Rombamel, the Border City (3)
“Thank you. I’ve read it thoroughly, thanks to you.”
“It’s hardly a difficult matter. Unless it’s something unusual, reports are open for anyone to read.”
The clerk took the report back and slid it into a drawer.
“You must have had a rough time getting all the way out here. It doesn’t seem like you’ve been active with any other guilds, either. There were even rumors that you’d died somewhere deep in the swamp.”
“Then I’m glad to hear they were just rumors.”
He had, after all, come back alive and very much in one piece.
“I’d like to write up a request.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Lawrence accepted the wax tablet the clerk had taken out.
He couldn’t put the truth into the report—what had been in the swamp’s depths, or what had happened at the holy site. He wrote instead that he had followed the river as the water receded and escaped that way, then made his way out of the swamp and arrived in Rombamel.
“How many eligator did you take?”
“Barely enough to make it back alive.”
“You’re being too modest. Aren’t you the shadow mage who killed even that bugbear in one blow? An eligator shouldn’t be any different. The byproducts must have fetched a pretty penny. Eligator hide goes for whatever price you name.”
Lawrence gave a dry laugh and shook his head.
Eligator hide, indeed. When his life had been hanging in the balance, there had been no room to worry about collecting byproducts.
As it was, he didn’t even know how many eligator he had killed.
No—did any of them die at all?
The ones that had ambushed them from the river when the water was rising had been like fish in water, and thanks to the water around them, he had only just barely avoided mortal wounds. Without any way to land a decisive blow, he had been forced to spend the fight on the defensive, almost hounded to the point of exhaustion.
Simply surviving had been a miracle.
The scattered fragments of memory were proof enough of that.
“I’d like to place a request.”
“Understood. The Mercenary Guild handles a wide range of requests, so long as they’re not illegal.”
The clerk took out a pen and another wax tablet from the desk.
He looked at Lawrence as if waiting for him to state the request so it could be written down immediately.
“I’m looking for the Holy Cross Order’s holy site. Or, failing that, I’d like you to ask around for anyone who knows the Order’s pilgrimage routes near the village, or any place that might have been used as a holy site.”
Rombamel had no real ties to the Holy Cross Order.
That meant there was no one nearby he could turn to for help, no monastery or shrine where he could stay for the time being, either.
From start to finish, he would have to gather every bit of information himself.
“As you probably know, requests like this take time. You’ll simply have to wait until someone who knows what you want comes to the guild.”
“I understand that.”
“The first posting starts at one month. After that, additional fees are charged depending on how long the notice remains on the board. If you’re clear on the conditions, tell me the request you want posted.”
The request should be straightforward.
Leaving out the extra details, Lawrence said he was looking for someone who knew the holy site or the pilgrimage route, and that he’d offer a small reward for anyone who could provide the exact location.
“Can I pay the advance tomorrow?”
“That’s fine, though the request won’t be posted until the advance is paid.”
Lawrence nodded.
He was broke at the moment.
First, he needed to sell the potion and raise some money.
* * *
The weight of the coin pouch jingled pleasantly.
The 10-silver potion had become 9 silver.
But in a situation where he didn’t have a single coin to his name, even that was something to be grateful for.
At least it was enough to put out the immediate fire.
After all, he had finally made it to the city, and the worst-case scenario of sleeping rough could still be avoided.
Of course, once he accounted for lodging and meals, this money wouldn’t last more than a few days.
He needed to take a request and get paid as quickly as possible.
Orc extermination….
He had never faced one directly, but he had heard plenty of stories.
How dangerous they were.
How strong they were.
For now, he had no intention of rushing into anything.
It would be better to gather as much information about orcs as he could before setting out.
In any case, if he was going to collect information on the holy site, time was on his side.
Lawrence looked up at the sign of the inn he had reached.
The Drunk Duck.
This was the same inn the guild clerk had mentioned.
The place was already packed from the entrance in.
Strangely enough, there were far more women than men.
Every one of them seemed to be in high spirits, chattering away.
