Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: When You're Relieved, That's When They Stab You in the Back. (9)
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After that ruthless declaration,
creak.
The old man's chair moved once more.
This time, he took something from the bookshelf and spread it out on the desk. It was the ledger he always tended to with such care.
The old man dipped a fine quill pen deeply into a bottle of jet-black ink. He opened the ledger and began writing something with the ink-soaked quill.
"What a shame. It wasn't easy breaking through to Cader."
He muttered to himself as he moved the quill.
"Moritz had a good head for business too. He secured supplies steadily and handled sales cleanly."
The old man paused his fingers.
"But."
His blade-like voice sliced through the air.
"Why were we so late in grasping the situation?"
The young man drew in a short breath.
It was coming.
"I'm sorry."
He exhaled slowly and began his explanation, trying his best not to irk the old man.
"As soon as there was no reply to our contact, I sent organization members right away. But by the time they arrived at the trading house, nothing was left."
"The territory guards there aren't the diligent type."
The old man's voice grew even colder. The air in the room froze accordingly.
"Besides, I know we have a branch near Cader Territory. Did they dawdle on the way?"
"No."
The young man shook his head heavily.
"It was because the guards had hastily cleaned up the scene."
"Why?"
"Because all the bodies were rotten."
The young man spoke calmly, recalling the report he'd received.
"They said every corpse was charred pitch-black. As if all their bodily fluids had been sucked dry—no."
He said heavily.
"As if all their life force had been drained."
The old man stopped pressing and simply listened in silence.
"The bodies, which were only a few days old, looked like they'd been buried in a grave for years, so they must have found it quite ominous."
"......"
"With the guards whispering about plague or curses, they hurriedly collected and disposed of the corpses."
The young man finished his explanation and bowed his head.
"So we gathered rumors as quickly as possible to piece together what happened. I'm truly sorry for the delay."
While listening to the explanation, the ink on the quill had dried. The old man twirled the quill, which no longer flowed with ink.
"......A bizarre affair. Couldn't we recover any of those bodies?"
"Yes. They said everything had already been incinerated."
"Hmm......"
The quill tapped in time with the old man's thoughts.
"I've never heard of such a thing. What trick did they use? Some strange sorcery? Or perhaps magic?"
The old man paused his muttering and the quill again.
"What did the bastard look like?"
Fortunately, the reprimand over this incident was brief. But there was still more to report.
'Damn. How do I phrase the next part.'
The young man swallowed a shallow sigh and answered immediately.
"Black hair and black eyes, they said. Slender build."
"Age?"
"Estimated to be mid-twenties at most."
"Young pup."
The old man twirled the quill in his hand.
"Losing all the goods and a capable subordinate to a mere whelp......"
And the connections tied to that place, plus the customers. Especially since they were all dead now, there was no salvaging it. It left a bitter taste.
The old man clicked his tongue shortly.
"No other details? Hard to pinpoint the guy, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry."
The young man replied apologetically to the old man's question.
"This description came from rumors too...... Some of the goods present at the scene survived and spread the word."
"Survivors in the midst of that?"
"Yes. But their accounts were all jumbled, and their memories of the event seem hazy. So it's hard to say this information is accurate."
After a brief pause, the old man asked.
"Did you find out what weapon he uses? That's how we'd figure out why the bodies he kills end up like that."
"First off, they said he wields a sword with a pitch-black blade."
"A sword, a sword......"
The quill's spinning slowed.
"Indeed, such black blades are rare......"
The old man's muttering slowed accordingly.
"I've seen black hilts or ornaments, but a black blade is new. Still, it'll help identify him."
As the old man's voice quieted, the young man held his breath silently, not wanting to disturb his contemplation.
"For someone that age to wipe out a trading house single-handedly means he's no small fry."
The old man tapped the quill's feather tip.
"A swordsman that skilled in the west? The powerhouses in those backwoods hills—well."
The old man's voice grew raspy and dry.
"There's Diego Ovest Kindriel. But that old coot going out of his way to Cader Territory?"
The slow muttering continued.
"A guy who doesn't even show at the Noble Conference dragging his heavy ass that far? No way."
"......"
"So, another knight order swordsman? Nah, even less likely. They're too busy guarding the borders."
The old man's quill stopped.
"Anyway, thanks to this, spotting him will be easy. There'll be a trail of bodies like that everywhere he goes, right?"
"......Yes, that's right."
"Your answer suggests he's struck again since. When and where?"
The young man's eyelids trembled faintly.
'As expected of Lord Rowell.'
