Something That Pretends to Patrol #8
There is no such thing as foreshadowing in life. I believed that more than anyone.
In a way, you could call everything inevitable — but I had thought that way ever since I died, absurdly, from a quack's botched drugs.
So even the fact that the ship we had boarded happened to be a den of the worst kind of people, even that it was a place that dealt in human trafficking — well, I figured that could happen too.
From what I gathered, they also handled hostage trading on occasion, though such targets seemed to be few. And judging by the fact that they could threaten people of that caliber, their organization had to be fairly powerful. The warehouse crammed with wooden crates where we were currently locked away felt suspicious for that reason alone.
"It's quiet now. You can open your eyes."
"Hahh…! I just can't get used to some man groping me. What about Helena?"
"Yeah. The first thing that stood out was her sword, so they confiscated that right away… but they didn't go any further than that."
If they had been even lower scum, they would have thrown themselves on Helena on the spot — yet they hadn't. It was strange.
Maybe running an organized crime ring had bred some kind of discipline, and violating Helena at will would have broken those rules. Or maybe they simply wanted to avoid the chaos of their hostage waking mid-assault.
But the thought that they might yet change their minds… I couldn't even lift my face. If she had endured humiliation because I had insisted on doing things my way, I wouldn't have known where to look.
Then again, if it had come to that, Helena would have slaughtered every last one of them, stowaway status be damned.
"I'm… really sorry."
"It's fine. Don't worry about it. If they'd truly meant to force themselves on me, I wouldn't have held back — and this much I can endure well enough."
Helena even snorted a quiet laugh and gave my shoulder a light pat.
The ropes that had bound us had already been snapped with raw strength. For anyone who trained mana, severing rope was child's play.
"But if you're still sorry… you can just touch me that much in return, right?"
I couldn't find a single word to answer Helena's not-quite-joke.
A promise between a nobleman and a noblewoman was practically a marriage vow — and once that vow was made, there was nothing left to hesitate over. I understood that much. Still, I never imagined Helena would toss out a joke like that so freely.
"Then… it's fine if I squeeze as hard as I want?"
I reeled for only a moment under the unexpected counterattack, then fired back a joke of roughly equal heat. And then—
"…Yeah."
Helena answered in a voice that nearly disappeared into her reddening face.
We were hostages locked in what amounted to a ship's warehouse, and yet I found myself thinking we were far too at ease — and that I wanted to look at that face of hers for a very long time. I showed no sign of growing tired of it.
But we couldn't keep lounging around forever.
I realized that, hastily checked myself over, and felt for anything missing. They had moved us, so a body search was a given. And sure enough, the several plain dirks I had hidden inside my tailcoat were gone.
"The throwing dirks are gone. I half-hoped they might have missed them, but of course not."
"It shouldn't be that much of a problem, should it? Altram training is centered on hand-to-hand, after all."
"True enough — but a dirk makes things a lot easier. Still…"
I let the sentence trail off with a quiet snort of laughter, then rose without a sound and began to take off my pants. I tugged free the shirt hem I'd tucked in, undid my belt, and prepared to strip them off.
Helena looked as if she might cover her face on reflex — but instead her eyes lit up, and she all but urged me to hurry and take them off.
The difference in her attitude before and after my confession was so stark it was almost startling.
I wasn't stripping for any other reason, though. I needed the dirk I had strapped to the back of my upper calf. The only reason I pulled the pants all the way off was that hiking the cuff high enough looked likely to tear them.
They had searched every pocket, top and bottom — but they hadn't groped as far as a leg that looked smooth from the outside.
"Here. Take this."
I drew the dirk I had bound in place with fishing line and handed it to Helena, then pulled free the remaining one for myself before pulling my pants back on. Walking around half-naked wasn't an option.
"Oh, right. You did strap that on before we were caught…"
Only after receiving the dagger did Helena nod as if it finally made sense. Dropping my pants out of nowhere must have been shocking enough to wipe the memory clean. Otherwise she would have had no reason to panic.
"Anyway, this is enough. We've confirmed no one immediately dangerous is nearby, so first let's take this ship."
Helena's eyes, fixed on the dirk in her hand, gleamed sharp. The sword she normally used was far longer than this — but to a Master, a difference in length barely mattered. As long as it had an edge, even something this short was threat enough.
"Yes. I'll back you up, so cut us a clean path through."
"Mm."
In situations like this, the man usually took the lead — but we were nowhere near ordinary. Helena was far stronger than I was, and she was the one who taught me combat technique besides.
So Helena coated the dirk in an Aura Blade and drove it into one corner of the wooden door.
At a glance it looked as if she were trying to force the door open — but there was more intent behind the motion than that. She was extending the Aura Blade through the dirk to pierce the throat of the man standing watch on the other side, his back turned to us.
"Ghk— grrk…!"
Helena's read of the man's presence and distance was exact, and the result was a face vomiting boiling blood. We only saw that face after she sliced through the latch and stepped outside — but the dead expression alone told the whole story.
