The Midnight Cuckoo (1)
The mercenary gripped the hilt of the Holy Sword tightly but didn't budge an inch.
"What're you doing?"
"This is weird... this thing...?"
The mercenary pulled back, straining to lift the Holy Sword with all his might. But it stayed firmly mounted on the wall, unmoving.
"Hey, you try it."
As the mercenary stepped aside, another grabbed the hilt.
"Ugh! Fuck, what the hell is this?"
He clutched it with both hands, trembling as he tried to yank the whole sword off the wall.
"What's the deal? It's not heavy, but it feels like it's glued to the damn wall."
After taking turns trying several times, the mercenaries gave up, shaking their heads in disbelief. Of course the Holy Sword wouldn't move. Our goddess had only permitted me to wield it.
At least these guys were lucky. Somewhere in the world, there were demonic swords that forced anyone who grabbed them without the owner's recognition to slit their own throat.
"Boss, what's with this? It won't budge."
The mercenaries turned to me.
"It's just decoration. Guess I fixed it too securely."
"No way... even so..."
They grumbled and headed back to their table. As they sat, Della scurried over to take their orders. The mercenaries glanced at her and suddenly fell into a solemn hush, clearing their throats awkwardly. Bunch of shy young guys who clammed up around a beauty.
They'd crossed the bar without permission and messed with the decor—kinda rude—but mercenaries were just rough swords-for-hire scraping by legally. I'd overlook a little rudeness. They weren't bad eggs; otherwise, with Della and Idwild serving them back-to-back, they'd have been ogling or groping by now. Plenty of lowlifes treated barmaids like whores.
I grabbed a bottle of wine from the cellar and approached their table.
"How about wine instead of beer?"
They eyed me warily at the sudden offer, probably thinking I'd comp them fancy booze and slap it on the bill later.
"First-timers here, so it's on the house."
Only then did they relax, grinning eagerly.
"Guild master's here too? Who's that?"
"That's me, boss."
A young man with dark brown hair close to black raised his hand.
"Nice to meet you, captain. Bertrand, innkeeper."
"Hardo. Captain of this four-man mercenary guild."
No harm in getting friendly with locals in the same city, even different trades. Mercenaries were plugged into rumors and politics—great for intel. They took adventurer gigs if the pay was right.
I poured their wine and dragged over a chair to sit beside them. They clumsily swirled and sipped, smacking their lips approvingly.
"Boss, the food here's killer. You cook it yourself?"
"No head chef yet. Glad it suits you."
"This good? Don't need one."
They shoveled down stir-fried meat and veggies mixed with poached eggs in special sauce over rice. No clue on the exact name—some far-eastern dish, apparently. Pelle added it to the menu; she'd learned it from an eastern demon.
Pelle's meal plans were a godsend. One big pot per meal, and I was free after. I'd roam the floor, help serve, gauge reactions, chat up guests. Leftovers? Time for simple desserts. Before her, I sweated bullets solo in the kitchen. True pros know good meat—her Demon King's Castle logistics experience shone through.
With her, I finally felt closer to that retired-hero innkeeper dream. Swapping world news, advising young adventurers... I shot a fond smile at Pelle passing by. She shot back a look of utter contempt.
Oops.
"Boss... that waitress—isn't she a demon...?"
One mercenary leaned in, whispering.
"Yeah. Hired her 'cause she's sharp."
"Makes sense...? Yeah, after Lurtjog wiped out the Demon King's army last year, demons must be hurting for work."
Another chimed in.
"Gutsy move, boss. Hiring demons."
"If they work well, demon, dwarf, orc—who cares."
"Haha, fair. Our line's the same—fight good, you're in."
They shut up as Idwild passed. Hardo cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Anyway..."
His eyes met Della's across the room. His jaw dropped mid-sentence.
I chatted with Hardo about all sorts. They hailed from distant Bergen, packing up the instant they heard Rosens' north road opened.
"North-south hub like this? Requests must pour in."
"Bet so. Tons incoming."
Hardo shared road rumors too.
"Kusobo lords declared independence. Palace is fuming."
"Figures. King and lords never got along. Legions mobilizing?"
He nodded but seemed skeptical.
"Probably, but civil war won't erupt overnight. Rumor has it the current king's passing the throne to the princess soon."
"Throne? News to me."
King was old, but last I saw him months back, he looked fine. Sudden decline?
"You know pre-succession: status quo, no moves."
"Yeah. New king crowns, backlog explodes."
"Exactly. Quiet now, but princess ascends? Expect a big clash with Kusobo nobles."
That spoiled princess queen-ing and purging Kusobo? Horrifying thought.
"Just rumors, though. King's health? Palace might leak fakes for politics."
The others scarfed wine and food; Hardo calmly dissected kingdom politics—a stark contrast. Not your dumb brute; probably had a past life before merc work. But prying on first meet? Rude.
"Heard anything from Myanfeld?"
"Myanfeld? Nah."
"Hasn't reached here yet."
"What rumor?"
Hardo leaned in conspiratorially.
"Aterugar's coming back."
Aterugar... the red dragon terrorizing Myanfeld. I chased her ass to the sea with the Holy Sword.
"Someone spot that fat lizard?"
"Dunno, but monsters fleeing nests nonstop. You know they fear dragons."
"True, but..."
Beat her scales off less than a decade ago—now sniffing inland? Ten years is a day to dragons. She swore death if she returned. Forgotten already?
Hardo spilled more wild tales, draining another wine bottle. Worth it for the intel.
Late night, cleaning done, staff upstairs—I sat alone at the bar, tallying books. Pelle handled ingredients, but overall finances? Innkeeper's job. Scale up, branch out? Della helps then. Accountants? Pricey, untrustworthy.
One nagging issue, though—not books, Della sticking around, or fees. Celereja across the room, chin on hands, staring.
"Not sleeping?"
"Waiting for you, Bertrand... to head up together..."
"Hm. Hang on a sec."
"Okayyy..."
I guessed her thoughts, rushed the books. Motto: Eat when you can.
Closed the ledger, stood—Celereja beamed uncontrollably, rising gracefully.
"No clue what you'll do tonight... so I washed everywhere spotless..."
"Then we'll do it all."
"Eek...!"
She squealed, lunging into my arms. Then the inn door burst open—Hildeva strode in. Celereja shoved me away, scrambling back.
"Oh? You two still up?"
"Administrator? This late? No overtime?"
"More staff now. Some breathing room. Ow, feet hurt."
Hildeva kicked off her slippers, padding barefoot across the floor. Celereja kept distance, biting her lip, fidgeting hands clasped.
"Eaten?"
"Nah. Skipped to clock out fast."
"Something quick?"
Hildeva shook her head.
"Nah, let's grab a drink? Early night for once."
"Drink?!"
Celereja's head snapped up, yelping. Hildeva flinched, plugging an ear, baffled.
"Uh, yeah. Drink."
"I... I wanna drink too!"
Celereja wrenched her hands apart, glaring at me desperately.
"Saintess can't hold liquor. Saved your drunk ass last time—why..."
"I can drink!"
She staggered closer, pleading clingily.
"The three of us! Together!"
I glanced at Hildeva; she shrugged indifferently.
"Shall we?"