Chapter 12
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Headgates (5)
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“Hey, over there!”
“Ugh!”
From the moment Blake appeared, the two bank guards who had been watching him closely tensed up, their hands drifting to the hilts of their swords.
A hulking brute, a full head and a half taller than them, had been staring intently in their direction for a while before suddenly striding toward them with clear determination.
Gulp.
One of the guards swallowed involuntarily.
The stranger's appearance was a far cry from the wealthy merchants or nobles who frequented the Imperial Central Bank.
Of course, Rotten Street did see its share of mercenaries and wandering knights.
But they stuck to pawnshops or small exchange stalls for their piddling transactions—they had no business at an Imperial Central Bank branch.
Above all, the man was draped in a black cloak adorned with gray wolf pelt at the shoulders and armed with a sword nearly as tall as he was.
And that was the key detail.
Every survivor of the northern raids described the bandits the same way: a "big man" in "beast-skin clothes" wielding a "huge sword."
In other words, the giant marching toward the bank without a hint of hesitation was the spitting image of a northern bandit.
The guards had no choice but to brace themselves.
Thud. Thud.
Blake approached the two guards and, just as Lindelmann had instructed, let his arms hang loosely at his sides to show he meant no harm.
'Both arms dangling!'
'He's ready to draw at any moment!'
“Wh-what do you want?”
One of the guards asked in a stiff voice, overwhelmed by a pressure he'd never felt before.
The other gripped his sword hilt with one hand while clutching the rope connected to the bell inside the bank with the other.
Pull the rope, and the inner bell would ring. The bell would alert a clerk, who would then strike the large bell upstairs.
And that would summon the Headgates garrison.
It was a silent warning: Try anything, and we'll call in the guards.
-Show them the money and state your business, and they'll guide you politely.
Recalling Lindelmann's advice, Blake reached for the pouch at his waist to pull out some coins.
Swish.
“Gold coins...”
“...!”
The guards' faces hardened in an instant.
They didn't need to hear the rest.
It was all clear now.
“Hand...”
Clang!
“Hand over gold coins to bank guards, eh? You've got some guts sticking your head in the lion's mouth!”
As one drew his sword, the other yanked the rope without hesitation.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The bells pealed loudly, sending the street into chaos.
“What's going on?”
“Bank robbery!”
“For real? Whoa, th-that guy...!”
“Looks like a bandit! Holy crap!”
Clerks burst out at the sound, and pedestrians swarmed, forming a semicircle around the bank entrance.
“What is it? A robber?”
“Gutsy in broad daylight!”
A few armed men spewed curses as if to back up the guards, blocking escape routes and scanning for accomplices.
“...”
Blake simply stood there, silently watching it all unfold.
The unexpected mess left him drawing a blank on solutions.
But he couldn't just stand idle.
Not only were the guards in front of him on edge, but several behind him had drawn weapons too.
An attack was imminent.
He had to resolve this somehow.
“As long as I don't kill them.”
He muttered under his breath, scanning his surroundings with impassive eyes.
His mind rapidly mapped the optimal way to subdue them—accounting for positions and terrain.
But the plan never fully formed.
Garrison soldiers were rushing in from afar.
“The garrison's here!”
The crowd parted at the shout.
Six garrison soldiers inserted themselves between Blake and the guards.
“This guy's the one! He...”
One guard rushed toward a familiar face among them, finally relaxing.
But he never finished.
An unbelievable scene unfolded.
“What are you doing here?”
“Didn't I say I was resting at Winterflower?”
To his shock, several soldiers were chatting amiably with the obvious bandit.
Blake had spotted them the moment they arrived—the men who'd come to Headgates with him. He greeted the familiar, grinning Guard in his usual gruff tone.
“I came to deposit gold coins, as you advised.”
“Oh, right? Then let's go in. Why stand around? Heard there was some bank trouble. A robbery...”
Guard trailed off, glancing around.
The two guards gawking slack-jawed between him and Blake.
The armed toughs who'd drawn weapons with murderous intent, now slinking away and pretending nothing happened once the soldiers approached Blake.
And the curious onlookers still watching...
Guard, sharpest eye in the Headgates garrison, squinted at Blake.
“Wait, don't tell me...”
“They called me a bank robber. No idea why.”
Blake shouldered his massive sword again, brushed off his beast-pelt cloak, and answered flatly. Guard and the soldiers' faces twisted into odd expressions—half-smile, half-grimace—at the sight of his perfect "northern bandit" getup.
“We treated the slips with oil, but you should still keep them from getting wet if possible. Looks like that's all done, so I'll be off.”
Having helped with the bank business and escorted Blake out, Guard waved once and turned to leave.
Blake watched his retreating back in silence, recalling one piece of info he'd gleaned from him before.
“Hold on.”
“Something else?”
Guard turned, his usual cheeky grin still in place.
Blake fished a silver coin from his pouch and tossed it to him.
Money made a fine thank-you or goodwill gesture.
