Soaring Wolves (4)
"Surely you don't mean to go hunt the ogre yourself?"
"What choice do I have? It's still too soon to leave it to Eric. The lads hanging around him are still green, and this is far beyond anything they can handle."
Leaving it to the mercenaries was no better. The territory was already hard-pressed to dispatch more troops; dumping an ogre subjugation on them as well would have been excessive. One bad day and they might end up paying out enormous death benefits—money the barony simply did not have.
"…And if something happens to you? What becomes of this territory? You still haven't even named an heir."
"No need to fret so much. I'm far stronger than I was back then, and I've got a new weapon in hand. On top of that, I've got actual subjugation experience now."
The Baron set his beloved sword, Triumph, on the desk and regarded it with quiet satisfaction.
"If I don't go, who will?"
Watching his confident lord, Ibaldo closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. This was his master's command. There was nothing to do but obey.
"…I shall summon the Soaring Wolves at once. What deadline shall I set?"
"Roy will need a good ten days to finish reinforcing the weapons for the Wolves. Tell them to gather at the mansion in a week, and to bring every weapon they own. Factoring in the distance to Wolf Forest, we should plan on a full two weeks. Having to keep relying on my seven-year-old son like this… as a father, I hardly know where to put my face."
"……"
Ibaldo already knew everything concerning Roy; the Baron had told him personally. There had been no reason to hide it from the man he trusted more than anyone. If he could not trust Ibaldo, the only proper course would have been to dismiss him from the post of chief butler on the spot. After the Baron learned of Roy's true value and still chose to confide in Ibaldo, Roy himself had not insisted on secrecy. After the affair with Boodle, the Baron's distrust of those around him had understandably grown—yet he still trusted Ibaldo. There had to be a reason.
"You won't be able to join us this time, but I leave the mansion in your hands. Especially after what happened two years ago."
"Set your mind at ease on that score, my lord. We already arranged for the guard company to place the mansion under special watch during your absence. Nothing like last time will ever happen again."
"Good. I truly hope so."
For the past two years the Baron had done everything in his power never to leave the mansion empty. In truth he had never spent more than a single night away. The reason he now intended to be gone for so long was simple.
Dragon's Breath… Who would have thought the chance would come this soon…
An ogre's heart. The most basic ingredient for crafting the Dragon's Breath that had been passed down through the family for generations was precisely that—an ogre's heart.
The maids who had to prepare tea and sweets every day for the endless stream of merchants coming to see Roy were at their wits' end. Today alone, three visitors had already arrived.
"Earlier it was a blacksmith, and now what? An herbalist? Do I really have to work this hard for people who aren't even nobles?"
"Not an herbalist—an herb merchant. He's a trader. I'll handle this one; you rest, unni."
"Misha, why are you suddenly so cheerful?"
"Heehee. Young Master Roy said I could eat all the leftover cookies."
"All of them by yourself? You'll get fat."
"Pfft. I don't get fat. And how could I eat them all anyway? I'll save some and take them home for my little brothers and sisters."
"Aigoo, they'll be thrilled. Getting to eat the cookies a noble eats, no less."
Misha had completely forgotten how, only a short while ago, she used to dodge Roy at every turn. She now beamed as she prepared the refreshments. Carrying the finished tea and cookies up to Roy's room on the second floor was also her job—though strictly speaking it was work for a lady's maid, not a house maid. Appearing before guests was not something a maid of her station was supposed to do.
Well… it's Young Master Roy. And the guest isn't a noble either.
Roy had told her to bring them herself, so she decided it was fine.
Knock knock!
"Yeah, come in."
Misha opened the door after receiving permission—and froze.
"…!?"
The floor of Roy's room was covered in dirt-caked weeds. Since cleaning them up would inevitably fall to her, she could not help but stare.
"I-I brought the tea and sweets."
"Just leave them there. I'm busy—don't interrupt."
