The Drake Family's Knights

"I take it you haven't kept in touch with those kids?"

Bennett paused over his simple breakfast across the table, glancing up at Sasha with a quizzical look. "Kids?"

"You know, the ones calling themselves 'Bennett's disciples.'"

Understanding finally dawned on him, and Bennett gave an indifferent shake of his head. "They're hardly disciples."

"They certainly seem to think otherwise. I bumped into them while on another job a while back, and they asked if I knew where you were. Told them I hadn't a clue. Made sure to mention I wasn't Bennett's lover either, just someone who fooled around with him from time to time."

Bennett offered no reply, letting the silence answer for him.

"You really have an odd personality, you know that? People practically worship you and beg to be your disciples, yet you want nothing to do with it."

"I showed them a few minor tricks while we were working together. That's all."

"And how is that any different from taking an apprentice?"

Bennett said nothing.

It was not as though he had spent every moment of the past ten years completely alone. Yet after surviving countless brush-with-death situations, he had learned that operating solo was simply the easiest on the mind—in more ways than one.

"I'm heading out." Bennett rose to his feet after finishing his meal. Sasha furrowed her brow in mild disappointment, but stood up all the same to see him off.

"Drop by whenever you feel like it. You're always welcome here." She puckered her lips, blowing him an exaggerated mock kiss.

Bennett gave a curt nod in parting, but suddenly froze in place.

...That wasn't even my first time.

"Good morning, everyone!"

"You're here."

With the arrival of their newly recruited mage, Erika, the party was finally assembled. Bennett took the lead, guiding his companions toward Balduin's Workshop.

Situated within the inner walls of Dungeon City, not far from the bustling commercial district, the dwarven workshop gleamed as immaculate and sturdy as a newly constructed fortress. Bennett had visited before and remained entirely unphased, but the eyes of the newcomers widened in undisguised wonder.

"A-are dwarven workshops always this pristine?"

"Not a chance," Bennett replied flatly.

Hanging squarely beside the workshop's entrance was a massive, weathered sign.

Kyle, Edgar, and Erika balked at the abrasive notice, but Bennett paid it no heed, pushing the door open and leading them inside without hesitation.

"Welco—ah, blast it all."

Balduin, who had half-raised his stout torso from a workbench, caught sight of Bennett and promptly threw himself back down onto a wooden cot.

"Tend to your customers."

"Customers? You're more of a cursed nuisance than a customer!" Balduin glared daggers at Bennett, his eyes bulging beneath bushy brows. "Where's the armor I gave you, huh? Where did you leave it rotting?"

"It met a glorious end in battle."

The sole reason Bennett had walked out alive from the prison had been Balduin's armor. However, the plate itself was so horribly mangled that repair or reuse was out of the question.

"Blown apart in a single outing? Impossible! My work doesn't break that easily!"

Without a word, Bennett peeled back his collar and exposed his shoulder.

Balduin scowled deeply the moment he saw the spiderweb of jagged, blackened scars left behind by Fredrik's spell. Even a glance made it clear that this was no garden-variety hex.

"What in the world do you even get up to down in those depths...? No, forget I asked. It's obvious enough knowing you."

"A lot of talk from someone who sold me defective goods."

"Defective?! How dare you call my masterpiece defective!"

Kyle, Edgar, and Erika watched the exchange in stunned fascination. Bennett was a man of few words, known for his cold economy of speech and restrained demeanor; seeing him speak at such length was a rare spectacle. On the surface, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they sounded like they were at each other's throats, yet beneath the raised voices, the warmth of a long-standing bond was unmistakable.

"I need new armor," Bennett said. "Four sets."

Balduin, who had been about to nod, stopped short. "Four sets? Why on earth do you need four?"

"Because my comrades need protection as well."

Kyle, Edgar, and Erika stared with wide eyes at the unexpected declaration, while Balduin's face twisted into an exasperated grimace.

"And why should I waste my sweat outfitting your whole damned crew? I told you, I only forge gear for you!"

"A lot of talk from someone who sold me defective goods."

"I told you it wasn't defective, you ungrateful wretch!"

Balduin bellowed with enough force to rattle the workshop's iron rafters, but Bennett merely ignored the tempest and turned back toward his party.

"Write down your measurements."

"Ah, right away!" Kyle said.

"Um, I don't know my exact measurements..." Erika murmured hesitantly.

"Hold still, then!"

Balduin marched over before she could protest, whipping out a brass-tipped measuring tape to size up Erika's frame with practiced precision. "Hmph. A small will do for you."

"O-oh, thank you!"

After taking down the measurements of the remaining two, Balduin slammed a heavy fist against his anvil table. "I'm only doing this for the sake of an old acquaintance, mind you! You're paying full price for every single scrap of iron!"

"Uh, how much will that be...?"

Having restocked the custom dwarven bolts he had expended against Fredrik, Bennett leaned in close to the dwarf craftsman and spoke under his breath.

"The downgraded repeating crossbows—they haven't hit the open market yet, have they?"

"Worrying is your full-time profession, isn't it? If they had leaked, do you think I wouldn't have told you first?"

