Chapter 42
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 42
Patrick continued in a flat, businesslike tone.
“If you walk around in those clothes, ten out of ten people will treat you like a beggar. In fact, pretending to be a beggar is several times more dangerous. You never know when or where someone might try to pick a fight. I was simply acting logically for your sake, Boss.”
“Still, a slave is a bit much.”
“Boss, don’t you want to move as little as possible?”
“Of course. I want to be born as a stone in my next life.”
“Then you had better listen to me.”
“You are absolutely right, Master.”
He was convinced. If it meant moving less, there was no reason to cling to petty pride.
After exchanging a few more meaningless words, Patrick concluded, “Well then, I shall be off.” He flung the window open and jumped straight out. A moment later, a faint sound drifted up from below. Since it wasn't followed by a crash, Swallow figured he had landed safely.
Swallow buried his face back into the bed and remained motionless for a long while.
The cool breeze blowing in through the open window felt refreshing. He felt like he would fall asleep if he stayed like this for just five more minutes. Sleeping in a chilly dungeon was nice, but this wasn’t bad either.
The hooting of an owl drifted in from outside.
“…But they just won’t let me sleep.”
Just then, he heard the sound of someone stealthily climbing the stairs.
*
Night fell, and Hastin was silent.
The only light came from the crescent moon and clusters of stars. The only sound was the chilly hooting of an owl.
As with most human villages after sunset, not a single person could be seen wandering the streets.
Perched atop the highest spire of the Lord's Castle—the tallest point in the Hastin territory—Patrick looked down at the city.
He had summoned a phantom beast with a mana stone to help him climb, and from the towering spire, he now had a panoramic view of the entire Hastin territory.
Gazing silently down at the ground, Patrick slowly took off his helmet. A blue glow emanated from his hollow eye sockets.
“I wonder if it’s already more than half rotten.”
Hastin was decaying.
First, he lifted his head slightly, his gaze landing on the grand plaza in the distance.
To be precise, it was an empty lot that had once been the grand plaza. Formerly a bustling city center frequented by countless residents, it was now so completely demolished that it was difficult to even discern its original shape.
As the epicenter where the 'Black Disaster' had descended, nothing remained. The former sites of the magic tower and the grand plaza's fountain were all buried under rubble.
Next, he turned his gaze sharply to the right.
Far away, near the massive castle walls surrounding the territory, was an open field. Judging by the overgrown grass, it was a clearing that had been artificially created by fire. In its center lay a wide pit.
A familiar smell wafted from it.
It wasn't a smell he perceived with a physical nose. It was an instinctive scent that only an undead could sense, one that could be detected even from afar. The smell of rotting corpses.
The sight of the corpses—once residents of Hastin—tangled together in a grotesque mass was sickening.
Corpses breed plague. If the bodies scattered throughout the town were left to rot, an epidemic would surely sweep through. But there were likely too many to bury individually. It was a common enough practice to pile up corpses that were difficult to dispose of.
It was a disaster, after all.
To humans, the being known as Swallow was no different from a natural disaster. It was hardly surprising that corpses would be piled high in its wake.
Patrick silently turned his head to the left. The western district seemed to have suffered less damage, its outward appearance mostly intact. But it was surely rotting from the inside out, just like the rest. Within the territory enclosed by the massive castle walls, not a single normal place could remain.
His survey complete, Patrick shifted his gaze one last time. His hollow eye sockets finally came to rest on the structure directly beneath his feet.
The Lord's Castle of Hastin.
“I have been quite curious about this.”
After the 'Black Disaster' descended upon the grand plaza, Count Etarque, the Lord of Hastin, had hanged himself.
The suicide had been his own abrupt decision. How had the Imperial Family reacted?
There was no need to think too hard about it.
They must have been furious. Their plans would have been ruined.
Internally, the Imperial Family needed a scapegoat to vent their anger over the 'Black Disaster.' Externally, they needed someone to take responsibility for the 'two consecutive failed subjugations of the Primordial Core.'
Just as they were about to hold the Count accountable, his sudden suicide became an act of defiance against the Imperial Family—an act that could, with little exaggeration, be called treason.
In that case, who was the current Lord of Hastin?
Confirming this was the main reason he had left the tavern.
Generally, when a lord dies, the successor to the title inherits the territory. In almost every case—no, the word 'almost' wasn't even necessary—successors were always blood relatives. Would one of Count Etarque's relatives inherit the title this time?
Even though the Imperial Family's aimless wrath would surely be directed at the family? Yet, the position of lord couldn't possibly be left vacant.
“Well then, shall I go and see this new face?” he muttered to himself, putting his helmet back on.
Soon, the light, crisp sound of his footsteps echoed as he set off.
* * *
The security inside the castle was exactly as he expected.
Guards patrolled in pairs at key junctions, and only every other lamp was lit. It was a space where only the bare essentials were kept running while everything else slept.
Patrick moved through the castle, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible.
A simple spell could muffle the clanking of his armor, but since he wasn't particularly skilled in magic, that was the extent of his abilities.
I should learn other stealth spells if I get the chance.
Muttering internally, Patrick slowly straightened his hunched body.
After repeatedly hiding whenever he sensed a human presence, he finally reached the vicinity of the Lord's chambers.
“Ah, this is troublesome.”
