When Someone Worries About You
Through sheer force of argument, Leon wrung a firm promise from Glem that the Heaven-Shattering Sword would be melted down. He even had the man write out several formal pledges.
In that short span of time Glem's cheeks had gone hollow. He let out a long sigh.
"The alloy used in the Heaven-Shattering Sword is truly remarkable. You can look forward to the finished product."
After that, the two of them spent a full four hours locked in a deep discussion about Leon's sword.
Glem carefully catalogued every detail of Leon's swordsmanship, fighting style, tactics, and habits — all so he could forge a blade that would fit Leon perfectly.
Only after that thorough process was Leon finally able to step outside. It was late afternoon, the sun already beginning its slide toward the earth.
"Feels empty."
Leon smacked his lips as he looked down at his bare hip. The sword he had worn even while sleeping was gone, and rather than feeling free, he felt strangely hollow and uneasy.
In its place he toyed with the set of daggers Glem had given him, and set off out of the Forge District.
A familiar face appeared a short while later.
"Brother?"
"Oh, little brother."
Lyman waved cheerfully as he approached.
"What brings you here?"
"I left my armor in for repairs."
Come to think of it, Lyman was not wearing that antique set of armor.
Leon's expression turned dubious.
"Well… I don't mean to be rude, but you came all the way to the Halito Forge just to repair that? Why not simply buy a new set?"
Lyman laughed heartily.
"That armor may look shabby on the outside, but it's actually a top-grade magical piece I received as a gift. Only the Halito Forge can even repair it."
"Ah, is that so?"
Leon had never known that. He had simply assumed it was a heap of scrap metal. So there had been a reason the man insisted on wearing the battered thing around.
If he can thrash a magical armament of that caliber until it's falling apart, just how roughly does he live?
Leon clicked his tongue inwardly and said,
"Shall we go grab a meal?"
"Let's do that."
The next day.
"Hey, you're hard to catch these days. Where do you keep running off to in such a hurry?"
Early that morning, as Leon was heading to the training grounds still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Esabel fell into step beside him.
Without so much as glancing at her, Leon replied flatly,
"Want to spar?"
Esabel tied her hair back tightly and nodded.
On the way to the training hall, she tossed out a question.
"I heard you caused some trouble."
Leon briefly recalled the size of the settlement money. His mouth split into a wide, shameless grin.
"I hit the jackpot, actually."
"Stop going around beating people up. Is that why you learned martial arts?"
"I held back a lot this time before I hit them. And aren't martial arts made so you can beat people properly and kill them properly?"
"…"
Esabel shot a sideways glare at Leon, who kept answering her point for point. After a moment of her lips working soundlessly, she continued.
"Count Wendel currently serves as vice-chairman of the Noble Assembly. He's a capable noble."
The Noble Assembly here was not a legislative body so much as an interest group formed by the central aristocracy — an organization dedicated to strengthening their own privileges.
"There's a reason Count Wendel rose to that position. He's less skilled at politics than he is at quietly disposing of his rivals without a sound."
"Hmm."
"There are even rumors that he's colluding with a massive assassin syndicate from the underworld, and with dark mages."
"Oh."
"Don't take the capital too lightly. Honestly speaking, even Duke Rock has limits to the power he can exercise here in the center."
"Mm."
"Hey!!!"
Esabel suddenly bellowed. Nearby birds startled into flight at her roar.
Leon put on a deliberately startled face.
"What is it?"
"When someone worries about you, at least pretend to listen properly!"
"Worry… about me?"
Leon looked at Esabel as if seeing her for the first time.
"…"
His eyes clearly said, You? Worrying? You?
Esabel, seething, drove a fist toward Leon's side.
Of course, Leon was no soft target. He twisted his waist lightly and slipped past the blow.
"You—!"
Even more furious, Esabel unleashed a three-hit combination.
Whoosh! Thud! Crack!
"Haha, not a chance. I don't train hand-to-hand halfheartedly either."
Grand Emperor Sword — True Meaning.
A single blade can hold even a mountain.
"Wait, I don't even have a sword yet—! Oh, for fuck's—!"
In the end, Leon had to face the Grand Emperor Sword with nothing but a pair of daggers.
The capital, District Four.
Viscount Tuiln's figure cut across a quiet night street.
Grind.
