Chapter 112 — Borrowing a Cat's Paw (4)
Chapter 112 — Borrowing a Cat's Paw (4)
A dark corner of the alleyways.
A shabby inn tucked among taverns and brothels, where the nightly clamor made sleep a struggle.
A large beastman stepped inside.
A hood covered his ears and the backs of his hands,
but he could not hide the eyes glowing red within.
Several diners glanced over reflexively at the sound of the door, startled by his bulk,
then startled again by the crimson light gleaming from beneath the hood.
A few of them nodded to themselves with knowing looks—they already recognized his infamous reputation.
He was accustomed to such gazes.
Spotting the person who had been waiting for him, the beastman approached, carefully pulled out a chair, and sat.
Not even a footfall.
His movements were almost graceful.
"How did the talk go?"
A small frame bundled under a robe and a wide hat,
a voice mature and sharp for her size.
She was all the more conspicuous—ill-suited to an inn frequented by mercenaries because it was cheap.
The mage freely rolled a coin across her fingers and asked the huge beastman who had just taken his seat.
She had cast a spell to keep their voices from carrying,
lest anyone overhear.
The beastman answered.
His voice was that of an easygoing young man.
"I heard a lot of nonsense."
Instead of asking what he meant, the mage silently frowned.
Catching the expression hidden beneath her hat, the young beastman gauged her mood and spoke.
"They wanted me to assassinate the Demon King."
"...What?"
The mage's next question was nothing like what he had expected.
"How much are they offering?"
"...Huh?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it, and his face fell.
Normally this miser of a mage would fly into a rage at the mention of the commission fee.
But even if he stayed silent or lied, she had ways of ferreting out the truth regardless.
So the young man came clean.
"...200 gold."
"...!!!"
The mage shot to her feet without even managing a scream.
Though the spell prevented any sound from escaping,
the force sent her chair toppling backward.
Two hundred gold—
that was not a sum even nobles could easily lay their hands on all at once.
Enough to quit the mercenary life and start over comfortably.
Enough to support a lower noble family deep in debt for decades.
The people in the dining room glanced over at the suddenly upright mage, then turned away again.
"Are you insane! You turned it down!"
The mage seized the collar of the man who was nearly twice her size and shook him.
The young beastman averted his gaze, looking flustered.
"Getting all the way into Evirgio is impossible."
"For that kind of money you make the impossible possible!"
"...."
The mage, too short to even reach his chest, shouted and swore at the beastman, but he simply took the scolding in silence.
After nearly an hour, once her voice had grown hoarse, the beastman finally added a single sentence.
"They said there's a truce."
"...What did you say?"
Her voice rasping, the mage glared viciously at the young man. But the young beastman's face remained calm.
"I heard the maids talking on my way out of the castle. The king went to the border in secret to negotiate a ceasefire with Evirgio."
"So the war is... ending?"
"It doesn't sound like it's ending for good. Ending the war outright would make things difficult for the king."
In a clear voice, the young man folded his arms and looked at the mage.
"...So that's why they want the Demon King dead. To keep the war going."
Both the young man and the mage were sharp-witted.
They quickly grasped the king's scheme.
But a decisive difference divided them.
The young beastman thought that if there was a truce, obviously it was right to stop the war—assassinating the Demon King was not a sane decision.
The mage thought that regardless of how the war turned out, the offer to kill the Demon King would remain viable until they found a different candidate.
"Accept that offer."
"Yurtelia."
The young man's face tightened with displeasure, but the mage paid him no mind.
"We finish this job and retire. I get to make money, and you get to quit being a mercenary. It's good for both of us."
"But insisting on prolonging a war that's already over..."
"That's not our business. I don't care if more humans in this country die or not. The world is already barren to us anyway."
"...."
When the young man shut his mouth in clear disapproval, the mage coaxed him in a gentler voice than before.
"Anemut. I won't go out of my way to emphasize our relationship for the sake of this job. But you and I both need the money."
"...That's, true, but..."
Seeing the mercenary pout, a smile rose to the mage's face.
Anemut acting that way meant
he had ultimately resolved to go along with Yurtelia's decision.
Just like always.
So the mage's smile was genuine.
"...Fine."
"Thank you, Anemut."
Relieved, the mage finally took a sip of the beer in front of her.
Her throat was parched from all that shouting,
but the drink still tasted disgustingly foul.
"Anyway, where did you hear classified information like that? Did you have a tumble with one of the maids and pick it up?"
"...."
Silently, the young beastman nodded.
He looked embarrassed.
The mage snorted a laugh.
"To think you can steal someone's skill with such a lewd method. It's impressive, but it's ridiculous. What skill did you get this time?"
Though the hood hid it from view,
Anemut's modest, fur-covered ears flattened tightly backward.
"...The skill of doing laundry."
"...What?"
At the absurd answer, the mage echoed him, then burst into loud laughter.
"Ahahaha, laundry! By the gods, was she a scullery maid?! Is that even a replicable skill?"
"Don't mock it. Plenty of ordinary people live their lives working hard."
"Ahaha, I know, I know, but what use does a mercenary like you have for laundry! Ahahaha..."
Watching the mage laugh until she cried, Anemut threw out another remark.
It was an attempt to change the subject.
"...Yurtelia. I know you're trying to save money. But let's move to a better inn before we set out for Evirgio. We've made plenty of coin. We're top-ranked mercenaries now. In exchange, I'll go first thing tomorrow and tell them we're accepting the commission."
