapsed the whole thing."
"My deepest apologies."
Viscount Servio's tone was utterly calm.
Anyone unfamiliar with him might mistake it for leniency, a sign of forgiveness.
But Gerard's palms were slick with cold sweat, his tension mounting.
"I don't want to hear apologies. As I've said countless times, results are what matter to me. Tell me—what happened to the silver ingots I stockpiled for the grand undertaking?"
Gerard prostrated himself flat on the floor.
The viscount couldn't see it from behind, yet he held the groveling pose regardless.
"In this humble one's opinion, it seems the work of tomb raiders. They must have thought it was an ordinary ruin and dug a tunnel, accidentally triggering the security measures. It'll take time to clear the rubble, but most of the ingots should still be there."
Silence stretched out.
To Gerard, that brief moment felt eternal.
Like laying his neck on the guillotine, awaiting the blade's fall.
After a long pause, the viscount finally spoke.
"Most?"
"Yes. No need for grave concern. How many boxes could a few raiders carry through a narrow tunnel anyway? I've already mobilized the shadow unit to expand the search radius and quietly posted bounties with jewelers who handle silver. And of course, we have a separate operation in play."
"An operation..."
The viscount's voice had grown steadily icier, but the word finally piqued his interest.
Gerard seized the opening.
"An ambush. Those ingots are too heavy to move easily. If raiders took even one or two boxes, they'll come back for more. Anyone who could see that fortune and hold back their greed wouldn't be a raider in the first place."
Only then did the viscount turn, asking,
"So we catch them when they do?"
'Phew!'
Gerard exhaled in silent relief.
The viscount had turned back around.
That meant he'd crested the toughest peak of today's ordeal.
Pressing his advantage, he kept talking.
"Yes. We'll squeeze them dry, down to the last coin."
The viscount nodded slowly.
"Good. That's more like it."
"Thank you, my lord."
Gerard could finally loosen his rigidly tense shoulders a fraction.
But it was too soon to relax.
"Fine. But punishment is still due."
His heart plummeted at the declaration. He knew all too well what came next.
But there was no escaping it.
This was the final hurdle.
Sure enough, the viscount drew a whip from his desk drawer.
Clack! Clack!
The sharp clicks of boot heels striking the floor grew louder.
Gerard instinctively hunched his shoulders.
In that instant, Viscount Servio's whip lashed out mercilessly.
Crack!
"Ngh!"
Fine fabric tore in an instant, his back blooming red.
Gerard clenched his teeth desperately.
Silently enduring was the only way to shorten this hell.
Crack!
"Weakling!"
Crack!
"You think me a fool?"
Crack!
"I know you've always seen Cave as a thorn in your side."
Crack!
"That never mattered before—you delivered results. But this time, half my painstakingly trained shadow unit is crippled?"
Crack!
"I don't care about your petty rivalries. But when it hampers the grand undertaking, that's another matter."
Crack!
"Gaaah!"
The whip, capable of flaying flesh with a single strike, lashed over ten times before Gerard finally broke, howling in agony.
Only after hearing the pain-filled scream did Viscount Servio's anger seem to ebb. He stopped, hurling the whip to the floor in irritation before wiping the spatters of blood from his face with a handkerchief.
His expression returned to serene calm, as if nothing had happened.
"From now on, you're off the shadow unit. Any support you need, report formally and get permission first. Understood?"
Gerard, barely unclenching his gritted teeth through the pain, rasped,
"Y-yes, understood."
"The real issue is the tribute due to Marquis Antonio..."
Twirling his mustache, the viscount snapped his fingers.
"Right! Notify Szczecin territory that we're initiating formal seizure proceedings. Scrape up whatever cash they can muster to cover the shortfall. If it's still not enough... no choice. We'll liquidate Millsus Caravan assets to make up the rest."
Gerard bowed deeply to hide his twisted grimace.
"Understood, my lord."
"I haven't forgiven you yet. You will recover my silver. Fail, and you'll wish for death."
"Y-yes, my lord!"
Gerard, his body a mangled ruin, staggered out of the audience chamber like a cripple.
The waiting chief officer swiftly handed him a cloak and mid-grade potion.
Gerard downed the potion—worth over ten gold—like water, grimacing at the taste.
Agony surged as his wounds rubbed against the cloak.
"I need potion on my back. Where's Zacob?"
"Apologies. He was too far gone, so I disposed of him last night."
"I see. Must've overdone the drink that night. Got another ready?"
"We recently acquired a desert tribe girl named Tatar. Brown hair, emerald eyes—just like you specified, resembling Young Master Calix."
"Desert breed... dark skin's a drawback. Tsk, no helping it. We'll make do for now."
Settling into the returning carriage, Gerard murmured to the chief officer.
"Preparations?"
"Ready in three days. But the executioners' pursuit won't be easy. Escaping successfully..."
"Over half the shadow unit is dead or injured. The rest are scattered hunting nonexistent raiders. Now's our best shot."
The chief officer sighed softly and nodded.
Best if none of this had happened, but time couldn't be rewound.
As Gerard said, delay and even that slim chance would vanish.
"At least the viscount's orders give us cover—even executing the emergency plan won't draw much notice."
"Orders...?"
"Told me to squeeze Szczecin for every coin since tribute's short, and liquidate caravan assets. Heh! All that wealth I slaved for, and he treats it like his own. Outrageous."
Gerard clenched his fists, trembling with rage.
He'd done everything himself, yet Viscount Servio acted like the entire Millsus Caravan was his property.
If betrayal weren't in the cards, he'd have exploded from sheer fury.
"Actually, perfect. Strip Szczecin bare—no valuable left behind. The more funds, the better for settling safely in our new haven."
The elderly chief officer bowed silently.
But his face remained grim.
'Will the one who upended Szczecin house's succession in a flash go down so easily? I hope this old man's just paranoid...'