Gratitude and Grudges Are Etched into the Bone

At that exact moment, just as Xiel was unexpectedly hauling a wanted criminal in for the bounty...

"With this, the debt is settled in full, Guildmaster Tollen."

The head of House Riversong handed over the complete sum of the principal to the merchant guildmaster who, for reasons unknown, had arrived on his doorstep entirely of his own accord. Albert had been wringing his hands over whether Tollen would even deign to grant him an audience, yet the man had marched straight into the estate unprompted.

What in the world brought this on?

Albert Riversong could not make heads or tails of it. If anything, Tollen looked in a desperate, frantic hurry.

The delegation from the Tollen Merchant Guild had shown up roughly thirty minutes ago. Swooping in out of the blue, Tollen had declared he was here to collect the principal and immediately hounded the butler to arrange a meeting with the family head without a moment's delay.

"Is there some urgent matter pressing on you, Guildmaster?"

"Of course not. Urgent? Far from it. I am completely at ease. I merely appreciate your prompt repayment within the agreed term. The interest is accounted for down to the last copper."

No matter how one looked at him, the man was sweating bullets. Tollen put on a front of nonchalant composure, but his entourage told an entirely different story.

They look like they rode at a breakneck gallop without even pausing to wipe the mud from their boots.

The horses wheezed and blew plumes of steam from their flared nostrils. The guild attendants leaned against the wall, hollow-eyed and spent. Beneath Tollen's smooth smile lurked a twitch of raw panic. By all indications, they had sprinted here at maximum speed.

Did he have any reason to do that?

Of course he does. Without a doubt.

A few hours earlier, Albert Riversong had received an urgent telegram. Everything was playing out exactly as the dispatch had warned—right down to the prediction that Tollen would almost certainly make a beeline for the Riversong estate.

"Well then, I shall take my leave."

"Come now, you only just arrived. Why rush off so abruptly? Why not sit for a moment and share a cup of tea while we chat?"

"Ah, regrettably, pressing business calls and I simply do not have the leisure. I must take a rain check."

Though his words sounded polite, Tollen kept glancing compulsively over his shoulder. Albert tilted his head.

"Is someone pursuing you? You keep looking behind you."

"...N-nonsense. Not at all. Merely an itch between my shoulder blades."

"You seem to be breaking out in a rather heavy cold sweat."

"Ha, haha! Surely you jest."

"Your constitution must be drained from the road. It so happens I have an excellent brew on hand; won't you take a cup? In truth, I also wished to speak with you regarding the truffle venture."

In ordinary times, Tollen would have snapped at the bait like a starved wolf. The truffle venture had been his wedge to seize control of the South before Xiel wrecked it. The plan had been to siphon capital through the truffle trade, bleed the local gentry dry, and ultimately swallow House Kundel's vast manorial economy whole—a grand, sweeping design—

Why does this old fool keep holding me up?!

Tollen possessed neither the time nor the sanity for such games right now.

I don't have time for this nonsense!

All Tollen wanted was to put as much distance between himself and the southern provinces as humanly possible.

It had all started the moment he ran into Xiel. Initially, he had simply fled the instructor on instinct, knowing full well that crossing paths with a knight of House Kundel in tow could only bring ruin. But the aftermath was what truly chilled his marrow. The more he thought about it, the more his merchant's intuition shrieked at him.

Everything went to hell the second that bastard showed up!

Xiel Steelheart! That wretched cur!

The scheme to swallow House Riversong had been on the verge of completion, only for that lunatic to wedge himself in and tear the entire foundation apart. Was that all? The exorbitant assassination contract he had commissioned was abruptly scrapped, and immediately afterward, he had nearly collided head-on with House Kundel!

A temporary retreat from the South is the only option. The timing is completely botched.

Stubborn though he was, the moment Tollen made up his mind, he moved swiftly to liquidate his southern operations and retreat east. Dropping by House Riversong on his way out had been purely to recoup the outstanding loan. A retreat was a retreat, but coin was coin.

If I don't at least pocket this principal, this entire expedition will be a catastrophic net loss.

At any rate, he was practically out of the South already. House Riversong's lands sat on the outermost rim of the territory. Now that the gold was in hand, all he had to do was cross the border and—

"Come, come, don't be so hasty. Have a warm drink before you go. Did you know that if you shave a truffle into paper-thin slices and float them atop fresh tea, the aroma is simply divine? Since you've honored me with a visit, the least I can do is treat you."

"I-I apologize, but truly, right now—"

"Good heavens. I am overjoyed to clear our debt, and since you aided our house in its direst hour, I merely wish to repay your kindness. Why must you refuse so vehemently?"

Albert's persistence was unnatural. Tollen felt the hairs on his neck prickle, but he had exhausted every polite excuse to decline.

"Forgive me. I must depart."

Excuse or not, he had to run. This was the South—the absolute domain of House Kundel.

If someone from the Kundel family catches wind—

SLAM!

"Guildmaster Tollen!"

The entrance doors blasted open with enough force to splinter the frame, answering his darkest fear. House Kundel had arrived.

