Sweeping Operation (2)
The moon shone brightly in the early dawn. Elraim in her armor and I draped in a cloak stood out like sore thumbs. We ignored the stares.
I stood before the tree I used every day and pressed the usual button.
"We gotta bolt right away."
"Yes."
The entrance materialized. I dashed in immediately. Elraim, faster than me, went first, and I followed right after. The door slammed shut behind us.
"What is this?"
"Magic set up by the founding emperor. For students who need a quick escape when things get stuffy."
"How do you know about it, Young Master?"
"It's in the library. A few others use it too. Some professors occasionally."
Elraim glanced at the walls, then eyed me suspiciously.
"If you're curious, check the library fourth floor, section 44, book 444. Or grab a professor and ask."
I'd decided to tell her everything, so no holding back. That seemed to convince her.
We blew through the streets I'd scoped out for days. No time to worry about booze.
Near the Cantia hideout alley.
"Once you're inside, expect some big lugs. Just knock 'em out. But watch for the ones hiding everywhere..."
I laid out everything about the hideout step by step. She needed to take down the tavern lookouts after I went in.
"Around a hundred guys. Oh, careful with the bartender—after it's done, check under the bar table..."
Once I'd covered pitfalls and traps, that was it.
"Any more questions?"
"......"
"Then let's roll. Hit 'em five minutes after I go in."
I was about to step out when Elraim grabbed me.
"Just one thing. One question."
I stopped and waited.
"...What if I hadn't come? What would you have done?"
"Barged in solo. That's why I pulled that stunt at dawn."
"Why... why...?"
Elraim's voice trembled slightly.
"Why go this far alone? You could've told the academy, asked me or the family for help. But why...?"
Well... if I had to put it bluntly, it was all for me. My goal was to live out my days as an extra, after all.
But setting that aside, if I dug for another reason...
"Why? 'Cause it's the mess I made."
Guilt. Yeah, it'd sound weird. I had zero reason to feel guilty over Kyle Arden's sins. Without the possession, this body meant nothing to me, and I wasn't the one who'd committed the crimes.
But from the moment I possessed it, this body was mine. So I had to shoulder those sins too.
Possession pushes out the original soul and takes over. The price of a new life. I accepted it humbly.
That was my code as a possessor. Sure, my head was wired weird. I'd always been a bit off.
"This... it's too dangerous."
"I know. Taking on a crime syndicate alone is straight-up stupid."
"You know and still...?"
"Told you. It's the sin I bear."
All of Kyle Arden's crimes tied back to Cantia. So Cantia was my sin too.
"You could die."
"The family'd avenge me at least, right?"
I grinned. Even a discarded son like me—they'd move for the family name and pride. Not that I planned to die. Why else had I skimped on sleep prepping?
"Is that enough for you, Young Master? No one will even know you sacrificed yourself."
"Doesn't matter."
"......"
Elraim fell silent for a while, just standing there blankly. Then her face hardened with resolve.
"I'll protect you, Young Master. No matter what."
With that, she charged toward the Cantia hideout. Head-on.
"Wait, what the hell?!"
"For your safety."
"I explained the plan! Just stick to it!"
"You could get taken hostage. We go in together..."
Elraim was stubborn as hell. No backing down. She wanted in no matter what.
Wait, if it's that...
Yesterday flashed back. I murmured low.
"Elraim. Don't you trust me?"
"N-no, it's not..."
She stammered. I locked eyes with her.
"Nuna."
"Eek...!"
Her cheeks flushed crimson. Worse than yesterday.
"Th-that's dirty. Saying it now of all times..."
It worked. I soothed her.
"Don't worry. I got poison from those guys. Even Bellum can't handle this."
I proudly flashed the pouch. Elraim blinked, stared, then burst out laughing. Not mocking—her eyes held fondness.
"Got it. I trust you, Young Master."
"Uh... yeah, thanks."
No clue why her voice lightened, but it worked.
"See you soon."
"Yes, Young Master. Shortly."
I entered with her smile.
"He's coming?"
"Yes. Through the tunnel now."
"Tch."
Bellum clicked his tongue.
"Fucking punk..."
