I Saw What I Shouldn't Have
"She's asleep."
"First time sleeping outside, she said."
Isaac and Carlson confirmed that Enet had fallen asleep. She was curled up near the campfire, wrapped tightly in fur, dead to the world.
"After working her that hard, of course she's exhausted."
"Ahem."
After finding a spot to camp, Isaac had relentlessly put Enet to work. He'd sent her to gather dry branches and build the fire. She'd prepared sleeping spots in a sunny area for the three of them and even handled the food. Enet had obeyed without a word, tending to everything silently. The moment Isaac gave permission to rest, she'd collapsed like she'd fainted.
"Anyway. Time to move."
"We can just leave her like this?"
Carlson asked. A lone girl sleeping defenselessly by a campfire in the wilds—she'd make perfect prey for bandits.
But Isaac had another group tailing them from a distance.
"There are hellhounds nearby. If anything happens, they'll protect her."
Carlson nodded at Isaac's words, convinced.
"Isn't it about time you explained?"
Carlson asked as he drove the carriage. Fortunately, Enet didn't stir even as the carriage right beside her departed. Those accustomed to camping kept their ears open even in sleep as a survival habit, but Enet, used to manor life, slept so deeply she'd never notice if carried off—it was her virtue, recharging for the next day's labor.
"We're going night hunting."
Isaac answered from the coachman's seat beside Carlson, forgoing the passenger area.
"Hunting what?"
"Akanlaufer. If they're heading from Baldarin to Bernsi, there's only one route. Unless they go through the Black Forest."
"Couldn't they have gone through the Black Forest, or already passed?"
"They didn't go through it, and they haven't passed."
"How do you know? Unless you sent scouts."
"I did."
"I wasn't aware you'd hired mercenaries separately."
"Do scouts have to be human?"
"...No way."
Isaac nodded at Carlson's gaze.
"Wasn't that big dog guarding the maid?"
"I called in a few more fast ones."
"Then..."
"It's not far from the Black Forest here. I placed one around every spot on the route from Baldarin to Bernsi. Eight in total, including the coachman. Three nobles and two scholars among them."
"How do you even know that much?"
"By smell. Nobles use perfume when bathing; scholars reek of ink and paper. Hellhounds have keen noses."
"...I don't get sharing senses with mana beasts, but looks like you had reason to take it easy."
Carlson let out a hollow chuckle. While Isaac had lounged in Black Goose Village sipping mead. No, maybe even before that. He'd tasked the hellhounds with watching the roads near Baldarin. Smart move.
"So those mage mercenaries are coming now?"
"Probably. If we time it right, we'll meet them soon. We've got leeway."
As Isaac said, the side road leading to the main highway showed no fresh cart tracks. There were some marks, but they were faded, days old.
"Park here."
Carlson, grasping Isaac's intent, stopped the carriage in the middle of the road. He untied the horse from the harnesses, straps, reins, and bit, then lightly slapped its rear. The now riderless horse trotted off with the empty cart.
"Break the wheels too?"
"No. This'll be quick."
Isaac gazed toward the vanishing point on the Baldarin road. Nothing in sight yet.
"Kill them?"
"Might cause trouble if we do."
Akanlaufer was a mage mercenary band that appeared often in the history books Isaac had read. Mostly 1st Class, maybe 2nd Class at best—mediocre mages. Even banded together, they couldn't handle a single 3rd Class mage. Not in actual combat, nor in perceived usefulness to employers.
But Akanlaufer was trickier than that. Because nobles or academy affiliates were mixed in among them. Even as mercenaries, attacking them was risky. Kill the wrong one, and you'd make enemies of some unforeseen noble house or tower notable.
That's why Akanlaufer wore hoods and masks. To hide origins, bloodlines, affiliations, connections—making them untouchable. They didn't even share personal details among themselves, using aliases or numbers. Only the captain knew their identities.
"Knock 'em all out. You stay put."
"Eight people, you said. Knocking them all out alone is impossible. They're mages, after all."
"That's why we'll do it before they cast."
"Is that even possible?"
"If I fail, you finish them off, right?"
"..."
Carlson glared at Isaac's nonchalant attitude.
"Hey, relax those eyes. Hide over there. They'll come soon."
Carlson peered toward the vanishing point like Isaac. But only darkness. No lantern glimmers, no movement. Even focusing his aura-enhanced hearing yielded only willow branches rustling and nocturnal beasts stirring.
"You sure they're coming?"
"Positive. Within half an hour."
"Hoo."
Carlson sighed. Normally, he trusted only his own senses. But with Isaac, he often felt like a fool. Isaac knew and sensed things he couldn't.
"What're you doing?"
"Better cover this way."
Carlson trudged ahead. They settled in a thicket of trees and bushes perfect for hiding.
"..."
After a few minutes of silence, rain began to fall. Good for Isaac and Carlson. The patter masked their presence even better. Plus, Isaac didn't need to draw atmospheric moisture—he had raindrops aplenty.
Crackle—cracklle—
He just needed to gather them. Two palm-sized ice orbs formed at Isaac's fingertips.
Carlson silently watched Isaac's magic. Even as a skilled aura user uninterested in spells, he couldn't deny its wonder.
Isaac was right. Carlson spotted the approaching carriage too, slowly rolling down the road. A faint light sharpened into view, horse snorts and wheel rumbles growing clear.
Gripping his sword hilt, Carlson eyed the nearing wagon. Even 1st or 2nd Class mages were still mages. He'd heard 2nd Class had bizarre spells.
"Looks like a noble carriage..."
As expected, the roadblock halted it. The coachman grumbled irritably, voice faint.
Then, suddenly, the coachman slumped over.
"One left."
"...?"
Carlson eyed Isaac puzzled. Then he frowned, realizing. The ice orbs at Isaac's fingertips had long vanished. The stopped wagon was silent inside.
Only one presence from the canvas-covered interior.
Including the coachman, Isaac had knocked out all seven Akanlaufer unseen inside. No explanation needed—Carlson knew how: temple or jaw strikes with the ice. But such precise, swift magic on multiple hidden targets? Isaac's skill was the magic.
No time to admire, though. Carlson's turn. Once they sensed Isaac's magic, no second chance.
"Seems stronger than expected."
Isaac gathered mana at his fingertips. Carlson would handle it, but contingencies mattered. The foe showed no sign of exiting, not even breathing audibly. Calm for a ambushed mage.
Isaac and Carlson crept from the bushes, slowly closing in.
Then.
"Hah, hah, hah, hah."
Someone dashed up the opposite road, panting harshly.
"...Enet?"
"Why's that maid there?"
Enet spotted the lone carriage on the road and frantically checked inside. It was the one she'd ridden with Isaac. Empty. She rushed to the Akanlaufer wagon next.
She looked terrified, as if she'd seen something forbidden.
"...W-wolf, wolves..."
Half out of her mind, she'd drawn up mana. Not yet able to infuse properties, her hands just glowed blue, no spell cast.
Peering into the wagon, she panicked more. Everyone slumped like corpses.
With a nightmare-stricken face, she scanned outside. Clouds parted briefly, moonlight illuminating all.
"...!"
A boy levitating ice orbs with glowing blue hands. The young master she'd served today.
"Young mas..."
But why he was using magic? That didn't register.
A staff thrust from the wagon cracked her skull.
Thud! Enet collapsed. An Akanlaufer emerged.
He lit a fire spell to check her face.
Carlson seized the moment, pommeling the man's back.
"...Damn."
"Enet okay?"
"Seems so. Kill him?"
Carlson gripped his sword hilt, asking—not of the Akanlaufer, but Enet. The ambush site. Isaac casting magic. She'd seen what she shouldn't have.
The Bernsi council hall dwarfed Goethe Manor in grandeur. Its lattice-patterned four-story structure looked more refined than any northern building. Geometric fountains, statues, and topiaries in the garden. Lavish curves and gold accents. Even the interior hall boasted a grand ceiling fresco of a scriptural scene.
But all splendor faded long ago. Corpses littered everywhere.
Most were retainers of great merchant houses from the council.
"Shall we look further, Your Excellency?"
Goethe's head butler, Schrader, asked. Two guards with him—ostensibly escorts, really monitors.
"...No. I've... seen enough."
The marquis wiped his twitching lips anxiously.
The hall, usually buzzing with merchants, was deathly silent. Reception rooms and key offices equally still.
"The great houses... any idea where they went?"
"No clue, sir."
"Mercenaries and guards..."
"The corpses you saw on the southwest plains were all of them."
The butler bowed politely.
"Impossible. It can't be..."
The marquis froze.
A carriage waited outside the hall. The count inside. The marquis needed a reason here to justify keeping him alive.
But none. By plan, great houses should've waited here. Twenty left-behind mercenaries, a hundred private guards, hundreds of mercenaries mustered on the plains, plus Akanlaufer mages.
None present. Like a setup. Even Baisman nowhere in sight.
"That damned bitch..."
At last, the marquis envisioned the worst. If Violet betrayed him, it fit. Unlike other houses, their bond went beyond interests. Once independent Bernsi stood, he'd not only shelter republic moderates but purge radicals too.
Violet and the marquis shared ambitions. She craved true equality and freedom via revolution; he, vast wealth from upheaval.
That was his bulwark. Others might betray for gain, but not her.
But if—if by some chance—she'd burned House of Mercy, uncovered his secret venture...
The marquis ground his teeth. Too late to blame his complacency.
"Then, shall we return? The count awaits."
"...I know."
He clenched his fists, palms slick with sweat. Tried piecing where it went wrong, but his head spun.
Guards supported his staggering form.
"Escort him."
The butler ordered.
Like dragged to hell's gate, the marquis unwillingly shuffled outside. The flung-open double doors revealed the hall's garden splendor. The count, tired of waiting in the carriage, leaned on Valerich stabbed into the ground, staring at the marquis.