Chapter 61
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Alteria (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Annrose saw Blake as someone special.
She was eighteen this year.
It wasn't an old age by any means, but among noble ladies her age, no one could imagine the ordeals she'd endured—facing death multiple times.
Even for her, Blake was a type of person she'd never encountered before.
The words that slipped from his emotionless face, utterly inscrutable in their intent, never failed to irk her.
"Hmph!"
Annrose stomped her foot in the bathtub, irritation bubbling up unbidden once more.
Yet, strangely, she didn't hate or dislike him.
At the very least, Knight Blake had never tried to deceive or exploit her.
If anything, she'd attempted to use him and ended up hurting herself instead.
And all it took were a few words from him.
"Maybe he's even more terrifying and extraordinary than anything I've been through."
For a man like that, Prince Henrik—famed for his cunning strategies—to entrust him with delivering a simple greeting letter to his daughter?
Absurd.
It was hard to guess now, but there had to be some hidden meaning she didn't know.
And to uncover it, she needed to meet Count Ilrain, the commander of the capital defense forces.
Once she relayed the story of Blake and Prince Henrik's letter, Count Ilrain would surely react, revealing the prince's intentions and how she should proceed.
"This is where the real fight begins. I have to stay strong."
Annrose's eyes gleamed amid the steamy haze.
The battle for the future of House Veniard had only just begun.
* * *
Waykard Street.
The largest slum in the imperial capital Alteria, where narrow alleys—barely wide enough for three people abreast—twisted like a labyrinth amid dilapidated buildings.
Blake and his group, hoods pulled low over their faces, followed the young sailor sent by Shipowner Rodi through the filthy, foul-smelling back alleys at night.
"This way. We're almost there."
'Twelfth alley, turn left.'
Blake, who had memorized the entire route from the docks, glanced up briefly.
He scanned the rooftops clinging together like tortoise shells in Waykard Street, pondered something for a moment, then lowered his head again.
"Here we are. Please wait just a moment."
The young sailor descended hidden back stairs obscured by stacked crates, then reemerged shortly after.
"I've spoken to them, so someone will come to guide you to your room soon. I'll be on my way then."
"Tell the shipowner we never forget to repay a kindness in kind. And here."
Blake handed a silver coin to the bowing sailor.
"Gasp! No, no thank you! If I take this, the shipowner will scold me, sir knight."
"It's fine. This is from me."
Despite the sailor's frantic refusals and waving hands, Blake pressed the silver coin into his palm.
"Thank you, Sir Blake. Rest well, all three of you!"
The young sailor, who had developed a mix of respect and admiration for the trio—especially Blake—amid the incidents during the voyage from Elberra to the capital, bowed repeatedly before vanishing.
"Good grief! He said it was fine, so why go and give him money anyway... A silver coin, no less."
Lindelmann muttered as if to himself, stealing glances at Blake.
Now that he was officially part of the group, he needed to redefine his role—not just for his own sake, but for everyone's convenience.
One companion was holed up in the mountains learning magic, while the other had spent a lifetime on battlefields; neither had the basic worldly savvy expected of ordinary folk.
So, aside from crises, Lindelmann figured he—the most streetwise of them—should handle everyday travel matters.
Especially finances.
Blake was the journey's leader, sure, but entrusting him with spending went against the famous adage; he treated gold coins like worthless stones.
Left unchecked, he'd probably toss money around like roadside pebbles.
And now it wasn't just Blake.
Their new companion, the mage, was a money pit too—equally clueless about the world.
"Wh-what about me?"
Rubens flinched under Lindelmann's intense gaze, while Blake tilted his head.
"He fulfilled his duty. Rewarding him accordingly is only natural, isn't it?"
"Even so, no need to give a silver coin just for guiding us. From now on, leave that sort of thing to me. Try not to spend recklessly. Actually, since we're on the topic—mind if I say one more thing? This is for all our sakes, not just you, Blake..."
Blake watched Lindelmann chatter on relentlessly, his words laced with unwavering conviction, and suddenly thought of someone.
Luther Isaac, the fortress's financial officer and the knight who'd served the commander longest besides himself.
Their looks and speech were worlds apart, yet they felt oddly similar.
Still, instinct told him pointing it out to Lindelmann would do no good, so Blake simply nodded silently through the lecture.
"I'll do that. Matters of money seem better judged by you, Sir Zaroph, so leave them to you from now on."
"Ahem! Much appreciated."
Lindelmann felt anew grateful for one of Blake's rare virtues: efficient judgment and swift decisions.
At that moment, the back door creaked open, and a small boy cautiously scanned the surroundings before climbing the stairs. He looked like a page from the Marsh Firefly Inn.
"You're the ones Shipowner Rodi sent, right? Come down this way."
As the three descended the stone steps, the boy swiftly restacked the crates to hide them again.
"Follow me."
The boy climbed the creaking wooden stairs, lifted a lever at the top, and pushed open a door.
Emerging, the group realized it was an impeccably disguised door mimicking a wall.
There was even another disguised door nearby, likely leading upstairs.
So this was under the Qinggang Alliance's management—not your average inn.
"If you need anything, pull this cord. The pub's downstairs, but I'd stay away if I were you. Too many rowdy types looking for trouble. Rest well."
