Sevillea, the Plague-Polluted City (4)
Morning. After finishing my dawn training and taking a quick shower with cold water, I was eating breakfast when a soldier from the baron's estate arrived, forcing us to head to the warehouse early in the morning.
"Aigoo, how could this happen...."
The freezer warehouse storing the monster remains had a broken wall. White steam mixed with the stench of corpses poured out from inside, while soldiers scrambled to repair the collapsed section.
"Young master, this is...."
"Sir Robert. If I guess what's going on, you won't say I can read the future or anything, right?"
"Young master."
"I'm kidding. As for the current situation, well."
The soldiers moved about with genuinely pale, panicked faces. Judging from the direction the wall debris was scattered, it looked like something inside had delivered a powerful impact, shattering the wall outward. And the black blood dripping onto the floor had dried up.
"This situation right now...."
"Grey Gibraltar—ugh!"
Someone who dared call my name so casually approached.
"What kind of outrageous mess is this!"
"What do you mean? Sir Plambel Sevillea."
"If you hunted them, you should have made sure they were properly killed!!"
The Sevillea baron, his face flushed beet red from the morning, yelled at me.
"Made sure? We removed the hearts, extracted the magic stones, and severed the necks completely."
Under normal circumstances, one could frame it as Grey Gibraltar making a mistake.
But that depends on the opponent.
However, falling for such a low trick was fine for Grey, but an insult to Gibraltar.
"We stored the monster corpses in the freezer warehouse under the soldiers' witness. If the incident happened overnight, whose responsibility is that?"
"Are you trying to pin the blame on me right now!"
"Haha, Sir Baron. Did I say you were responsible? I was just asking."
"Y-You...!"
His head seemed filled with blood, ears turning red.
"You'll collapse from high blood pressure at this rate, Sir Baron."
"Your speech is utterly arrogant!"
"Like father, like son. Right?"
"Ha...!! Insolent brat! Do you think the name Gibraltar will protect you!"
"Yes. I did nothing wrong, nor did my subordinates. Just because an accident happened in the warehouse with the corpses I hunted doesn't mean you get to yell at me."
As I showed a bit of my presence, the baron flinched and stepped back.
Old folks are all the same.
Thanks to my height and build, strangers didn't treat me like a child, but to an old man, even a middle-aged man was a 'young punk.' It wasn't strange for him to bark at someone not even an adult yet, but once he did, my response had to match.
A elder deserving respect? An old man who deserved to be attacked.
"To me, it looks like a situation where we need to catch the 'culprit.'"
"You little punk...!"
"Father!!"
A young man came running from behind with an urgent voice.
"Wh-What's this in the morning...!"
"Step back, Gamos! This brat right now...!"
"It's Gibraltar! Ha, damn it...!"
Gamos Sevillea. The man I'd shot in the execution grounds.
"I'll take over here. Please go back!"
"Hmph...! You think of me as a useless old man in the back room too! You're expecting to inherit the title when I die!"
"Father...! Please...!"
According to Robert, he was an ordinary person at best, or objectively speaking, a typical coward who bullied the weak and feared the strong.
"Ungrateful brats...!"
Did he think he could leave now that his son had arrived? Baron Plambel Sevillea spat phlegm on the ground and departed. A typical cranky old man of the kingdom. Correction: old geezer.
Behind his staggering figure, I could clearly see the expression on his unseen face.
"The one who farts gets mad."
"Pardon?"
"I'll explain later. Not the right place."
I signaled Sir Robert with my eyes, then approached the man scratching his head.
"Sir Gamos Sevillea. Nice to meet you."
"...I see Sir Grey Gibraltar."
Heir to a family and eldest son. Same status, but twice my age. But the family name gave me the edge. His odd semi-formal speech was the typical ambiguous attitude of kingdom nobles toward a child from a more legitimate house.
"Speak comfortably."
"Is that so? Thanks."
And biting the bait immediately like this.
"Sorry. Father thought there was a monster among the ones you caught that wasn't properly killed."
"The number of corpses seems intact."
"...Father thought the count was misrecorded."
"Are you perhaps trying to trap me on purpose?"
As I pressed with a smirk, his face stiffened.
"Gibraltar?"
"N-No way!"
Mentioning the family made his expression change as he yelled.
Like father, like son.
How could their personalities be such mirror images?
"We'll know after investigation, but according to the guards, no one entered the warehouse overnight."
"Hmm...."
"Yet something broke the wall from inside and escaped? It's not entirely unreasonable for Father to think the monster was alive."
"......."
I could press with the clues I'd scanned, but.
"Well, okay."
Conversation is for those worth talking to.
"Got it. We'll leave the investigation to you. Meanwhile, we'll head out on expedition again today. In one hour."
"Ex-Expedition again...?"
"The troll blood is gone, so we need a replacement. I have my mission."
I casually leaked today's plans and turned.
"Good luck, Sir Gamos."
"......."
I felt his intense glare on my back, but I just let out a hollow chuckle.
Is it bliss or curse not knowing what kind of man his father is?
* * *
Entrance to the monster-polluted zone.
"The culprit is obviously Baron Plambel Sevillea."
"......."
"Sir Robert, why that face?"
"Uh, well...."
Sir Robert, looking uncomfortable, fiddled with his chin.
"You didn't think the baron would pull something like this, did you?"
"No. It's just, normally, you'd ask me, 'Sir Robert. Who do you think the culprit is?'"
"......."
Classic Robert.
"Then, Sir Robert, a new question—"
"Why did I state the answer directly this time? Guess the reason."
"...Sir Mente. With mastery ahead, can you see the future now?"
"No. It's rational deduction from years watching humans up close."
"...Tch."