“Uh...”
Guard caught it reflexively.
But his expression was strange.
“Hah!”
His grin faded as he stared at Blake, then sighed deeply and approached, offering the coin back.
“I don't need money.”
“It's a gift. Take it.”
“No, this isn't a gift, Blake.”
“...”
Blake stared down at him blankly, not grasping the point.
Guard sighed again, pressing the coin back into Blake's hand.
“I didn't do it for pay. Just pocket it.”
“I don't get it. You took it before.”
“That time, there were others around. And it felt more like a gift than payment. This is different.”
“Doesn't make sense. It's the same silver coin.”
“It's not about the money, Blake. I'm a Headgates garrison soldier. Pay's modest, but it comes regular. That's my compensation for this kind of duty. You don't need to pay me extra.”
“Then just call it a tip.”
Blake was persistent.
Or rather, he just didn't understand.
“That's not it. Back then, maybe—but this was my job... Sigh! How do I explain... Ah!”
Guard flipped up his helmet, scratched his head furiously, glanced at Blake, then bolted.
“Anyway, I'm good! And Blake, don't just hand out silver coins willy-nilly from now on! Especially not to folks who helped out of their own goodwill—it can backfire worse than nothing! Remember that! Pfft!”
He laughed his usual hearty laugh as he dashed off into the distance.
“...”
Blake's gaze lingered on Guard vanishing around the corner and the other soldiers.
He truly didn't get it.
The coin was identical then and now.
They'd been thrilled before, but refused it this time.
Then, he'd bought info. Now, he'd received help and offered payment. No difference to him.
But Guard insisted there was.
“Just doing his job? Hm. Duty, then.”
He still didn't fully grasp it, but he never expected extra pay for carrying out the commander's orders either.
Probably something like that.
With that conclusion, Blake turned toward the inn.
He hadn't done much, yet he felt as drained as after battling hundreds of barbarian warriors in the mountains.
Was that why?
Or had he simply ignored it?
Blake passed by one gaze tracking him through the crowd.
“The bear cub's heading back to Winterflower. Time to report in, eh? Heh!”
A man lurking in an alley smirked as he stepped onto the main street, confirming Blake's direction. The scabbard swaying at his hip bore the crest of the Credo Family.
Having sorted the bank fiasco, Guard returned to the Headgates citadel.
“Whew!”
The thought of facing the administrator made him sigh despite himself.
The man despised him.
Said his smile was annoying, but really, it stemmed from three years ago—when a deranged village chief tried offering his granddaughter to the newly arrived administrator, and Guard, on gate duty that day, had intervened.
The punishment? Automatically entered into the annual Northernrocks Fortress reinforcements lottery.
“Damn. Hope he's in a good mood today... Hoo!”
In Headgates, the administrator was king. And delivering unwelcome news to a man who hated him was no picnic. Guard took a deep breath and opened the door.
Creeeak.
“Administrator, sir?”
“What? When'd you get here?”
Guard shrank under the man's signature glare.
“Arrived past noon. You've been in meetings, so I waited to report...”
“File a report. Why bother me in person?”
“Something unusual came up.”
“Unusual? Spit it out. I'm starving.”
Guard hurried after him, aiming for casual nonchalance.
“One Northernrocks garrison soldier came with us, and there was a mix-up at the Central Bank branch—thought he was a robber. All sorted now.”
“...”
But the administrator halted, brow furrowed, ignoring Guard's tone.
He slowly turned.
“Northernrocks garrison soldier?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You idiot! Why report this now? Should've said the second you got back!”
“B-but you were in meetings...”
Caught off-guard by the fury, Guard stumbled back.
“Meetings be damned... Argh! You thick-skulled fool!”
“S-sorry, sir.”
A bit overkill for a late report, but Guard groveled.
Then he froze mid-bow as the administrator snapped at two passing clerks.
“That incompetent moron become liaison? Ha! I'd sooner ask a stray dog. Don't even dream of it on my watch!”
Clack-clack.
Alone in the empty corridor, still bowed, Guard slowly straightened.
“What a dirty, petty bastard. Damn! Should I just quit? Nah, what else could I do...”
Anger, futility, self-loathing.
A tangle of emotions clouded the face of the unmarried garrison vet.
“That shithead couldn't speak up sooner.”
Ignoring Guard, the administrator rushed to his office and dashed off a letter.
“Told him to report anything Northernrocks-related...”
He muttered softly, sealed it with wax and stamp.
“Hey!”
His secretary hurried in; the administrator handed it over.
“Send by pigeon. To that guy in the Lancaster Family. Wait—no.”
He grabbed the departing secretary, a nasty grin spreading.
“Not pigeon. Make Guard do it. Got that old mule for cart-pulling? Have him ride that. And tell him not to come back without bringing the recipient here. Heh!”
A chance to screw over his hated subordinate and that arrogant merchant-noble who'd bypassed him for Headgates. The administrator chuckled wickedly.
(To be continued...)