Master of Martial Arts (2)
Creak.
“Gatz, did you take care of that guy…… What the hell happened?”
When he opened the door and stepped inside, a man greeted Gatz. But the moment he spotted Ellen behind him, his brow furrowed.
“He said he has business with the Master.”
Gatz shrugged, the gesture making clear that the situation had been unavoidable.
The man understood at once.
“He’s inside.”
He turned sideways to let them pass.
“Got it.”
Gatz led Ellen toward the door deeper within.
“Come in.”
Before Gatz could even raise a hand to knock, a voice called from inside.
“Send in the guest who came looking for me as well.”
It was as if the man already knew everything happening outside.
His senses are remarkable, at least.
When Gatz opened the door, a man with short-cropped dark-brown hair sat in a chair. He was studying documents and did not so much as glance at Ellen.
“First, welcome to the Nueve Guild. Would you care to take a seat?”
Only after stacking a few papers did he offer Ellen a chair.
“Then.”
Ellen sat, and the man straightened his posture.
“I’m Arvilio, Master of the Nueve Information Guild. In principle I never meet anyone without a prior appointment, but with my subordinate taken hostage like this, I have no choice.”
“I apologize for requesting a meeting so rudely. There was an urgent matter that could only be handled here at Nueve.”
Ellen inclined his head slightly. Arvil glanced once at Gatz, then returned his gaze to Ellen.
“It seems Gatz isn’t seriously hurt, so that’s a relief. So—what information did you come seeking?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to send the people around us away before we talk?”
For a fleeting instant Arvil’s brow twitched, but his expression quickly smoothed.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Arvil, it’s not that I don’t know your nature, but this is inconvenient.”
“What on earth are you talking about……”
“Two waiting behind the door, two outside the window, three on the ceiling—seven in total. No, counting Gatz, who looks ready to draw his blade at any moment, that makes eight.”
Gatz’s body jerked. His eyes flew to Arvil.
What do we do now?
Arvil shook his head. At the signal, every presence surrounding the room vanished.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. I provoked it myself.”
Ellen let the wariness leave his gaze.
“I came looking for a man named Paulo.”
Arvil scratched his head as though troubled.
“Paulo, is it…… Sorry, but I don’t believe I can help you with that.”
From the innkeeper earlier to Arvil’s reaction now, every mention of Phillips produced the same strange response.
They’re hiding something.
Ellen decided he would have to dig deeper for information on Phillips here.
“Why is that? You’re the Nueve Information Guild, of all places, and you claim you can’t supply information on some ordinary mercenary company? If it’s a matter of payment, I’ve prepared plenty.”
He set the money pouch he had shown Gatz onto the table.
Arvil eyed its bulk and smacked his lips, then shook his head.
“This isn’t about money. I’m sorry.”
Thud.
A second pouch of the same size landed on the table.
“This is getting difficult.”
“I have one more of these.”
At those words Arvil finally nodded, as though he had made up his mind.
“There’s something I should tell you first. I don’t know why you’re looking for Paulo, but you won’t obtain accurate information about him anywhere.”
When Arvil at last spoke freely, Ellen’s expression brightened.
“It’s a well-known story here in Tonton. That Paulo fellow tracks down any information guild that leaks word about him and wrecks the place completely. Several have already been hit. Not headquarters, only branches—but the Nutt Guild was among them.”
The Nutt Guild, together with Nueve, divided the information trade of Tonton. Where Nueve operated as an elite handful, Nutt gathered intelligence on a massive scale and then sifted through it.
So that’s why people react that way to stories about Lord Phillips, if even a place like that got hit.
Even Ellen’s own meeting with him in the past had been pure chance.
“Therefore I will not provide any precise location for him. Of course, ascertaining his whereabouts is nearly impossible in the first place.”
Without considerable skill, no one could gather information on Phillips while evading his senses.
But then how did the man who supplied Bentler manage it?
He had given relatively accurate information about Phillips—details even Nueve’s agents, who split Tonton’s back alleys, had failed to collect properly. Bentler had known them well.
I’ll have to track down that informant the moment I return.
Ellen intended to find him as soon as he reached Harryford.
“There is a restaurant where he’s often sighted. A place called Water’s Song. If you linger there, you should be able to meet him. You must keep the source of this information strictly secret.”
As he spoke, Arvil pocketed the pouches Ellen had set down.
“Thank you. If I meet him there, I’ll hand over the remaining pouch as well.”
“Lamb stew again today?”
“Yes, please.”
Thud.
The proprietor set a steaming bowl of lamb stew on the table.
“I put in extra meat specially today.”