As someone steeped in this world for ages, the old man's insight was razor-sharp.
He could probably read the young man's thoughts just from his breathing and tone.
"Actually, the guy showed up in Cader Territory once more."
Hearing that much, the old man spoke as if he'd already guessed.
"He pulled off another big one, huh."
"Yes. This time, he raided a brothel. Beat up the customers and slaughtered all the thugs guarding it."
"Where exactly? There are plenty of brothels there."
The young man hesitated a moment before speaking with difficulty.
"Well...... It was one our guild was managing."
"......"
"Our managed thugs scattered, and we lost some high-value goods. The rumors are so vicious it'll take time to rebuild."
The young man's voice shrank as he reported the painful failure. He tried to sound businesslike, as if it were no big deal, but it wasn't easy.
No matter how lightly you talk about failure, its essence doesn't change.
But the backlash from not reporting the truth accurately would be worse.
'Better to take the hit head-on.'
So the young man chose direct confrontation. That didn't make the fear vanish, though.
"......"
Shocked or deep in thought, the old man fell silent for a moment.
The young man gripped his sweaty hands. When his palms were slick with sweat, the old man suddenly asked.
"Were those bodies in the same state?"
"Yes."
"Fearless bastard."
The old man muttered with interest.
"It's like he's flaunting it, leaving his mark so clearly."
"......"
"I thought it might be a rival guild at first. But just to screw us over? Too iffy."
The old man's voice sank coldly.
"What do you think?"
The young man answered cautiously.
"I'm leaning toward that. The flashy approach might be to hide his true intent."
"Yeah. That's definitely possible."
"It's too targeted—only places our guild runs. Hard to believe it's just random killing. There's clear intent."
The old man hummed as if chewing over the young man's words.
"Nothing reported since?"
"No. It's been quiet."
"But that doesn't mean nothing's happened."
The old man's voice held no emotion, flat and unchanging.
Yet the young man could clearly feel the ice shards within it.
"He might be raiding another branch somewhere right now. We only caught this one late because our members were massacred."
The chill in the old man's voice cooled the sweat on the young man's palms. He felt his hands turn ice-cold.
"......I'm sorry. I'll correct it."
"In the future, if contact fails for three days or more, send members immediately."
"Yes, understood."
After freezing the young man solid, the old man fell silent for a moment.
A beat later.
"Open the birdcage."
"-!"
It had been ages since the young man last heard those words from the old man's lips.
With a trembling voice, he asked back.
"Did you say birdcage just now?"
"Yes."
The old man's fingers gripped the quill and began moving again.
"The target is the one with black hair, black eyes, wielding a sword with a pitch-black blade."
Despite the grim content, the old man's tone was as flat as discussing tomorrow's meal.
"Capture him alive, by any means necessary."
"Understood."
The young man's shoulders shuddered. He could imagine the hell that guy would face once caught, no need to see it.
Scratch, scratch.
Contrary to the room's tense atmosphere, the old man moved his quill hand fluidly.
"I need a close look at his weapon. Looks like he's got his hands on some rare famed sword. Can't just let that slide."
A faint chuckle settled over the old man's fingers.
On the bookshelf behind him sat various ornaments. In the center, a blue pearl emitted a dim glow.
❖ ❖ ❖
Bezerc Territory's gate outpost.
"Yaaawn."
Everett rubbed his face atop the towering wall.
"Another idle day."
Normally, saying "It's quiet today" at an outpost is taboo. The moment you do, unexpected visitors show up.
But not in Bezerc Territory.
"Yesterday was quiet too, and tomorrow probably will be."
No matter how often he said it, nothing ever broke the boredom.
Scribble. Scribble.
Yawning repeatedly, Everett dutifully logged his duty.
"Duty status...... All clear."
Finishing up, he sighed.
"Another safe day."
Truth be told, he welcomed the tedium. Or more precisely, he craved constant boredom.
"God, I hope I never see a monster hair until retirement."
He was terribly timid and faint-hearted. Yet he'd chosen this job for the steady paycheck on schedule.
"Let's see. Three hours till shift change."
Outpost duty was usually two-man teams. But for years now, with only occasional visitors to process, there wasn't much for guards to do.
So he handled watch alone, doubling his boredom.
"Ugh, so boring. Maybe lick some salt."
Everett muttered his habitual line, adding nonsense to kill time.
"Boring, so boring."
After repeating it about twenty times,
"Boring, so bor—Huh?"
He spotted an anomaly atop the familiar distant landscape.
"Wha-wha-what?"