I Can Make Them Too (2)
"A deal... you say?"
"Yes. Our Karl Mercenary Group is one of the few organizations with a contact network spanning not only the Steel Kingdom but every corner of the world. If I mean to run a proper business, I figured you were the first people I ought to take by the hand—so I came in person."
"'Our'?"
"Does that grate on your ears? You once did my master a considerable service in his business, so I took the liberty of speaking familiarly."
Roy was referring to the permission Padec had granted to carve the Karl Mercenary Group's mark onto the signboard of the Coke Armory. As a rule, bulk orders of Roy's magically reinforced weapons were forbidden—a bare-minimum safeguard against them slipping into hostile hands. Had the Karl Mercenary Group failed to get their name on that sign, their purchases would have been hemmed in by any number of restrictions.
"Ah—no. It is an honor."
"Nothing grand by 'deal,' either. I've come because I'd like to buy some information."
"Information?"
"Yes. And I'm not asking you to go tramping about on purpose. Doesn't useful intelligence simply gather itself around a mercenary company? Monster movements in each region, the locations of dungeons, the current state of every territory—that sort of thing."
"......"
"Am I wrong?"
"Hmph. Fond as we are of coin, we cannot simply hand information of that kind over to outsiders."
"Even if I pay a more than adequate price?"
"Some information can be sold. Some cannot. Especially anything touching our own company—or anything that would bring retaliation down on our heads if word got out that we'd sold it."
If a mercenary company took money to sell intelligence about the territory that hosted one of its branch offices, the lord of that land would be thoroughly displeased. In some cases he might be outright enraged—and more than a few such lords would find some way to make the company answer for it.
"Couldn't you simply filter out the sensitive material case by case?"
"It is not so easy a decision. A mercenary's trade is the lending of strength, not the selling of secrets."
Roy cast the bait he had prepared in advance.
"You already know this, of course, but Master Geren has gone on leave. A long leave—four full years."
"......?"
Padec looked puzzled. Not because he was unaware of the fact, but because he could not yet see why the boy had brought it up.
"For the time being, I expect, not a single magic weapon will reach the market."
"Is... that so?"
"You had already anticipated as much, I see."
Padec gave a quiet nod.
"I had heard the rumor that Master Geren alone could no longer keep pace with the demand."
It was a rumor Roy himself had seeded back when he still lived in the rural manor.
"Well, of course. Teaching us while running the business at the same time wore him down. He was a fine teacher before he was ever a good merchant."
"I am aware. Looking at you alone, young master, is proof enough."
"You have a silver tongue—lifting me up only to set me down again."
"To climb this high among rough mercenaries, a man needs quick wits and a quicker tongue."
Padec laughed, then abruptly reexamined the words that had just left his mouth.
What am I doing, talking like this in front of a child?
Without realizing it, he had been drawn deep into the conversation. The boy had felled an ogre at a tender age, yes—but his rhetoric was no less astonishing. There had even been talk that he once dueled and defeated a margrave's grandson. At this age, to keep treating him as a mere child was to risk a thoroughly broken nose.
"But if weapons stop circulating for four whole years, who suffers most if not the mercenaries? And if the mercenaries grow weak, the ones who suffer next are the lords and the people of every territory. Holding the monsters at bay will only grow harder."
"That would follow, yes. A magic weapon lasts a year and a half at best—and our men fight so hard that most of theirs are scrap long before a full year is out."
"Just as I thought."
I've got him.
Roy carefully pinned the corner of his mouth that wanted to rise. The fish were swarming to the bait he had scattered. The moment to cast the line had arrived.
"This year we can still scrape by—but from next year on it will be serious. I've heard monster activity is rising everywhere."
"Greenhilt territory will have no trouble, will it not?"
"As a subject of the Steel Kingdom, how could I rejoice that only our lands are safe? Everyone ought to live well."
"......"
It was not the sort of speech one made to a mercenary. Flattery for a king, perhaps—but Padec strained to divine what the boy actually wanted. The youth before him, however, was far from simple enough to let that secret slip. In the end the answer came from the boy's own lips.
"And so I've been thinking of taking over Master Geren's business myself..."
"...!?"
Only the day before, Roy had begged the king for the strictest secrecy—and the very next day he had walked straight into a mercenary company and laid his cards on the table first. Why? For the reason he had already stated: information.
Roy needed intelligence on every territory. Going in person would have been ideal, but circumstances forbade it. Recruiting and training informants one by one had its limits. Using a mercenary company that already possessed the infrastructure was the shortest, easiest road—so why struggle needlessly?
