Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: One Fell Swoop
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“Are you Cutter?”
“That’s right. So, how’d it go?”
Meanwhile, Hans, who had staggered out of the tavern pretending to be drunk, walked with perfectly steady steps—as if he’d never touched a drop—straight to the Lantsuknecht office. Waiting there ahead of time on Kyle’s orders was Cutter, who greeted him.
“I’ve spread the word. They’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Hmm... Got it. Good work. It’s late—head on in. I’ll report to the lord myself.”
“Understood.”
With Cutter’s report confirming the trap was set, Kyle began assembling a decoy caravan to replace Hans’s group.
Taking advantage of the night, some of Kyle’s mercenaries armed with crossbows crammed into large crates in place of the hides, while the others donned loose, baggy tunics that made them look like nothing more than caravan laborers from a distance.
“Does even big brother need to step up? It doesn’t look good for the lord to go personally...”
Cutter shook his head as he watched Kyle climb into the wagon with Hans, worried his massive build might draw too much attention.
“This is the only way to tie them down for sure. Even if it’s the same kind of raid, hitting a noble carries a lot more weight than hitting commoners.”
And the gains would be even greater. But he swallowed those last words. Cutter was right—it didn’t look good. For the sake of his noble image, he needed to hold back on talk like that from now on.
While Kyle set his trap for the rats, the merchants huddled with their escort soldiers, plotting their ambush.
“This spot looks good. They said they sold hides in the capital, so they’ll take the shortest route, right?”
“Then this forest...”
“The key is how many escorts they have...”
At the mention of escorts, one merchant who knew about Hans’s caravan snorted.
“I’ve got the scoop. Escorts? Maybe ten at most? Peanuts compared to our numbers.”
Even if they hired mercenaries, it wouldn’t be many. That’s what they figured. And before dawn, they began slipping their escorts out of the castle one by one—careful not to raise suspicion.
“We’re heading out.”
At first glance, the caravan looked lightly guarded—only about a dozen escorts. The only difference was the crates that should’ve held hides were packed full of fully armed professional killers.
The guys suddenly stuck playing apostle-in-a-box were itching to carve up any bandits stupid enough to judge by appearances.
“Move out! We’re moving!”
The lead escort bellowed in a booming voice. I’d ordered that on purpose. To spread the word far and wide about our departure.
Kiiiii—
The heavy castle gates creaked open. As they passed, Cutter chatted with the guards, then cracked open the wagon door and murmured.
“Some guys slipped out at dawn. Bribed the guards to look the other way, they said.”
“What about the tails we put on them?”
“Tavern was rented out solid, so details were thin. But they called for the escorts’ captain, then the escorts started moving out.”
“Good work. Stay sharp.”
As the kid shut the door, Hans—sitting quietly—ground his teeth. His suspicions confirmed: the other caravans had banded together to crush his. The betrayal stung.
But he shook it off quick, bowing his head to me.
“Thank you, my lord. This lowly wretch will never forget your mercy.”
“Just looking after my people. And depending on what you achieve from here, that mercy might grow.”
Hans’s eyes lit up at my words, like he was deeply moved. All I’d done was keep from losing a sharp merchant.
Anyway, the army in caravan drag marched toward the capital. Not that we planned to go all the way—just far enough for a day, then loop back. They’d probably hit us within that time. Any farther, and it’d be inefficient.
Kiiik!
“Goblins!”
The occasional clueless monster popped out, but the waiting mercenaries butchered them without issue. After another six hours or so of boring marching, we entered a forest midway to the capital.
“They’ll probably hit us around here,” Cutter said.
And he was right—no better spot for an ambush. Far enough from the castle, no witnesses.
Crucially, I’d felt unknown eyes and malice in this forest. Not beast or monster—cautious gazes and sinister killing intent.
“Looks like it. Tell the others to take a break. Show some openings on purpose. Lure them to strike first.”
Cutter relayed my orders at once. We halted in the forest’s heart and began “preparing to rest.”
The mercenaries played it cool, looking like any caravan on break. But their weapons were close enough to grab in an instant.