But the mage suddenly stopped laughing and turned serious.
"No. That money is for finding my sister."
"...Tch..."
His persuasion having failed, Anemut leaned back deep into his chair with disappointment.
With that motion,
the hood covering his head slipped back.
The diners who hadn't yet recognized him recoiled at the sight of the beastman's ears.
They soon realized the young man was the one and only famous beastman mercenary in Merde, and they radiated both wonder and disgust.
His eyes, set beneath the ears of a leopard, flashed once more in the darkness.
* *
"Seeing Your Majesty's dragon countenance after so long leaves me overcome."
That evening, the day Roan returned to Basel.
On his way from the small council chamber to his office, Roan met Diobe.
Diobe was standing in front of the office as if she had been waiting for him.
"Diobe. It has been a long time. Has everything been well?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. How was your journey?"
To receive such a personal greeting from Diobe.
No matter how many times he reflected on it, it was a moving thing.
And so Roan's voice was softer than usual.
"It was clearly fruitful. Though not what I had wished, the war with Merde has been suspended for now."
"Is that not the result of Your Majesty's efforts? A full end to the war cannot be far off."
"Thank you."
At those words, Diobe's gaze suddenly wavered.
Roan, who had been harboring an inward question, noticed that her Affection had reached +48.
That earlier figure,
the number that had risen after he counseled Diobe when she had been shaken by the nuclear explosion unleashed by the Knight-Commander of the Church of Laurecia from Merde.
'Wasn't it 45 then...?' 'If this were a game,'
he would be able to see the Affection log. A shame.'
In any case, it was good news as long as it hadn't dropped.
Her Affection was at a stage more than sufficient to go beyond simple fondness and harbor affection for him.
Back when Rauka's Affection was at that level, she had been pressing herself against me.
That meant it wouldn't be strange even if Diobe's heart was racing at my words.
Roan smiled at the thought.
"...Ah."
And an involuntary sigh of admiration escaped Diobe's lips.
'...Huh?'
"...Ha, no, I-I apologize, Your Majesty!"
Flustered, Diobe hurriedly apologized.
What had been perceptible in that brief exclamation was happiness.
Sensing that, Roan's smile deepened.
His eyes gently curved.
Keeping her head bowed, Diobe stole a sidelong glance at Roan.
Looking self-conscious, she bit her lip lightly.
To spare her embarrassment, Roan changed the subject.
"At any rate, what business brings you?"
"Ah, ahh. Though you must be weary, I wished to report on the backlog..."
"How diligent of you."
"...I am abashed."
At Roan's words, Diobe shyly offered this in lieu of an apology. It was an apology for intruding on the emperor's scheduled rest.
"It is fine. But what brought you here instead of Grünent's office? Grünent would have been waiting for you as well."
"How could I dare presume upon Your Majesty's whereabouts? I am quite all right."
Red concentric circles spread outward in an instant.
Roan's eyes narrowed.
[Lie.]
Yet at the same time, another skill let him perceive the intent behind her words.
The emotion conveyed by 'Attentive Hearing' was longing and desire.
In other words, she had
wanted to meet Roan alone.
Without Grünent, Helen, or Rauka around.
'Hmm...'
Roan regarded her with satisfaction.
Enough that it was a shame a quest hadn't appeared for it at that moment.
He didn't want to sleep with her rashly just yet—there was a chance that if they grew closer beforehand, he might miss out on a quest reward.
Perhaps it would be good to let this ticklish feeling smolder for a while.
In Aina's case, the moment he thought they were getting a little closer, with none of this flirting-like sensation, they had jumped straight into humiliation-play.
"You are always so considerate. Very well, let us speak in the office."
With a dry expression, Roan turned and headed to his office.
Seeing the smile vanish from his face, Diobe briefly looked regretful, then followed behind him into the office.
And so, after receiving Diobe's accumulated reports,
his first day back in Basel drew to a close.
The next morning, Roan was forced to listen to a servant's urgent voice before dawn.
"What is the matter."
Not many came seeking him all the way to the training grounds.
Swinging the silent Fiora and adjusting his stance, Roan turned his head at the sound of ragged breathing.
The servant's face was aghast as he spoke hurriedly.
"The Count of North White Territory..."
Roan could feel it.
If it was this count, he was fully capable of causing some other incident.
"...has brought a package of considerable size."
It was a surprisingly simple report.
Roan tilted his head.
"Was the Count not assigned a large chamber within the palace as a laboratory? The word would have been given to freely bring in any baggage needed for research."
"Well, that is..."
The servant hesitated as if troubled, then spoke carefully.
"The package the Count brought is too large to fit through the laboratory door."
"What do you mean."
Roan's eyebrow twitched.
The room prepared for the laboratory was not an ordinary bedroom but a small, unused ballroom.
In a modern building, it would have a height of nearly two stories and an area close to sixty pyeong.
I was hardly well-versed in mages' experiments, but did they truly require that much space?
It was not as though he was establishing his own personal laboratory here like the Minister of Finance; it was only a temporary research space.
It seemed he had brought something preposterous again.
Roan's intuition whispered.
Roan let out a small sigh and returned Fiora to its scabbard.
"...Lead the way."
And when he saw what the Count had brought, Roan was utterly appalled.