As if she had interrupted him! Misha bristled at the remark. Her face flushed hot, but she could not argue in front of a guest, so she settled for shooting Roy a sharp look.
Then Roy suddenly pointed a finger straight at her face.
"Exactly that sort of face. The root looks just like this—it's called a mandrake. Do you know anything about it?"
When both the merchant's and Roy's gazes turned toward her, Misha—who had been glaring daggers—nearly jumped out of her skin. Her face went scarlet as a beet, and she had no idea what to do with herself.
"Well… I'm afraid I don't. What did you say the name was—mandu something?"
"Mandragora."
"Never heard of it…"
"Some of them have faces like that; others have roots shaped like little people or goblins. Most keep their mouths shut, but every so often you get one that lets out a good scream."
"Herbs that scream? Ha… Well, I'll ask my late father—er, the elders who frequent our shop, at least."
"I'd be grateful. If you go to Crocus at the armory shop, he can put you in touch with me right away."
"I'll do that. Is there anything else you wanted to know?"
Misha had missed her chance to slip out and now stood awkwardly to the side, half-crouched. The one who really wanted to scream right then was her.
"Misha, why are you still here? If you want a cookie that badly, just grab one and go."
"Ah, honestly! That's not it at all! Who do you think I am, some pig…"
"See? Exactly that kind of face on a herb."
"Young Master!"
Roy was deep in the work of gathering information.
Through Crocus, the armory owner, he had been introduced to a blacksmith and learned everything he could about the kingdom's minerals and mines. From the herb merchant he obtained a wealth of knowledge about medicinal plants. He summoned hunters to map the monsters that frequently appeared in the territory and the locations of the various dungeons.
Every scrap of it was connected to the production of his improved amulets.
So far, so good.
The real business had not yet begun, but the sheer volume of the Baron's order alone was mountainous, so the constant stream of merchants in and out of the mansion looked perfectly natural. Roy was making full use of the cover.
And then, right in the middle of it all, came the news of the ogre's appearance.
Eavesdropping outside the Baron's study, Roy nearly whooped for joy on the spot.
An ogre! An ogreeeee!
Ogre blood was the absolute best material for crafting intermediate mana solution—and from a single beast you could harvest an enormous quantity at once, matching its colossal size. Roy began to salivate.
And that's not even the half of it. The mana stone from an ogre, the size and quality of it…
Besides the blood and the stone, armor made from ogre hide offered protection rivaling most metals while remaining light. Arrowheads ground from its bones could punch straight through another monster's skull without a drop of mana. And those tough sinews? In his previous life, during the empire's golden age, virtually every top-tier bowstring had been made from ogre tendon.
The creature was a living treasure trove.
Even as the thoughts raced through his mind, Roy felt a sharp pang of regret.
"Ah… I really need to go myself…"
One careless incineration and not a single precious drop of blood would be left. In his past life he had begged and pleaded with the knights he sent, yet the ones who actually managed to bring back usable ogre blood could be counted on one hand.
They'll never take me to a place that dangerous. Should I at least give them ironclad instructions? But what the hell are the Soaring Wolves, anyway?
Two options warred inside Roy's head. One insisted he had to follow them no matter what. The other warned him not to pick a fight with the Baron for nothing. Either choice looked like something he would regret.
It's not as if I can take the ogre down myself even if I go…
Ogres were terrifyingly strong. But a Baron who had almost certainly taken Dragon's Breath, armed with a magically reinforced Triumph, ought to be able to bring one down—especially since it would not be a one-on-one fight.
Besides, the thing is just a muscle-bound idiot.
No matter how humanoid its shape, Roy was convinced its intelligence was lower than a wolf's. From what he had overheard, the Baron even had prior experience killing an ogre.
"Ah, to hell with it. Whatever happens, happens."
Having decided to throw himself into the fray, Roy immediately began devising ways to persuade the Baron.
Unfortunately, almost every idea that came to mind involved blackmail.