Chapter 21
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: An Adventurer's Private Tutoring for Her -6-
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One step up the stairs—leaning against the flimsy railing, I sneak a peek below.
The path stretching from the entrance is narrow at a glance.
At the end of the tunnel-like passage sits a drab wooden door, and right in front of it, a single person lounges in a chair.
'Too tight to swing a warhammer, and if I channel mana and swing wildly, the whole tunnel might collapse—'
I first signal Rike, who's creeping up behind me, to hold position.
I swap my weapons, crouch low, hold my breath, and carefully head toward the entrance.
At this rate, Rike probably thinks I have a skill to change weapon shapes or store them away.
Slipping forward—
I dash silently toward the man, who's oblivious, fussing over his nails.
"…!"
In an instant, right up close.
The moment my eyes meet those of the dazed guy sitting at the entrance, I clamp his mouth shut and shove him against the wall.
Pierce!
I drive the awl in my hand into his temple, confirming his pupils dilate before releasing my grip.
I kick the corpse sliding down the wall flat to the ground and scan the path I took once more until Rike arrives.
Surely Nematos, that group chasing sacrifices and power, doesn't consist solely of black mages.
This one, off now to meet the holy goddess, looks too lightly dressed for a black mage, with two daggers hanging from his belt.
I draw the owner's-less daggers, stow the awl in my Inventory, gesture for Rike to step aside from the door, then lightly press down on the handle.
Creeeeak—
I slowly nudge the unlocked door open with my foot.
At the same time, my eyes dart around quickly.
One man in his mid-50s sitting at the facing table.
Another woman perched on the table's edge, holding a liquor bottle.
And in the corner, a bald guy propping his chin, reading a book.
Utterly oblivious to the commotion outside, they're peacefully going about their business.
Now, with their bored, non-hostile gazes drawn to the door sound.
Bullseye
Increases accuracy of thrown weapons.
The skill tingling at my fingertips—or perhaps Heavenly Might—guides the trajectories of both hands.
Splat! Splat!
The instant two spurts of blood spray from the daggers embedding in the table pair, I launch myself toward the corner.
"What the fu—…!"
I kick the throat of the bald guy jolting up in shock.
Dragon Fang Kick
A kick technique manifesting a dragon's bite through mana.
Crunch—!
"Gurk—!!"
The bald guy's throat tears away in a chunk, as if savaged by a feral beast.
Dragon Fang Kick channels the motion and intent of a dragon's bite through mana into a single foot, creating wounds hard to believe a human could inflict.
Even in the game, it's popular for the high chance of inflicting the handy bleed status ailment.
Nothing beats it against humanoids.
"Come in."
Rike, waiting invisibly outside, enters while scanning the room.
We quickly search the room together.
In case of traps, I open things first; she double-checks with her eyes.
'No black mages in the branch office?'
The book the bald guy was reading was on horsemanship, not black magic.
The liquor on the table is cheap swill. Just grunts, huh… no valuable intel.
The very next room over.
Opening the door reveals another bizarre space curtained off once more.
"…"
Dozens of people—from full-grown adults to children—crammed into the cramped room.
They're breathing, blinking, but their pupils are dilated, drool spilling from open mouths as they stare blankly at the ceiling.
I've seen this scene plenty of times, but Rike might find this inexplicable situation terrifying.
"These people…"
"Prepped as sacrifices. As long as they're alive, they hold the same value. To avoid trouble during transport, a broken-minded, idiotic state is ideal."
"…"
"Cold truth: there's nothing we can do. If there were any living black mages nearby, I'd have cleaned them up."
"…You're right, Mr. Adventurer."
"Once we clear this place, the Church will handle the aftermath. Let's go."
The reason Cribento survived from his early days as a mere mercenary to becoming a Nematos executive wasn't raw strength.
Of course, he had the skill befitting his position and experience, but his true weapon was something greater.
His instincts were exceptionally sharp.
