The Rat King's Audience
“Haa.”
The moment I layered the ninth barrier, I could finally exhale the breath I had been holding almost to my limit. There was no particular reason I needed to hold it, but it was a bad habit that surfaced whenever I concentrated.
“Are you finished?”
It had been a lengthy process, yet she had waited quietly until the end this time.
“Yes. It falls short of my best record, though.”
A slight miscalculation at the eighth layer had made it impossible to stack ten or more barriers. Forcing the issue any further would only burden my body without any gain, or cause a mana clash that would halve the duration.
“It seems your skills have indeed dulled a little over the years.”
Of course, nine layers might seem sufficient when ten was the record. But the difference lay in the process. Ten layers was the record because it offered the best efficiency.
Stacking more than ten barriers inevitably weakened the first one to an absurd degree. At that point, the very act of layering barriers lost all meaning, which was why ten remained the record.
If efficiency were not a concern, fourteen layers would have been trivial in theory. The first or second barrier would simply be weaker than an ordinary wooden shield.
Now, however, a calculation error had rendered further layering impossible. I had not made such a mistake since the early days of our travels.
“Still, that should be enough, right?”
For a moment, the question struck me as endearing. She knew the barriers’ effects well. Yet she asked anyway, which told me yesterday’s events had shaken her more than she let on.
“Of course. As long as the Demon King does not rise again.”
Preparations were complete. Unfortunately, the excellent horse I had grown so fond of had burned to ash, so tracking would not be easy. Still, if my guess was correct, they could not have gone far.
“Then I will be on my way.”
I raised a hand and lightly tapped the barrier wall.
“As you know, there is no need to worry.”
She smiled, yet a trace of unease still lingered in her eyes.
“Very well. Go safely.”
The crystal activated, and the scenery shifted back to yesterday’s location.
The view by day looked different from the night before. Scorch marks and soot from the Lunatic Explosion remained, along with scattered traces of battle that the demon insects should never have left behind.
I had ordered the insects to devour everything, and through soul resonance I had felt how faithfully they obeyed. Yet traces still remained—bloodstains on the ground, fragments of swords and spearheads glinting in the sunlight.
I began walking slowly toward the direction where the red-haired man and Hyler had vanished. At first the trail was difficult to follow, but it grew clearer with every step.
Simple footprints and ground marks had nearly been erased by time and temperature, yet several unnatural traces remained deeper and more vivid than they should have.
“Either they did not trust my tracking ability, or they were that desperate.”
I could not tell which, but one thing was certain: they had been caught off guard by an unexpected situation. Otherwise they would never have left such desperate, pleading breadcrumbs.
“They took Hyler in case I fled, and even left obvious traces. It almost feels pitiful.”
How anxious they must have been, wondering if I would simply return to Rowell.
With a gesture, green runes appeared in the air. Between them, a massive white creature burst forth at high speed.
A white body larger than most carriages, rough hide like armor, a broad face bristling with eight sharp horns, and three pairs of sturdy legs planted firmly on the ground.
The creature’s name was Duramino Cordos. In the eastern dialect of the Kenner region, it roughly meant “ill-tempered white brute.”
“Krrng, krrng!”
The beast snorted roughly, voicing its displeasure. It had probably been feeding or mating, but neither mattered.
Through soul resonance, the creature soon lowered itself before me in submission. I climbed onto its back.
“Right, then. Shall we get going?”
Without a saddle it was not comfortable, but I already knew how to sit for the least discomfort. I had summoned these creatures whenever riding a horse would be dangerous or when hauling heavy loads.
After some distance, the traces changed. Faint hoof prints appeared, along with stake marks and campfire remnants suggesting many horses had been tied here for a long time.
After that, the trail grew slightly more ambiguous. They seemed to have regained some composure; the marks looked more natural.
Even so, tracking remained simple. More natural did not mean invisible to my eyes—they still resembled breadcrumbs begging to be followed.
I had expected them to be nearby, yet the trail led to a cave much farther away than anticipated.
“Of course it had to be a cave.”
An involuntary bitter smile rose to my lips. Ever since our travels, I had disliked dungeons and caves. Narrow, dark spaces were bad enough, but the traps and the possibility of the entire cave becoming a tomb made them places I never wanted to enter.
This area was completely unfamiliar to my memory, and I had no idea how deep the cave went. Moreover, the trail ended here, so I could not even be certain they were inside.