Keep it simple.
The reason he needed that territorial intelligence needed no explanation. There was only one: the Dragon's Breath.
After drinking the Dragon's Breath in the royal palace the previous day, Roy had confirmed a hypothesis of his own.
Anyone who has stood at the apex of a region for a long time invariably keeps some hidden trump card of their own.
It was true. Among many brothers born of the same blood, amid the tangled scramble for succession, only one person ever claimed victory. Yet once that person became lord, could he rest easy? Not in the least. The remaining brothers might join forces and strike the chosen heir. However gifted that heir might be, how was he to withstand several men of comparable mana all at once?
So I look for the houses that have held their lands in stability even under such unpredictable threats.
Consider Crown Prince Aaron. Once named the next king, he had utterly crushed his brothers' opposition. Many factors had played a part—but drinking the Dragon's Breath had surely been one of the larger ones. If, after the succession was settled, a man suddenly displayed twice or thrice his former magical power, his brothers would quietly step aside of their own accord. The effect of drawing power to himself would have been considerable as well. Strength gathers people as a matter of course.
And the palace was hardly unique. Among the provincial territories there would certainly be similar cases. He could not visit every fief and inspect the mana of each lord and heir with his Golden Eyes one by one. His plan was to use the mercenary company to identify the most promising candidates, then move.
Of course, this summer I'll start with Chloe's home.
That one was as good as confirmed already.
I'll stake my name on it—Count Bacon has already drunk his share.
Padec was still turning the gears of his mind, trying to grasp the true intent behind Roy's words, and still thoroughly lost.
"With Master Geren gone, how do you propose to keep the business running?"
"And who am I?"
"Young Master Roy... Roy Greenhilt, third son of House Greenhilt, Baronet."
"Not that."
"...?"
"Am I not the famous Master Geren's disciple—his foremost disciple, no less? The one who brought down an ogre at the age of seven?"
"...Did Master Geren promise to hand the business over to you, young master?"
"That isn't what I mean. I am saying I am the most gifted of his students. Do you not understand?"
"...?"
"I have received every last one of Master Geren's techniques. Me."
Padec furrowed his brow for a long moment—then his eyes flew wide and he rose from his seat. At last he had grasped what the boy was driving at.
"Surely you don't mean..."
"I know how to make them too."
Padec fixed his gaze on Roy as though he could not believe his ears. Even the news that war had broken out had not struck him this hard.
"Magic-imbued weapons, that is. For a while I intend to produce only to order. I've shown you my hand—now I ask you to think carefully, Master Padec. Will the Karl Mercenary Group take on the task I proposed, on the condition that you purchase weapons from me? Or will you refuse? If you refuse, I will not hold it against you. Ah—and I ask that this matter remain secret. Should word leak, I will suspect you first. However fond the memories we share from Wolf Tail Hill four years ago, there will be no mercy."
"......"
Padec received the words with a face from which every trace of humor had vanished.
If we secure this child instead of Geren...
He recalled the letter that had arrived from the Isco Kingdom branch. If the boy before him had truly inherited every technique of Geren's, he would make a more than adequate replacement. For a kidnapping, the youth would be a better target than Geren, whose whereabouts were currently unknown.
But Padec shook his head at once. He had come this far partly to earn a living, yes—but more than that, out of admiration for the Mercenary King. He had not endured all those years of grinding hardship merely to snatch up a child.
Padec raced down the stairs and caught the boy just as he was heading home.
"Young master!"
"...?"
"I'll do it. No—let's do it. The deal."
The boy offered a light smile.
"Excellent. I thought you might. I have always had a good eye for people."
"......"
"Then, to mark the acceptance of our bargain, allow me to offer a small gift."
"...?"
"You've heard the news that war is about to break out on the border, I trust? Of course you have. War is how mercenaries earn their bread."
"...Yes."
"About that war. We—the Steel Kingdom—will almost certainly overwhelm them. So choose your side carefully. Align yourself with the wrong party and... well. I'll stop there. Important as this information is, if it were to reach the enemy, there would be no place left in this land for the Karl Mercenary Group. I'll take my leave now. Next time I visit, I'll bring a contract."
Roy said only what he meant to say and walked out. Padec stood for a long while, staring in the direction the boy had vanished.
A monster...
That boy would surely become a monster. No—he already was one.
Unbidden, the image of the small child who had once brought down an ogre rose before his eyes. That shocking scene would not leave him.
The Steel Kingdom will be victorious, he says...