The Calamity Sword, Part 3

I didn't get to talk much with Bester, the bear beastman. After all, he was a hired hand, and I wasn't the one paying his wages. A mercenary was still a mercenary, no matter how degraded. Cowardly as Bester might be, he wasn't foolish enough to spill everything he knew in a crowded place like this.

I could have squeezed the information out of him by force, but that would have brought its own share of headaches. What I did manage to learn was that several other beastmen besides Bester had jumped into this job, and that the man managing them was someone named Millen. Still, there was no need to be too disappointed. The very man I was curious about had just appeared right before my eyes. Perhaps he had been on edge searching for Isha, because he seemed to have rushed over the moment he heard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the news.

Millen. The bronze-skinned man immediately snapped at Bester.

"You look cozy. I take it you two are acquainted?"

"M-Master Millen? I didn't expect you to come in person. There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding, but we were just smoothing things over. I don't think they're the ones you're looking for."

"Clearly. The girl I'm looking for doesn't have silver hair."

Millen was a man of impressively solid build. At a glance, he was about my height, perhaps a fraction taller. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and his body was packed with thick, armor-like muscle. It was a physique that spoke entirely of rigorous training. If we actually came to blows, he would likely move much faster than his bulky appearance suggested.

Scars were visible across his light brown skin, though they didn't look like they had been earned on a battlefield. They were different from wounds left by swords or spears, and they weren't in places where one would expect to be struck by arrows. If I had to guess, they were injuries from concealed weapons. A true product of the back alleys, then. With scars covering both his front and back, he must have fought his way through some incredibly dirty brawls. The amount of blood on his hands was by no means small.

Facing Millen directly, I felt a surge of certainty. The circumstances ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠aligned perfectly with what I had heard from the tavern keeper and Isha. This bastard was undoubtedly the driving force behind the destruction of the Crescent Moon.

I can feel a distortion in his mana. A fairly powerful one at that.

While all humans are born with some minor blemish in their mana, there are rare occasions when this distortion far exceeds the norm. Such individuals possess unique, supernatural powers from the moment of their birth—abilities ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like manipulating the wind at will or breathing fire. The world referred to them as Ability Users.

A swordsman wielding mana must forge their physical body, and those who use divine power must receive a deity's blessing through baptism. Magic required complex formulas; despite its seemingly omnipotent nature, magic was a discipline demanding intricate theories and precise calculations. But an Ability required none of that. While one could train to utilize the power more efficiently, the act of using it required nothing more than the consumption of mana.

It was the most irrational and incomprehensible power on the continent. As menacing as they were mysterious, the strongest Ability Users could stand on equal footing with a Sword Master or a Great Mage.

"Master Millen? A moment, please."

Bester approached Millen and whispered something. He likely thought he was keeping it quiet, but it was a futile effort. A Sword Master's senses are peerless. At this distance, I only had to expand my sensory perception slightly to overhear them. The naive Bester was oblivious to this fact, and I had no intention of correcting his ignorance.

Just as I had sized up Millen, he sized me up in turn. His eyes, sharp as if assessing an opponent, swept over my arms, legs, and shoulders. He didn't seem inclined to attack blindly. It was clear Millen had no desire to fight in a crowded place. Unless he had found Isha right this second, spilling blood here would only terrify his clientele. Still, I remained prepared to draw my sword at any moment. When facing an Ability User, even the slightest lapse in vigilance could prove fatal.

"My apologies for the disturbance. We may have crossed the line first, but some of my boys got pretty banged up too. How about we both agree to act as if today never happened?"

"...Only if you offer a proper apology to the Saintess."

"Hmm. Was there an insult?"

"They were about to. I stopped them."

"I see. I wasn't told about that."

Millen's brow twitched. His cold gaze flickered between Sirien and me. I could sense a brief calculation going on behind his eyes—perhaps a clash between pride and pragmatism. His hesitation didn't last long, and he chose to yield. Millen bowed his head. The gesture felt deeply unnatural, coming from a man who looked entirely unsuited to apologizing.

