Reward
“Hah…! Heuk…!”
My breath came in ragged gasps.
Thud!
The masked man I'd pierced straight through the heart toppled forward right before my eyes.
“I thought I was a goner, you bastard…”
He was the toughest opponent I'd faced yet, no question.
I couldn't fathom why someone with skills like that was wasting his time as a Demon Worshipper.
Drip, drip.
But more importantly—
Now that I'd caught my breath, the searing pain in my side hit me full force. I clutched it tight.
A quick glance revealed blood trickling steadily from between my torn leather armor and shattered chainmail.
The wound was worse than I'd thought.
Staggering to my feet, I pushed myself up anyway.
Boom—scraaaape!
The battle still raged around me.
Even so, Lorentz's men held the clear advantage overall.
And why not…
Krunch!
“Gaaahhh!”
Over there—
Lorentz was single-handedly holding one flank, which let the rest of us focus our forces here. It made sense.
I'd heard they had another heavy hitter like this guy on their side, too.
But Lorentz was bottling up the other masked fighters all by himself—and now he was even starting to subdue them.
No need to worry about that side. Just help wrap things up here.
Whew, better hurry and finish this so I can get some treatment.
The pain kept surging in waves.
Schink!
I yanked the broken sword free from the masked man's corpse.
Two proper scraps with Aura users now, and both times my sword snapped.
Time to get myself something sturdy.
Stab!
“Gurk…!”
I spun and drove it into the chest of another masked creep sneaking up from behind, then snatched his sword.
I'll ask for a new blade as my reward when I report back.
A Complete Aura user—no less one with serious chops in Guard—and a Demon Worshipper to boot. That's gotta count for major credit.
Not quite on the level of what I pulled off back at the mansion, but still a solid achievement.
With that, I tore a strip from the fallen man's clothes, bound my wound, and threw myself back into the fray.
**
“That's a nasty wound.”
“Yeah.”
“Mel, tend to him.”
Once the fighting wrapped up, one of Lorentz's subordinates—a woman named Mel—cast a heal on me.
Not like some game from my past life where wounds knit shut on command. More like disinfection and pain relief.
Word was, only high-ranking priests could actually regenerate flesh, but I wasn't holding my breath for that kind of help.
Still, this was plenty. I already felt worlds better.
“Get the rest of your treatment back home.”
“Got it.”
Treatment couldn't wait, though—not just for me. After quick field fixes for everyone, we climbed back up through the sewers.
Luckily, no more ambushes on the way to street level.
We emerged aboveground without a hitch.
“Come find me once you're patched up.”
“More work?”
“No, just to settle your reward personally.”
Lorentz and I exchanged those words before parting.
After that, instead of a clinic, I headed straight for the mansion.
A Boyd family healer beat some stranger hands down.
“Y-you're hurt?!”
“Yeah, could use some patching up.”
“Heek…! What kind of wound is that?!”
Too dark to see properly at the time, but under bright lights, the damage was obvious: serious.
Emergency bandage or not, the mangled chainmail and leather had fused grotesquely with the gash.
“Aigoo! Doesn't it hurt?!”
“...It does, but I'm fine.”
“Painkillers first—lie down here!”
I endured the healer's familiar fussing as she started on the wound.
“Alright, surgery time.”
With expert hands, she peeled away the embedded chainmail and leather shards, then stitched up my shredded side with delicate precision.
Her skills were top-notch, as always.
“Absolute bed rest from here on! Stay put in the treatment room!”
“Sure.”
“No sneaking off, okay?”
“What am I, a kid? I'm not gonna bolt.”
Zing—
She eyed me skeptically at that, but…
“Absolute bed rest! Remember it!”
With that, she bustled off to fetch more meds.
…Whew.
Stuck in here for sure now.
Still, trading blows with a powerhouse like that and walking away with just this? Profitable.
So.
I lay there obediently, as ordered, when—
Knock knock.
“Come in.”
The door opened. Not the healer, judging by the knock.
“How's the body holding up, young master?”
Right on cue—Rowell.
“Feels like death. Send some good meds my way.”
“The mansion's stores are yours to use freely.”
“Handy.”
They worked great last time I got treated here.
A week tops, and I'd be right as rain.
“More to the point—Lorentz tells me you performed admirably.”
“You already talked to him?”
