Chapter 60
Chapter 60
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: Phantom Thief Dauphin (3) - Showmanship
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"I'm not about to fall for such a lame threat."
The man who had received the phantom thief Dauphin's calling card.
Henri Montborg declared it without hesitation.
"That sales contract was perfectly legitimate from the start! If those illiterate bumpkins made a mistake because they couldn't read, that's on them—not me. The nerve of it all."
Whether the Montborg Trading Company's employees had lied about reading the contract aloud to them didn't matter to Henri one bit.
It was just some underlings acting on their own. And even if they hadn't been, so what? There was no way to prove it anyway.
The upper echelons of the guard were in much the same boat.
What mattered to them was that Montborg Trading was one of the top ten merchant houses in the entire Kingdom of Birka, with dealings tied to the House of Count Sarnos. The grievances of a few peasants? Hardly worth their time.
Besides, these folks were fuming over this unprecedented "calling card" nonsense they'd never dealt with before.
"This thief has the gall to announce his target upfront and then come barging in? He must think we're idiots!"
Why do guards always have the disadvantage in a cat-and-mouse game with thieves?
The guards have to stay on high alert everywhere, never knowing when or where the thief might strike. Meanwhile, the thief picks the time and place of their choosing.
But this Dauphin creep had just tossed that advantage out the window.
It smacked of overconfidence from his string of successes—or straight-up looking down on the guards.
"Don't let a single ant slip through! Grab anything suspicious on sight!"
"Eyes sharp, everyone! Anyone caught sleeping gets killed by me before the thief even shows!"
The company commander barked threats at the platoon leaders, who in turn yelled at their squads, and the soldiers—fed up with the abuse—were seething with rage.
The killing intent and fervor pouring off the guards made the air around the Montborg building shimmer like heat haze.
The locals watching this ironclad defense whispered among themselves.
"No way anyone's breaking through that."
"Why announce he's hitting that place, anyway? Thieves are supposed to sneak in and out quietly."
"He's really coming, right? Or is the calling card just bait to draw all the guards there while he hits somewhere else?"
As anticipation and anxiety hung thick in the air, the sun dipped below the horizon. The moon began casting its soft glow over the night sky.
The time on the calling card had finally arrived.
And right after...
Thud.
The entire area plunged into darkness.
"Huh?"
"W-what the hell? What's going on?"
As if flaunting their wealth, the Montborg building was lit up with expensive magic lanterns everywhere, banishing the night.
Unlike flickering torches, they provided steady light and were easy to maintain, so the guards relied on them completely. Now, every single one winked out at once.
As they stood there dazed, wondering if the magic devices had malfunctioned, a scream echoed from inside the mansion.
"Aaaahhh!"
Realizing it came from the trading master's quarters, a few platoon leaders went pale.
They shouted urgently.
"Torches! Light the patrol torches! Hurry up!"
The guards rushed toward the scream, bursting into a chaotic room. There sat Henri Montborg on the floor, clutching his leg, face twisted in agony.
"Master! Are you all right!? What happened!?"
Trembling, Henri pointed at the window.
"H-he tried dragging me off by force, but when he heard people coming, he bolted that way! Quick, catch him! Before he—argh!"
His leg must have been injured in the struggle; he groaned, grabbing it again.
Logically, there were a few odd details, but the platoon leaders—eyes glazed with dreams of capturing Dauphin—didn't notice.
"Don't worry, Master! First Platoon will nab him for sure!"
"Second Platoon too! Move out!"
Most of the guards dashed off in the direction he indicated. Then the trading company staff arrived late, approaching their boss.
"We're fetching a stretcher. Just hold on—we'll get you to a doctor right away—"
"No, not now."
Henri's eyes darted wildly.
"The warehouse—get to the warehouse now! We have to move my treasures somewhere else!"
"W-what?"
"He got here without a sound, straight to my room! There's a traitor among us! We have to secure the treasures before they hit the warehouse!"
The staff and remaining guards hesitated, but caved under his relentless pressure.
"Someone carry me—my leg's busted. The rest of you, guide the soldiers! No one's so stupid they can't navigate without lights, right!?"
"Yes, Master!"
"Hurry! Get the carts too!"
Wincing from his "injury," he nonetheless hounded everyone to protect his loot. No one dared complain.
Finally at the warehouse, Henri issued more orders.
"Good, everything's intact. Now load it up! Out to the back garden!"
"B-back garden? Why not the front, where more eyes can see?"
"You idiot! That's where he ran! And with a traitor loose, why advertise where the treasures are? Wait—no, are you the traitor? Trying to screw me over!?"
"N-no, sir!"
Cowed by his furious threats, they loaded the huge carts with warehouse treasures and wheeled them to the secluded back garden as ordered.
Other guards who spotted them tried to intervene, but backed off amid Henri's curses and accusations of "Are you the thief!?"
Exhausted upon arrival, everyone was on the verge of collapse.
Being chased around by his sharp tongue while loading and pushing heavy carts would wear anyone out.
"Perfect. Good work, everyone."
His sudden gentle tone let the guards sigh in relief, but the staff felt a chill.
The Henri Montborg they knew never praised like that. His earlier money-grubbing frenzy felt more natural.
Once doubt crept in, other questions bubbled up—things overlooked in the panic.
Why drag everyone here without screening for traitors?
Where were his personal bodyguards, who should have been at his side?
How did an unarmed Henri hold out until the guards arrived with just a twisted ankle?
But before they could ponder further, a blow to the back of the neck knocked them out cold.
To fool people, you don't need a flawless plan.
What matters is shameless audacity—and momentum that leaves no room for rational thought.
The back garden, littered with collapsed bodies.
Henri Montborg—no, Phantom Thief Dauphin—stood tall on both legs, a smile playing on his lips.
The next morning.
The citizens of Levruk rubbed their eyes in disbelief at the bizarre sight before them.
No matter how hard they rubbed, the scene didn't change.
"Mmph! Mmph! Mmmph!!"
In the central square of Levruk.
Hanging from ropes strung between buildings like caterpillars, Henri Montborg and his cronies dangled helplessly.
And alongside them, signs bore this message:
As if to prove the words true, steaming-hot stew pots—perfect for breakfast—lined the streets of Levruk, brimming with rich aroma.
Luxurious meats, potatoes, carrots, onions, and unidentifiable herbs tempted everyone. Beside each pot sat stacks of wooden bowls and spoons, plus helpful illustrations for the illiterate urging them to dig in.
Slum dwellers, clutching empty stomachs, dove right in without a second thought. Regular folk hesitated at first, but once one tasted it and raved, they all rushed forward.
Even the upper district sniffed the air furtively, glancing around.
Montborg Trading, forced into a citywide free feast, gritted their teeth but couldn't lash out at the eaters.
Their reputation was already in tatters—no need to add "petty" to it.
Montborg and the guards tried burying the details, but rumors spread like wildfire.
Henri Montborg sighed and paid the peasants fairly in the end. The guards became the city's laughingstock overnight.
But this was just the beginning of Phantom Thief Dauphin's escapades in Levruk.