If I were discovered, monsters like Battle Ents or Red Ents could turn their nest into a grave, or the cave could collapse entirely. I could think of four or five such scenarios without trying.
“I really am curious who their original target was.”
Anyone willing to enter this cave without hesitation was either a fool or possessed unshakable confidence in their own strength.
I had considered it several times on the way here, yet I still could not understand the red-haired man’s goal. He had not taken money from Hyler; in fact, he had paid himself. Money was clearly not the objective.
The High Assassin Guild would kill anyone for the right price, but they were not driven by conviction. They were merely a coalition gathered for individual profit. No matter how much they demanded, I was still a companion of the hero who saved the world. How much could they possibly have asked?
A high-ranking assassin himself, yet he commissioned the High Assassin Guild with a fortune?
Even if my death was merely one step in a larger plan, as I suspected, how could killing me possibly serve that purpose?
Well, let us think.
If I died, the political fallout aside, Rowell and the others would never stay silent. I could guarantee that even Orcan, who got along with me the least, would immediately set out for revenge the moment he heard of my death.
Of course, the guild leadership might naively believe they could manipulate information afterward, just like always. No—they were foolish enough to believe it. Otherwise they would never lend their strength to an act that endangered the guild’s very existence.
“…Could they be planning to destroy the High Assassin Guild?”
The thought had come suddenly, yet it seemed plausible. Perhaps they were not actually members of the guild but merely impersonating them, and this entire incident was a meticulous scheme to use the hero and his companions to bring the guild down.
“No, if that were the case, there would be no need to actually kill me.”
Exactly. Too many sacrifices had been made, and they had attacked with genuine intent. If their goal had been merely to frame the guild, they would not have needed to kill me for real. Creating the impression would have sufficed.
“Well, giving them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they truly intend to kill me in order to maximize the hero’s rage……”
It was a stretch, but possible. The death of a companion carried far more weight than an attack on one. Even so, luring me all the way here still made no sense.
As I had already said, they could not have calculated this far. If they were that skilled a strategist, they would never have lost so many troops with such a clumsy tactic in the first place.
Moreover, even after losing most of their forces, they still lured me here. That meant this trap was more dangerous than yesterday’s large-scale assault. Leaving a more dangerous and efficient trap unused while staging that attack made no sense.
This trap had clearly been prepared with someone else in mind. If their goal was my death in order to destroy the High Assassin Guild, then this trap should not exist at all.
“Then am I the bait? Is Rowell or one of the others the real target?”
No—that was absurd. I had few notable achievements and was the weakest among us, so it was believable they might target me. But them? They expected to kill the party that had stormed the Demon King’s castle and defeated Nyx at the top of the Tower of Destruction?
Unless the Demon King or Nyx resurrected once more—but even then, they would resurrect inside the Tower of Destruction, not in some unknown cave.
“Well, I suppose I can just ask them directly.”
After dismounting, I first sent the creature back to its forest. Its size made entering the cave impossible anyway.
“Now, what should I summon?”
I wanted to collapse the entire cave, but I could not risk it without knowing whether they were truly inside. Moreover, without knowing the cave’s exact structure, bringing it down prematurely was dangerous. I had once collapsed a Battle Ent nest without thinking and nearly caused the surrounding ground to cave in.
Charging in blindly was equally foolish. The best approach was to send summons ahead to scout the structure and situation, but the trap meant I would lose those summons as well.
Summons were never unlimited resources for a summoner. Creatures like Grendels could be called freely, but to control them I had to inscribe a contract seal beforehand, form a separate contract, or forcibly subjugate their souls to mine.
In other words, even the lowest summon—a Mimic or Gremlin—required a new contract with a different individual if the contracted one died.
“Morotai would be ideal……”
He would survive most traps, and his death would not pain me, making him perfect for this situation. Unfortunately, he was too large to enter.
“Sending demon insects would not be bad either, but these would be better.”
Following my gesture, a rune appeared in the air. Unlike the complex overlapping runes before, this time only a single, very small rune manifested above my hand. From it emerged a tiny black creature that climbed onto my palm.
“Squeak!”
It was a black rat—the ordinary kind found in city sewers, graveyards, rooftops, or storehouses. The only difference was that it wore a cheap ring like a crown on its head and held a rusted fork like a trident in its forepaws while standing upright on two legs.
“It is an honor to meet you, O King of Rats.”