The Dwarf's Promise and Shadows in the Alley

After sleeping off his exhaustion for over a full day, Bennett finally stepped out of the house. He was heading out to meet someone who had come looking for him while he had been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠away.

"They said they'd wait tomorrow at a place called the Full Moon Inn."

Bella hadn't seen the visitor in person either. She had merely stumbled upon a note that had been slipped beneath the door. For Bennett, discovering that note had sent his heart plunging into his stomach, if only for a second. Had he been home, he could have handled whatever came their way; inside the dungeon, however, any response was inevitably delayed. While he had taken precautions for such scenarios, keeping trouble from finding their doorstep in the first place was always the best outcome.

"Excuse me. Do you know where the Full Moon Inn is?"

"Ah, that place? It's inside the inner district."

Still unfamiliar with the sprawling layout of the Dungeon City, Bennett asked a few passersby until he reached the tavern. The moment he stepped onto the first floor, the tension wound tightly in his shoulders finally dissipated.

"Been a while, lad!"

And here I was wondering who it could be.

Sitting alone and draining an entire cask of ale, Balduin waved a stubby arm toward him. It was the very dwarf craftsman who had forged his custom repeating crossbow—a weapon Balduin wouldn't dream of crafting even for high-ranking nobles.

"What took ya so long? I've been sitting here waiting for an hour!"

"...You never gave a time in the note."

"Did I not?"

BUUUURP—

Balduin let loose a thunderous belch that shook the tavern floor before slamming his mug down onto the table.

"Took some doing to track down where I was staying, I imagine."

"You know how it is."

Indeed. The dwarven intelligence network was clearly pulling its weight.

"So what brings you to the Dungeon City?"

"What else? Partly to dodge the old fogies' nonstop nagging, and partly so I could—"

"No chance. I already have one grumbler in my crew. Roles are full."

"What in blazes are you babbling about? I'm just setting up my own workshop here and figured I'd drop in on your ugly mug once in a while."

"Ah."

Bennett hesitated, having immediately pictured Edgar—that knockoff Northern barbarian—but he didn't lower his guard entirely. Balduin had quite the track record, after all.

"Cause trouble like you did last time, and I'm beating the shit out of you."

Balduin, who had just cracked open a fresh cask to gulp down more brew, suddenly choked and burst into a fit of coughing. He knew all too well: Bennett might seem emotionally unreadable on the surface, but underneath, it was quite the opposite. He was simply exceptionally good at hiding it. His fragile younger sister Bella was the sole true exception, though he did treat Balduin with a touch more warmth than strangers. At the end of the day, the two were genuine friends.

"Ahem. And how's our Shooting Star holding up?" Balduin asked, casting an affectionate look toward the repeating crossbow cleverly concealed beneath Bennett's coat.

"...I never agreed to that name."

"Everything worth a damn deserves a name, lad! Especially a masterpiece I poured my very soul into."

"You wouldn't even let me use the specialized bolt heads that actually matter."

There was a good reason dwarven repeating crossbows were prized above all else. Foremost was their rapid-fire capability, which no standard bow or crossbow could ever hope to rival. Unloading fifteen to thirty bolts in the span of a few heartbeats granted overwhelming fire superiority. Furthermore, its magazine-fed design allowed smooth, effortless reloading from virtually any stance. And, true to dwarven craftsmanship, its precision and reliability were impeccable.

Yet the true game-changer lay in the bolt heads. Depending on which tip was slotted, the weapon's destructive power and tactical utility changed entirely. The standard armor-piercing heads could punch clean through a knight's mana-infused plate, while enchanted heads could deliver spells across the battlefield. It meant an operative could completely dominate an encounter from long range alone.

"...Well, that restriction might get lifted soon," Balduin muttered.

"What?" Bennett's voice spiked despite himself. "The specialized tips are being unlocked?"

"No, not that." Balduin gestured toward the Shooting Star with his chin. "The repeating crossbows. To be precise, word is they're releasing a downgraded civilian model."

"A downgraded version?"

"A three-round or five-round version, manually cocked or using small magazines."

Bennett's expression darkened. His own Shooting Star carried a fifteen-round box magazine or a thirty-round drum. To an outsider, three or five rounds might not sound like much, but the reality was far more dangerous. Granting any rapid-fire capability where none had existed before meant opponents would become vastly deadlier.

"Don't look so grim," Balduin said with a sly wink. "It's not rolling out tomorrow. And even when it does..."

"Even when it does?"

BURRRRRRP!

Balduin unleashed an even louder belch than before, slapping the wooden tabletop with a meaty palm. "Hmph. It's been a while since an old friend bought me a round."

"...Check, please. Put it on my tab."

Watching Bennett pay with a satisfied grin, Balduin suddenly dropped his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠voice to a hushed murmur. "When that day comes, I'll supply you with the real bolt heads myself."

Bennett flinched in surprise. His face immediately hardened into utmost gravity as he extended a hand across the table.

Smack!

"Brother."

Leaving the tavern after drinking with Balduin, Bennett strolled down the street. Some might question getting a buzz going in broad daylight, but dwarves and their love for ale were common knowledge across the continent. More to the point, this was the Dungeon City—a place teeming at all hours with drunks itching for a fight, and predators circling to strip those fools of every coin they owned.

"Hey there, handsome!"

Much like the woman currently sauntering toward him.