Peeking from the end of the hallway, Patrick checked the Lord's chambers before pulling back with a self-deprecating sigh. It felt like sighing was becoming a habit.
He hadn’t expected these damn humans to be such an obstacle.
Patrick hadn't come here tonight to fight. In fact, he wanted the people of Hastin to fare well, so causing a commotion would only be a detriment.
There were only two guards stationed outside the Lord's chambers.
Just two. They didn't look particularly strong, either. He could kill them easily if he wanted to, and he was confident he could knock them out in an instant.
However, doing so would cause an uproar by sunrise. In short, even these simple guards were a major obstacle for him right now.
I could force my way through… but wouldn't it be wiser not to rush?
It wasn't as if they were leaving Hastin tomorrow. If he bided his time, an opening was sure to present itself. Besides, a frontal assault wasn't the only way to reach the Lord's chambers.
Having made his decision, Patrick let out a small, regretful sigh and turned around.
Just as he was pondering how to exit the castle, he heard signs of someone approaching from around the corner. The flickering lamplight and slow footsteps unmistakably belonged to a maid.
If I take my time, I might get caught.
Whispering to himself, Patrick placed his hand on the open window of the corridor and leaped down.
The place he landed was boxed in by high walls, blocking all light.
I jumped in a hurry, but this isn't a very pleasant place.
After grumbling to himself, and adding a curse when he realized filth had splattered his armor, Patrick looked up.
A faint light passed by the spot where he had been standing just moments ago.
Confirming that the presence had faded, Patrick let out a sigh of relief. Only then did he take stock of where he had fallen.
It was a closed-off space with a muddy floor layered in filth.
This is certainly not a path the castle's residents normally use.
Patrick, who had developed a habit of muttering to himself, looked around. As an undead, he could see in the dark, so the general outline of the area was visible.
It was a filthy path. Following the trail of waste, he spotted stairs leading underground not far away.
“A dungeon…”
He'd meant to think it, but the word slipped out. Though it seemed far more secretive than the dungeons he had imagined, it wasn't particularly strange. Most castles had one.
It was just that the smell wafting from within was a bit concerning.
After hesitating for a few seconds, Patrick quickened his pace once more.
* * *
A girl peeked her head through the open window. The room beyond was filled with warmth. As she expected, the light she had seen from a distance came from a tirelessly burning hearth.
It was clearly a room that someone had been using until just moments ago.
At the same time, it was currently empty.
“…Alright.”
The girl, with only her head showing, muttered with a determined expression after confirming once more that no one was inside. Immediately after, she reached out with both arms and grabbed the window frame.
Perhaps because she had been hanging in such an uncomfortable position, the simple act of climbing through the window was an ordeal.
She was clearly no expert. Her movements were so clumsy it was a wonder she’d managed to reach the second-story window at all.
Having completed the grand ordeal and entered the room, the girl panted for breath.
Her wildly disheveled pink hair fell into her eyes, and she roughly swept it back. Through the messy strands, a youthful face was revealed.
She wasn't clean. Her dirty face made it obvious she hadn't washed in days. She was at an age where one would expect her to care about her appearance, yet she seemed completely unconcerned, wearing a bright smile.
She had never stayed at this tavern, but she was certain of one thing: this was probably the most expensive room here. What kind of people would stay in a room like this? Given that they had rented a room while the town was in such a state, they were definitely outsiders.
Wealthy outsiders. Good, the girl thought. That made her feel less guilty, which was a relief.
Since she didn't know when the guest would return, she had to work fast. The girl looked around. For people staying in such a nice room, there was a strange lack of luggage.
Did they take their luggage with them?
It was suspicious, but she didn't have time to dwell on it. First, she searched for food.
But of course, there was none. Quickly changing her target, she began grabbing whatever she could find.
The first thing that caught her eye was a black coat carelessly tossed onto the bed.
Picking it up, the girl frowned.
The black coat was so frayed at the hem it was hard to tell if it was clothing or a rag. It was filthy. It looked like something only people from the dregs of society, like herself, would wear.
…Wasn't the guest here rich?
At the very least, she could use it as a bundle to carry things. Clutching the coat, she flung the wardrobe open. Only an empty space greeted her. Just in case, she lifted the blanket. Nothing.
“What… Why is there nothing here?!”
Forgetting her need for stealth, the girl blurted out in frustration. Startled by her own voice, she gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Silence.
Only after a long moment did she take a deep breath and narrow her eyes.
She still couldn't hear anyone coming.
Although she had rummaged through every place where valuables might be hidden, the only thing in her hands was still the black coat.
With disappointment written plainly on her face, the last thing she opened was the nightstand next to the bed.
Slide.
The sound of wood scraping against wood. From the bottom drawer, a rattling sound greeted her. Unable to hide her joy, the girl's face lit up. With a pounding heart, she pulled the drawer open.
And then… “What is this?”
She held a long, white object, hesitating for a few seconds.
When she finally realized what it was, her face turned deathly pale.
* * *
“I've prepared a humble meal. It isn't much, but please, eat your fill.”
A loaf of black rye bread, a splash of cheap wine, and a few pieces of salted turnip.
“…”
Swallow, who had been scanning the food with a sharp gaze, slowly raised his head.
Across from him, the innkeeper was staring at him, wearing his characteristic hearty smile.
“Is something wrong? Ah, if you're worried about your knight's portion, I've set it aside separately. You don't have to worry.”