He'd dodged death his whole life on gut feeling alone, and even this morning, there had been a clear signal.
Rarely, he'd had nightmares, waking multiple times before dawn.
Had he grown dull, sitting comfy as branch manager now that he was a Nematos exec?
The price for ignoring that signal was steep.
'Fuck, I'm screwed.'
His hand instinctively goes to the mustache he'd groomed with care for so long.
Anxiety twists his gut.
Mercenary life, where he'd spent over half his years, boiled down to the law of the jungle: strong eat weak.
More vital than brute force for survival was the eye to gauge your opponent.
Without it, you wouldn't last a day in the undisciplined mercenary world.
Cribento prided himself on that above all. That's why despair hit when he saw the man entering through the door.
"That's right! I remember now. This must be the last one."
The moment he spotted the robed man spouting nonsense upon entry, he doubted his own eyes.
His vision seemed to blur with fatigue. Was this even a normal human?
"Couldn't even hear a sound… all my men dead?"
"Curious? Ask them when you meet in heaven."
Whoosh—!
The intruder hurls the warhammer in his hand.
Cribento leaps from his desk to dodge but freezes. The hammer's path isn't aimed at him.
'No way… don't!'
Boom!
Rumble rumble—
The robed man collapses the narrow exit behind Cribento.
Cribento stares vacantly at the rubble, then back at him—now holding a sword.
He glances around, as if searching for someone.
"Whoever you're looking for, if it's not me, can you let me live?"
Not being a black mage, he owed Nematos no loyalty.
He'd sell everything he had if it meant survival.
Any Nematos pursuit over betrayal was a problem for later. Right now mattered.
"Haha—your plea for mercy is so brazen, I almost nodded."
"Then how about on my knees…"
"Hold on—"
He says something outside, and a robed figure enters the room.
'With that huge power gap, they travel together…? What's their deal?'
The robes confer briefly, then the sword-wielder steps forward.
"I'm going to ask questions now. You can lie if you want, but it won't end well."
"Answer truthfully, and you live?"
"First question."
"…"
No even false promise of mercy—his heart pounds wildly.
Even with his mustache-curling poker face, renowned for shamelessness, he can't fully hide his emotions here.
He knows this type of person well.
"Is Hell Broom in this branch?"
"That damn raccoon geezer… finally stirred up trouble, huh."
"Answer the question."
"Not here… Want a deal? I know where he is."
Cribento throws his desperate gambit, spotting his sole escape.
These two were strangers to him, unconnected.
Honestly, the old man caused the mess, and he hated taking the fall.
"Port city?"
"Wrong. A place you could never guess. So, shall we talk?"
Luckily, they didn't know where Hell Broom went. Cribento fiddles with his mustache, steadying himself.
'Please bite, damn it!'
Even if they guessed right, he'd deny it from his position.
What drove him mad was the man flatly ignoring his trade offer.
Death was sealed. The thought alone cramped his stomach with stress.
Just when he thought hard times were over and ease began!
Sit back, hand over the drooling idiots when the black mage arrived—easy work.
His men handled the dirty jobs, so he just lounged.
Cribento waits anxiously as the man taps his palm with the sword, pondering.
"Not the port city… the incinerator?"
"Sigh—wrong. Nematos's secrecy terrifies even me, an exec. I guarantee no one else knows Hell Broom's route."
Cribento calms his racing heart.
He maintains his usual tone, but inside, he's clutching his gut, screaming.
Hell Broom had actually gone to the incinerator.
'How'd he know about the incinerator? Traitor in Nematos…?'
He ponders which branch to bomb this guy into.
Pick someone strong enough to kill the monster fast.
"Hm?"
The figure behind tugs the man's robe. They whisper again.
'Just leave like this…'
Moments later, the talk ends, and the man approaches.
"Hey—"
"…Speak."
The man's lips curl into a visible grin inside the robe.
A chilling smile.
"It's the incinerator, isn't it?"