The Wealthy Chain-Smoking Boss (9)

The man sprinting toward me, gasping for breath, was one of Hardo's mercenaries. Spotting me, he staggered forward on the verge of collapse and shouted desperately.

"The northern road...! The city caravan...! The captain... says to fetch the boss...!"

Those few words painted the picture instantly. No time for questions—I bolted straight for the northern road.

"Be careful!" the mercenary yelled from behind.

How far had I run? Up ahead, the chaotic brawl came into view. Overturned wagons ablaze, people crumpled on the ground bleeding out. Dozens of thugs clashing against Hardo and his mercenaries holding the line.

I didn't slow down, barreling straight into the rear ranks of the bandits.

"Gahhh!"

The ones I slammed into flew off like gravel, scattering everywhere.

"Boss!" Hardo called out gladly. His face was already smeared with blood.

"Leave this to me and tend to the wounded."

I hoisted an overturned wagon overhead and hurled it at the thugs.

"Argh! Dodge!"

The massive bulk hurtled through the air, crushing several bandits under its weight before smashing into the ground. Like a meteor crashing between the bandits and the caravan, it froze both sides in shock.

Breaking the terrified silence, I spoke.

"Drop your weapons and surrender, and I'll haul you in alive. Run or fight, and I'll stack your corpses in the wagons."

"You... bluffing little shit... piss off...!"

I scooped up a rock from the ground and flung it at the fool's face. It whistled through the air, punching clean through his skull and splintering a roadside tree.

"G-gaaah...!"

The bandits blanched at their comrade's gruesome end.

"Not saying it twice."

I bent down for another handful of stones. A few thugs suddenly dropped their weapons as if burned, kneeling in surrender. But most clung to theirs, and some bolted in panic.

I aimed calmly and threw. Thwack, thwack—cheerful impacts echoed as the runners' heads exploded.

The rest freaked out, tossing arms aside and flattening themselves to the dirt.

"Move and you're dead."

They slammed foreheads to the ground, trembling. I approached the frontmost one and nudged his head with my toe.

"Grancis caravan?"

"N-no... sir!" He shook his head frantically without lifting it.

"Who said you could deny it?"

"It's true...! We're just wandering bandits!"

Of course you'd say that. Probably Grancis retainers in disguise, or disposable thugs hired to cut loose ends. Either way, they danced to Grancis's tune.

"Let's see if the guard captain agrees."

Turning from the thugs, I surveyed the caravan's mess. Few wagons had intact wheels; over half burned fiercely. Plenty lay sprawled or supported by comrades from the fierce fight before I arrived—including Mollo, slumped and dabbing his forehead with cloth.

"Mollo! You okay?"

"Ah, Bertrand. Fine. Just a scratch."

He took my hand to stand. "But damn... you're a beast. Knew you were strong, but this? Never imagined."

Hardo approached, wiping blood from his face.

"Perfect timing, sir. We'd be goners without you."

"You hurt bad, Captain?"

"Nah. Not my blood."

I glanced at the prone bandits. "What happened?"

"Ambushed from the roadside. Started with torching wagons, but we fought back—turned into a full brawl."

Figured. If they were real bandits, they'd kill and loot wagons, not drag it out. Grancis's orders, confirmed.

We collected the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thugs' weapons, sorted salvageable wagons, loaded wounded and unburnt cargo. Soon the city guard arrived. Handed over the bandits and returned to Rosens with the caravan. The injured wagons headed straight to the temple.

Calling out, Celereja flung open the doors and rushed out.

"What the hell is all this, Bertrand?!"

"Big fight on the way down from Fribourg."

"Any amputations? If not, better treat here on the spot."

Mostly bruises and cuts, so Celereja circled the wagons, dispensing holy healing.

"One big hit—will they back off or double down? No telling."

Hardo mused, cleaning blood from his face.

I shook my head. "They're committed. Won't quit easy."

"Gotta deploy all mercenaries..." Hardo sighed.

