Chapter 45
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 45
The method was simple: search until you find them.
"I've been dying to see you all."
Patrick took a step forward, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.
The humans huddled before him retreated in lockstep with his advance, their wariness palpable. It was a natural reaction. After all, two mysterious figures had appeared right in front of them without making a single sound.
Patrick walked slowly, savoring the weight of their stares.
The thieves were in the darkest corner of the back alley with their backs to a wall. There was no escape.
With the humans neatly cornered, Patrick shifted his gaze to the ribs and the black clothes clutched in one man’s hands.
‘The items are safe.’
It seemed the worst-case scenario he had envisioned hadn’t come to pass. If the stolen goods had already left the thieves' hands and been smuggled out of Hastin, he might have had to play hide-and-seek across the entire continent—or spend the rest of his life missing two ribs.
Fortunately, the clothes and ribs appeared to be intact, much to his relief.
Sighing inwardly, Patrick turned his head to gauge Swallow's reaction.
Hadn't he said something like, "Ah, I'm saved," earlier? Now, Swallow looked as if he might collapse at any second, having completely burned through his physical and mental reserves.
‘Well, they were clothes gifted by Miss Rene, after all.’
With Miss Rene having only recently returned, there was no telling what would happen if they dealt her another emotional blow.
‘And the Boss had actually been running around in a panic.’
That peerless, ancient monster had been dashing about with a rigid expression. Even Patrick, who had served Swallow for over a century, had never witnessed such a sight.
In any case.
"What a pity," Patrick said, tossing the words to the alley's denizens as he loosened his body.
The sound of his joints popping and cracking echoed unnaturally loud inside his plate mail. The humans tensed, likely interpreting the sound as a threat.
"Are you the boss?" Patrick asked, the tall knight in full plate looking down at the man who was clearly their leader.
Instead of answering, the man curled his lips into a sneer.
Patrick smiled back, finding the reaction satisfactory, though his expression was hidden behind his helm.
"What makes you think that?" the man finally asked.
"Because you look the part."
The man hadn't averted his gaze when questioned. The fact that he didn't look to anyone else for cues meant he had no reason to; there was no one higher than him present.
There were other reasons Patrick was certain, but before he could dwell on them, the man admitted it in a low voice.
"I'd prefer you call me 'Captain.'"
"They mean the same thing, so arguing is a waste of energy. Besides, aren't you more of a boss than a captain? For someone swaggering around in a back alley, the title 'Captain' is far too generous."
"You look like a knight, but it seems you've focused more on training your tongue than your sword."
"Oh, dear. Do people who wallow in the gutter have any right to judge others?"
Besides, I don't even have a tongue to train.
A blue light flared within his helm.
Sensing the subtle change, the Captain's mouth twitched.
"…How did you find this place?"
"I suppose the items were desperately calling out for their owner," Patrick answered playfully.
Displeased by the evasive answer, the Captain furrowed his brow. At his silent command, the men who had been lying down began to rise to their feet one by one.
Just then, Swallow let out a yawn.
"I'm tired. Let's go back and rest."
Patrick instinctively started to turn his head to nag him but forced his gaze to remain fixed on the Captain.
I'll let it slide just this once, Boss. You were running around in a panic until just a moment ago.
"It seems our chat has gone on for too long. Back-alley boss… well, since you insist, I'll call you Captain. Back-alley Captain, you chose the wrong things to steal."
It was a relief, at least, that the culprits were just a group of paupers. People like this, who enjoyed no protection from the nobility, wouldn't draw much attention even if they were suddenly found as cold corpses. Besides, with the town in such a mess and commoners dying left and right, who would make a fuss over a few dead vagrants?
If anything, it was a miracle that scum like this had survived for so long.
‘As long as we clean up properly.’
Still, in any situation, the fewer traces left behind, the better. For a truly clean job, having Swallow devour them whole would be best.
Patrick turned his head toward Swallow. Displaying a mental agility he only ever showed in moments like this, Swallow quickly spoke before Patrick could even open his mouth.
"Ah, I'm too tired to help with anything."
"…I wasn't expecting much, but wasn't that a bit too quick?"
Of course. He should probably be grateful the man had even tagged along.
Perhaps deflated by Swallow's response, Patrick addressed the humans in a much more generous tone.
"By any chance, do you have any intention of handing those over quietly?"
Startled by the sudden question, several of the men glared at Patrick, their eyes brimming with hostility.
The Captain countered with a question of his own. "…And what guarantee is there that you'll just leave if we do?"
"Hmm, now that you mention it, you have a point."
Patrick nodded, seeing no reason to refute him.
Naturally, he had absolutely no intention of letting them go.
He had left Tanabella behind, as the massive creature was far too conspicuous for a stealthy outing. So, even if things got a little messy here…
"Then let's make sure neither side has any hard feelings."
A faint trace of murderous intent bled into his playful voice.
* * *
‘So it's come to this.’
The Captain groaned inwardly before his thoughts sharpened.
…That isn't a bluff. Every person has a presence, an aura that can be read through their actions, voice, and demeanor. From that perspective, the knight before him had been brimming with composure from the very beginning.
His own group was by no means small, yet the knight remained perfectly calm standing in their midst. That meant he was absolutely confident in his own strength.
Why would someone so confident let them go? Of course, his side couldn't just hand over the items either.
He extended his right hand. Responding to the signal, several of his companions slowly began to approach the knight. A few others, hiding their weapons, casually moved to surround the shabbily dressed man standing beside him.
‘I must be cautious.’
How did they find us? he wondered.