"My apologies, young lady. Can you find it in yourself to forgive our rudeness?"

"Since you have offered a polite apology, I must. As you suggested, we shall let today's events rest."

"I appreciate your generosity."

Sirien readily accepted his apology. Since it was her decision, I had nothing more to say. Besides, clashing swords with the Sewer Rats didn't have to happen today. In truth, we had already achieved our objective.

Just moments ago, we had left the Residue of Divinity on Bester and a few of his lackeys. It was a minor trick of sorts, unique to Sirien. By embedding an excessive amount of divine power into a trivial, imperceptible blessing—like a 'blessing to ensure a sneeze succeeds on the first try'—the excess holy energy clung to the target like a lingering stain. It was essentially like marking the rats with a special, invisible dye.

As they went back and forth to the Sewer Rats' hideout, they would leave behind traces of the divine dye Sirien had planted. All we had to do later was track those traces to find their lair. While the technique had its drawbacks—such as a narrow tracking range and a relatively short duration—it was more than enough to hunt down these rats. I couldn't help but marvel at how she came up with such ideas. Just memorizing holy spells for combat gave me a headache. Was it a matter of aptitude? Or was it intelligence? I preferred not to admit the latter.

In any case, now that the apologies were out of the way, Millen looked back at me. Though I knew we would inevitably fight one day, I decided to soften my attitude for the time being.

"So, there's no bad blood left between us now?"

"Let's say that's the case."

"Then, purely out of curiosity, may I ask what brings you to Requitas?"

Pure curiosity, my foot. It was a blatant lie. Millen showed far more interest now than when he was bringing up his injured subordinates. His tone might have been polite, but a cold, sharp suspicion lurked deep beneath the surface.

"We're looking for someone."

"I'd love to hear the details. Finding people happens to be a specialty of mine."

Hmm. I averted my gaze, pretending to deliberate. Right on cue, Sirien chimed in.

"We had a task we wanted to entrust to a man named Keerux. But we were just told he is already dead, which has put us in quite a difficult position."

"Then do you intend to simply head back, Saintess?"

"No. We will have to find someone else to entrust it to."

"We heard that Keerux's subordinates or associates are still in this city. If possible, we would very much like to hire them."

Keerux was our original reason for coming to this city. The Sewer Rats who had killed Therion and Hena, and Keerux, the leader of the pursuit party that had chased us through the forest—erasing every trace of them was our first step, our very first act of vengeance. Coldly speaking, Isha and the Crescent Moon were merely byproducts. So, this wasn't a lie. We truly, deeply wished to meet them.

Millen nodded slowly.

"I'll ask around. I'll see you then."

Around the time Rajen and Sirien ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were heading back to their lodging, Millen was also making his way back to his base. His expression was grim.

"Bester, was it?"

"Yes. But... Master Millen? Are you angry, by any chance?"

"There's no reason to be. They weren't opponents you could have handled from the start, so you did nothing wrong."

Relief washed over Bester, and he let out a quiet sigh. However, Millen's next command was of a nature he desperately wished he hadn't heard.

"Put a tail on those two. Find out where they're staying, where they eat—gather everything you can discover and bring it to me."

"What?"

"Don't play deaf. I said put a tail on them. Monitor their every move."

Bester's world turned dark. Ordering him to antagonize those two was far too cruel. The memories of the gate had left him terrified of battlefields, and he had only come to Requitas because he still needed to earn a living. Just crossing paths with them again was a living nightmare for Bester. Yet, Millen had absolutely no intention of sympathizing with his plight.

"If they're as skilled as you say, they could have easily disposed of three men in the blink of an eye. Besides, they seem to have arrived only recently. The timing is too coincidental."

"Does that mean..."

"We'll have to keep watch for now, but my gut is telling me something is off. It never hurts to be prepared."

Millen clenched his fist tightly.