Menestale (8)
It was the day after I kicked Sandbag's third leg hard enough to knock him out and sent him home. As usual, I was working my way through the dungeon.
We were already on the 39th floor.
Originally, the plan had been to clear through floors thirty-four or thirty-five today and call it a day, but even after hitting that target, I kept driving my legs forward with everything I had.
Because I had no idea how the Georg family would react.
Sandbag might be a pedophilic pervert with a brain in his groin, but he was still the eldest son of House Georg.
Having thoroughly ground him under my heel, I couldn't exactly expect the Georg family to sit back and say nothing.
Since I knew what sort of people populated that side of things, I could roughly predict how it would unfold.
First, the current head of the Georg family was a capable man, but faint of heart and hopelessly timid. Standing at a crossroads, he was the type to agonize until the deadline was breathing down his neck, and only then settle on the best available option.
He probably wouldn't come to a decision easily this time either.
The problem was complicated in its own right, but more than anything, his opponent was House Alrn. If Count Georg was the same man as in the game, he would stew over it for at least a week.
So wouldn't that mean I have plenty of time?
No. There's one more problem.
The mistress of House Georg.
This woman stood at the exact opposite end of the spectrum from her husband. Impetuous, incompetent, and forever proclaiming that whatever her son did was right and good. The person who likely bore the greatest responsibility for shaping Sandbag into the worthless creature he was.
That woman would no doubt fly into a rage the moment she laid eyes on her son's condition.
And Count Georg, weak to his wife as he was, would find his decision timeline dramatically compressed if she pressured him day after day.
That was the extent of what I could predict.
What conclusion Count Georg would reach after all his deliberation, I couldn't say.
Weeell, honestly, almost none of it concerns me.
Except that depending on how things went, I might find myself barred from entering the Menestale Dungeon entirely.
That would be a problem. I had no idea what would happen if I failed to clear the quest that damned scam-art Chief God had handed down — and I didn't want to find out.
So I was sprinting for all I was worth, determined to wrap everything up before Count Georg made his move.
Today's goal: floor 46.
The location of Menestale Dungeon's hidden section — and the place where Alsaetin's master had once dwelled.
Reach it today, finish everything tomorrow, and leave Menestale. That was the plan.
A forced march, but who cares?
Crawling myself half to death was something I was very familiar with.
By the time we emerged from Menestale Dungeon, the sun had vanished and the moon had taken its place.
We announced our return to the exhausted gate guards, then headed straight for our inn without stopping by the Menestale Guild. The gains from processing the loot were negligible, so we figured we'd spend that time resting instead — after all, we'd have to resume our forced march first thing in the morning.
"You're back late."
The person who greeted us at the inn was not Nick, nor the man who usually manned the counter.
He was someone I had expected to meet someday, yet never imagined I'd encounter like this.
Current head of House Georg.
Mev Georg.
The man who had revitalized the Menestale dungeon district with nothing but his own considerable talent — a genius mage whose skill had earned recognition even in the Magic Empire, a land brimming with accomplished spellcasters. Had it not been for his signature indecisiveness, his name would have resounded across the entire continent.
He had been sitting alone in a flimsy chair near the counter, but rose to his feet the moment he saw my face.
Why is this man here?
Why would a man so paralyzed by decision-making that he can't act until a crisis is practically upon him be standing in my inn?
Had the mistress's nagging really been that severe?
Dammit. The fact that he'd come alone, without a single escort, meant he'd judged this matter serious enough to warrant it!
"Forgive the sudden visit, Lady Alrn. This is an urgent matter, so I ask for your understanding that I could not prepare proper courtesies."
I chewed my lip, mulling over just how much trouble I was in.
As long as he didn't touch on anything related to the Menestale Dungeon, I didn't care how the rest of it went.
Part of it was my backing — Benedict — but my current connections were no small thing either.
The Duchess of House Patran. The Third Prince of the Soladin Kingdom. The current Saintess of the Church of the Main God.
People who could make even sizable scandals evaporate as though they'd never happened.
So all I had to do was steer the conversation anywhere except the dungeon itself.
I'd talk it over with Halbae and figure something out—
"I owe you an apology, Lady Alrn. Our idiot son caused you great harm."
My rapidly spinning brain came to a screeching halt the instant the Count bowed his head.
Uh. Huh? Weren't you here to talk about how I assaulted your own son? Why are you suddenly bowing?
Not that I considered it anything but self-defense, but surely that's not how they see it.
"Fortunately, Lady Alrn, you were gracious enough to frame this incident as a minor accident between two young people. Had your judgment been slower, Count Benedict Alrn would no doubt have descended upon this place himself."
My frozen brain jolted back to life the moment Benedict's name was spoken.
Benedict.
Haha. What on earth did you ever DO on this continent?
Why does this Count Georg — a man worthy of being called a genius mage — flounder so helplessly at the mere mention of your name?
Either way, thank you. Thanks to you, this is going to resolve itself easily.
"On the Georg name, I pledge to provide you the utmost accommodations for the remainder of your stay in our territory. Educating our idiot son properly is only natural. So please — could you explain this matter carefully to Sir Benedict Alrn on my behalf?"
'Since you ask so earnestly, I'll put in a good word with Benedict for you.'
"Wow, the cowardly Count is really that scared of our dumb father? Can't be helped, I guess. I'll tell dumb Father to go easy so you don't have an accident in your pants, Mr. Count."
Thanks to the Mesugaki skill, Count Georg had been transformed into a cowardly, spineless noble — yet he merely smiled awkwardly, showing not a hint of offense.
A man who had already cast himself as the subordinate in this arrangement had no ground to push back.