After escorting them to the room, the page boy bowed deeply.
"Good lad. Here's something for your trouble."
"Thank you, sir!"
The boy beamed at the ten coppers from Lindelmann, bowing several times before shutting the door.
Once the page was gone, Lindelmann turned with a smug expression.
Blake's gaze, impassive as ever but clearly probing, fixed on him.
Lindelmann cleared his throat.
"Ahem! A kid working a place like this is useful in all sorts of ways. How well we're treated here depends on him. And considering our situation and any contingencies, those ten coppers I gave the page are far more ef-fi-cient than that single silver you gave the sailor we'll never see again, wouldn't you say?"
He emphasized certain words as he finished.
"I see. That makes sense."
Recalling the words Lindelmann stressed and the Elberra inn shopping incident, Blake fully grasped the difference between the silver for the sailor and the coppers for the page.
Efficiency and experience.
They were the core criteria for Blake's decisions.
"Anyway, the room's surprisingly spacious. I figured a sailors' inn would be a dump."
Lindelmann looked around approvingly.
Blake, setting down his combat pack on the bedside table and unpacking, was quietly pleased too—not with the size or cleanliness like Lindelmann, but with the room's strategic position for quick, efficient response to threats.
Undoubtedly Shipowner Rodi's consideration.
Knock knock!
A knock came moments later.
"Come in."
The door opened, revealing a neatly dressed man of medium height alongside the boy.
"Name's Fisher. Rodi filled me in roughly. You must be Prince Henrik's knight."
"...That's right."
Being known as the commander's knight was preferable now, so Blake nodded instead of denying it.
"I heard you need passage to Revat Harbor."
"Is there a ship?"
"You're in luck. Rendalt Trading Company's merchant vessel sails the morning after tomorrow. I'll arrange it—just follow this kid tomorrow night."
Fisher nodded toward the page boy by the door.
Blake glanced at the boy, then back at Fisher.
"The fee?"
"No charge. Rendalt will be thrilled just to have Prince Henrik's knight aboard."
Fisher grinned.
Blake did not.
His cold, sunken eyes stared silently at Fisher.
"Um..."
As Fisher faltered under the icy gaze, Blake spoke first.
"Understood. We'll follow the boy tomorrow night."
"Ah, yes."
"Anything else to relay?"
The gaze felt utterly desolate, coldly dismissive.
A clear dismissal; Fisher shook his head and stood.
"Nothing. Rest well, sirs."
Click.
Silence filled the room after Fisher and the boy left.
Blake stared impassively at the closed door.
"Blake, we've got passage and everything seems smooth, so why the long face?"
Lindelmann ventured cautiously.
"Nothing bad. Just..."
Blake trailed off.
"Hm?"
Lindelmann flinched at this unfamiliar sight from Blake since leaving Northernrocks Fortress.
The man who always judged coolly, decided swiftly, and acted boldly was now hesitating.
"The situation's unfolding differently than I expected."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Blake's cold eyes swept over Lindelmann and Rubens before speaking calmly.
"Sir Zaroph knows my mission. Deliver the letter to Lady Milena, the commander's daughter, in southern Sorria."
"Y-yes. So why...?"
"I suspect the commander has another purpose beyond delivery in assigning me this."
"Another purpose?"
Blake pondered briefly under their expectant gazes.
Answering meant broaching a sensitive topic first.
That was the issue.
Suppressing the awkwardness creeping up his neck, Blake voiced something he'd never said—or even considered—in his life.
"In your eyes, what kind of man am I?"
"Pardon?"
Lindelmann and Rubens blinked wide-eyed.
"Didn't get it? Then rephrased: Do I seem suited to ordinary city or village life? Could I live without drawing attention?"
"Uh... well..."
Lindelmann glanced nervously at Blake's impassive face.
His thick brows and the long scar on his nose bridge twitched faintly, suggesting discomfort with the question.
"I mean, you're not ordinary, but nothing that weird..."
As the group's de facto leader, Lindelmann treaded carefully out of courtesy.
But the next voice dashed that.
"I see it differently."
Rubens smiled innocently at their stares and continued.
"I think you're far from ordinary, Blake. Your appearance alone draws eyes everywhere. Your values, speech, actions—all extraordinary. You're distant from everyday folk in cities or villages. Absolutely."
He even added that emphatic adverb in his gentle tone, beaming at them.
'Speak for yourself!'
"No, Ruby, even so, your words are a bit..."
Suppressing the urge to shout, Lindelmann gave Blake an awkward smile.
"No, the mage is right. I'm not suited to ordinary urban or rural life. Whatever I do draws notice, and most incidents since leaving the fortress stem from that. I'm far from ordinary—highly conspicuous."
A twinge of inexplicable hurt colored his words, colder and lower than usual.
"Exactly."
"Mm!"
Rubens nodded happily at the agreement, but Lindelmann's face grew grave.
Events from Brownstone Gate through Elberra flashed by, sparking a realization.
"So, Prince Henrik assigning you the letter delivery is..."
He trailed off.
Blake nodded heavily.
"Yes. The commander doesn't want the letter delivered in secret. He might want word of it spreading across the empire."
(Continued in the next chapter)