"Considering the mess you caused back then, checking every single time is only sensible."

"...Would you stop dragging up ancient history already? Have some mercy, please!"

With their armor orders placed through Balduin, the party proceeded straight to the central market to stock up on consumables.

"How many potions should we purchase?" Kyle asked.

"Potions..." Bennett paused to consider.

Back during his solitary mercenary days, two healing draughts had always been his rigid quota. But their recent expedition in the dungeon had forced him to reconsider that baseline. Because of Rose's sudden treachery, two had proven woefully insufficient, leaving him no choice but to down three to survive.

"Three potions per person."

"Understood!"

Even as he gave the order, Bennett couldn't help a grim thought. At this rate, he might end up strapped with a full bandolier of glass vials around his waist before long.

"How much for the lot?" Bennett asked the vendor.

"All together, that comes to—"

Before the merchant could finish, Erika stepped forward, planting both hands firmly on her hips.

"Hold on just a minute!"

"What's the issue, miss?"

"Are you being serious with that price?"

Recognizing the robes of a mage, the merchant adopted a slightly defensive tone. "Seems plenty fair to me. It's cheaper than most stalls."

"Don't give me that! Over at Delia's, the exact same brand of potion sells for over a gold piece less!"

Erika's gaze was sharp enough to pierce iron, reminiscent of the fierce determination she had shown when boldly demanding thirty gold during their first negotiation. After a vicious bout of back-and-forth haggling, she forced the vendor to shave down the potion costs, wearing a triumphant smile of utter satisfaction.

Yet her crusade had only just begun.

"Excuse me? What kind of price ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is this for dried meat? Everyone knows the standard rate! Are you trying to fleece us just because we're scavengers?!"

"Ten gold for bundle firewood?! Are you out of your mind, or just fundamentally devoid of a conscience?!"

Listening to Erika's relentless barrage of vitriol, Bennett found himself struck by a quiet realization.

...I'm glad I didn't try to haggle with her back then.

If he had attempted to lowball her during their initial hiring, who knew what horrors might have unfolded?

"Bennett-nim..."

"...?"

"My ears are ringing..."

"..."

Even seasoned frontliners like Kyle and Edgar were clutching their heads in visible agony. If bystanders merely listening were suffering this much, the merchants taking the brunt of the onslaught were in pure torment.

"A-all right, all right! Just close your mouth, please! I'll sell it at that price, take it and go!"

In the end, it was an undeniable victory. Unnecessary expenditures had been pruned down to the copper.

With their preparations fully concluded, Bennett's party made their way toward Pioneers' Hall.

As always, the colossal transit hub teemed with a restless ocean of humanity.

Tap!

A hand fell lightly upon Bennett's shoulder.

Turning around, he couldn't help a flicker of genuine surprise.

"Heading straight back in? You really are relentless, aren't you!"

"Sasha."

It was indeed his former comrade, whom he had met only days prior. Back then, she had been dressed in casual street attire, but today she stood fully equipped for war, clad in reinforced leather and steel.

A short distance behind her waited the rest of her party. It was a larger unit than expected—a full seven-man team rather than the typical three-to-five scavenger cell.

"Are you diving in as well?" Bennett asked.

"Yeah."

Bennett tensed instinctively, but her following words put his mind at ease.

"We're heading into an Easy zone. Our employer gave strict orders to stuff our packs to the brim with recovered dungeon artifacts."

For anyone residing in Dungeon City, descending through the gates was simply routine labor.

"Best of luck to you," Bennett said.

"You too!"

Bennett gave a curt nod, and Sasha offered a playful wave before returning to her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠group.

Seeing the curious glances exchanged by Kyle, Edgar, and Erika, Bennett offered a brief explanation. "A former comrade."

"Ah, understood."

"Three! Two! One! Dungeon reset initiating!"

Right on cue, the hall administrator's magnified voice echoed through the rafters. In the same breath, a violent gale of dimensional displaced air swept across the plaza.

"Eek!"

Erika let out a startled yelp as the buffeting wind caught her robes, prompting amused chuckles from nearby scavengers despite the pervasive tension in the air.

"Alright, let's mo—"

The command died in Bennett's throat.

His face hardened into stone.

Startled by his sudden freeze, Kyle, Edgar, and Erika reflexively turned their gazes toward the direction of his glare.

"...Knights?"

Bennett's eyes were fixed upon a unit of fully armored knights marching through the corridor.

Their full-plate armor cast a subdued, polished luster under the lamps. Rose had worn full plate as well, but what these warriors possessed was on an entirely different plane of craftsmanship; the telltale clanking of metal joints was virtually silent, drowned out only by the synchronized cadence of heavy bootfalls.

Emblazoned in deep crimson upon their breastplates and mantles was the unmistakable crest of the Drake Family—one of the ruling oligarchic dynasties governing Dungeon City.

No one yelled for the crowd to clear a path, yet the scavengers instinctively drew back, parting like water before them.

"Hmph."

Taking the deference as nothing less than their natural birthright, the Drake knights swept past the lesser parties without a second glance.

Bennett's clenched fists trembled with a cold, murderous fury.