Gangs of Roma (6): The Mask Comes Off
It was an old story. The first noble I ever saw in this other world was a young noblewoman. Back when I was still a slave, I met her in the middle of days spent shivering inside an iron cage while enduring the endless harsh winter training. Well, calling it a “meeting” might be generous. She had come to the slave market looking for a male slave to serve as an attendant, so the scrawny Kang Bukho of that time wasn’t even on the trader’s shortlist of candidates.
Still, she was the one who taught me that this fantasy world was a medieval society built on noble hierarchy. Truth be told, until then I’d been so mentally fried by the whole grassland-prison-court-slave-market package tour that I hadn’t paid the slightest attention to class systems or any of that nonsense.
Around that time, the wealthy-looking young lady sweeping through the slave market with a full entourage of servants left a deep impression on me. So did the jeweled ring sparkling proudly on her left ring finger.
The young noblewoman Primor spoke with her fingers interlaced, deliberately covering her left ring finger—different from how she had been back then. I couldn’t answer right away. There had been too many surprises already, leaving me no room for polite pleasantries, and I still had Odin’s Eye active.
I swept the other slaves with Odin’s Eye as well. After taking in the entire scene inside the room, I let out a mental groan. Still, I couldn’t remain standing forever. Concealing my shock behind a mask of composure, I finally deactivated Odin’s Eye.
“There’s no reason to hide it. I’ve already given you the family seal.”
“I see. My apologies. I should not have stared. A beauty like you must be used to foolish gazes from men, but that doesn’t excuse my own rudeness.”
Even as I spoke, I realized I sounded a little rambling. Fortunately it didn’t seem to raise any suspicion; the atmosphere in the room remained largely unchanged. The only reaction came from Larilura behind me, who poked my side as if telling me to snap out of my daze.
It’s not like that, fuck. I wasn’t staring because she’s pretty.
Dobby is a good house elf who isn’t ruled by lust.
I cleared my throat and sat down. Regardless, the hostility aimed at both me and Larilura remained unchanged. Did you call us here to fight? Wanna go?
“Ahem… Is your body all right?”
“Yes. Henry treated me.”
The person she indicated with her eyes was the most skilled-looking man among her guards. He was dressed like a holy knight but had removed his helmet. He gave me a silent bow.
“…Mm.”
I returned the gesture. Opening my mouth felt dangerous—like nonsense would spill out—so I turned back to Primor.
“The situation changed drastically after I left. Do you have any idea why? Did something happen in the warehouse once I was gone?”
“You talk too much. Who’s the most suspicious person here?”
The sudden sarcasm didn’t surprise me. Not when the crazy bastard beside her had been caressing his sword hilt the entire time like his hell-chopping blade was starving for blood.
“Hans.”
“My apologies, madam. But is there anyone more suspicious than these two? Who else even knows we’re here besides that old tiger living upstairs?”
There are always people like this in the world—people who insist on speaking their mind even when their superior is clearly displeased. Usually they learn better after getting chewed out (or occasionally beaten) during school or work. But sometimes those confident in their own strength smash through society’s storms with their fists and never quite receive that social education. In cruder terms, they’re just gangsters with no manners.
The knight picking a fight with me gave off exactly that vibe. He didn’t even seem to regard Primor as his superior; his glare stayed fixed on me. Those glaring eyes scanned me from head to toe.
You bastard, if this were the 21st century that look would be straight-up eye rape. You know that?
“The day after we met you, our presence was discovered by Romania’s pus-like scum. You expect us to believe that was pure coincidence?”
“If I bore you any grudge, I wouldn’t have come here at all. Otherwise I would have brought subordinates with me.”
“You might have arranged it precisely to make us think that way. Isn’t that possible?”
“That’s grasping at straws. With that much suspicion, I’m amazed your lord ever chose you. Do Romanian knights offer their loyalty while doubting everything?”
Ah, fuck. I went too far.
If it had been mere verbal provocation I could have deflected it with linguistic taekwondo, but the killing intent rolling off him—should I kill Primor?—with every word made polite speech impossible.
—Clang!
The knight called Hans kicked his chair over and placed his hand on his sword. Instead of throwing a childish tantrum, his eyes burned with pure “you die, I live” energy.
Damn this mouth. I’ve been slipping up more and more since coming to Romania.
If I stood up now it would turn into a hundred-percent deathmatch, so I remained seated. I was already calculating how to counter if he struck first, but Primor shattered the explosive tension.
—Bang!
Primor slammed the table as she rose, glaring at Hans.
“Hans. What are you thinking? Do you find my judgment laughable?”
“But, madam!”
“Answer me. Do you not trust your lord’s wife? Following me here was your decision. Swearing to obey my orders was also your decision.”
Primor stared at him as if he were an enemy. Hans never gave a full reply, only mumbling as though at a loss for words.
What the hell is this atmosphere?
If you’re going to have a family fight, don’t call guests over. What is this?
Oh, right. We came first.
Picked the wrong damn day.
“Look at what you’re doing right now. After this, could you still stand proudly before my husband’s grave and claim you served me faithfully?”
“…I was rude. I never intended to infringe upon your authority, madam.”
“Then be silent until I permit you to speak. The judgment and the responsibility are both mine.”
Having stung him like a wasp, Primor quietly exhaled and turned to me.
“I’ve shown you an embarrassing sight.”
“I’m hardly in a position to receive apologies. I would have been suspicious too in your place.”