“He’s really handsome, isn’t he?”
“And that voice—honestly, I could listen to it every day.”
Their faces were flushed, as though they had all just woken from the same lovely dream.
At the same time, Lawrence heard the click of tongues.
“What’s so great about some pale-looking bastard like that?”
“Mark my words, the second he runs into a goblin outside, his head’s coming clean off.”
At the men’s sharp remarks, the women turned equally sharp looks on them.
“What was that?”
“What, are we wrong?”
“……”
No answer came back.
Even with those rough expressions on their faces, the men didn’t look like they intended to back down. If anything, the women grew more numerous, gathering together as they glared at them in silence.
Silent pressure.
Under the steadily mounting stares, the men hesitated and backed away.
Judging by their reaction, the bard the clerk had mentioned must still be in the inn.
Leaving the men and women to their squabbling, Lawrence slipped inside alone.
Just like outside, the inn’s common room was packed with customers.
There were even a number of people standing by the stairs or leaning against the walls because there weren’t enough seats to go around.
Most of them were women.
Their ages varied widely, from little girls to married matrons.
All of them held drinks in hand and watched the empty platform.
“What can I get you?”
A serving girl came over to take his order, apparently having noticed him at once.
“Are there any seats left?”
“Did you make a reservation?”
“A reservation?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry, but if you didn’t reserve a seat, there aren’t any available right now.”
So the performer was really that popular.
It wasn’t some famous restaurant, and yet they needed reservations just to get a table in an inn. That told him enough.
“We do sell simple food and drinks for standing guests, though. Would you like to order one of those instead?”
“That would be better. What’s your best-selling menu?”
“For drinks, our honey butter beer. For food, the chicken skewers are the most popular item in the inn.”
“Then I’ll have two chicken skewers. As for a drink, warm milk will do.”
“Milk? Understood. Please wait a moment.”
He flicked a silver coin with his fingers, and the serving girl gave him the change without comment.
In an instant, she disappeared back into the crowd of customers.
He considered moving somewhere with a better view of the stage, but decided against it.
The waitress might not be able to find him again if he did.
Lawrence settled for a spot beside a pillar.
A short while later, the serving girl returned with his meal.
“There’s just one thing I’d like to ask.”
“I’m a little busy right now….”
Lawrence handed her one copper.
“It won’t take long.”
“……”
After glancing around and confirming no one was paying attention, the serving girl slipped the copper into her skirt.
“What is it?”
Her voice had taken on a little caution.
“I heard there’s a bard performing here.”
“There are plenty of bards who perform songs. If you go out to the market, you can’t swing a cat without hitting someone strumming a lute. I don’t know which bard you’re looking for, but if it’s just about singing, it could be any of the traveling minstrels.”
The serving girl pointed toward the table in front of the platform.
Apparently it was a reserved area, because only the exact number of guests to match the seats were sitting there—and among them, the women at the direction she indicated were dressed especially lightly.
“Maybe. But the bard I’m looking for is supposed to sing about a shadow mage.”
“Ah, Master Cedric? You should’ve said so from the start. If you wait a little, it’ll be Master Cedric’s turn soon. Once you see his face, you’ll understand immediately why he’s famous.”
Her tone changed in an instant, becoming sweet and friendly.
At the shift, Lawrence gave her a faintly sour look.
“Sorry for taking up your time.”
“No, it’s fine. I thought you might be up to something strange.”
Something strange?
The answer came quickly enough.
He understood exactly what she meant by “strange.”
Lawrence felt the heat rise in his face.
“Did I look like that kind of person?”
“How would I know? There’s no telling what men are like once the sun goes down.”
With that, the serving girl went off to attend other customers.
Watching her retreating back, Lawrence let out a dry chuckle.
He hadn’t expected a remark like that from a cleric of the Order, of all things.
He would have to revise his assumptions a little.
If the Order had no influence here, that meant ordinary things in one place might not be treated as ordinary at all in this city.
There would no doubt be people who recognized him as a cleric of the Order.
