The Prison Guard (2)
I did it!
I let out a silent breath of relief as I stared down at the boulder split cleanly in two. I had been on my way toward the wagon, angling for a free ride, when what must have been a landslide sent a massive rock tumbling down the slope. It just so happened I was standing nearby, so I managed to stop it. If I hadn't, the damage would have been considerable.
"Might I ask who you are, my lord?"
A man who looked to be a merchant blinked at me, asking the question. Judging by his expression, he was thoroughly shaken.
"I am—"
Just as I opened my mouth to answer, another voice cut in.
"And who might you be? State your identity."
Two mercenaries drifted toward me, hands resting near their hilts, moving with the unhurried confidence of men ready to draw at any moment.
What the hell is wrong with these guys? Are they seriously looking for a fight right now?
I was too dumbfounded to speak. I'd just saved them from disaster, and this was my welcome? People of this medieval era clearly had no concept of common courtesy. I quietly steeled myself to counterattack the moment one of them made a move.
"Are you deaf? I told you to state your identity."
"Suspicious character, if you ask me. That rock rolling down out of nowhere—might've been his doing too."
The pair had closed to within arm's reach of me when—
"Thank you for saving us!"
Without warning, the merchant shoved past the mercenaries and bowed deeply before me.
"Forgive the rudeness shown to you, my noble lord."
Noble...?
What kind of nonsense was this? The sparrow billing the shake for the merchant's grain, as the saying went.
"You are a noble, aren't you?"
He gazed up at me with a face brimming with certainty.
What is this guy on about?
I eyed him with vague displeasure for a moment, then reconsidered.
"Those two over there couldn't tell. How did you figure it out?"
He was kindly doing the work of assuming I was nobility—why on earth would I refuse?
"Haha, how could I possibly fail to notice? I am a merchant by trade, you see, and I've had the honor of meeting many distinguished nobles. As the old saying goes, a man's breeding shows in his bearing—one simply cannot hide one's station."
As he spoke, his eyes flicked up and down, sizing up my clothes.
...So it's the clothes.
They were the ones I'd scavenged off a corpse earlier. Now that I thought about it, they had seemed rather flashy. Evidently the kind of attire nobles favored.
"W-we beg your pardon! We've been discourteous!"
"Please forgive us! Our shallow eyes failed to recognize a man of your eminence!"
The two mercenaries came scrambling over and slammed their foreheads to the ground before me. I clicked my tongue once, then said flatly:
"I will not tolerate a second mistake."
Both men flinched. They were probably terrified out of their wits.
Ha! So this is why people want to be nobles, huh?
"Forgive my impertinence, but might I have the honor of your name? It would be insufficient, I know, but I wish to repay your kindness in some fashion."
...My name?
Come to think of it, I didn't even know the name of the body I'd possessed. Well, naturally—I'd opened my eyes in a convict wagon headed straight for prison. I was still racking my brain for a name that would pass muster when the merchant spoke again.
"Ah—my apologies. I should have introduced myself first... how rude of me, in the presence of so distinguished a guest. My name is Brozo. I run a merchant's trade out of a small village called Snaniel..."
Brozo, huh.
A merchant's name I'd never heard before. Since it didn't exist anywhere in my memory, he probably wasn't anyone particularly remarkable.
"Gerard."
"...Pardon?"
"Call me Gerard."
"Lord Gerard... I shall remember it always."
"More importantly—you said you were a merchant? What's your destination?"
"The city of Riverius, my lord."
Riverius?
Well, what a coincidence. Riverius lay quite close to the very place I'd been planning to head.
"Would you mind if I traveled with you?"
"Pardon?"
"I'll pay my fare properly."
"Not at all! You saved my life and you speak of fare? It is I who should be attending to you. Please, ride with us! It is a humble conveyance, but I'll do everything in my power to make you comfortable."
What a smooth operator.
The corners of my mouth crept upward without my permission. Things were going far too smoothly. As expected—life rewards the honest. That's how a man like me ends up blessed.
"And the two of you—are you agreeable as well?"
Brozo asked the two mercenaries behind him. They nodded with almost mechanical reflex.
"O-of course!"
"No objections here!"
"Then, Lord Gerard—it is a shabby space indeed, but do come aboard."
I nodded at Brozo's words and climbed into the wagon.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
What a view.
I gazed out past the wagon at the forested scenery rolling by. Mountain ranges rose so high that even craning my neck couldn't take in their peaks, wreathed in a haze of drifting mist that slid past again and again.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Brozo spoke up beside me. I gave no answer—only a small nod.
"Ironically, it's the peace that arrived after humanity's defeat at the hands of the demonkin."
"It wasn't like that before?"
"Well, no. The kingdoms warred with one another near daily, so the stories go. A man like me—with no connections and no coin—would certainly have been conscripted as a foot soldier. Sometimes I think the only reason I could become a merchant at all is because the demonkin won. Haha!"
"I see."
It was news to me as well. And no wonder—Death Knight was set several centuries after humanity's defeat by the demons.
Hold on, now that I think of it...
"Brozo."
"Yes?"
"How long has it been since the 7th Legion Commander died?"