Late afternoon, a city hall clerk arrived: Hildeva wanted a quick word. Left the inn to staff and headed over.

In the admin office sat Hildeva, her deputy, Captain Lambert, and aides. She rose with a smile as I entered—but her face seemed a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shade paler.

"Welcome, Bertrand. Come in."

"Another meeting? I interrupting?"

"No. I called you. Sit."

I took a seat at the table's end, nodding greetings.

"We called you to express thanks."

She smiled faintly as I settled. "Heard from Captain Hardo. You arrived just in time—saved everyone."

"Ah, yeah. Just what any Rosens citizen would do."

"True, but acting on it instantly? That's another level."

Hildeva presented a plaque and modest reward—meaningless between us, but essential public formality for the mayor.

Post-presentation, the meeting proper began. I got roped in again. Unlike the applause for the plaque, the mood sank fast.

Topic: Grancis caravan's sly damages. Captured city thugs denied affiliation. Building owners they backed? All personal sales, "not caravan folk."

"Northern road bandits won't talk. Tough bastards—lips sealed."

"We suspect, but zero proof. Pros at this—meticulous."

Price gouging, real estate chaos, shadowy thugs shaking security, nonstop bribes.

"Grancis deals drugs on the sly. If desperate, might flood the city."

Hildeva's brow furrowed at the deputy's words.

"I reported their bribery to the capital, remember? Reply arrived today."

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠deputy snatched it, scanned, sighed. Passed to Lambert, who handed it to me.

I summed up. "Basically... 'Too scared to touch 'em—deal with it yourselves'?"

Nods around the table. Sender: Palace Inspectorate. Even the corruption hunters bribed.

"We're truly on our own now."

Hildeva's voice faltered.

"To halt real estate grabs, I'll issue trade restrictions. Citizens will rage, but no choice."

"Understood, Administrator. I'll draft the proclamation for review."

She nodded to the deputy.

"Guard Captain: Set checkpoints at city entries. ID all entrants. No more unknowns slipping in."

"Yes, ma'am. Plus extra patrols to root out infiltrators."

Lambert replied confidently.

"These hardlines might work... or not. But we stand firm, or Rosens becomes another small-town colony."

More items, then adjourned. As others left, Hildeva looked up wearily.

"You look rough, Administrator."

"How could I not? Thought we'd manage... but it's tougher than imagined."

She removed her glasses, rubbing her brow.

"Figured it'd be desk work... guess I'm still a greenhorn mayor."

"Administrator..."

"Sorry, Bertrand. Bragged I could handle it solo, now showing weakness. Chest just... so tight."

Lips trembling, tears spilled. I pulled her into a hug; she buried her face in my chest, sobbing quietly.

Evening by the time I left city hall. En route to the inn, lights glowed at the construction site Ukun and I wrecked. Lanterns lit, dozens of workers toiling overnight.

They're pushing through after all.

In the yard, Idi crouched petting Kali.

"Oh... you're back...?"

She turned at my footsteps, eyes puffy.

"What happened to your eyes?"

"N-nothing... don't worry..."

She sniffled, wiping with her sleeve.

"You cried?"

"No... didn't..."

"Talk. What happened?"

Prodded, she hesitated, then grinned foolishly.

"Yesterday... that woman's words keep replaying... bummed me out..."

That woman—Grancis.

"Not the first time hearing it... but hadn't lately, so it hit hard..."

"Big shock, huh."

"Yeah... getting insulted... brought back old memories... felt sad..."

Another fat tear rolled down. Seeing it sparked fury in my eyes.

I spun toward the southern caravan camp—but halted at the yard's edge.

Grancis and her crew there? Tiny fraction of the whole. Killing them leaves the rest intact. Enraged caravan master might repeat this mess.

Need to gut the entire Grancis network nationwide.

"Idi. Summon the hellhorse. Got a trip."

Left her, entered the inn.

"Pelle. Paper and pen."

At the table, I gripped the pen from her and scrawled firmly.

The first line read: