The Shadow of the Red Feather

Russell's Crescent Moon was an information guild that gathered intelligence from all corners of the Empire. Though it had taken a devastating blow and was currently in the midst of a long recovery, its deep-reaching roots had not been entirely severed in one fell swoop. It was true that fully repairing the damage would take quite some time. Still, the surviving roots could still be put to good use. Fortunately, the guild's foundation in the imperial capital of Edelmarion was one such root.

Word had it that the local branch had gone into hiding, planning to declare complete independence if the Crescent Moon collapsed. Fortunately, no such rebellion had occurred. Because it was the most critical location, Russell had taken the precaution of placing a highly trustworthy agent there. After Russell spent a few grueling days tracking them down, contact was finally established.

As a rule, intelligence was best exchanged in places that were either dead silent or deafeningly loud. The location we arrived at today was decidedly the latter. It wasn't quite a slum, but the streets were lined with dilapidated, ancient buildings. This was the district known as Old Town.

Our destination was a boisterous, rowdy tavern. A private room had been prepared for reserved guests. Waiting inside was a dwarf who looked like he possessed an incredibly foul temperament. One glance at his face was enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to tell he was a prickly character.

The dwarf flinched slightly as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his eyes fell upon Russell's shoulder, his expression instantly souring. A gruff, gravelly voice sneered at Russell.

"You pathetic bastard. No, I suppose I really have to call you a cripple now. You always bitched and moaned about how you were lacking, and now you're literally lacking an arm."

"Harsh words for a reunion. I know you're glad to see me, though."

"Glad? Oh, Goddess of Mercy. Your humble child finds it exceedingly difficult to follow Your noble teachings. Please grant me a merciful heart, lest I cave this idiot's skull in."

"Haha. You haven't changed a bit. That's a relief."

The dwarf clasped his hands in prayer—or rather, made a mockery of the gesture. He had tried to mock Russell to his heart's content, but his own temper got the better of him. Conveniently, a wooden tankard was resting in his hand. The tankard went flying right past Russell's head. It didn't seem to have much force behind it.

"Damn you to hell, you bastard!"

"Is this really how you treat an old friend?"

"Friend? What kind of dragon-munching-grass nonsense is that? You've only got three limbs left while I still have all four. Shouldn't you be calling me your elder brother?"

"Haha. He's always been a bit like this," Russell said, turning to us with a wry smile.

Four mugs of beer were naturally placed on the table, though none of us had ordered them. Seeing the two of them drink so casually, I figured it was just the way things were done here and took a sip myself. Still, of all places, a tavern... I wasn't pleased. It was because of Sirien.

Beside me, a pair of small lips gulped down the beer. Though she tried to act nonchalant, the corners of her mouth were slowly curving upward. I could never understand why someone who usually loved sweets so much was so obsessed with alcohol. Especially when she had such terrible drinking habits.

The dwarf looked at Russell and let out a heavy sigh. Rough as his words were, he seemed genuinely worried.

"Well, at least you managed to keep your head attached to your shoulders. And you didn't show up too late, either."

"Not too late? I take it you've uncovered something new in the meantime."

"I have. That's the problem. It's so big it's giving me a massive headache."

The dwarf groaned, rubbing his temples. He fumbled around and pulled out a sheet of paper, sliding it onto the table.

"Take a look at this first. It's a report that arrived from the Rangers in the Northern Mountain Range the day before yesterday. We only managed to get our hands on it recently."

"You two should read it first. I believe it will be more important to you," Russell said, gesturing to us.

"Hmm. Have you washed your hands of this entirely, then?"

"Not quite. I haven't fully made up my mind yet. But if possible, I'd prefer to stick to safer work."

"Well, do as you please. Seeing how your face looks better than the last time I saw you, it seems you learned a valuable lesson in exchange for that arm."

"I learned a very good lesson."

The contents of the report weren't very long. It detailed the complete annihilation of a village in the Northern Mountain Range, with the culprit suspected to be a magic beast known as the 'Red Feather'.

A passing conversation flashed through my mind. It was something a Ranger who had escorted us through the Northern Mountain Range had mentioned. He had said there was a magic beast with red feathers. A cunning creature that was incredibly difficult to track.