Even if Rosalina, who was unfamiliar with this life, had clumsily left a trail, tracking it in the dead of night should have been impossible. Did they search all of Hastin? That couldn't be right, either. Hastin was a large territory. Unless these two were monsters, they had found this place far too quickly to have done it by simply wandering around.
"Is it black magic?"
"Pardon?" the knight asked, feigning confusion, but there was no other logical explanation.
Recalling their earlier conversation, the shabby man had spoken informally to the knight, while the knight had used polite language. On the surface, this meant their hierarchy was the reverse of what their appearances suggested.
The title of knight was roughly equivalent to a baronet. Although the threshold for knighthood had lowered and their numbers had swelled due to the prevalence of dungeon subjugations—severely damaging their prestige—they were still above commoners. For such a knight to use polite language…
Did that mean the man was of a higher rank than a baronet?
‘No way.’
It made no sense for a noble to be walking around in such ragged clothes.
If not rank, then something else must be determining their hierarchy. This led to only one conclusion: the shabbily dressed man was stronger than the knight.
All the circumstantial evidence pointed to a single answer.
That man was a Necromancer.
And a Necromancer stronger than the knight, at that.
The Captain tightened his grip on the ribs.
"You are dwellers of the dark."
"Well, caves are indeed quite dark," the knight replied flippantly.
"What kind of ritual are these ribs for?"
"They're just mine."
"…Are you saying you gave up your own bones?"
"No, they're just mine."
The man behind the knight remained silent, his expression blank. Only the knight answered, and none of his words made any sense.
"More importantly, isn't it a bit obvious that you're trying to buy time?" the knight asked, gesturing with his finger, beckoning them forward. He was likely acting smug because he was blocking their only escape route.
Of course, the Captain had no intention of taking this lying down.
Though he was now just the captain of a group of paupers in a quiet town, he had once made a name for himself in bloodbaths where dozens of men died at a time. For someone like him, taking down a single knight was hardly a difficult task.
"Rosalina, Toth."
The restless Rosalina looked up, trembling, perhaps out of guilt for the trouble she had caused. Toth, on the other hand, was calm and composed. Having survived countless crises, he had no reason to panic.
"…Prioritize those who can't move."
He couldn't speak more plainly. Rosalina's reaction was uncertain, but Toth seemed to understand perfectly and nodded.
Only then did the Captain feel a measure of relief. He glared at the knight.
There were plenty of escape routes.
On the surface, it looked like a dead end, but since this was a place where anyone could raid them at any moment, they had several hidden exits. First, they would evacuate the weak, just in case. Of course, this was merely a measure to minimize damages in a worst-case scenario.
‘They are certainly strong, but…’
That didn't mean they were unbeatable. His side had a decent chance of winning. The enemy was overconfident and looking down on them. Every opening created by that arrogance was a weakness, a variable. If they targeted those openings, they could definitely win.
The Captain spoke to the knight again.
"These ribs must be very precious to you."
"Of course. They're my body, after all."
"…So they're as precious as your own body?"
"No, they are my body."
"…"
It was nothing but incomprehensible nonsense. Deciding that buying any more time through conversation was impossible, the Captain smirked.
The ribs flew through the air just as the knight’s gaze momentarily flickered to the Captain's smile.
"Ah."
The knight, Patrick, let out a short gasp and lunged.
The Captain had thrown the ribs toward a narrow, man-made waterway. The current of the sewage flowing below was surprisingly strong. If they were swept away, they might never be found again.
Patrick threw himself toward the ribs.
At that exact moment, the Captain shouted.
"Toth!"
His loud voice shattered the silence of the night. As soon as he heard it, Toth began shouting orders to the others.
At his command, the sick and infirm moved toward a hidden escape route. Their coordination was perfect, as if this wasn't their first time. Most of the non-combatants vanished in an instant.
Simultaneously, the man closest to the knight swung a brick hammer at Patrick's waist.
Having barely snatched the ribs from the air, Patrick immediately spun around.
But it was too late. He was met with the crazed smile of the man swinging the hammer.
Clang!
The sound of metal striking metal filled the back alley.
Meanwhile, another man who had lunged at Swallow plunged a dagger into his flank.
Yet, there was no scream, no cry of pain.
The dagger couldn't even pierce his skin.
"W-what…" the man stammered in a panic.
Patrick laughed.
"Now, the question is how to handle this… We could kill every single one of you, but that would make the floor far too messy. How about we beat everyone down first and think about it later?"
"…Are you saying we should spare them all?" Swallow asked.
"I'm not saying we should spare them. I'm saying we should process them all at once."
"I don't know. I'm so tired, I'm not sure if I can control my strength properly."
"Well, as for that…"
Unable to process the situation, the man who had attacked Patrick could only listen to their conversation with a dazed expression.
Patrick grabbed his arm. In an instant, the man’s scrawny body was lifted into the air.
As if tossing a light pebble, without exerting even a shred of effort, Patrick said, "You just have to try your best."
Then he slammed the man into the ground.
*
"It's been over half a day since Lord Swallow departed."
"Ah, I see… Only half a day."
The aftertaste of the tea was bitter. The interior of the cave was so quiet that the clinking of the teacup sounded loud.
The Primordial Core was peaceful.
Rene and Melju, who usually ran around screaming and shouting all day, were still in the cave. But with Swallow—the source of their conflict—gone, there was no reason for them to make a fuss.
Strictly speaking, Melju had nothing to do. Once she stopped doing all the things she had been forcing herself to do just to get on Swallow's good side, she had no real tasks left. And Rene had no reason to nag Melju when she was being quiet.
A ceasefire had been naturally established.