Chapter 52
Chapter 52
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Meal Hospitality
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"That’s..."
At that moment, Johnson’s mind raced. What if he lured this knight back to the village? And slipped him some poison?
"This way! Heh heh..."
The bandit I’d caught was limping along but somehow managed to guide us to his village. He claimed all the loot from his past raids was there, and if I just spared his life, he’d hand it all over.
"Is it true that the stuff you stole amounts to thirty pounds?"
He nodded frantically at my question.
"I’m the village chief’s son! Spare me, and I’ll give you the money—plus treat you to dinner tonight! So please..."
I snorted at his words. What idiot would fall for such obvious bullshit? The chief’s son? And he’d return all the loot from his raids and throw in dinner? No chief’s son would be out risking his neck like this.
His hands were a mess of calluses from farm work—classic peasant hands. In most villages, the chief’s son studies village management to succeed his father, so his hands wouldn’t look like that.
But even though I saw right through his lie, I followed him anyway. As someone ruling this territory, I needed to know the lay of the land. Plus, it was a chance to deal with any troublemakers early.
"Hey! Ben!"
"Johnson...? The others...!"
Ben’s eyes went wide when he saw me. He looked panicked—and no wonder. The guy I’d dragged along, Johnson, had been sent out to rob people, and now he’d brought back a knight. But Johnson kept his cool and said,
"Haha! These folks spared my life! If I just hand over everything I stole..."
I kicked the blabbering bastard in the calf.
"Shut up and get inside."
The village looked surprisingly lively for a bunch of starving faces. Though the fields around it bore clear scorch marks from fire. Guess their bandit spree after going hungry had paid off handsomely. Judging by what the guy said and the state of the village now.
"Ooh! Sir Knight!"
As we entered, word must’ve spread already, because a man who looked like the village chief came rushing over and kissed the tops of my boots. He glanced up with a smile, then saw my scowl and dropped flat to the ground.
"These scum committed an unforgivable crime! To try robbing a knight, no less!"
"So you know who I am."
And there it was—'these guys' instead of 'we.' Already trying to cut ties. Pathetic, but I let it slide. He went on, saying the village’s tough situation had forced them into banditry.
"But Sir Knight, you..."
Mid-sentence, the chief hurriedly scanned my gear. When he spotted the emblem on my armor, his face lit up.
"A great knight of Cligrove! Looking at your build, it’s no surprise Sarisa Territory lost the war! So..."
"Spare me the bootlicking. More importantly, did the territory collect a lot of taxes from you? No crop failure this year—why resort to banditry?"
He nodded and spat curses, claiming the count’s army had stripped them bare of every edible scrap during the war.
"We only robbed mercenaries. We took their armor and weapons but let them go..."
They didn’t kill them, he meant. I narrowed my eyes. Didn’t kill them? There was still a faint blood scent on him.
Human blood, different from beast blood. Cutter was sniffing around suspiciously too. This wasn’t some charity village—why let robbed mercenaries live?
If I were the chief or a villager here, I wouldn’t have spared them. They’d just come back armed for revenge, and these folks couldn’t stop them. But I played dumb and lowered my voice as much as possible.
"I don’t care about your sob story. Just hand over what was promised."
I made my voice sound as greedy as possible. The chief, who knew nothing of any promise, rolled his eyes.
"Promised what...?"
"The guy I brought said he’d give thirty pounds if you spared him."
Only then did he catch on, nodding vigorously. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
"Ah, right! You spared my son... Just wait a moment!"
He bolted off somewhere and soon returned with a box. A plain wooden one. He opened the lid, revealing glittering gold coins inside. But it was nowhere near the thirty pounds the bandit had claimed.
"I heard it was thirty pounds."
I let my annoyance show plainly. The chief bowed low.
"That fool misunderstood! How could robbing a few mercenaries yield thirty pounds? Even adding what we spent, it’s barely twenty..."
I stared down silently, and he trembled under my gaze. No more money to give, apparently—he just banged his head on the ground. I clicked my tongue.
"Tch... Fine. This’ll do."
I handed the box to Cutter, who dumped the coins out, pocketed them deftly, and whispered,
"Seventeen pounds and eight shillings, boss."
That’d help the territory scrape by a bit longer. As I thought that, the chief peeked up slyly.
"Uh... Sir Knight..."
"What?"