A magic beast attacking humans wasn't exactly a rare occurrence. While the difficulty of tracking a powerful beast was a serious issue, it was ultimately a problem for the Rangers to solve. As grave as the matter was, it didn't seem particularly relevant to us. Sirien scanned the report as well, but she didn't seem particularly moved either.

"I've heard of that magic beast before," Sirien remarked. "By the way, we haven't been introduced. How should we address you?"

"What good is there in exchanging names with a guy like me? Just call me Dwarf. I'm not curious about your names either."

"It is for our mutual safety," I replied. "We want to ensure that if something unfortunate happens to either side, it won't compromise the other."

"Russell over there is already compromised, but wouldn't it be troublesome if your names slipped out of my mouth?"

"I see. I understand."

I suppose that was the unwritten rule of this underworld. The dwarf stood up briefly, his mug having run dry. Fresh beer poured from a massive oak keg. Seeing this, Sirien's eyes sparkled as she held out her mug to be refilled. A brief moment of hesitation washed over me. Should I really let her drink more? I concluded there was nothing I could do to stop her right now. The dwarf resumed speaking.

"Anyway, that Red Feather bastard is no magic beast."

"Are you saying it's a demon, then?"

"Oh, you hit the nail right on the head."

Actually, I hadn't said it because I knew. Sirien, who was sipping her beer, shot a sidelong glance at the dwarf. It was proof that her interest in the conversation had been piqued. The dwarf let out a hearty laugh.

"What you just read is a case involving demons. It's going to be a bit of a long story, so take your time and listen."

Naturally, the Crescent Moon wasn't the only organization handling the 'dirty work' in Edelmarion. In any nation, the central political stage was always rife with conspiracies and underhanded schemes. To weave a proper plot, one had to know how to wield dirty tools. While some noble houses trained and maintained these 'tools' themselves, others simply hired them with a bag of gold. Though it wasn't a lawless battleground like Requitas, there was still a thriving industry here.

The dwarf spun his tale without hesitation. The man he had met seemed to have spoken in riddles, but he hadn't been able to deceive the dwarf. The Crescent Moon was, after all, the very first guild to notice Marquis Eloran's collusion with the demons, and that intelligence had naturally reached the dwarf's ears as well.

The gist of it was that the man had been tasked with smuggling demons into the Northern Mountain Range. Tracing the employer would undoubtedly lead straight to Marquis Eloran, though the dwarf refrained from uttering the name aloud. The smuggler had known how dangerous the job was. It was the kind of treason that would send him straight to the guillotine. Yet, the fact that he had accepted it meant there had been a highly enticing bait dangling in front of him.

At first, everything went smoothly. His competence was as vast as his bloated ambition. The hidden paths of the Empire and its corrupt territories were practically his personal playground. The problem arose when the smuggled demons began to slip out of control. They were supposed to lie low at least until next year, but they had begun raiding merchant caravans, and now they had gone so far as to completely destroy a civilian settlement.

The Rangers, who had already been on high alert, were now conducting a massive sweep. They were masters of mountain warfare and tracking—the uncorrupted elites of a decaying Empire. With talk of an official subjugation order, it was only a matter of time before the hidden demons were discovered. The Rangers' relentless search was undoubtedly tightening the noose around the smuggler's neck at this very moment.

Only a single day remained until the scheduled rendezvous. If the dwarf hadn't met us today, he had been planning to 'dispose' of the man himself.

We didn't share much idle chatter after the main business was concluded. The dwarf departed first, instructing us to wait at least thirty minutes before leaving. During that time, I had to keep a vigilant eye on Sirien to ensure she didn't overindulge. When Sirien got drunk... it was difficult. Truly, incredibly difficult.

"Rajen. Can't we stay and drink just a little bit more?"

"No. Do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you already forget the trouble you caused last time?"

"But it's just beer today!"

"It started with beer back then, too."

I maintained an ironclad defense. I absolutely refused to have my ears nibbled on again. If she kept doing things like that to me, even I wouldn't be able to hold myself back anymore.