It was the first time I had watched a person die, or watched someone kill. I might have expected nausea, but all I felt was a slight quickening of the heart. No fear. No terror. If anything, I judged it more rational to kill them outright, seal their mouths for good, and move in silence than to try to subdue them without killing. They might not have known who we were, but kidnapping nobles was an unambiguous capital crime — and these were the men who had done it.
I left the warehouse and checked the layout of the cabin decks.
It was the usual straight corridor with rooms lining both sides — nothing special, except for the warehouse blocking the way like a barrier.
"Six rooms… three men in the leftmost room at the far end, by the exit. About five more in the middle room on the right."
Helena swept the doors with her footsteps muffled, reading the number of presences inside with precision. It was a skill utterly beyond me. I was thoroughly impressed.
"Ideally we'd take them at the same time… but I don't want to put Zion in any danger. What should I do…"
Even now she was fretting more about me than herself, looking thoroughly dejected. Without any real experts among them, clearing one room would take the blink of an eye — but that would almost certainly kick off a much larger ruckus. Taking both rooms at once was the obvious choice. She was hesitating only because she feared I might get hurt, so I figured it was time to give her a push.
"Don't worry. We'll do it the way you planned. I haven't exactly been sitting around either…"
I strode straight toward the leftmost room in the forward row. I wasn't foolish enough to make noise, but my stride was so long it turned into a faintly ridiculous gait. I had no time to care. I gripped the door handle and put force into my hand as if I meant to fling it open that very second.
"…All right. No choice, then."
Only after I went that far did Helena nod as if resigning herself. Just as when she had killed the man moments earlier, she layered aura over the dirk — and her face went cold.
I nodded back, then took the first step and threw the door open.
"Huh…? Who the hell—?"
Three men sat on the floor playing poker. The unexpected visitor drew their eyes to me. A door flying open like that — of course they looked.
Perfect, I thought, and lightly flicked the dirk with aura concentrated only at its tip.
I had trained in the family's mana cultivation method, but my reserves were clearly smaller than Helena's, so this was a desperate measure to conserve what I had. Unexpectedly, the technique turned out to be quite efficient. Throwing was meant to pierce the target, and gathering aura only at the blade's tip suited it remarkably well.
The dirk carved a diagonal through the air and sank deep into the Adam's apple of the man on the far left.
"Ghk— grrk…!"
A human with a pierced throat cannot scream. I had already confirmed that. So dying without so much as a cry was only natural — but the other two were still very much alive.
"You son of a—!"
One of their own was dead. Of course the bronze-skinned men rose with open hostility. If they hadn't, I would have suspected some deeper scheme.
But I closed the distance far faster than they could stand. The instant the dirk left my hand I had already charged, closing the gap in a single rush.
"Quiet."
I activated my mana, reinforced my body, and condensed mana at my fingertips instead of a blade — the thumb and index finger of my right hand.
I could do this because I primarily trained in unarmed techniques that treated the body as the weapon, and because Altram itself prized bare-handed fighting above all else. Against true experts it would have been lacking in places — but against men who were merely rougher than average, it was more than enough.
"Ghk— gaaah…!"
Crack!
I pinched and tore out the Adam's apple of the man on the right. Blood fountained, and a sound like escaping air followed. I focused on the throat for the same reason as before: to keep any shout from spreading into a larger disturbance.
Two down by ambush. One left. I clamped a hand over his mouth for information, then kicked his ankle with everything I had — the motion people call a soccer kick.
"Mm— mmmph──!!!"
Crack! Crunch!
Agony must have driven a spike straight up through the crown of his head. The face twisted beyond recognition behind my muffling hand was proof enough. If that expression was an act, this man belonged on a stage, not in a crime ring.
The sickening sound of bone breaking rose with the kick, and the man crumpled, unable to support himself. With both ankles useless, that was only natural.
"Listen carefully."
I dimmed the light in my eyes as much as I could and narrowed them to a cold, sharp line. I dropped my voice low and loaded it with killing intent, as if I meant to finish him that instant. It was my first time trying anything of the sort, and it felt painfully awkward — but it seemed to work. The man thrashing in pain looked up at me with tears welling in his eyes.
"I'm going to take my hand away now. If you so much as make a sound… I'll tear out your throat the same way I did those two. If you understand, nod."
"Mmph! Mmmph!"
The man frowned hard through the pain, but nodded with desperate urgency. Fear had settled deep in his eyes; he didn't look about to shout out of spite. Two blood-soaked corpses lying nearby as a buy-one-get-one free special would make anyone afraid.
"Hah… hah…!"
The moment I lifted my hand, the man dragged air in and out as if clawing for life. He seemed to have adapted somewhat to the pain; he looked ready to answer if spoken to.
Good, I thought, and crouched so our eyes met before I slowly opened my mouth.
"Then… start by explaining the structure of your organization."