How long could treatment have taken? He'd already met Lorentz?
“With Demon Worshippers crawling out of the capital's underbelly, he's been run off his feet.”
“Ah, so strike teams are mobilizing already?”
“The Royal Knights have been dispatched.”
“Oho…”
Royal Knights, huh.
“Think they'll nab 'em clean?”
Honestly, their rep had taken a hit in my book.
Charging out all bravado, only to get bushwhacked.
Though, they had inflicted casualties on the Demon Worshippers and Lugar Kingdom remnants despite the ambush—which let us hold the line.
“Plenty of skilled hands there.”
“...Yeah?”
“Indeed. The issue was always the hotheads letting blood rush their brains.”
Rowell spoke in past tense.
So…
“Not anymore, then.”
“That drubbing woke them up, if anything.”
Maybe I could expect results after all?
Eh, whatever.
The Royal Knights weren't playing games—they'd handle it.
My part was done anyway.
“But to business: what reward do you seek?”
Yeah, now we're talking.
First mission and it was already high difficulty—no way was base pay cutting it.
“A fine weapon.”
“Straight to the point.”
“Sword snapped again.”
I'd known what I wanted from the start.
Two real fights with Aura users, two broken blades.
Top priority: a quality sword.
“A custom blade suits you perfectly. Lucky timing.”
Rowell pulled a pouch from his pocket.
Paying for it himself? Nice.
“Here.”
Not money—a single sheet of paper.
“What's this?”
“A voucher.”
“Huh?”
“Follow the directions on the back.”
High-grade stock. Front side bore just one name: Gareth.
Flipped it over—a simple map.
“This is…”
“A VIP pass for Gareth's Smithy.”
Gareth, Gareth.
First I'd heard of him, naturally.
But Rowell handing out a ticket like this? Had to be elite.
“The kingdom's finest craftsman. Pay him a visit.”
“Will do, soon as I'm mobile.”
“Indeed. Go once you're healed.”
With that, I tucked the voucher carefully into my robes.
A few days later.
“Absolute bed rest!”
“Got it.”
Seizing the moment while today's nagging healer stepped out—
I cracked the window and slipped into the garden.
Back to my quarters, I grabbed some clothes and suited up.
“Oh, out for once?”
“Yeah, be back soon.”
A casual nod to the gate guard, and I was out.
The staff didn't know the details—no lectures.
Probably just figured I'd been off on some errand.
Only Rowell and the healer knew about the mission and the injury, I bet.
Anyway.
Out on the street, I followed the voucher's map straight to the upscale merchant district.
My feet itched to hurry.
A custom weapon? Pure romance.
Plus, today was the day I'd promised Jeban—I'd hit the smithy, then swing by the guild to check my alias.
Treatment room wrath awaited back home… but forgiveness beats permission every time.
“This the place?”
The map led to a massive building in the high-end zone.
Less forge, more upscale storefront—matching its neighbors.
One oddity: crowds swarming the first floor.
A line, from the look of it.
Suit-clad merchants to rough-armored mercenaries radiating power.
Varied clientele for a smithy, I supposed.
Me, wait in that with a Boyd VIP pass? Doubtful.
Studying the voucher closer, the map's note caught my eye.
[Entrance: 2nd Floor]
Second floor?
While those folks queued at ground level.
VIP rooms up top, probably.
I circled for stairs—none in sight.
…Did I have to shove through the throng?
Then I spotted it: a terrace on the second-floor facade.
Small, with grand windows curtained and shut.
…An entrance too?
VIP perks—why not.
Thump, thump.
I jogged in place, gauging the height.
Let's see…
Aura gathered in my legs.
Boom.
I launched skyward with Fleet, bounding off thin air to land clean on the terrace.
“Huh?”
“What the—?!”
Shocked voices from below as I touched down.
Then—
Knock knock.
On the closed window.
Creeeak—
Curtains parted; window swung open.
“Sorry if that's rude, I…”
“Come inside.”
Trying to apologize for the impropriety, but the woman who'd opened up just gestured inward, face impassive.
“Window was fair game?”
“Of course? It's the standard entry for VIPs.”
“Ah.”
So it was the door.
Rowell, that sly old fox—left out the details.
Such a pain.
Well, whatever.
“I'll escort you to Master Gareth.”
Brimming with anticipation, I followed her into the smithy.