Clad in a daring dress cut low enough to expose half her chest, she swayed her hips with practiced allure. Bennett shifted his stride to bypass her, but she lunged forward, catching his forearm and pressing herself against him. Her soft, yielding flesh pressed tight against his arm, yet what truly arrested his attention was her scent.

"Looking for a gorgeous girl to keep you company? For a strapping guy like you, I'll give you a real special discount."

When Bennett turned his head, the woman smirked and leaned in closer. "Well? Interested? My place is right around the corner."

Bennett studied her in silence, then gave a curt nod. Beaming, she took his arm and guided him away.

A few paces off the main thoroughfare brought them into a narrow alleyway. In stark contrast to the grand facades along the avenue, cramped, dilapidated buildings were packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the shadows. The woman led him straight to a weathered hovel marked by a red lantern hanging outside. Stepping inside revealed a suffocatingly small room containing nothing more than a rickety bed and a tiny washroom.

Pulling Bennett down onto the edge of the mattress, the woman reached behind her back. "Give me just a second, handsome. Let me get out of this stuffy dress first—"

What emerged from behind her back, however, was a gleaming dagger.

Swish!

With that seductive smile still frozen on her lips, the assassin drove the blade straight toward his throat. Yet the dagger abruptly ground to a halt midway through its arc. Bennett's grip was clamped around her wrist like a vice.

Her eyes widened as she strained against his hold, but Bennett didn't budge an inch. In fact—

Crack!

Bennett swept his boot into the back of her knee, driving her downward. Forced onto one knee against her will, shock and panic washed across her face. Wrenching the dagger from her grasp, Bennett swung the blade cleanly through the air as she scrambled to rise.

"Guh!"

The assassin's throat opened in a deep crimson furrow. Her lips flapped soundlessly as dark red blood surged from the severed artery, drenching the front of her low-cut dress. She collapsed onto the floorboards, twitching violently before falling completely still.

Watching the pool of blood spread beneath her corpse, Bennett rose to his feet. He had known she wasn't an ordinary prostitute from the moment she approached; the metallic stench of dried human blood clung heavily to her clothes. Furthermore, while her plunging neckline had been meant to draw the eye, it couldn't mask the telltale signs of rigorous physical training—the calluses on her palms, the dense musculature tucked beneath the slender contours of her forearms.

Crash!

The flimsy door splintered inward as several armed men surged into the room. Expecting that she wouldn't be alone, Bennett raised the Shooting Star concealed beneath his coat and squeezed the trigger without hesitation.

Thwip-thwip-thwip!

Crossbow bolts slammed into their chests, throats, and foreheads in rapid succession. The assailants crumpled in heaps, thrashing weakly as life fled their bodies. Though dressed like ordinary laborers, every single one had concealed a lethal blade.

Judging by the prompt, he would need to stay thoroughly on his toes. Letting out a quiet sigh, Bennett turned his back on the corpses and slipped out of the safehouse.

"If you want to see any more gold, get off your ass and work."

"Haaah..."

Sean, an insider embedded within the Dungeon City Mercenary Guild by the Hunters syndicate, felt a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. His crushing gambling debts had left him desperate for immediate coin. A guild receptionist's modest wages couldn't even cover the interest, meaning he had no choice but to squeeze extra pay out of the Hunters.

"Damn it all..."

Recognizing that he had backed himself into a corner, Sean hastened his pace down the hall.

Though not publicized, the Mercenary Guild kept meticulous records on every mercenary under its banner. These dossiers tracked where individuals took commissions, the outcomes of their contracts, and extensive personal data gathered through various covert channels. Branch offices compiled this intelligence locally, exchanging dossiers whenever another branch requested them.

The file requested by the Hunters regarding this fellow named Bennett followed the same procedure. Since Bennett had only recently arrived, his records had been transferred from the regional branch where he had previously operated. The real problem, however, was where the file had ended up. Instead of the standard archives, it had been filed away inside the Classified Archive—a restricted vault accessible only to guild executives.

If I get caught here, I'm a dead man.

Even as fear chilled his blood, Sean's feet kept moving until he stood before the heavy iron door of the Classified Archive. Glancing both ways to ensure no one was watching, he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pulled out a set of delicate lockpicks. The Hunters had provided them for situations just like this. He had briefly considered hocking the tools for pocket change, but keeping them had turned out to be the right call.

After several agonizing minutes of frantic fiddling, a faint smile broke across his sweat-streaked face.

Click!

Slipping inside the Classified Archive, Sean hurried down the rows of filing cabinets, scanning the nameplates under his breath.

Bennett, Bennett, Ben... Found it!

He pulled out the leather-bound folder.

The greedy smirk on Sean's face froze solid as his eyes scanned the contents.

"...What kind of monster is this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠guy?"

"I could ask the very same thing about you. What kind of bastard are you?"

Sean spun around in absolute terror.

"C-Carlin?!"

Standing in the shadows was a female colleague from the reception desk, glaring daggers at him. Sean's mind short-circuited. He hadn't heard a single footstep. How long had she been standing there?

"W-Wait! This—this is a total misunderstanding—"

"Misunderstanding? Please. I watched the whole pathetic show from the start."

THWACK!

Striking him across the temple, Carlin knocked Sean unconscious in a single fluid motion. She dusted off her hands with a cold sneer before speaking into the gloom.

"Take him away."

"Understood."