Remember the Raven
A foolish noble whose ledger had been stolen had come.
Starve did not bother raising the man who had knelt before him without being asked. Instead, he ignored him entirely and quietly tilted his teacup.
In the silence that tightened around the throat, the only sound for a long while was the drip of cold sweat. Clink. He set the cup down. At the deliberate noise, the other man’s shoulders flinched.
“This is what happens when you foolishly rely on a bandit den.”
The calm rebuke, stripped of all unnecessary words, fell.
“Th-that bandit leader was the runaway son of a noble house, so he placed deep trust in nobles and no subjugation orders were issued, making it safe. And they say the darkest place is under the lamp… no one would ever imagine bandits might possess a ledger, so…”
“So?”
No matter what he said, once the incident had occurred, it was all meaningless excuses.
Cold purple eyes swept over the man as though binding him in place.
“Was it stolen, or was it not?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“And it was stolen by a mere mercenary, correct? I was utterly dumbfounded when I heard. Before that, it was the slave abolitionists who stole your slaves. At this rate, how can any of this be useful?”
He had gone through the trouble of elevating the man to nobility, yet he could not even handle a single matter properly.
The slaves were merely a source of funds, so that could be overlooked. But the drugs were one of the tools used to extract information from the Empire’s noble houses. Addicting even one of the lesser children—not necessarily the head or heir—made it easy to draw out family secrets up to a certain point.
And even that had been stolen?
“The more nobles we plant on this side, the better, which is why I have overlooked it until now. But if the incompetence is this severe, I may need to consider a replacement.”
“J-just one more chance…”
“A chance… Well. I will observe for the time being.”
There was no further value in dealing with him. Starve waved a dismissive hand, driving the man out. He would leave him alone for now, just in case, but any intention of using him had vanished.
Before even calculating how this would heighten the Empire’s vigilance, who would buy goods from a merchant whose ledger had been stolen and whose credibility had collapsed?
Moreover, the customers were nobles hypersensitive about their secrets being exposed. Lower nobles who had not yet advanced into the center would likely vanish without sound or rumor before long, even if he never lifted a finger.
He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against his chair.
“To think there are no useful talents at all.”
No, correction. There were no talents easy to grasp and shake at will.
The clever ones began entertaining other thoughts the moment his eyes left them, making management difficult. The stupid ones were simply incompetent. The frustration was enough to drive a man insane.
If I could have my way, I would enter the political arena myself, but…
A cold sneer slipped out.
The home country would never allow it.
Creating an identity was not difficult. His noble etiquette and conversational skills were already flawless, so they were not even considerations.
The only problem was that he himself was someone the home country watched with keen attention. An Esperanes citizen without silver in their blood was no true Esperanes citizen—yet here he sat with the blood of a ducal house. They would be watching him even more warily because of it.
If only these eyes did not exist…
“Lord Starve.”
Ah.
Starve, who had been rubbing at the corners of his eyes, rose from his seat at the familiar voice.
…Yes. Now that he thought about it, there was one talent. Someone intelligent, capable, and utterly incapable of betraying him.
“Saerin.”
Sometimes love became the strongest shackle and collar in the world.
A gentle smile curved his lips.
“Are matters in Esperanes proceeding smoothly?”
“Yes, there are no major issues. Do you intend to discard the man who just left?”
“I will leave him be. It seems he will die on his own without me dirtying my hands.”
“That is true. But he may still attempt something to recover from this. Will that be all right? If he causes another accident…”
“The collapsed slave market was the work of the slave abolitionists, and the leaked ledger was the work of a mere mercenary. No matter how stupid he is, he will not touch the abolitionists—they are no small organization. At most, he will try to kill the mercenary…”
He gently pulled her forward and seated her on his lap. Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she came willingly, he asked.
“Would there be any problem?”
“…No, I suppose not.”
She answered with her neck held rigidly, but only for a moment. Saerin furrowed her brow. As though tracing a faint memory, a doubtful voice flowed out slowly.
“But was it truly only one mercenary? I believe I heard there was a companion when they entered the gate. If the matter reaches him as well, things could grow complicated…”
“…Wasn’t he alone from the beginning?”
“Pardon? The person who accompanied him to the gate supposedly closed the Gate alone…”
“Regarding the Gate that recently appeared before the gate, I was under the impression the assigned response team handled it…”
Both their expressions hardened at the same time.
He had to make up for it. If that proved difficult, he needed to deliver a warning so severe that no one would ever dare touch his workshop again. At the very least, he had to show that he was making an effort.
Therefore, an example was necessary.
The slave abolitionists carried too high a risk of backlash, so he set them aside. His workshops had already been hit by them more than once or twice anyway; losing slaves would not be seen as a fatal flaw.
The problem was the ledger. The noble ground his teeth.
How dare a mere mercenary.
A mercenary—an individual with no powerful backers—made the perfect target for an example. Killing him would cause no troublesome aftermath.
So he placed a request. Not an assassination, but a murder commission.
“Kill Eckhart Lofty?”
The men who heard the somehow familiar name tilted their heads.
“Eckhart Lofty… Isn’t he the leader of the Lofty Mercenary Group? The descendant of the Mercenary King!”
“I heard his group has fallen on hard times and he’s the only member left… Is it really safe to kill him?”
“You want us to cut off the Mercenary King’s bloodline?”
“This feels a little dirty.”
“I’ll pay generously! All you have to do is kill the bastard!”
It was far too noisy for an assassination, but the group specialized in loud, certain murder. Originally they would do anything for the right price, but after a generational change they had become like this.
Still, roots did not vanish so easily. They would surely be swayed by money.
When the reaction remained subtly negative, the anxious noble placed a pouch of coins on the table.
“Kill him in a suitably noisy fashion. There is no need to handle it quietly.”
Everyone already knew about the drug operation but pretended not to. It would be good to make clear what happened to those who touched it.
The men’s eyes wavered when they saw the amount—clearly no ordinary sum.
“…Is the guy a bad sort?”
“He killed the daughter of a noble house.”
“Then he did something worth dying for.”
Just in case, the noble handed over the evidence documents he had prepared.
The man who received them scanned the papers, nodded, then snatched the pouch and tucked it away.
“We accept. You know our commissions are always paid in advance, yes?”
“What if you bastards take the money and pretend ignorance?”
“Come now, who would dare pull such a bold stunt against a noble lord? Anyone who did wouldn’t last long in this business.”
The leader of the nameless group grinned and slowly ushered the noble out. The noble, who seemed to have no desire to linger, clicked his tongue and left without protest. Only then did the men open their previously sealed mouths, filling the room with raucous noise.
As always, they behaved as though they had received nothing more than a trivial request.
Some asked if they were truly going to do it, saying it strangely didn’t sit right with them, but the moment someone poked the spot where the tattoo lay, the questions died away.
Because we need the money.
He fiddled with the phrase beneath the tattoo of a crow with green eyes, engraved at some unknown time.
Remember the Raven.
There was a record of their benefactor.
The benefactor who had pulled them from hell and entrusted them to this organization. He had stayed with them for a time, teaching them the sword and telling them not to simply endure if anyone ever treated him poorly.
They had clung to him, wanting to keep him there because it was the first kindness they had encountered since birth. They had begged and persuaded him to stay.
“Can’t you just live here with us? We’ll earn money quickly and support you.”
“Shall I?”
At those times, their benefactor would curve his strangely shining green eyes into a smile and reply.
“You want to live with me? Then you will need a great deal of money.”
There were no memories.
Only the proof that the benefactor had existed, the desperate result of trying never to forget him, and the dreamlike impression that his smiling face had been beautiful.
The so-called mad dogs began collecting money.
To find the benefactor and support him for the rest of his life without any shortage.
Twenty years had passed since then.
The benefactor in the record had been described as youthful in appearance, so he could not have died yet. He would be around forty or fifty by now—the perfect age to support.