Again. He'd shown up every few days. Twice a week now—impossible not to get pissed.
Fine, cocky but valuable customer. But the beggar always requested shit on every visit. Made his visits unwelcome.
From Bellum's view, using their "pacification" requests that way was handy. Short-staffed, focusing on the brat was tough.
But enough was enough. Endless requests turned his organization into an errand boy.
Today's visit was obviously for yesterday's item. Bellum ground his teeth.
He wanted to kill the guy right then. Not yet, though.
Bellum sipped his drink, waiting. Soon the door opened. He smoothed his scowl and bellowed.
"Young Master! Back again!"
He led the punk to the sofa. Bad expression, but not Bellum's problem. Probably got burned handling it himself. Useless without his toys.
"The goods?"
"Ready, of course."
Bellum smirked and snapped. Door opened; subordinate brought the items. Ten daggers and a leather pouch on the table.
The punk inspected every one meticulously. Twirled, stabbed the pricey sofa, gripped handles repeatedly. Like getting a feel.
Weapon-blind idiot. Laughable. Better swing a sword in that time. No talent anyway—common knowledge.
"Not bad."
Punk nodded, satisfied, and packed them in the pouch.
"I'll wrap 'em nice. Just leave it."
"Nah, need 'em soon."
He strapped it to his back. Whatever. Dawn job, probably. Bellum welcomed that. Botched assassination vanishing act—nice picture.
Plop. Punk sat, adjusting clothes.
"Booze. The good stuff."
Cocky errand boy. Bellum grinned anyway.
"Haven't had a drop in ages, huh?"
Usually no booze. Booze hound turned teetotaler. Now drinking? Bellum filled the glass generously. Get smashed, fuck it up.
Punk sipped, savoring aroma and taste.
Flavor-blind brat.
Every move grated. Still, Bellum smiled.
After one glass: "More?"
"Nah. What's this brew called?"
"Dawn Dew, 30 years aged."
"Fits the occasion perfect."
Whatever. Ignored. Punk loosened his neck, buzzed, then eyed him.
"Requests left?"
"One. Last one."
"One, huh..."
Punk pondered.
"Request. Using it now."
Shocker for Bellum. No more freebies—pay from now on.
Music to my ears.
Bellum leered inwardly, arms wide.
"Spill it, Young Master. What'll it be? Assassinate some punk you couldn't handle?"
"Nah, not that."
Shook head. Paused, then:
"Bellum. Fight me."
Bellum blanked out.
"What'd you just say?"
"Fight me. Bellum."
I stated my request calmly.
"Fight? Me?"
"Yeah."
After repeating, Bellum snapped out of shock.
"Young Master. I let it slide once. No bullshit—proper request."
Voice low, menacing. No dice. I'd have folded at growls long ago.
"Lately, y'know... trying to get my shit together."
I loosened my joints.
"Study moderate, grades moderate. Hang with folks moderate."
Circulated mana. Filtered booze from the drink. Fingertip drip—expel.
Drip, drip. 65-proof killer. Alcohol stench spread.
Clear-headed now:
"But first, pests in the way."
Pointed at him.
"You and your gang, Bellum."
Kept going.
"Trash like you blocking my fresh start."
Vein popped on Bellum's forehead. Face neutral, but shadowed below.
Bang! Sole door burst open. Gasping subordinate.
"Bellum! Some crazy bitch outside—!"
Whoosh! Thunk!
Wind slice, pierce. Voice cut off.
"Damn, well-made."
Dagger sharpness impressed. Not my forte, but good gear punched above weight.
"Hear that?"
From the open door:
-Gaaah!
-Don't run—attack! Attack, damn it!!
-H-how do we kill a bitch like that?!
Screams everywhere. Elraim handling it fine.
"Elraim. Family knight. Here to help."
Turned to him.
"Thirty minutes? Nah, twenty. She'll hit here then."
One solution for him.
"Only way you live: take me down, hostage out."
Bellum silent. Predictable. So—
Thud! Foot on table, kicked hard.
"Quit scheming and FIGHT ME, ASSHOLE!"
Booze and snacks smashed his face.