"Hmm... I'd say roughly a month, give or take."
I breathed an inward sigh of relief. If the timeline of my playthrough hadn't matched up with the point at which I'd been transmigrated, I'd have been in real trouble—every piece of knowledge I carried would have been rendered useless. Fortunately, no such mismatch.
"By the way, Lord Gerard—what business brought you all the way out to the Romania Forest?"
I escaped from prison, you jackass.
Being dragged off to jail the instant I possessed this body was grievance enough, and now the bastard had to go poking at a sore spot.
"Haha, surely a man such as yourself need not account for his movements to the likes of me. Though I must say, the sight of you earlier, Lord Gerard—it's burned into my memory."
As if he'd read my mind, he swerved the topic with practiced ease. A merchant through and through—sharp-eyed, quick to read the room.
"At the very moment of utter despair, you appeared—just like that—and saved my wagon! Truly, I felt as though I'd laid eyes on a genuine hero. Haha!"
Flattery will get this man everywhere.
He'd been weaving compliments into the conversation at regular intervals ever since we set out, and the man was a master of it. Rather than parroting the same praise, he found subtle new angles each time, and honestly? It didn't feel half bad.
Why hasn't a guy like this become a grand merchant?
The question occurred to me out of nowhere.
"Brozo."
"Yes!"
"What is it you sell?"
"I deal in raw materials for garment-making. Though as for silk—well, the price is far beyond anything I could dare to dream of."
So that's how he clocked me as nobility.
A man who sold cloth for a living would spot the quality of my outfit in an instant. And then no doubt run the numbers in his head.
"Does that actually turn a profit?"
"...Haha, nothing substantial, I'll admit, but it keeps food on the table well enough."
"I see."
Neiiigh—!
Then it happened. With the horses' whinny, the wagon lurched to a halt.
"My apologies. Something seems to be happening outside. Probably bandits—but please, don't worry yourself. The two mercenaries out there are reliable men; they'll handle it without any trouble."
He was right, in a sense. In the original game, bandit and highwayman ambush events were one of the most frequent random encounters. Hunting them down wasn't difficult, but they gave pitiful experience and meager rewards—honestly more of a chore than anything.
Well, he says they'll handle it.
I crossed my arms leisurely and leaned back against the seat.
—Just a moment of your cooperation, if you please.
—That won't be happening. Turn back.
Faint voices drifted in from outside the wagon. Brozo and I both strained our ears.
—Come on, it'll only take a second!
—Well, it won't be happening!
However I listened, that did not sound like bandits.
...Something feels off here.
And at the same moment, an inexplicable unease began crawling up my spine.
—There's an escaped convict in the area! The man is a violent offender, I tell you!
—Why would you be searching this wagon? We don't keep convicts here!
No way. Come on.
Couldn't be. How would they have tracked me all the way out here?
—It'll only take a moment, so step aside! If you refuse, we won't forget this!
—Hah, just a moment, you say. I can't answer for what happens after, so bear that in mind.
—Have no fear. It won't take even a minute. My instinct tells me—the man is here.
Oh, for—dammit!
My instincts hadn't lied. It seemed the guards had gotten some official order issued after all. Beads of sweat began to gather on my forehead.
I'd finally managed to hitch a ride on a wagon and shake them off—and this was how it all came undone?
Thud!
The wagon door swung wide open.
"We will be conducting a brief inspection. By the laws of the kingdom, I ask everyone to comply with procedure."
Of all people—why you?!
I whipped my head around toward the far side of the wagon. When I saw the guard's face, my suspicion was confirmed—it was the very bastard who'd drawn his sword on me right before I fell from the convict wagon!
"There appears to be some misunderstanding, officer. We've neither encountered nor transported any convicts. What manner of discourtesy is this?"
Brozo protested in a voice thick with irritation.
"Hah, honestly, you people! It'll be over in a flash, so just cooperate a little! Where's your patriotism? Think of it as patriotism and bear with us!"
"Listen to yourself! Do you have any idea who the man sitting beside me is? Strip that uniform off right now if you don't want to leave here naked—otherwise, get lost!"
That's it, Brozo! Well done!
If the world hadn't been cruel enough to swallow the sound of applause, I'd have clapped my hands without hesitation. The perfect scenario was for the bastard to simply turn around and leave. That's it, Brozo—push him out the door!
"Hm? Hold on—why is that gentleman over there turning his head away? Do look this way, sir."
But it was not to be. The guard had caught wind of something suspicious, and his voice sharpened with distrust.
"Just be on your way. I'm in no mood to dance to your tune today."
I spoke with my face still buried toward the opposite side. The man must have sensed something strange, because he began to snicker, low and drawn out.
"Haha! It'll only take a moment. Just a little cooperation, hm? Wouldn't take long at all."
"You really don't know when to shut up, do you? Must I actually spill blood here?"
"Kukukuku—! Don't be like that! Eh?! Buddy?!"
"......"
When I remained silent, the man shoved his face into the wagon. Reflected in the window, his features were drenched in something beyond certainty—something that could only be called madness.
His voice came out ice-cold.
"Hey. 4885. That's you, isn't it?"