Therefore, they needed money.
A great deal of it.
“So die!!”
“Become a sacrifice for money!”
“What the hell are these lunatics!?”
Who would have thought he would be attacked in the middle of the street? Even if it was a deserted alley, this was still the imperial capital!
Eckhart, who had been slicing steak at a high-end restaurant and taking a shortcut home, drew his sword with a start and knocked aside the incoming attacks.
The attackers were rampaging so loudly it was hard to believe they were professionals, and something about them felt strangely familiar. But that was not important right now.
“At least give me a reason! Why are you doing this!”
It was extremely disconcerting that they were trying to kill him without negotiation, explanation, or any preamble whatsoever.
It’s not like I’ve done anything to deserve death! …Probably!
Perhaps because their attitude reminded him of his ‘uncles,’ he felt reluctant to kill them. Instead of counterattacking recklessly, he attempted conversation. It was a luxury made possible by the fact that he stood at the threshold of becoming a Fighter.
“We need money! They said they’d pay a fortune if we kill you!”
“So just die quietly!”
“No, but why me of all people!”
He shouted and sprang forward. A sword strike sliced through the exact spot where he had been standing moments before.
His personality had earned him a fair number of minor grudges, but he had no memory of creating one serious enough for someone to spend this much money to kill him in earnest.
Still, there had to be a reason. It was unlikely they would mistake the face famous as the descendant of the Mercenary King for someone else. Eckhart desperately searched his memory.
What happened recently?
He had completed the bandit subjugation request. He had killed the bandit boss who was supposed to be taken alive, so it had only been counted as half a success.
…That must be it!
The bandits who seemed to have powerful backers, the drugs in their den, and the dead bandit leader.
It looked like that was what had come to cut off his breath. Eckhart’s face turned deathly pale.
“F-first let’s talk this out! Y-you can earn that money without murder, you know?! There are plenty of other honest ways—”
“We don’t know how to do anything except swing swords!”
“No, you can use that sword-swinging talent in other legal fields! Isn’t it better to live honestly, huh?”
“We can’t earn this much that way!”
“Th-that’s… true…”
Clang. Clang!Clink!
Even as the conversation continued, the sound of clashing blades rang out without pause.
He was holding on somehow, but every single one of them was formidable. Their attitudes were light, yet their skills were anything but. What rotten luck!
Facing so many opponents, Eckhart lacked confidence that he could emerge unscathed. He chewed the inside of his cheek.
“Besides, even if it isn’t us, you’ll die soon anyway, right? Since you’re going to die, isn’t it better to die by our hands and leave some money behind?”
“That’s not good at all?!”
“We’ll kill you without pain.”
“I said no! Get lost, you crazy bastards!”
I was the one usually called a crazy bastard.
Is this how the enemies who faced me usually felt? Meeting people similar to me—or even worse—made him reflect on himself anew.
When he let out a hollow laugh that did not suit the situation, the men exchanged words asking if the bastard had finally lost his mind.
“Besides, you killed the daughter of a noble house, didn’t you? You did something worth dying for, so you must have been prepared.”
“What? I never— ugh!”
The unexpected accusation made him freeze. The sword did not miss the opening. He tried to block, but his ribs—already overworked—throbbed painfully, slowing his reaction.
Eckhart screamed inside his head.
Captain’s Guardian Spirit!
Just how hard did you step on me last time that it still hasn’t healed?!
It’s true I was a bit clingy toward the person I’m supposed to protect, but still!
Thud!
His shoulder was pierced. Before he could grit his teeth or refute the absurd claim, attacks continued without pause, aiming for vital points.
Eckhart realized instinctively.
This won’t last long.
First, they outnumbered him overwhelmingly. The alley was fairly wide for an alley, but it was still an alley. With both ends blocked, there was nowhere to run.
As he continued the increasingly difficult fight, eyes darting quickly to gauge how much longer he could hold and whether any other escape routes existed—
Clang!!
Two people intervened.