But it wouldn’t be wrong to say he would gain almost none of the benefits that status might normally bring.
In Rombamel, he was not Pilgrim Lawrence.
He was a mercenary.
No. A shadow mage.
It was a name he rather liked.
A small smile touched the boy’s mouth as he lifted the milk to his lips.
A little later, the man who had been waiting stepped up onto the platform.
Golden hair fell in silky strands from beneath a feathered hat.
He wore a coat mottled with brown and white and a green cloak over his shoulders.
Despite being a man, he was adorned with all manner of accessories, and there was something almost elegant about the way he moved.
Seated on the platform’s chair, he crossed one leg over the other.
A lute rested in both hands.
A radiant smile curved his lips.
Ring.
The lute bloomed with a beautiful tone.
“…Thank you all for coming again today. The only thing I can give you is my voice, so I hope you enjoy yourselves. If you count one, two, three with me, all your hard memories will vanish.”
Even his voice was pure and clear.
A thin, high voice utterly unlike the rough, low tone one might expect from a man.
The song hadn’t even started yet, and already there were sounds of admiration from the crowd.
“Did you hear that? I’m melting, I’m melting.”
“I told you! I told you we had to come!”
The women with their hands to their cheeks were busy wearing dreamy expressions.
The bastard was really, truly handsome.
Come to think of it, Doris had said something like that back in Remington Village—that the blond bard who had visited the village was so handsome he looked like a nobleman.
That bard might well be Cedric, standing right before him.
But the thought vanished from Lawrence’s head almost as soon as it appeared.
The content of the song was far too embarrassing to endure.
“Ohhh! Great was the shadow mage’s magic, for it saved the swamp’s warriors when peril came upon them! And the swamp warriors gathered there bowed their heads in reverence!”
What in the world kind of nonsense was this?
Listening to the lyrics, it was as if Lawrence had been turned into some legendary sorcerer out of a fairy tale.
There had been dozens, maybe hundreds, of bugbears pouring out at him, and somehow he was supposed to have driven them all back with a single spell and saved the innocent villagers.
Or rescued a beauty stranded in the swamp and received only a kiss as payment.
Or, even more absurdly, exterminated every eligator in the swamp’s depths and escaped alive….
The whole thing was so outrageous it was almost ridiculous enough to be funny.
In short, the man’s looks far outmatched his singing.
Most of the customers were listening to his voice rather than the song itself.
It was hard to find anyone truly paying attention to the lyrics.
That was how uninteresting it was.
Compared to the bard who had occasionally visited Hilton Village, his skill was so much worse that it would have been rude to even make the comparison.
He couldn’t listen anymore.
Lawrence emptied his bowl cleanly and rose from his seat.
Fortunately, the serving girl’s recommendation had been delicious.
He could see himself eating just that as a snack for quite some time.
For tonight, that would be enough.
He would rest here for now.
For the time being, this inn would serve as his base of operations.
The counter was comparatively quiet.
The proprietor, who had been silently polishing a glass, looked up.
“You’re staying the night?”
“Yes. Do you have a room available?”
“Of course I do. A good room is 50 copper per night. A standard room is 30. A regular room is 10.”
Lawrence frowned before he could stop himself.
That was far more expensive than he expected.
Compared to other towns, where inns charged 10 copper a night, it was astounding.
“Are you sure those prices are right?”
“First time in Rombamel, I take it. If you think I’m trying to swindle you, go check the other inns. You’ll find out ours is the cheapest right away.”
He had thought too lightly of it.
Lawrence immediately apologized.
“Forgive me. Truthfully, I came here on the Mercenary Guild’s recommendation. They told me your inn was the best in Rombamel.”
The proprietor’s expression twitched.
No one dislikes hearing their own business praised.
“If you’re short on money, stay in the 30-copper room. The 10-copper one is, quite literally, just a place to sleep.”
“I understand. I’m planning to stay for a month. If I add meals and bath water as well, how much more will that cost?”
Every copper saved would matter.
Lawrence began negotiating the lodging fee.