Chapter 34
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: Silverlake (4)
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“We need to head out at dawn, so let's call it a night.”
Just as expected, Blake finished his meal without a care for the tense drama unfolding nearby.
“Still, even so...”
Lindelmann, who firmly believed that rescuing a damsel in distress was the most noble virtue of a knight, couldn't let it go. He jumped up, trying to grab Blake's leg as he rose hastily from his seat.
“This bitch thinks she's special just 'cause she's pretty? How dare she fight back!”
At that moment, the squat man and his cronies lunged at the traveler.
“Ahh!”
But even as the traveler screamed, he dodged their grasp with nimble hops this way and that.
The furious mercenaries finally drew their daggers from their belts.
“You little slut!”
“N-no! I mean, I'm...”
The traveler frantically shook his pale face from side to side.
“Too late for excuses, slut! Once we catch you, we'll pass you around all night! Heh heh heh!”
“You scum...”
Lindelmann, unable to stomach such outrageous words, gripped his sword hilt and was about to shout at them when a clear, melodic voice rang out through the pub.
“That's why I'm telling you, I'm not a woman!”
“Huh?”
“What?”
With reactions varying in words but identical in meaning, everyone's eyes turned to the beauty—no, the pretty boy they now had to call him.
“I-I'm a man. So please don't call me pretty or a girl.”
“...”
Silence fell over the room.
They could only scan the traveler up and down with disbelieving stares as he insisted he was male.
“Liar.”
Lindelmann muttered under his breath, a strange sense of disappointment leaking into his weary voice.
The pretty—no, pretty boy traveler whipped his head toward Lindelmann.
“It's not a lie! I-I'm a man, I tell you!”
“Ah, no, I just...”
Lindelmann shrank back at the traveler's genuinely furious expression.
“Sir Zaroph.”
A low, icy voice cut in suddenly.
“You'd do well to stop meddling in pointless affairs.”
“Ah, understood.”
Lindelmann didn't need to turn to know whose cold gaze and stern face it was. He shuddered once and stepped back.
“Then let's head back to the room.”
Blake turned away.
Even then, the mercenaries' threats continued.
“Hmph! This wench is pulling tricks 'cause she doesn't wanna get eaten! Let's check if you're telling the truth.”
“Heh heh! Yeah, we'll just verify it ourselves.”
Unlike the naive Lindelmann, these hardened mercenaries weren't about to back off from such a rare catch, even in a big city.
“Eek!”
As the mercenaries closed in slowly, the traveler retreated step by step until his back hit the wall.
“D-don't come any closer!”
Cornered with nowhere to go, the traveler raised his wooden staff.
“Heh heh! And what're you gonna do if we do?”
One mercenary with a perverse taste chuckled, savoring the sight of the small, pretty thing cowering in fear.
“If you keep coming closer...”
At the pathetic display, the traveler hesitated, then steeled himself with a resolute expression and shouted.
“If you keep coming closer, something big's gonna happen!”
“Puhahaha! Something big? What big thing? Puhahahaha!”
“You got some huge monster hidden? Kehehet!”
“Ooh, sounds fun. While we're at it, let's check if you're really a guy too. Heh heh heh!”
“Even if you're a guy, you've still got a hole or two. Keeek!”
The mercenaries' eyes gleamed with mockery and twisted lust.
“Seriously, something big will happen. So you should stop coming closer!”
“Do whatever you want. Heh heh! Hope it's something like your chest growing and a new hole popping up!”
The squat man spat filthy words and took a big step toward the traveler.
At the same instant, the traveler rummaged in his backpack with one hand and let out an incomprehensible yell.
Momentarily.
Fwaaah!
A beam of bright light slithered up the wooden staff like a living serpent, then spread throughout the entire pub.
“Hmph!”
Blake, about to step onto the stairs to the second floor, spun around reflexively as his back suddenly lit up.
But the light vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“Wh-what? What the hell?”
The mercenaries, who had squeezed their eyes shut and backed away from the sudden intense flash, hurriedly opened them and scanned the room.
Nothing seemed amiss except for the traveler slumped against the wall, sweating profusely and gasping for breath...
“Big Sam? Big Sam's gone!”
“What?”
At the shout that the squat man—who had been standing right there moments ago—had vanished, the mercenaries' eyes widened as they looked around frantically.
“H-he's really gone!”
“What in the world?”
Their wild searches converged on one spot.
“No way?”
The traveler, drenched in sweat, muttered weakly and dropped his gaze to the floor as their horrified stares—laced with dread—fixed on him.
“Hah! I-I told you... something big would happen...”
“Gah!”
The mercenaries' eyes bulged as they followed his gaze.
The squat man's clothes and boots lay scattered on the floor.
But the truly shocking—or horrifying—thing was something else.
Krrruk!
Something black and slimy burst out from between the scattered clothes.
It was a toad.
“Gasp...!”
The grotesque toad waddled about with half-lidded, bulging eyes, freezing everyone in place.
Their comrade had vanished into thin air, leaving only his clothes behind.
And now a toad crawled out from them.
A terrifying hypothesis they dared not voice filled the mercenaries' minds, drawing their eyes inevitably to the traveler.
The faded green robe and wide-brimmed pointed hat.
The large wooden staff with its oddly curved top.
And the beam of light that had climbed it.
Putting it all together, a figure from legends—rarely seen in decades, known only from tales—flashed in their heads, perfectly explaining the impossible.
“A... a mage?”
Facing the pretty boy they now suspected was a mage, the mercenaries stood dumbfounded, as if turned to stone by real magic.
