Chapter 20
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 20
Uin Historia was an officer in the Edelbreas Black Wolf Knights, the Empire's finest subjugation squad.
Fidgeting as if she couldn't sit still for a second, Uin wiggled her fingers. The gauntlets covering her hands gleamed under the light of the chandelier.
Normally, she would have been lounging at home, munching on snacks. Her plans for the afternoon had been to get dressed up, attend a blind date arranged by the imperial family, physically overpower her date, and then head to the baths with her comrades. Having those plans derailed to sit in a stuffy auction house was a massive pain.
The reason for her presence was simple: she'd been tasked with guarding the auction house. The conditions were strange—she was to guard from inside the hall, not the gates, due to the building's size. The reward was also pitifully small, hardly a request fit for a Hero, but she didn't have much of a choice.
Bern Hishultz, the "Mighty General" and one of the Empire's three Heroes, had died in the Primordial Core.
Now, only two Heroes remained, including Uin.
In truth, the Primordial Core was considered unconquerable, so Bern's death didn't cast doubt on the strength of the Heroes. However, criticism rained down on his judgment. A Hero, a guardian meant to protect humanity, had voluntarily entered a dungeon only to die a meaningless death. The backlash was only natural.
And the fallout landed squarely on the remaining Heroes.
As a fellow Hero, Uin needed to restore the imperial citizens' trust. That was why she had accepted this cheap, useless request to guard an auction house.
The woman beside her, Garot, was equally miserable. With a face full of freckles and pink braided hair, she drew even more attention than Uin.
Garot's mission, handed down by the subjugation squad, was to assist and restrain the seventeen-year-old Uin. As a fellow officer, Garot had also been dragged into this sudden, unscheduled assignment.
She wore a thoroughly annoyed expression, making no effort to hide her discontent.
"So, when is this going to end? Do auctions always drag on this long?"
"I don't know. I want to eat something good. I want a salad loaded with macaroni from that famous restaurant. I want pistachio cookies from the imperial pastry chef. I want roasted turkey with lots of pepper."
"That's the first sensible thing you've said all day, Lady Uin. Let's go eat a ton after this. I'm so stressed I could scream."
"Yeah. Let's just become pigs. Pigs. Besides, Garot, you're past marriageable age, right? You don't have anyone to impress, so let's just let ourselves go."
"...We'll talk after the auction. I won't go easy on you just because you're a Hero."
Just as Garot lunged at Uin, ready to throttle her, and Uin dodged with a grin—
It happened.
A sudden silence fell over the noisy auction house. Not complete silence—the murmuring of the crowd remained, though its tone had shifted. But one voice, the loudest of them all, had vanished.
Sensing something was wrong, Uin and Garot snapped their gazes toward the front of the hall.
The auctioneer's voice was gone. The man who had been shouting with such passion was now collapsed on the floor. A pool of blood spread from under his head, which was pressed against the ground.
He was dead, his head cleanly pierced by a magic arrow.
There was zero chance of survival.
As Uin bolted upright, Garot placed a hand on her shoulder, a silent signal not to rush in. Uin, her excitement still simmering, took a deep breath and held back.
Garot was a "Pursuer," someone who could perceive things others missed. Following her lead had never steered Uin wrong.
A moment later, a young man and a little girl stepped out from behind the luxurious curtains that framed the stage.
Both were drenched in blood.
"...Looks like we're going to be late getting off work," Garot muttered, clicking her tongue.
*
After observing the auctioneer through the curtain, Melju turned back to Swallow. He kept his mouth firmly shut, offering only a silent nod.
“Kill the auctioneer immediately.”
The auctioneer was the center of attention. They couldn't just drag him out for interrogation, nor could they afford to torture him slowly. More importantly, there was no guarantee he knew more than the administrator. Killing him instantly was the best way to seize control of the situation.
Understanding his reasoning, Melju gave a small nod.
Through the thick curtains, only the auctioneer's silhouette was faintly visible. Only his booming voice could be heard. But that was more than enough; for her, landing a spell was as simple as breathing.
Was the auctioneer an ordinary human, or a veteran of countless battlefields? After a moment's thought, Melju decided on the former. He was likely a specialist in rhetoric, not combat. If so... how many powerful individuals were in the audience? Surely, there had to be some.
The items being sold were no ordinary goods, so the attendees must be of corresponding status. That meant they either had capable guards or possessed considerable skill themselves. The auction house's lax security supported the theory that they had something—or someone—to rely on.
In that case, was it better to use a low-tier spell that emitted minimal mana? Casting a loud, flashy spell without knowing the enemy's strength would alert too many of them. If someone detected the magic, teleported away, and reported this to the army of Riaze, things would get complicated. Hesitating, Melju glanced at Swallow.
‘Sir Swallow...’
His expression was the same terrifying mask he’d worn before they entered.
She'd thought he was joking before, but this was clearly a serious matter for him. He had, after all, explicitly stated he was looking for Lady Rene.
A living legend to the dungeon monsters had gone missing.
Realizing that this Lady Rene was the companion he was searching for, Melju could faintly grasp the gravity of the situation. In his current state of fury, would he even care if things escalated? Was he even considering the consequences?
Most likely not. To find a specific tree, one had to be prepared to uproot the entire forest. No matter what they did here, things were bound to get messy.
If so, there was no need to hold back.
Taking a deep breath, Melju watched as a faint light gathered before her. The light assembled in an irregular pattern, forming something that looked more like a scribble than a proper magic circle. Soon, the curled lines of light swayed, as if searching for a target, before refining their shape.