At the vanguard stood Amos Kundel, Lord of House Kundel. Behind him, the armored vanguard of the Kundel Knight Order poured into the foyer, bringing with them a suffocating aura of martial dominance. Burnished steel gleamed under the chandeliers, and hands rested heavy on hilts that seemed ready to clear their scabbards at a word. The man standing at the apex of the South stepped forward.

"So this is where you were."

"L-Lord Amos Kundel."

"I have long wished to see your face in person, and here we are."

Amos spoke with a steady, tranquil cadence, but to Tollen's ears, every syllable rang with absolute terror.

"I... I, too, have longed to pay my respects, my Lord."

Albert stepped backward as if he had rehearsed the movement, wearing an expression of pure, blameless innocence as Tollen's panicked gaze snapped toward him.

I have no idea what is happening, Albert's face seemed to say.

"Lord Amos Kundel, to what do we owe the honor of your visit to our humble estate?" Albert asked smoothly, feigning total ignorance despite holding the telegram in his coat.

Amos played along without missing a beat.

"Word reached me that a certain faction went so far as to hire an assassination syndicate to threaten my family's greatest benefactor, all while scheming to unravel the economic order of the South. I came to see the matter settled."

"Oh? There exists a scoundrel brazen enough to do such a thing?"

"Indeed."

Amos slowly turned his head toward Tollen. It felt as though a grim reaper had fixed its gaze upon him—the kind of look that promised death the moment their eyes met.

I'm finished.

"Guildmaster Tollen, let me ask you one thing."

"Y-yes, my Lord?"

"Do you know the family motto of House Kundel?"

"Your... your family motto, my Lord...?"

"Gratitude and grudges are etched into the bone."

Clack.

Amos laid his palm across the pommel of his broadsword.

"Listen well. That merchants enter my southern domain to trade freely and turn a profit is only natural. But when scum dares to plant the seeds of predatory usury to rot the economic foundation of my land, that is an offense I cannot overlook."

Tollen's eyes darted frantically toward Albert, but Amos was only getting started.

"Worse still, you dared to lay a hand upon my son's savior, my house's benefactor, and my own personal benefactor. And you went so far as to hire cutthroats within my own borders to do it."

"A m-misunderstanding, my Lord! That is a gross misunderstanding! Nothing of the sort ever occurred!" Tollen shrieked, waving his hands in a frantic plea.

"A misunderstanding, you say?"

"Precisely! I am... I am beside myself with shock! For your Lordship to descend without warning and cast such heinous accusations upon an innocent man..."

"An innocent man. Hmph."

"I—I belong to the Merchant Coalition! Whatever misunderstanding has occurred, if you persist in this intimidation, I shall lodge a formal protest with the Coalition leadership!"

The Merchant Coalition. Yes, that was his shield.

"They certainly have been making quite a name for themselves of late. The Merchant Coalition. Hmm."

A guild coalition nestled under the direct patronage of the Imperial Palace. Anyone with eyes knew it was a tool forged by the crown to keep the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠great territorial lords in check. But tools were made to be discarded—especially when crushed beneath an unassailable justification.

"Sir Dricus."

"At your command, my Lord."

Amos gave a curt nod. Sir Dricus stepped forward, drawing a pitch-black dagger that Amos had handed him, and channeled a flare of crimson mana along the flat of the metal. The blade heated rapidly, glowing a furious, molten cherry red until—

"Gah!"

With a flick of the knight's wrist, the weapon spun through the air and embedded itself quivering into the floorboards an inch from Tollen's boots.

"W-what is the meaning of this?!"

"Read what is etched upon the blade, Guildmaster Tollen."

"...!"

Tollen's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The cold sweat he had managed to hold back broke forth in a drenching torrent.

"My inquiries revealed that this is the manner in which the Black Blade transmits its assignments," Amos said smoothly. "Though I cannot say whether you were aware of their tradecraft."

He had no earthly idea. A secret message revealed only by heating the blade? It was quintessential assassin tradecraft, yet admitting to it was suicide.

"T-this is slander! Fabricated evidence! My Lord, even if the merchant faction irritates your sensibilities, framing an honest tradesman with such absurd—"

"I foresaw you would sing that tune, which is why I already extracted a formal confession from the Black Blade."

"...!"

Tollen's eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. C-could that be true?

No matter how practiced a merchant was at schooling his features, few men alive could maintain their composure when cornered by a master swordsman in his own territory. Whether the confession was real or a bluff was completely irrelevant. What mattered was the undeniable proof sitting right in front of them: evidence that he had targeted House Kundel's benefactor.

"I shall say it once more."

Clank, clank.

The heavy iron boots of the Kundel knights closed in, tightening the perimeter around the guildmaster.

"House Kundel etches its grudges into the bone."

Thud.

The strength drained from Tollen's knees, and he collapsed pathetically to the floor.

"This is the price for laying a hand upon my son, my house, and my benefactor, Guildmaster Tollen."

The gavel had fallen.

Erso the Crow's safehouse.

"Hmm."

Xiel, who had intended to slip through the rooftop hatch just as he had done previously, paused in his tracks.

He reinforced his security.