I muttered watching them.
“Hmm... Hope they hit quick.”
“Why’s that?”
“Gotta get back fast and nab those scumbags. And...”
But my words cut off. Someone emerged from the trees, blocking our path. A man in ragged tunic. He planted himself in the road and shouted boldly.
“Sorry to hold up honest travelers, but could you hear us out a moment?”
“Who the hell are you?”
Cutter bellowed back. The man in the road grinned.
“We’re the Coin Hounds! We charge a modest toll from prosperous folk like you!”
Bandits, in other words. Coin Hounds? Probably made-up on the spot—fitting for merchants’ escorts.
“We don’t wanna fight either! Drop those crates, and we’ll call it square and leave!”
“And if we don’t?”
The bandit-masked escort smirked at Cutter’s retort and clapped. Dozens poured from the nearby woods.
“You die here! Caravan leader—where are you? If you’re watching from the wagon, know this: a smart merchant cuts losses early!”
Nearly a hundred strong—at least ten times our visible escorts. But Hans hopped out, flipped them the bird, and started acting like a real victim.
“Bullshit! This is my whole fortune! Toll? Fine. But not this! You filthy thieves!”
His face sneered even as his voice cracked with despair. Then he turned to the mercenaries.
“You lot wanna die like dogs? Surrender, and you live!”
The mercenaries flipped him off too. Faces twisted at the mass middle fingers, he yelled.
“Fine then. Kill ’em!”
“Waaah!”
The surrounding escorts charged from all sides. Easy win against a dozen escorts and some servants—or so they thought.
But...
Clunk!
Crate lids—meant for hides—flipped open, crossbows popping out. Their faces went sheet-white. Someone screamed.
“It’s a trap!”
“Shields—argh!”
Bolts slammed into the front-runners’ chests. On cue, the tunic-wearers shed them; the box-dwellers smashed out and leaped free.
Not a huge number, really—maybe a hundred crammed in. Numbers favored the fake bandits still.
But botch your ambush, get counterattacked? Morale plummets in any army. Even battle-hardened elves hit rock bottom once. Mercs holding steady? That’d be the shock.
“Stuff those bastards in crates!”
The ex-box guys gnashed teeth to crate ’em back—pissed from hours crouched. I stepped down from the wagon slow, watching.
“Should’ve heard something by now...”
“You’re all too antsy. Wait.”
That evening, the merchants gathered at the tavern felt a chill. A gut sense they’d honed surviving as targets.
“No way something went wrong, right?”
“Ten-to-one odds? What could go wrong?”
Back in the day, they might’ve bailed on that instinct. But arrogance from success let them dismiss it, tipping their cups.
Thud thud!
Ignoring their instincts proved fatal. A knock lit their faces—this hour, only escorts would come.
“Come in!”
“...”
No escorts entered.
Crack! Boom!
The door splintered inward. Knights and soldiers flooded in. Merchants pointed in shock, then yanked hands down fast.
Leading them: Security Chief Baron George. He’d heard the full truth from the returned Kyle, face impassive as he eyed them.
“What the...”
One merchant stammered, trembling. Only one reason for the lord’s army here: the Hans raid failed.
That’s what they thought. But Baron George’s words hit like thunder.
“You’re under arrest for attempted noble assassination. Come quietly.”
Attempted noble assassination? Confusion, but they played cool.
“Captain, must be a misunderstanding. We never plotted against any noble...”
“It’s out: you sicced mercenaries on the lord’s caravan.”
“What...”
“You didn’t order the Hans hit? The raiders all sang!”
George’s words confirmed it: Hans raid flopped. And Viscount Lucas Kyle rode with them.
“Seize them! Daring to assassinate the lord!”
Plotting to kill the territory’s lord? He’s king here. For mere commoners? They wailed, thrashed.
“No! We didn’t!”
“Cassia! Cassia’s a baron!”
They reached for last hope Cassia—but even she got dragged by knights. Despairing, the merchants went meekly into soldiers’ hands.