The More You Steal, the Better

The cat beastmen were chaos incarnate, though in a completely different way from the goat beastmen.

I had started by violently subduing them, but I couldn't just keep punishing them and ruling through fear. Given the fickle nature of cat beastmen, there was a high chance they would betray me or stab me in the back at a critical moment.

So, while drawing up the plans, I did my best to treat them as well as possible.

And that process was, without a doubt, utterly agonizing.

"Here. Come here. It's the catnip you all love..."

"Nyahaha! Catnip! *Sniff, sniff, snort, sniff*..."

I had only wanted to let them burn it or sniff it to their hearts' content, but they lunged at me in a frenzy, tackling me to the floor.

"Alright, alright. I brought some food you might like. Let's eat together..."

"Meat! I smell meat!"

"Get out of the way, nya! *Hiss!*"

The moment I set the food down, they practically swarmed me to snatch it away, their sharp claws shredding holes into my military uniform.

"First, let's get you washed."

"Wash? No way, nya."

"Nya?"

"W-we refuse. We hate water. Just licking ourselves with our tongues gets us clean enough, Commander."

"Do you have any idea what you smell like? You're a complete disaster right now. Do you plan on reeking like that during the operation? Let's wash. If you do, I'll prepare extra catnip and treats. How about it?"

"Still don't want to... Nyahhh! No! Save me, nya! *Screeech!*"

"Adjutant! Mogant! Grab that bastard!"

Their stench was so foul that I was determined to give them a proper bath, but trying to subdue and wash these literally thrashing beasts nearly blew my eardrums out.

Several times a day, the urge to just dump these bastards surged to the top of my head before fading. Yet, I endured.

There were two reasons for my patience.

"Think of your families! How long are you going to live like this, doing nothing but stealing?"

"None of us have moms or dads, nya. Once we grew up a bit, they just abandoned us and left, nya."

"Families are a pain, nya."

"But sometimes, I do wish I had a family, nya. If you're always alone... no one helps you when you're in danger, nya."

"Not long ago, one of my friends was beaten like a dog and died in the street, nya. I couldn't do anything, nya."

The first reason was, predictably, sympathy.

I pitied the lives of the beastmen.

If I didn't possess those feelings, I wouldn't have spent my life working myself to the bone for my subordinates.

Sure, these cats were fundamentally selfish, self-centered, erratic, and only cared about immediate gain...

Damn it, just talking about it gets my blood boiling, but anyway.

They were creatures with obvious flaws, but those very flaws had forced them to live even more wretched lives.

Unlike other beastmen who at least received the protection of a pack, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they were outcasts cast aside without any shelter.

They were incredibly frustrating. I had to admit that...

But if I didn't take them in, who would?

And second.

"Can you open this safe?"

"Piece of cake, nya."

"What about this lock?"

"This is easy too, nya!"

"This door? Can you open doors of this type as well?"

"Puhaha! Are you kidding me? Even a three-year-old cat beastman can do this much, nya!"

It was because of the cat beastmen's abilities.

I finally understood why my subordinates, who knew full well what kind of trouble these cats were, had recommended them anyway.

If the rabbits were known for their burst of speed,

the rats for their silent footsteps and tireless stamina,

and the wolves for their loyalty and superhuman strength, then the cat beastmen astounded me with their absurd dexterity and flexibility.

There wasn't a door or lock they couldn't pick. They would slip effortlessly in and out of gaps so narrow I wondered if a body could even fit.

They didn't even need proper tools to pick locks or doors.

Using nothing but their claws and the tips of their tails, they performed the miraculous feat of bypassing doors at an unbelievable speed.

The cat beastmen were born thieves.

They were absolutely essential for the rescue operation.

"Well done. Here, have some treats and meat. I've prepared plenty of catnip too. Let's go eat."

"Nyahhh! Meat! Meat! Treats! Trea—!"

"Don't get excited. Calm down. Walk to the table with dignity. And don't stuff it in with your bare hands like savages; use both hands and eat calmly. I'll make sure there's more than enough for all of you to eat your fill, alright?"

What else could I do?

I had to use them.

As I disciplined these street urchins who didn't know the first thing about basic manners, I did my best to win their hearts.

"I will not betray or abandon you. If you get hurt during the operation, I will rescue and help you just like my own subordinates. I'll have your wounds treated, and I'll make sure you have plenty to eat and a place to sleep. So, at the very least, take this operation seriously. Understood?"

"Nyahhh. He's saying the same thing again, nya."

"So annoying, nya. Nyahhh."

"Didn't you say you had no one to help you when times were tough because you had no family? I will be that family. The North will be your family. So put aside your selfishness just a little and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠help us with all your heart. That way, you'll receive help when you're in danger too. Got it?"

"Ahhh! We get it, nya! We get it!"

"We'll work hard, nya! Stop nagging us already, nya!"

They were incredibly stubborn.

Still, after two weeks of tirelessly feeding them, explaining things, and staying by their side, they seemed to be opening up, if only a little.

They were a handful.

But coaxing and cajoling people to play their parts was practically my specialty.