His teeth ground together inside his mouth.
That damned bastard…
Earlier that day, his son Gien had woken from his coma.
The full account he heard from his newly conscious son was more than enough to strip Tuiln of his reason.
What? He was on drugs and attacked without a word? What a load of pathetic lies…!
Just as he had shouted in a rage last time, Leon's statement had been pure nonsense.
Yes, Gien had picked the fight and drawn his sword — but he had absolutely not taken any drugs, nor had he swung his blade.
I knew it!
It was exactly as Tuiln had expected.
He would admit his son's usual conduct left much to be desired, but the boy was not so much of an idiot that he couldn't tell time and place.
Tuiln had even shared this fact with the other nobles who had come with him.
And then what?
Count Wendel had answered with sunken eyes:
— Restrain yourself.
With that single line he had left. He offered no further explanation. The mood soured, and the remaining nobles filed out after him.
Restrain myself? You want me to swallow this?
Tuiln's fiery temper boiled over.
If it had only been his son getting beaten, perhaps he could have let it go.
But the fortune Leon had ripped from him under the absurd pretense of a "settlement" was driving him mad. He didn't even want to calculate how much he had lost this time.
If I let this slide, I won't sleep a wink.
So he acted. He had always been the type who, once his temper flared, charged ahead without regard for fire or water.
Thud.
Walking the sparsely populated street, he arrived at a suitably upscale, quiet tavern.
"Wait for me here."
He instructed the escort-servant who had accompanied him, then went inside alone.
"Welcome. What can I get for you?"
An employee wiping down tables greeted him.
"A glass of twenty-five-year Pomber."
"…"
A faint glint appeared in the employee's eyes.
"And for something to go with it?"
"Grilled cheese and half a biscuit should do."
"This way, please."
Tuiln followed the employee's lead.
They wove between the tables and headed down a narrow corridor at the back.
Past four doors, they entered the fifth private room.
The room was about four pyeong in size, furnished with a mahogany table and chairs.
Click. Rattle. Clunk!
The moment the employee shut the door, a complex mechanism whirred from the handle. Multiple layers of locks activated on their own.
Confirming the door was sealed, the employee set a palm-sized circular plate on the table.
Hummm—!
When he placed his hand on it, a faint mana wave radiated outward in a circle, sweeping the entire sealed chamber.
Blue, red, violet, ash-white… The wave shifted colors every few seconds, meticulously scanning the interior.
After roughly a minute, the employee collected the plate.
"All clear. No problems. This way."
In the next instant, the floor beneath the table slid away like a panel, revealing a staircase leading underground.
"Thorough, aren't you."
"Haha. Security is life, after all."
They exchanged a few words and descended.
Filing down the narrow stairs in single file, they came to a steel door shimmering with a translucent barrier.
A hard voice drifted from beyond it.
— Archipelago. Coin.
"Veil. Candle."
Clank!
At the employee's flawless reply, the door opened without delay. They had exchanged the code words.
The chamber beyond was remarkably spacious and comfortable for being so deep underground. Aside from the lack of windows, it was no different from a clean reception room.
"Please, take your time."
The employee who had guided Tuiln bowed and withdrew. With a heavy thud, the steel door sealed shut.
Then—
"Have a seat, Viscount."
A man wrapped in a pitch-black hooded robe and a face covering brushed past Tuiln as he spoke.
Tuiln's shoulders gave a slight twitch. There had clearly been no one in the room a moment ago. He had no idea where the man had even appeared from.
Without showing it, Tuiln sat and said,
"I've come to place a request."
"…"
Tap. Tap. The masked man drummed his index finger twice against his thigh, as if considering something.
After a brief silence, he spoke.
"Black will cost a great deal."
"I haven't even said who the target is yet."
"The third son of the Crusif family, is it not?"
"…"
Tuiln's cheek twitched. He had controlled the information as best he could, yet those who needed to know already knew about the recent incident.
"…That's correct, but it isn't black. I was thinking of commissioning red."
"Mm."
The masked man's waist tilted slightly forward — a posture of attentive listening.
Tuiln spat the words as if chewing them.
"His legs! I won't feel better until his legs are crippled at the very least — just like my son's!"
As he snarled, seething with rage—
"…"
—from a corner of the room, a pair of crimson eyes watched in silence.