Echoes of Old Codes
One of the privileges we all received after saving the world—put another way, one of the few things Rowell and the others hadn't refused.
Of course, just because we had these clearance crystals didn't mean they worked everywhere. In cities far from the capital or major trade hubs, guards and their superiors still preferred cold, hard bribes over any official documents or crystals.
"So, how much are we supposed to slip them these days?"
I'd muttered it half as a joke, but my uneasy premonitions never seemed to miss.
"Yes, the clearance seal has been verified, but we do have procedures to follow."
When we reached the city gate, several guards blocked my path and demanded identification. Naturally, I presented the clearance crystal and gave my prepared story about a portal coordinate error that had dropped me nearby, forcing me to walk the rest of the way. It sounded plausible enough.
Yet even after checking everything, the guards kept stalling. They made a show of rubbing their necks or shouting up at the wall for water, clearly dragging things out on purpose.
"Now, now, let's not make this difficult…"
I slipped half a silver coin from my pocket into the guard's robe without drawing attention. It was far more than a typical bribe for a gate guard, but I didn't have any local currency, and I'd forgotten to move some pells from the box into my pocket.
In the end, half a silver was the smallest denomination I had that might actually work.
"Hmm. Well, if you're in such a hurry, I suppose it can't be helped."
After confirming the amount, the guard's attitude changed instantly. He signaled the others, who sent a message through a copper pipe connected to the top of the wall. Moments later, the closed gate slowly creaked open.
"We hope you enjoy your stay."
The overly polite bow looked utterly insincere.
"Yes. I'll do that."
As I started to step through, I glanced back, suddenly regretting the half-silver.
"Do you happen to know of a good inn?"
"Ah, if you go straight ahead you'll reach the central avenue. Follow the road the statue's finger is pointing toward and you'll find an inn called the Duck's Wing. It's the largest and finest in the city—the owner is a devout follower of Tpeatyn."
I gave him a slight nod and walked inside.
"Well, at least it wasn't a total loss."
It had cost more than expected, but someone who'd taken that much money wouldn't dare give bad directions. And if the owner really was a follower of Tpeatyn, the quality was probably guaranteed.
Thinking of all the travelers who'd been swindled after asking for directions made half a silver feel like a small price to pay.
"…Looks like the damage wasn't light after all."
Even at a glance, the city was full of newly built buildings, walls patched with mismatched colors, and oddly empty lots. The tall roofs all bore the same scars—ends broken or gouged as if some massive claw had raked across them.
"Right. It was only a few years ago."
The village where Rowell and I lived had been relatively untouched by the Demon King's army, but countless regions that had once been under their direct control still looked like this—or worse. A few years was nowhere near enough time to erase those wounds.
Following the guard's directions, I reached the central avenue and found a statue of a commander issuing a charge to his soldiers. Continuing in the direction the statue pointed, I soon spotted a large inn with a wooden duck-shaped sign that read "Duck's Wing." Above it, a far more intricate and carefully carved emblem praised the god Tpeatyn.
"Welcome."
"Welcome."
Inside, an elderly woman and a young boy greeted me.
"Will you be dining, or staying the night?"
The interior had a staircase leading to the second floor right beside the counter, while the opposite side opened into a wide hall lined with tables.
"I'll eat later."
I placed a full silver coin on the counter. As I'd said, without local currency I had nothing but silver and gold to spend.
"I'll probably stay four or five days. Give me a room that matches the amount."
I briefly considered getting a room for Bagloros too, but since I didn't know when he'd arrive—or if he'd even use it—I decided against it.
"Understood. Please sign here."
I almost wrote my real name, Anak, on the register the innkeeper handed me. Instead, I awkwardly scrawled the fake surname I'd used back at the academy—Viret—and returned the book and pen.
"Teddy, show the guest to his room."
"Yes. This way, please."
The boy led me to the farthest room on the third floor. Unlike the others with room numbers carved into the doors, this one had a white nameplate. It was quite spacious and even had its own bathroom.
"If you need anything, just speak into the copper pipe over there. If you'd like a bath, we'll bring hot water right away."
"Thank you."
True to the owner's faith in Tpeatyn, the room was spotless. The bed had no wrinkles, and not a speck of dust had settled on the tables or other furniture.
"Ah, and breakfast and lunch are included, but dinner is charged separately."
With that, the boy bowed deeply and left. He hadn't asked for a tip at all. Whether by choice or the owner's orders, he seemed determined to follow Tpeatyn's teachings as best he could.