"If you haven’t eaten, allow us to treat you to a meal as atonement. My wife’s cooking is out of this world..."
Gary, chief of the village called Streamside—tucked in a remote corner of Sarisa Territory where a brook flowed—was decent enough to his people.
If not for the two sudden wars. When war broke out abruptly, throwing every village into chaos, theirs fared a bit better. As a settlement of commoners, they avoided forced conscription. But they paid for it by having their stockpiled food seized, forcing them to tighten their belts.
They could manage, up to the first war. But the second stripped even their winter reserves, leaving them in dire straits.
The fields were trampled by armies no better than raiders, and they took just enough food to keep from starving outright. So it was only natural they turned to darker thoughts. Amid that, they heard how a nearby village had nabbed a lone knight and scored big from his armor and sword—dozens of pounds, they said.
Whether it was truly a knight or really that much money was doubtful. But it was enough to catch their ear.
"Johnson! You goddamn slacker!"
And now? They were screwed. Towering build, full armor, massive sword—he looked no ordinary man. Gary couldn’t fathom who that lazy bastard Johnson had dragged in.
"Round up everyone who went with you! You still thinking of robbing after seeing that guy?"
Johnson pouted at the chief’s rage. Hadn’t the chief told him to pull off a big score? Greed sparked by the mercenary haul last time.
"You said to go for it this time, Chief... or no rations otherwise."
"Even so! You gotta know who to pick! Look at him—doesn’t he scream executioner?"
As the chief chewed out Johnson, worried villagers gathered. In a pinch like this, only the chief could come up with a fix.
"What do we do?"
Gary spat on the ground at their question and grumbled,
"What else? Kill ’em."
"Him?"
"Same trick as with those mercenaries. We bought a chicken last time—roast that."
"That one? It’s a tough old hen."
"Sell his weapons and armor! Quit yapping and move!"
A trite plan—poison in the food—but it worked like a charm. Of course, hand it over straight and they’d suspect; so commit a little rudeness first, then offer it as 'sorry.'
"Poison in the food, huh."
Kyle, occupying the chief’s house, smirked at the roasting meat scent wafting from afar. Too obvious. Probably mix in some toxic herbs with the grub.
"Dinner’s served."
About thirty minutes later, the chief’s wife brought in the food. Juicy roasted meat and well-baked rye bread. The chief set it on the table and rubbed his hands.
"Nothing fancy, but made with care."
"All from robbing mercenaries?"
At Kyle’s blunt words, the chief dropped to his knees, begging mercy.
"Spare us this once, and we’ll never rob again!"
"We’ll see."
Kyle snorted at the groveling man, grabbed a piece of meat. Plain chicken, simply roasted. He tore off a chunk and held it out to Gary.
"Eat it."
"Pardon?"
"Eat."
But Gary took it calmly, without panic. He’d expected this—no poison in this batch. So he devoured the offered meat without hesitation.
'Not in this one, then.'
After Gary finished, Kyle sniffed again before eating. Cutter tore into his share beside him. They guzzled the booze too, polishing off the meal in no time. Gary excused himself to fetch more.
As he stepped out, the gathered villagers buzzed.
"How’d it go?"
"They’re eating?"
Gary grinned and nodded.
"Started suspicious, but now they’re loving it—even drinking. Next batch, lace it."
Meanwhile, Cutter, stuffing himself, set down his cup when Gary left.
"Boss, how’d you know they didn’t poison it?"
"Didn’t he just eat some?"
"You trust that alone?"
Kyle chuckled at his sulky tone. Poison always carries a scent. Too faint for most, but after years hunting and sniffing every toxic plant around, he could tell.
Sure, colorless, odorless poisons existed somewhere. But not in some backwater village. He brushed it off.
"No hiding that foul stench under food smells completely. And it’s starting already."
Cutter sniffed the air cluelessly, but to Kyle, it was clear. The acrid tang of poison herbs.
Creeeak—
Soon after the stench hit, Gary returned with more meat. He set it on the table with a friendly smile, face betraying no hint of the poison within.
"Figured you’d want seconds."
But Kyle didn’t touch it. He just stared silently at Gary. That alone terrified him.
He looked like a pro killer, not a knight—Gary’s mind filled with visions of that savage face swinging a sword to lop off his head.
"Hmm..."
In the quiet house, Kyle picked up a piece. He already knew, but his face stayed impassive as he offered it to Gary.
"Eat it."