He thumped his chest proudly.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll pay more.”
“Hahaha, you think I’d try to cheat you? I’m giving it because I like you, so don’t worry about it.”
Ellen smiled faintly and took a spoonful. A fragrant aroma lingered on his tongue.
While he ate, he quickly scanned the interior of the restaurant.
Another empty day?
He had been coming here every day for more than a week. By now the owner knew his face by heart.
This way it’ll never end.
The thought crossed his mind that he should give up and try another method. Phillips might already have left for another city; waiting like this could be nothing but wasted time.
Jingle.
“Boss—bread and soup over here.”
The door opened and a man stepped inside. The moment Ellen saw his face, he nearly sprang from his seat.
He’s here.
The newcomer was none other than the Phillips he had waited so long to find.
Phillips sat down at once. The restaurant owner, as though long accustomed to him, began preparing bread and soup.
“It’s been a while.”
“Ah, well, things just worked out that way.”
He seemed hungry; the instant the food arrived he began wolfing it down with none of a knight’s restraint. In every respect he looked far more like a mercenary.
When Phillips had nearly finished, Ellen approached him.
“Excuse me for interrupting your meal.”
Phillips looked up while still chewing a mouthful of bread.
“What is it?”
The bread muffled his words.
“Would you mind speaking with me for a moment?”
“No. I’m not particularly interested in men.”
His eyes dropped straight back to the table.
“Lord Phillips, I have something I must tell you.”
Crash.
It happened in an instant. Ellen’s body lifted into the air and slammed onto the table.
The diners around them stared in shock.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Cough—cough!”
Phillips paid the onlookers no mind. He seized Ellen by the collar and, without waiting for an answer, drove a fist toward his face.
“Damn it.”
Ellen circulated mana through every vessel of his body. The energy raced along his bloodstream.
All of it unfolded in a fraction of a second.
Tap.
Whoosh.
Ellen twisted the hand gripping his collar and, at the same moment, kicked off the floor, slipping free of the hold.
Boom.
Phillips’s fist, robbed of its target, smashed into the floorboards. A wide hole yawned open.
If that had landed, my nose would have shattered at the least.
A chill ran down his spine, yet he immediately readied himself for the next strike.
For a moment there… he used my technique?
Phillips was equally unsettled—not so much because Ellen had dodged, but because he had sensed his own art flickering through the younger man’s body.
“How can you just attack out of nowhere? Hey—!”
Phillips’s figure vanished from sight. Knowing the technique, Ellen twisted and ducked.
Whoosh.
A fist tore through the air where his head had been. Had it connected cleanly, it might have knocked him unconscious.
“I felt it clearly this time. That’s my technique. Who the hell are you really?”
Phillips halted. The space around him was already ruined. The other patrons had fled the restaurant the moment the fight began.
Silence.
Ellen flicked his fingers; a transparent barrier sealed them off from the world.
“I learned a little from Bentler.”
“Bentler?”
The killing intent that had been about to surge again subsided a fraction.
“Yes. Your disciple—that Bentler.”
Phillips seemed to drift into memory. A wistful, unreadable emotion gathered at the corners of his eyes.
“So the kid’s doing well, then.”
“Of course. He asked a favor of me. He wants to see his master, but he can’t leave his post because he’s on a mission. So I came in his place. He desperately wants to meet you, Lord Phillips.”
News of Bentler clearly pleased him.
“It’s good to hear about that kid. But I can’t meet him.”
“I won’t ask what the circumstances are. Bentler will be disappointed, yet he’ll be content simply knowing his regards were delivered.”
Phillips nodded. The motion carried a deep undercurrent of regret.
“Then may I tell you the other reason I sought you out, Lord Phillips?”
“Another reason?”
Suspicion returned to his gaze.
“I want to learn your techniques, Lord Phillips.”
Ellen bowed his head low. Phillips looked taken aback by the unexpected request.
“You want to learn my techniques?”
“Yes. Precisely speaking, I want to learn your fist arts.”
“Looking at you, you’re a mage. Why would a mage want to learn fist arts? Even knights rarely take them up.”
Phillips had never imagined that his techniques could prove so valuable to a mage.
“I may be a mage, but I cannot grow strong if I neglect body techniques. And I know very well how formidable yours are, Lord Phillips.”
At that, Phillips laughed heartily.
“Of course—I poured everything into creating them. But I have no desire to teach anyone anymore. It’s a shame, but look elsewhere for body techniques.”
He turned on his heel.
“I will make sure you can sleep soundly.”
Phillips’s foot froze mid-step.
“Even if only for a single day.”