While I spent those two weeks trying to win over the cat beastmen,

"Chik! We have mapped the sewer layout near the factory. There is one area suitable for an escape route. Dwarves are short, so any path the Twisted Tail Clan can navigate, the Dwarves can manage as well."

"We targeted the Duke's private soldiers guarding the factory—specifically the ones who frequent the entertainment districts—and managed to extract some information. We've learned the size of the guard force protecting the Dwarf artisans, their shift hours, and their rotation schedule. It's cross-verified and reliable."

"We scaled the rooftops of dozens of high-rise buildings near ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the factory to map out the layout of the industrial zone. Let's use this map to plan the operation."

Hybel, Rabelt-Chi, Kka-Chi, my adjutant, and Mogant's subordinates had collaborated to bring the Dwarf rescue plan to near completion.

The plan was almost flawless.

Except for one thing.

"The issue is the Dwarf artisans' own intentions. What if they refuse to escape?"

"If they choose to stay in the West rather than return to the North, all this planning and effort will go down the drain."

My subordinates were absolutely right.

If we went to rescue them only for the Dwarf artisans to say, "We'd rather just live in the West, so cut the crap," it would all be for nothing.

Ultimately, it led to one conclusion.

"I need to meet the Dwarf artisans and persuade them myself. How can I get to them?"

Hybel answered my question.

"They say Cardrim Ironbeard, the leader of the Dwarf artisans, frequently drinks at a tavern near the factory. Drinking beer is a non-negotiable right for Dwarves, so Duke Leonard permitted it despite the risk of exposure."

"Where is the tavern, and what time does he usually go?"

"Every evening around eight o'clock, at a dark beer tavern called the Galloping Colt. I heard he always goes alone."

"Good. I'll go meet him and talk."

At that, my adjutant looked at me with concern.

"Going yourself is far too risky, Commander. Given your size and face, someone is bound to recognize you."

"You're right. That's why I'm not going. You are."

It was enough for just the adjutant to go.

"I'll relay what I want to say through the Messenger. We can just converse through you."

"That works. I'll head out immediately."

Please.

I only hoped the Dwarf artisans actually wanted to return to the North.

But my worries proved entirely unfounded.

"Fucking Westerners! We! Aren't! Goddamn! Machine! Parts! For! Your! Factory! We are artisans! Artisans! You motherfucking, cocksucking bastards! I'll remember this! Our clan's grudges run deep and long! I'll remember how you treated us like this and pay you back one day! You pieces of shit!"

That evening, having infiltrated the Galloping Colt and watching through my adjutant's eyes and ears, I saw that Cardrim Ironbeard was practically boiling over with hatred and rage toward the West.

He stood less than four feet tall.

Yet, in stark contrast to his height, his body was so incredibly muscular that he looked capable of crushing a man's throat with his bare grip.

And then there was his long white beard, meticulously groomed and braided in an ancient style.

Cardrim Ironbeard was roaring at the top of his lungs while chugging dark beer.

Amusingly, not a single person in the tavern paid any attention to Cardrim's shouting; they all just went about their business.

It was a cheap tavern filled with rowdy singing and shouting anyway, but more than that, Cardrim's explosive outbursts were clearly a daily occurrence. Everyone had simply grown used to it.

"We are artisans! Artisans! You ignorant, brainless merchant bastards! I'm going to escape this hellish West one day! I swear I will! Ah, fuck it! Time to take a piss!"

Who knew how many pints he had already downed.

Watching Cardrim trudge toward the restroom, I gave my adjutant an order.

My adjutant moved to follow Cardrim.

The moment she slipped past the patrons and stepped into the men's restroom,

a rough, stubby hand grabbed her with astonishing speed and yanked her inside.

My adjutant instinctively reached for her pistol, but stopped the moment she saw who had grabbed her.

The drunken, raving old man from the bar was gone. In his place stood Cardrim, looking down at her with cold, sharp eyes.

"You're from the North, aren't you? Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. The tavern owner is a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠watchdog. If I didn't make a scene while drinking, Duke Leonard would have suspected something."

My adjutant slipped her pistol back into her coat.

"How did you know?"

"Your scent. And your disciplined footsteps gave you away. Did the Grand Duke of the North send you? I heard the North is in quite a chaotic state right now."

My adjutant nodded.

I relayed my words to her through the Messenger.

"I want to return to the North, Your Grace. Times were good when we were in the North. Back then, we had our own workshops, and we were treated like proper artisans. But these merchant bastards here treat us like nothing more than skilled factory laborers! They won't even let us craft works of art, claiming there's no time! Please, rescue us!"

Well, he certainly didn't beat around the bush. He threw a straight fastball right out of the gate.

"Excellent. We will be waiting. In that case, we should prepare a gift worthy of Your Grace's trouble. And give that bastard Leonard a nice kick in the teeth while we're at it."

A gift?

What did he mean by that?

"What kind of gift is it?"

My adjutant relayed my question to Cardrim, and the old Dwarf artisan flashed a vengeful grin.

"Duke Leonard is secretly designing a new tank. That's what he's forcing us to build. We'll steal the blueprints for that new tank and bring them with us. That son of a bitch locked us up and worked us like slaves. I'm going to make sure he gets exactly what he deserves."