Though Xiel dropped soundlessly toward the rear courtyard, he was forced to halt once more. Scattered across the ground were numerous concealed mechanisms. Invisible to an untrained eye, but undeniably proximity-trip triggers.

He turned his gaze toward a nearby window. The room beyond appeared plain and unoccupied, but taking that at face value was amateurish.

"A decoy window."

Specially treated glass designed to distort optical angles. Anyone foolish enough to shatter or pry it open would immediately be greeted by a spray of concealed throwing needles from behind the frame.

Meticulous paranoia. Every standard entry point had been thoroughly locked down, presenting an obstacle that would give pause even to elite infiltrators.

"Hmm."

Xiel inspected the seam along the stone foundation, then pressed firmly against a specific corner brick. A moment later, with a muted mechanical rumble, the false masonry pivoted smoothly inward, opening a gap just wide enough for a slender man to slip through.

As Xiel stepped across the threshold, a yelp echoed through the room.

"S-Senior?!"

"You reinforced your security."

Erso scrambled to his feet in sheer panic, clutching a dagger—the very dagger Xiel had gifted him previously.

"H-how did you...?"

"I saw it."

"...You saw it? For real? You could see the trigger mechanism inside the wall?"

"Yes."

What kind of insane nonsense is that?! If a hidden mechanism can just be seen, how on earth is it security?!

After having his safehouse breached twice by this man, Erso had poured a fortune into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠doubling every layer of perimeter defense. All of it had been completely useless. The man had casually spotted the single emergency egress chute Erso had preserved and strolled right through it.

Dammit, I should've made it latch from the inside only!

In theory, that chute was meant as an emergency backdoor to slip back inside if the safehouse was occupied during an absence. Even though it had an external bypass, it was designed to be virtually unpickable from the outside, yet...

"How could that possibly be visible?" Erso muttered, utterly dumbfounded.

Xiel tilted his head, giving the question genuine consideration.

"When something is plainly visible, how else am I supposed to explain why I can see it?"

"Uh..."

"If I asked why you can see the fountain pen sitting on that table, what would your answer be?"

"Ah."

Right. He had forgotten for a second. Senior was an entity existing entirely outside the bounds of common human ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠logic.

I lost sight of who I was dealing with.

A spark of fierce, professional pride flared within Erso's chest. Next time, he would construct a barrier that even Senior could not pierce...

"Your upgraded measures show effort, but glaring blind spots remain. Make sure to reinforce them next time. Furthermore, that recording device by the outer vestibule appears entirely useless."

A recording device?

"You hid it well enough from casual view, but that is the extent of its utility."

Did he even install something like that? He had slapped on so many layers of defensive gadgetry over the past week that his own memory was turning hazy.

"Did I... have one of those?"

"You did."

Having dispensed with the critique, Xiel cut straight to the point.

"I have an assignment for you, Crow."

"...!"

It was here. Another opportunity had arrived.

"A very important task."

It's another test! I knew it!

A rigorous, multi-stage vetting process to recruit him into Senior's elite organization. A chance to prove his worth had presented itself once again. But then...

"Is this... required immediately?"

"Yes. As swiftly as possible."

"..."

Erso's face fell into an agonizing grimace.

I have an active commission I need to execute right now...

A major, long-term assignment was already on his docket, estimated to take at least an entire month to conclude.

"Would a month from now be acceptable?"

"No." Xiel's tone was flat and absolute.

"The thing is, I already accepted an active contract..."

He had even pocketed an advance. A staggering one million Cel, paid upfront solely on the sterling reputation of Red Shadow. Even after the guild took its cut, the remainder was a fortune. The total contract was worth two million Cel! Earning two million Cel not for swiping an imperial masterwork, but merely for retrieving a single document, was unheard of.

The coin isn't even the real problem.

The client had specifically designated Erso by name. If he defaulted on the contract now, losing the money would be the least of his worries; he would face severe disciplinary sanctions from Red Shadow, and his future as an operative would be completely ruined.

...Yet I want to join Senior's syndicate so badly!

Torn between his livelihood and his ambition, Erso finally gave in and confessed the truth.

"I am about to embark on a long-term contract."

"A long-term contract? How long will it take?"

"Roughly a month, by my estimation."

"Is that so?"

Xiel fell into quiet contemplation. Erso felt his stomach drop with regret.

W-would it have been better to try handling both simultaneously? What if this chance never comes back?

"Um, in that case, perhaps I could—"

Before ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Erso could scramble for an excuse, Xiel spoke.

"If I review the dossier and assist you, the job will finish far sooner."

"Pardon? You... you will assist me?"

"Yes. Let me review the assignment details first, and then I will decide."

The offer caught Erso completely off guard. Having Senior on board would undoubtedly make the operation trivial; an assignment that looked to take a month might wrap up in under a week. But why would Senior meddle in another operative's commission?

Interfering in another agent's job is an absolute taboo in the underworld.

It was the golden rule of their profession. For someone of Senior's pedigree to suggest crossing that line meant only one thing.

Senior... don't tell me—

A sudden, chilling realization flashed through Erso's mind, making him shiver from head to toe.