Well, if he wanted to follow them perfectly, he wouldn't charge for the room at all—but that wasn't realistic.
I walked to the window and drew the curtain. The sky outside had already begun to darken.
"Now then, what next?"
I considered returning to Denatel's Library to spend time with her, but with Bagloros's arrival unpredictable, it felt too risky. The last thing I wanted was to step out of the space and find him standing right in front of me.
I thought about adjusting the embedded barrier, but several layers still remained, and I had at least a day before its effects would fade. It seemed wasteful to remove them all just to replace them.
"Might as well take a shower."
Come to think of it, I hadn't soaked in a bath for several days. My spare clothes were in the bag inside Denatel's Library, and changing would probably make Bagloros suspicious, but that wasn't something I needed to worry about.
"Thought so."
Inside the wardrobe hung white bathrobes—one for winter and one for summer.
I grabbed one and headed for the bathroom. Just as the boy had said, a copper pipe was set into one corner of the wall, but I ignored it.
No need to trouble the boy or any other staff. With water and fire spirits, filling the tub with hot water was trivial.
* * *
In the darkened city, a black shadow moved nimbly across the rooftops. Though the streets below were still busy with people, the shadow slipped through the darkness like it was part of it, unseen by anyone below.
The shadow leapt from roof to roof as if searching for something. By the time the stars had grown brighter, it suddenly dropped into an alley.
When the faint darkness around it dispersed, a man wrapped in black cloth was revealed. Only his eyes and the hair sticking out from the top were visible, his entire body covered like a bandage. He was Bagloros, He Who Creeps in the Night.
What he had found was a small mark drawn on the wall. Among meaningless scribbles was a triangle with its right side folded, and beneath it the numbers 2 and 4, partially overlapping.
It was an ancient secret mark used among assassins—a kind of rendezvous code. The shapes indicated the purpose of the meeting, while the numbers signified time and place.
Of course, this particular mark had long since expired. Going to the location at the time it indicated would reveal nothing.
Yet Bagloros's hand moved slightly, and a new mark appeared on the wall: a square cut diagonally from the waist up, along with the number 1.
It wasn't the mark itself he had been looking for—it was the place where marks were left.
These marks weren't left in obvious spots or places with heavy foot traffic. Doing so would only announce that the assassin was clumsy or inexperienced, and the people who responded would be equally low-quality.
Bagloros moved his hand again, and the original mark was scraped away and erased.
This was how the marks were originally meant to work. You erased the previous one and left your own in its place. These specific locations were regularly monitored and managed by informants and assassin guilds from the moment the first mark was made, so within a few days a response would appear overlapping the number.
Bagloros wrapped himself in darkness once more and leapt back onto the rooftops, searching for the next mark.
In a dark, enclosed room, a masked man and a red-haired man sat facing each other again.
"Well now. I thought we were done talking. You said we should lie low for a while, yet here you are calling me again."
"A report came in from Deshlang."
Though the mask hid his expression, a strange emotion lingered in the masked man's voice.
"They say rendezvous signals were left using methods that were common before the Great War."
"What's so special about that? There are still plenty of old assassins clinging to outdated methods. Or it could be second- or third-rate types who went quiet for a while and are trying to slip back in."
Despite his words, the red-haired man's eyes held a flicker of anticipation. He urged the masked man to continue with his gaze.
"But the number is fourteen locations in a single day. And that's only what we've confirmed so far—it's still increasing."
"Deshlang isn't exactly a large city, is it? Fourteen or more there would mean…"
"Exactly. At that point, it's safe to say every possible location in Deshlang has been marked. And none of the local informants saw who left them."
A smile spread across the red-haired man's lips—the same mad smile Anak had found so ominous.
"…Deshlang is near the Ancient Forest. That would explain why we couldn't find anything."
But in the next moment, the red-haired man's gaze sharpened, like a predator just before it strikes.
"What about the Hero and the others' movements?"
"The Yellow Sage is still researching in the Ivory Tower of Miduljuron. The Hero and the Princess haven't made any notable moves either. The Saintess continues purifying the demonic energy in front of the Tower of Destruction. We can't reach the tribes on the Timbal Plateau, but the Twin-Wheel Demon Swordsman is almost certainly staying put as well."
At the masked man's report, the red-haired man suddenly stood up and burst into exaggerated laughter.
"Hahaha! How fascinating! I thought it was a failure, but it turns out to be a success!"
"…Indeed. Completely unexpected."