After all, nothing builds rapport faster than joining someone in badmouthing a third party. Badmouthing others can backfire, but there’s no loss in smearing my own face with my own hands. I casually conveyed “that Yesugei fucker” in a roundabout way and tapped the table with my finger.
“The reason we visited today was to clarify the positions between us. If we keep suspecting each other like your friend here, we’ll only end up tearing one another apart.”
“…Yes. That’s true.”
She clearly had plenty more to say, but Primor held it in. A good sign. The representative was cool-headed. The noblewoman with flowers in her head whom I’d seen at the slave market was long gone. Perhaps the missing left ring finger had something to do with that change?
It might. It might not.
Anyway, as I had said earlier, unless we forced the other side to their knees for a bloody game of truth or dare, this battle of suspicion was pointless attrition.
“Let’s be clear. If you won’t believe us, we part ways. If you will, we walk together. Either way, I’ll share as much information as I know.”
“Information? Why?”
“We have no interest in your goals, but mutual assistance should still be possible. Of course, if you’d rather torture us until we spit out only the facts you deem trustworthy… we’ll simply have to run with everything we’ve got.”
I came prepared for the suspicion that we might be members of the three great families.
“…Faith is born from concession.”
Primor frowned.
“If Lord Yesugei takes the first step in concession, we will be able to trust you.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Remove your mask and cooperate with our purpose first. If you do so, we will fully support you for the duration of your stay in this land.”
“Fine. …However, the friend beside me cannot.”
I was about to accept the deal coolly when the thought of revealing Larilura’s face—similar to Tyrsie’s—made me add hastily, “This friend is someone I befriended in this land, not a person from the Central Plains. We cooperate because our opinions align, making our relationship similar to the one you and I share.”
“…Does she also have business with the dark society?”
“She believes someone she knows was kidnapped by them.”
At those words a ripple of surprise passed through Primor and her guards. It was the reaction I needed to solidify my story.
“Th-the person who was kidnapped… who is it?”
Primor asked while hiding her expression. Larilura lowered her head as though deep in thought.
Senior! Help me!
In reality she wasn’t exactly quiet, but she was definitely agonizing over it. She seemed to have caught the flow of the conversation since it was her native tongue, yet she clearly wanted to follow my lead.
This little brat is trying to dump the responsibility on me. Where the hell did she pick up such bad habits? Who taught her that? Was it me?
“Spill it.”
The moment I sent the telepathic message, Larilura opened her mouth.
“Tyrsie Armasunas.”
“…I see. Armasunas, is it.”
Primor showed no reaction whatsoever to the name. That lack of expression was exactly what I had expected. If the name were truly unknown, she should have asked who it was. For Primor, ignorance was impossible. The daughter-in-law of the Armaals family not knowing the family that shared the same surname? Such an excuse would never fly.
“From what my friend told me, it seems the three great families are targeting members of the Senate’s legitimate bloodlines. At least one of them.”
“So you believe that’s why they halted their disputes and placed a bounty on my neck?”
“Wouldn’t it be? Either the family targeting you made concessions to the others, or everyone silently agreed that ‘securing you’ was the higher priority.”
I placed my hand on my mask. There were other reasons, but I couldn’t reveal them.
“My only purpose is to punish the Anulus family. However, it would be wrong to ignore the circumstances of those who fought alongside me.”
—Srrk.
With those words I pulled the mask off. The moment my face was revealed, Primor’s complexion turned deathly pale. It was understandable. Transforming into another person’s face is fairly difficult, so I had used a shortcut.
“…I have been rude once again.”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize. The burn must look hideous, right? It’s an injury I received while training in the Flame Heat Technique.”
I grinned. Before coming here I had altered my face to look as if it were rotting from severe burns, giving me a perfect excuse to keep wearing the mask.
It doesn’t hurt or itch for me, but others probably don’t want to look at it.
Even without that, I couldn’t tell someone who deliberately hid their scars to show their face. Indeed, the guards were already exchanging uncomfortable glances.
“May I put the mask back on? Without a special mask, prolonged exposure causes pus to form.”
“…Please do.”
Per-fect. It worked.
I spoke while replacing the mask.
“I’ll return after giving you time. Whatever your answer, I hope it doesn’t lead to hostility. If possible, I’d prefer to receive your conclusion in a letter.”
“No. There’s no need to worry about that.”
Primor narrowed her eyes.
“If you are searching for the old daughter of Armasunas, then our goals share the same great branch.”
“Hm. What do you mean?”
“Let us form an alliance. There are many things we can accomplish without offering or demanding more trust than necessary.”
So this was the establishment of an alliance. Because I had lied unilaterally, my conscience stung a little.
Watching me put the mask back on, Primor continued.
“We will raid the Corbona family and crush their boss along with their core forces. That is our demand.”
That’s actually what we should have been asking them to do.
I didn’t let any joy at gaining an unexpected collaborator show on my face. Instead I nodded with the dignified bearing of a great man. Yet I couldn’t simply smile because things had gone well.
Things are getting bigger and bigger.
According to what my translation ability interpreted, the Romanian word “Arma” carried meanings such as weapon, arms, army, and tool. The Senate that shared power with the Emperor of Romania. To extract concessions from the ruler of a great power, they would have needed equivalent strength. The Senate had achieved it through some unknown means—against the emperor of a mighty nation whose lineage stretched back to ancient civilization. It could not possibly be coincidence that the surname shared by those founding members carried such a sinister connotation. And neither was the fact that someone was now using the mafia to target the bloodline of those same founding families.