She stole my line. An opportunity for pure Robert to understand traitor scum thinking too.
"Lost my mood. Just the answer."
After a breath.
"The baron secretly attacked the warehouse using his men, even hiding it from his son. He stole the valuable troll blood—the only worthwhile item—then staged it like an improperly killed monster escaped from inside. To deflect blame, he came at dawn to reverse-yell. Done."
"Uh, um...."
"Of course, the terror to territory folk from monsters means nothing. He just clings to 'Grey' who caused an accident in his land."
It was obvious.
"I wouldn't act like Plambel, but in this situation, he'd be busy writing letters."
"To whom?"
"My father, obviously. 'Your son came here and caused trouble. I don't want to clash with Gibraltar over this, but manage your son better.'"
Father would scoff at the letter.
"Young master. Then why steal the troll blood?"
"30 points. It's valuable. 60 points. Nothing else worth taking. 100 points. Troll blood heals wounds well, but also reverses aging."
"...Any bonus points?"
"No."
Nothing special.
"An old man who can't form knight orders or mercenaries to hunt monsters poked the seemingly touchable Grey. That's it."
"Th-Then...."
Robert paled and shivered.
"Y-Young master. Should we just return to the territory?"
"Why suddenly?"
"If the baron dies in this situation, investigators from the capital will come. Then...."
"My backing is stronger."
"Pardon?"
"Even if I really tried assassinating him, investigators would clear me."
I revealed the Morgania crest cufflink inside my robe sleeve.
"Knowing I'm involved, Queen Carmen would send a Morgania man as investigator."
"Ah, heh heh...."
"How convenient holding a powerholder's hand. Even failure can be covered once or twice."
But repeat incidents, and all would think 'Grey is the assassin.'
"Troll blood won't kill. It'll invigorate the baron instead."
"...Didn't you leave it expecting theft?"
"I wouldn't leave valuables anticipating theft."
"But you did anticipate it."
"This chat loops. Conclusion: Thief Plambel is trash."
"True, but...."
"Once."
I raised index and middle fingers toward Sevillea, then folded the index.
"I can overlook once. Not twice."
"U-Um...."
Not Robert, but the Whites murmured something.
"Yes? What?"
"N-No, it's...."
"Something on my hand? No?"
"...In the empire, raising the middle finger is a severe insult...."
"Oh? Empire papers didn't mention."
"N-Newspapers don't print profanities."
"True."
The Whites were now all loyal.
What to do.
I knew.
A sudden chuckle escaped.
"Young master, it's a harsh insult...."
"Before killing Plambel, I'll do it right in front of him."
"Young master...!"
"Stealing is theft. And death from theft...."
Bwooooo—
A strange sound from behind.
"...What?"
"Trumpet. Urgent news, it seems."
"Halt."
What urgent news requires trumpets here in the polluted zone on expedition?
No way.
Did someone finally eat a cow that grazed on magic-poisoned grass? Had the plague started spreading?
Even with time differences, fate happens inevitably?
If so, this timing was malicious. Right after arriving in Sevillea—
No. Seventh visit, and now?
Pre-regression, how many visits to Sevillea? Less than ten.
If this seventh meant fate pranking me to stop the future plague now—
"Young master Grey Gibraltar!!"
A mounted soldier arrived panting.
"What is it?"
"Th-The baron collapsed!"
"...Collapsed? Why? He was fine at dawn."
"Th-That is."
I sensed something odd in the soldier's expression.
Why embarrassed?
He hesitated, eyes darting, biting lips.
Understandable. Some details hard to tell me.
But—
Doesn't suspect me?
Not embarrassed because I'm Grey Gibraltar, but because the content was truly awkward?
"U-Um. Sir Robert. A word."
The soldier called not Sir Mente, but Sir Robert.
Robert placed hand on sword hilt, approaching cautiously as if ready to behead if needed—
"...is."
"Ah."
Sir Robert heard the whisper and blanked momentarily.
"Young master, it's, uh. Ahem."
"What. Why can't you say?"
"...Hard to tell you directly."
Robert looked awkward, then gestured largely on his armor, hidden from the soldier.
"......."
"So... Ah?!"
Empire script, spotted by all Whites.
"What. What'd he say?"
Sir Mente, basic Empire tongue, missed words.
"Soldier. Pack camp and return immediately. You go first."
"Y-Yes! I delivered the message!"
The soldier fled hastily.
"...Puhahaha!!"
Once gone, I burst the laughter I'd held.
"Y-Young master?"
"Man, what a flashy way to go."
"It is, but."
"What. What happened? How'd he die?"
"Sir Mente."
I spread one hand wide, slapped flat other against it.
"He went."
"......."
"Troll blood prevents aging too, but that effect."
"Uh, um...."
"This is."
Unlike advanced-medicine Empire, kingdom life expectancy was about 70.
"Sir Gamos Sevillea is in a pickle. Inheriting while father died in a younger woman's arms at that age."
"Old body, fatty foods, no exercise—sudden blood rush intense activity. Not common, but happens."
Sir Mente scratched head.
"Robert. Even a grunt soldier spared young master, but you blurt in front of kids?"
"N-No. Sir Mente. Unfair. Who'd expect? Whites sometimes act adult...."
"Still, death-by-sex in front of kids?!"
"Sir Mente! Vulgar! Mind your words...!"
Plambel Sevillea. Death-by-sex.
I couldn't reveal the hidden truth to anyone.
Troll blood heart attack? All kingdom elders would die.
He wouldn't steal and drink if fearing that.
Two possibilities, same goal, different method.
Plambel unaware till end.
Assassinated.
Not by me, someone else.
The crown prince.
His favorite style. I liked it too.