"Thank you for your understanding, Lady Alrn."
'It's nothing, really. Don't worry about it.'
"Your face is just so pale, Mr. Count. Pffht. You look pathetic. Sorry, please don't take it too seriously."
Under normal circumstances, I would have cursed the Mesugaki skill watching the Count's lips tremble like that.
He was no middling noble — he was a Count with real power, status, and tangible strength, and I had just made an enemy of him.
But right now, it didn't matter. Once this business was finished, I would never set foot in this city again.
Which meant I'd never have to meet Count Georg again, either! So even if this man hated my guts, absolutely nothing would come of it!
Hah. Well, that worked out beautifully.
With things settled like this, there was no need to enter the dungeon again tomorrow.
I'd pushed my body to its limits running around all day, so I'd take a day or two of easy rest, get myself in perfect condition, then dive back in.
Yeah. That's the way to go.
An unexpected rest had fallen into their laps that evening, courtesy of Count Georg's apology.
Weary in body and mind alike, Lucy had retired to bed early, and Alsaetin emerged into the common room to sip at liquor alone.
It had been an exhausting day.
Alsaetin was no man who had trained half-heartedly.
The one who had taken him in and raised him in his youth had always emphasized the importance of prepared fundamentals, and Alsaetin — whose life she had once saved — had never once strayed from her teachings.
But that training had always been for survival as an information broker, a man of the underworld.
Not the knightly discipline of men who staked their very bodies on the blade.
That Karl possessed astonishing physical endurance was no particular surprise.
He had been marked as a promising talent from his days at Soul Academy, and upon graduation had immediately joined House Alrn — the strongest knight family on the continent — where he had flourished.
It would have been stranger if he hadn't shown that kind of ability.
But still. Just what was Lady Alrn?
Barely a year ago she had been a degenerate good-for-nothing — how could she now possess this kind of staggering stamina?
Yes, she carried the blood of House Alrn, but this... this was beyond abnormal.
Alsaetin, who had chased the two of them to the ends of the earth for the sake of seeing his master again, was now half-melted into his chair.
The one mercy was that they wouldn't be entering the dungeon again tomorrow — they were resting instead. Otherwise, he doubted he'd have had even a sliver of respite like this.
"Can't sleep?"
Alsaetin gave Karl a wearied stare as the man emerged from a long session in the training room — even after a full day in the dungeon — freshly bathed and looking none the worse.
Were all of House Alrn's knights like this? Or was this particular man simply exceptional?
Considering Lady Alrn, the former seemed the more likely answer.
"I'm resting. We got lucky and have some time to spare, you see."
"Hmm. Liquor, is it. A sip or two after so long might not be a bad thing. Mind if I join you?"
"Suit yourself."
The moment Karl pulled out a chair, Nick materialized as though she'd been waiting for exactly this, bearing a glass and a plate of snacks.
Alsaetin, who plied a similar trade, could roughly gauge her caliber at a glance. She was talent of a grade that would be welcomed anywhere.
Undoubtedly the Newman family held great interest in the Menestale district and had dispatched their best.
And yet here such a woman was, quietly enduring Lady Alrn calling her gloomy day in and day out.
There was truly no accounting for the ways of the world.
"Alsaetin. Do you drink well?"
"Well enough not to be the first one face-down on the floor, at least."
"Then shall we have ourselves a little contest?"
"A... contest? Between me and a knight?"
What nonsense is this man spouting?
Why on earth would a monster propose a drinking contest with a human?
At Alsaetin's look of alarm, Karl burst into a hearty laugh.
It was an almost unbearably human expression — one you could never glimpse when Lucy was at his side.
"Fine. The drinking match is off the table. Instead, I'll ask you something else. Just how long do you intend to keep calling me 'Sir Knight'?"
"But you're a noble, and I—"
"Beneath the young lady, we're all the same servants. Speak casually; it's no bother. And frankly, from the look of things, you and I are going to be together a long while yet."
Well... he wasn't wrong. Even after this business was finished, Alsaetin would be trailing Lady Alrn for a long time to come.
After a moment of studying Karl's expression, Alsaetin drained his glass in one rough gulp and opened his mouth.
"Alright, Karl. No complaints later, then?"
"Ha. Like I'd go whining about it to the others."
The two men had served under Lucy together for several months now.
With formality discarded and liquor lending its courage, the pair found their bond sealed in remarkably short order.
Idle chatter flowed, and the empty glasses began to stack one by one upon the table — at which point Karl suddenly lowered his voice.
"Hey. Alsaetin."
"What is it now? Creep."
"There's something I want to ask you. But if it's only me doing the asking, that's hardly fair, is it?"
"...Fine. So if there's something you want to ask me, ask away."
"Deal! Anything you ask, I'll answer."
At those words, Alsaetin's eyebrows lifted slightly.
What Karl wanted to ask was obvious.
Why did I come all this way in the first place? That would be the question.
Ordinarily he'd have kept it secret, but this man was going to be at his side to the very end regardless. Telling him now would change nothing.
So yes — he'd answer.
The only question was what he would ask in return.
...And then it came to him. Something delightful.
"Perfect timing, actually. There's something I've been wanting to ask you myself."
"Go ahead."
"Well, this is a bit of a sensitive topic, you see."
"Oh come now. Did you forget you just promised to answer anything? A knight does not break his word."
Having declared this, Karl made a show of taking a long, deep swig of his drink.
Alsaetin watched him with a mischievous smile — and then cut straight to the point.
"Karl. Do you, by any chance, happen to get off on being verbally abused by a little girl?"
"Pfft—!"
As the price of honesty, Alsaetin received a faceful of beer sprayed from Karl's mouth.