Even Lindelmann, who had meant to help, gaped silently, his eyes shifting slowly between the toad and the pretty boy—now a mage.
Then someone bellowed.
“Mage or not, grab him! You gonna leave Big Sam like that?!”
Krunch! Thud!
With a thunderous shout, the hook-nosed mercenary slammed his crescent-shaped falchion down, splitting a table in two.
The others snapped to their senses, raising their blades and surrounding the mage.
“Urgh!”
But the terrified mercenaries hesitated, unable to close in easily.
Kruk! Krrruk!
The toad writhing on the floor felt all too real, too close.
“You worthless idiots!”
The hook-nosed man spat curses, strode forward without hesitation, and swung his falchion at the mage's wooden staff.
“Eek!”
Startled by the blindingly fast strike with no wind-up, the mage flailed his staff wildly.
Clang! Clang!
Steel blade against wooden staff. And though the wielder was a seasoned mercenary, the staff neither splintered nor broke.
“Hmph! So it is a magic tool?”
Realizing after a few strikes that the staff—with its twisted top—was no ordinary wood, the hook-nosed mercenary bellowed at his stumbling comrades.
“Grab him quick so he can't reach into his robe! He can't cast without swinging that staff!”
“Ah?”
The mage froze at the words.
A triumphant smirk curled the hook-nosed man's lips.
“Knew it! Get him now!”
“Aah!”
Inexperienced, the mage had unwittingly revealed his weakness to the veteran's ploy. He hurriedly shoved a hand into his robe.
“You bitch—no, bastard—where do you think you're going!”
As the mage tried to pull something out and swing his staff, three mercenaries charged.
“...!”
The moment their hands grasped for the mage's robe, light erupted once more, enveloping the trio.
But not the blinding white from before—this was a faint, translucent blue glow.
Whoosh!
“Ack?”
As if yanked by invisible hands from behind, two mercenaries slid backward through the air and crashed to the floor.
The third staggered but held firm, snagging the mage's robe hem.
“Got...”
Crash!
A flying chair smashed into the mercenary just as he reached for the mage's nape, sending him sprawling.
The hook-nosed man scowled and whipped his head toward the thrower.
“What the hell? You breaking the code?!”
Unless directly attacked, mercenaries weren't to interfere in others' fights outside the battlefield—it was an unwritten rule of their trade.
Especially in pubs like this, which was why the other groups watched silently from afar.
But a knight aspirant dreaming of imperial glory cared nothing for such rules.
“I don't know any damn code! I'm a knight!”
The hot-blooded knight aspirant Lindelmann drew his sword and roared.
The hook-nosed mercenary's eyes flashed.
But his gaze wasn't on Lindelmann's blade—it was behind him.
Blake.
“You getting involved too?”
Blake stood silently for a moment before shaking his head.
“Not my business.”
“Gasp!”
Lindelmann gasped and shot a sidelong glance.
Sure enough, Blake casually resumed climbing the stairs.
Desperate, he shouted.
“Blake, you're really just gonna...?”
Blake ignored him and kept going.
“Blake!”
But he soon had to stop.
Not because of Lindelmann's yell.
“Blake? Dunfris? Honor duel?”
The hook-nosed mercenary's voice.
Blake slowly turned, foot still planted.
“...”
His gaze held no emotion.
Those who met it flinched and rose from their seats.
Blake straightened his hunched back and pulled back his hood.
His impassive face emerged.
The pub's air chilled instantly.
But only for a moment.
“It's him! Hundred-gold bounty!”
Another group that had been watching quietly sprang into action toward Blake.
“Kyaaap!”
Whoosh!
One man screamed, hurling the dagger he'd been using to carve a whole roasted lamb, then drew his infantry sword from his belt and charged Blake.
“Hundred gold, dead or alive!”
“Kill him!”
His four comrades grabbed their weapons and followed.
Clang!
Blake smacked the flying dagger away with the steel-plated back of his hand, then twisted his massive frame with lightning speed, dodging the slashes from both sides.
He thrust a rock-hard fist straight at the brow of the man lunging for a stab.
Thwack!
A heavy thud.
The first attacker crumpled without a scream.
His eyes burst out front, skull from behind, a gruesome spray of bloody fluid exploding like a watermelon.
“Gah!”
As the others recoiled.
Blake crouched low, drew the two daggers from his boots, and exploded upward from his bent knees.
Boom!
His hulking body sprang like a coiled spring, slamming into one man.
“Hng!”
The man's body locked up at the ferocious, beast-like momentum.
Slash!
The daggers crossed his throat with a chilling whisper.
“Eh?”
Spurt!
With a final puzzled gasp, blood fountained from the gash, ending his functions.
Bathed in the spraying blood, Blake didn't slow, whipping his daggers at the rest.
“Gaaah!”
“Aaaagh!”
Screams echoed with each pass; battle-hardened men fell without landing a proper blow.
“Kheh...! Cough!”
The last one stared in disbelief at the dagger in his chest, vomited blood, and collapsed limply.
Blake yanked his dagger free from the falling man and turned.
His deep blue eyes flickered with cold light.
“Huff!”
Five men dead in mere breaths.
The mercenaries harassing the mage backed away in terror at Blake standing amid the blood sea, eyes gleaming.
“You...”
But the hook-nosed one only flinched, holding his ground.
Ignoring the blood trickling down his face, Blake shook the blood from his daggers and spoke tonelessly.
“Now it is my business.”
(To be continued)