The Cursed Blind Woman (6)
Idwild's eyes were filled with considerable anxiety, so I headed straight down to the first floor. The atmosphere in the hall was chaotic. All the staff had gathered at the bar, and the other guests were glancing at each other with tense expressions.
I immediately spotted the cause. It was the group occupying a corner table in the hall. Four men and women dressed in pitch-black attire sat silently sipping their drinks. They all looked stern and tight-lipped, with swords, crossbows, and other weapons strapped to their bodies. Just the sight of several people in identical outfits was intimidating enough, but armed to the teeth like that, it was no wonder the mood had turned icy.
"Pelle. Who are those people?"
"No idea. They seem to have just stopped by for a meal."
A few of them were glaring at Pelle over the rims of their glasses. More precisely, at her horns.
"They're staring at me like that nonstop. Doesn't feel like mere curiosity."
"Yeah."
Just then, Francois emerged from the kitchen with plates of food—destined for that group, apparently. When Pelle moved to serve them, I stepped up and said I'd handle it with her. Looked like I had no choice but to go myself.
As we approached the table, they set down their glasses and fixed us with unblinking stares. The killing intent in their sharp eyes was no street thug posturing. Deep scars marred their faces and forearms—wounds too severe for everyday mishaps.
Habitually, I glanced at their boots. Not a single pair was clean; the leather was frayed, soles worn thin. Callused hands, weathered grips on battered sword hilts—they were no ordinary folk.
After quickly sizing them up, I flashed a friendly smile and set the food down on the table.
"Enjoy your meal."
"The world's improved, huh. Demons working in inns."
Someone responded to my greeting in a voice like scraping metal. A burly man stared at Pelle with a face devoid of any humor.
"It has. Demon King's castle fell, so demons have to work for a living now."
I replied with a grin, and this time another snorted derisively. A woman with three vertical scars raking down one side of her face—one eye lost to them, apparently, leaving only the other open.
"True. A few months back, that demon would've been torn to shreds."
"You speak so frighteningly."
Then a man across from her snapped viciously at Pelle.
"Hey, demon. You registered as a special management subject? Unregistered, and today might be your last."
I stepped in front of Pelle with a smile.
"Everyone. What has our server done to deserve this?"
"Having horns is crime enough."
Another, idly stroking the axe blade at his waist, said it half-jokingly.
"Being a demon's the crime, sir. Innkeeper?"
"Yes. I'm the owner. And this employee's a registered special management subject in the city. Mind your manners."
"And if we don't?"
The one-eyed woman asked. I smiled right back at her.
"I'll make sure you can't open that one good eye either."
She surged to her feet in fury, but the burly man growled low.
"Sit."
She flinched and dropped back into her chair. Pride stung, she glared at Pelle.
"Count yourself lucky, horn-head."
"Our crew's a rough bunch... Accept our apologies instead."
The man said to me.
"Apologies should go to the server, not me."
The others bared their teeth, but he turned to Pelle and repeated it verbatim.
What the hell are these guys?
No matter how I looked, they weren't bandits or local lord's soldiers. Not legionaries either... No armed group in my knowledge dressed like that. Could they be that special unit from the capital...? Nah, those guys didn't prance around in matching uniforms so openly...
The capital's forces divide into three: legions against external threats, guards for internal security, and that shadowy special unit no one knows much about.
Whatever these bastards were, they weren't doing the inn any favors by lingering.
"Oh, innkeeper."
The burly man looked up at me as if something had just occurred to him.
"Seen any strangers lately?"
"Strangers? Everyone's a stranger here. Travelers come and go."
"Poor question. Let me rephrase: seen a white-haired woman?"
"Hmm..."
"Eyes covered in black cloth. Must've passed through this city."
I kept my smile neutral. The man's gaze sharpened, scanning my face.
"Hm... Black cloth over the eyes? Blind, then?"
"Probably. We confirmed she was heading south from Fribourg not long ago, but then her trail went cold. Can't sleep worrying."
A black-clad, armed man whining like that? Even a passing slime wouldn't buy it. They were hunting her for some reason, clearly.
Heretics inquisitors, maybe? But they didn't dress like this, and weren't usually so scar-covered.
"Mind if I ask what you do?"
"Just humble troubadours. Sing, play, get paid."
"Not sure. Someone that distinctive would've stuck in my mind... Doesn't ring a bell, so probably never stayed here."
"Hm. I see."
The man said nothing more and resumed eating. That's when I noticed... his hand holding the spoon looked off. Skin blackened like rot.
As I stared, he shrugged it off casually.
"Curse did this."
"A curse...?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
He shoveled food into his mouth, clearly done answering. I took Pelle and headed back.
Idwild and Francois waited with worried looks.
"Who were they...?"
"Dunno. They aren't staying over?"
"Nuh-uh... Didn't mention it..."
Music to my ears. Just eat and leave. The tense vibe was already scaring off other customers.
What this place needed was someone to belt out a tune and liven things up...
"Pelle. You okay?"
"Yeah. Used to hearing crap like that."
Pelle looked genuinely unbothered.
The mysterious group finished eating and left without lingering. The burly man did glance up at the rooms along the upper railing once, his piercing gaze seeming to bore right through.
I leaned against the bar, sharpening my hearing. Soon, their voices drifted from the courtyard.
"Not here either."
"Headed further south, then. Festival's over, makes sense."
"But didn't she take a quarrel to the leg? Shouldn't be walking."
"Scouts always exaggerate. Probably just grazed."
"To Bue. Link up with the team coming north; they'll know."
Hoofbeats followed, and the voices faded.
Hm... Those four aren't the whole group. Other teams involved, so a big organization. What the hell are they? And why hunt a blind woman like this—systematically? Means she's no ordinary blind bard...
I took the quarrel to an apothecary in town. Showing the poison-coated tip made him flinch.
"Dunno the exact poison. But I tasted it—tongue went numb."
"You... tasted it?"
"Gotta taste to confirm it's poison. You'll be fine. Paralysis toxin, looks like."
He recoiled when I offered the quarrel, grinding up various antidotes instead into powder form.
"Not sure on the exact type, but mixed most ingredients; should work."
"Pay when it does?"
"Suit yourself."
I jingled the medicine pouch as I stepped out. Street trees blazed in full autumn foliage, shedding leaves in chilly gusts. Wagons hauling harvested grain whipped them into yellow-and-red whirlwinds across the roads.
Autumn for real now. Been almost a year since opening the inn.
"Hello, Bertrand."
People who recognized me greeted me. From what I'd seen, five or six new inns had popped up, but ours was the biggest. Plus, our service and staff's fame had rubbed off on me—plenty knew my name.
Speaking of, Hildeva mentioned some rich-looking gentlemen had eyed the temple-adjacent plot across town. Apparently from Wipford Hotel. National chain with capital HQ and major cities only—Rosens joining the big leagues, huh. They just scouted the land, so who knows... but it'd impact us big time.
Entering the inn courtyard, I spotted Idwild pacing outside.
"Hey. Milk cow. What's up?"
"Uh... Bertrand... come quick... hurry..."
Idwild's chest bounced as she rushed over and tugged my arm.