It formed a slender stake of light, roughly the length of her forearm, a hybrid of an arrow and a spear.
Modified and enhanced, intermediate magic: <Dumb Dagger>.
From casting to launch, the spell made no sound. True to its name, it was mute. Its power was barely above that of a low-tier spell, but it was more than enough to kill an ordinary human.
The uniquely shaped stake of light flew toward its target without a sound or presence.
The hall beyond the curtain was so loud that she couldn't hear the impact, but the abrupt end to the auctioneer's constant chatter confirmed her success. Through the curtain, his silhouette seemed to shrink before collapsing to the floor.
Swallow took the lead. Melju followed closely, gripping her staff.
Every eye that had been fixed on the auctioneer now turned to the two figures emerging from behind the curtains.
All eyes, however, were on Swallow. He had killed the guards by crushing their heads and torsos—messy methods that had left him drenched in blood. He didn't look cruel so much as filthy and unsightly.
Furthermore, his shabby attire was completely out of place at such an event. It was only natural that his presence was far more jarring than that of the elegantly dressed Melju following behind him.
The commotion slowly died down, but no one moved to flee. Perhaps it was because the only exit lay past Swallow, or perhaps it was because everyone present was confident in their own strength.
Though murmurs rippled through the crowd, no one addressed Swallow directly. Those who had yet to grasp the situation were waiting.
Waiting for Swallow to speak first.
Glancing at the humans packed into the semi-circular seating, Swallow asked, "Are you all here to buy the 'Guillotine's Tooth'?"
No one answered. The murmurs grew slightly louder, but no one stepped forward.
With the tip of his foot, he lightly nudged the auctioneer's head, which had a stake driven through it like an apple pierced by an arrow. He then walked to where the man had been standing. Because of the empty space beneath the wooden stage, his footsteps echoed throughout the silent hall.
A round table draped in red silk stood at the center of the stage. On it, an elegant metal stand gleamed.
Swallow walked straight to it and picked up the blade resting on the stand.
It was a smooth, semi-circular blade with a handle made of a single, thin, taut wire.
This was the Guillotine's Tooth.
On the surface, there were no markings to indicate it was Rene's. Her name wasn't engraved on it, and he wasn't interested enough in her weapons to have memorized them all.
Rene's choice of weaponry was infinitely broad, anyway. She would wield any sharp object she could get her hands on. If she couldn't swing it, she threw it; if it was too heavy to throw, she used its weight to crush her enemies. If a blade was fragile, she would shatter it mid-swing and use the fragments as shrapnel. She frequently stole and used her enemies' weapons. Even if the Guillotine's Tooth was one of her favorites, claiming he could recognize it at a glance would be a lie.
At most, he could vaguely recall, 'Ah, she has a weapon that looks like this.' If someone placed a similar blade next to it, he would undoubtedly be confused.
Yet, Swallow's lips twitched with absolute certainty. His eyes trembled.
It was impossible to deny that this blade, the Guillotine's Tooth, belonged to Rene—her scent was far too thickly embedded in it.
"It's complicated, but this belongs to someone else. I'm just returning it to its owner. A shame, I'm sure you all bid a high price for it."
As he spoke, Swallow tightened his grip on the Guillotine's Tooth. Even though he squeezed with immense force, no blood flowed from the hand holding the blade.
Only after securing the blade at his waist did Swallow look up.
Hundreds of hostile eyes stared back at him.
"Well... judging by your faces, you have no intention of letting me leave peacefully."
A smirk touched his lips.
"The feeling is mutual."
The voice he had forced to sound nonchalant now split, layered with a second, monstrous tone.
"I will tear every single one of you to shreds and bury you along with this building."
So he declared.
It was then that one of the figures sitting quietly in the audience kicked off their chair and leaped high into the air.
It was an incredible leap for a human. The figure traced a natural parabola, as if less affected by gravity than others. The distance was slightly lacking, however, and she landed just beyond the front row. The ground groaned and cracked under the heavy impact.
After another mid-air spin, the figure shot toward Swallow.
"Quite the nimble flying squirrel, aren't you? You should have used that speed to run away."
Though fast for a human, she was well within the limits of what his eyes could track.
Up close, he saw she was a slender woman. Should I make an example of her? Where to strike? Or should I just grab her? If I squeeze just a little, she'll burst like a soft fruit, spraying juice everywhere.
As Swallow pondered, the girl threw a punch. Using her momentum, she delivered a powerful, flexible uppercut from a low stance.
Above all, the deep blue gauntlets covering her arms piqued his curiosity.
I'll give you credit. Excellent, for a human. A decent move and decent gauntlets, but that's all. And she has no other weapons. How sloppy.
Yes. First, I'll crush that hand, gauntlet and all.
Swallow reached out to meet her fist.
"Shatter!!"
The girl's thunderous battle cry swallowed all other sounds in the building.
The gauntlet shot forward, tearing through the air. Unable to withstand the force, the air itself shrieked with a series of explosive booms.
Swallow's hand and the girl's fist collided.
In that split second, the one who sensed defeat was not the girl, but Swallow.
He'd put force into his hand. The moment her fist made contact, it should have burst, spraying red pulp everywhere.
Yet, her fist did not stop. Instead, it was his own outstretched hand that was driven back.
Sensing that something had gone terribly wrong, Swallow looked down at his right hand.
As if in slow motion, the skin all the way up to his elbow was tearing apart.
Then, as if time had snapped back to its original pace, a massive shockwave slammed into him.