Bad Vibes
‘No way, right? It can’t be…… It has to not be.’
The moment Camilla’s name came up, the unease hit.
But no matter how I thought it over, there was no way Camilla had targeted Florence.
She wouldn’t even know who Florence was.
‘There’s no chance Florence knew an SS-rank assassin.’
If I were still that slave trader from back then, I might’ve thought differently, but looking at it now, the answer was clear.
Their levels were worlds apart to begin with.
The odds of them even knowing each other were practically zero.
Besides, with Camilla’s body still recovering, taking on a separate commission made even less sense.
‘Am I being too paranoid? I mean…… isn’t it a bit much to suspect her just because she’s an assassin?’
A twinge of guilt crept in.
I’d probably been viewing Camilla through too prejudiced a lens.
That was something to reflect on.
“There’s…… more than one body. Five of them, even.”
Stain said it with a grave expression.
Besides Florence, there were other corpses that looked like his entourage.
At a glance, they seemed like they’d just passed out drunk.
But there was no warmth left in them.
The sky hadn’t abandoned me yet.
Opportunity had come knocking.
When I heard the slave transport had failed, it felt like the heavens themselves had caved in.
My long-cherished dream, the plan I’d slaved over for years, had gone sideways.
Of all days, that one.
‘Count Arno, ha! Help my caravan rise again? What a load of pompous bullshit.’
Thirty years as a slave trader.
I’d started from human trafficking at the very bottom and clawed my way up, step by step.
I wasn’t naive enough to fall for sweet talk like that.
I knew exactly how nobles viewed slave caravans—brutally, from bitter experience.
And a count, no less.
A count supporting a slave caravan over some low-tier mage?
Even a stray dog would laugh.
‘Who does he think I am, some shit-for-brains idiot! I’m Florence! Florence!’
There were limits to playing nice with people.
No documents, just verbal promises.
Words meant nothing.
Merchants dealt in paper.
Count Arno had to know that.
Which meant it was an obvious ploy.
And the “escort” Aura User he’d tacked on?
Future knight material, he’d hyped the guy—but those eyes were off.
The escort bit was a sham; he was just a watchdog, plain and simple.
‘Theo, though? Is that bastard really worth all this? No way……’
I remembered Theo.
A mage with no real talent, but cheap enough to use.
It bugged me that a nobody like him had suddenly caught Count Arno’s eye.
But that didn’t matter anymore.
‘Whether Count Arno drags that guy around like a dog or chops off his head and takes it, it’s got nothing to do with me.’
A chance for a comeback.
Not from some count.
The real opportunity was up north.
‘Lena—that bitch. I need to get her back!’
The covert slave transport.
She’d been in it.
And the north’s hounds wanted her.
‘Hounds backed by Grand Duke Layas, the north’s overlord? Now that’s different. Heh heh heh.’
A laugh bubbled up unbidden.
Rumors said Grand Duke Layas even had secret ties to the Empire.
This chance could launch me into the Empire proper.
‘If only the transport hadn’t failed, I’d have broken in ages ago!’
I’d never met Grand Duke Layas face-to-face, but I had the document.
A written contract promising aid for my Empire expansion if I delivered Lena.
And it bore the duke’s personal seal.
A magic document stamped with the aura sigil of one of the kingdom’s three Aura Masters.
With that, dragging Lena north would change my life.
Smooth sailing from there.
The second act of my life would unfold.
‘Over one lousy slave…… tsk tsk.’
She was pretty enough, sure.
But worth mobilizing the hounds? Who knew.
There had to be some backstory.
‘None of my business. Even if I knew, I couldn’t touch it.’
I’d deliberately not dug deeper.
The more you know about shit like this, the closer you get to a knife in the throat.
Thirty years in the trade had taught me that much.
The thought made my throat dry.
I downed the beer the waitress brought in one refreshing gulp.
“Kah! Was the beer in this territory always this good?”
The flavor hit especially rich.
Things were looking up; even the beer tasted like honey.
But it felt…… too quiet.
“Hm? This punk’s got the balls to sleep on me?”
Smack!
I swung a backhand at one of my last two men.
The subordinate who was supposed to chat up the Aura Users was out cold.
Unbelievable.
‘I told him to probe if the slave girl Theo brought was definitely Lena…… and he’s passed out?’
From Count Arno’s vague description, it matched Lena perfectly.
The raided slave wagon, Baron Sellevan’s territory.
And Theo sent along with her.
It all lined up.
But to confirm, I’d told the Aura User to check.
Seeing him drunk off one drink made my blood boil.
‘Not an no sense. Not Not Not Not Not. No loyalty at all. Is this just for my benefit? When my caravan hits the Empire, they’ll bask in the glory too…… tsk tsk tsk.’
Only I cared about reviving the caravan.
No sense of ownership meant these types always ended up like this.
Poor me, dragging them around.
“Why hit a sleeping guy like that? Grandpa got that much strength left? He-het!”
The waitress—mature face, childish act—poured my beer as she spoke.
What a cheeky bitch.
Who the hell did she think she was talking to?
Still, that tail-wagging vibe was decent enough.
Her laugh was kid-like, but the face was pretty, ripe.
“Hmph, no need to play young. Wanna find out tonight?”
“Ooh, how strong are you?”
“Way better than these idiots passed out from one drink! Ahem.”
The waitress pressed close, slyly.
She had taste, eyeing my real muscle over those Aura User show-offs.
She’d go far.
“But you work out hard, huh? What’s with these rock-hard legs……”
Her hand slid up my thigh—firm as steel.
Like……
“Huh? Wh-what the hell!”
I’d expected smooth skin, but it was some freaky steel leg.
Something was wrong.
“Oh? Is it okay to grope a maiden’s leg like that? Or not?”
“Quit the virgin bullshit! Aspiring knights! Take a look at this bi……”
Even after tussling with the waitress, the Aura Users stayed silent.
So I called out.
“Sleeping……? In this situation?”
A sharp sting.
Like a thorn in my throat.
The Aura User slumped over the table, drunk.
My heart pounded.
The waitress’s hand grazed my chest.
Cold, rigid.
Another steel freak hand.
‘The, the voice!’
I tried to dodge the creepy touch, but no sound came.
My heart raced harder.
“But…… I am a virgin. You old bag of bones!”
The waitress smacked her own face a few times, indignant.
Then.
Crack—crunch—
Her face shifted.
Bones ground; her nose sharpened.
Skin tightened into a fresh-faced young adult’s.
The mature waitress was gone.
‘Wh-what the!’
I wanted to scream.
Flee from the grotesque change.
But no voice.
My body wouldn’t obey.
“Master and I are gonna live happily ever after! So don’t get in the way!”
Her cold hand swept my chest again.
Heart thundering.
Pounding like it’d burst.
What the hell was this witch babbling?
But one thought flashed.
‘No way…… Grand Duke Layas’s hounds!’
Unfair.
All of them, just using me.
They’d found Lena; I was expendable now.
That’s why I hadn’t escorted personally.
Regret hit.
Chest pounding.
Feels like it’ll really burst.
The witch was gone.
Maybe I’d hallucinated from booze.
Yeah, sleep it off and think later.
Heart hurts, and I’m so sleepy.
Need a quick rest.
“No signs of poisoning…… Looks like sudden death, nothing else.”
“Sudden death? All five of them?”
“Yeah. What the hell…… But definitely not poison. Faint mana traces, though……”
Stain furrowed his brow as he spoke.
There was a faint mana reaction, sure.
But it was too weak to be the cause of death.
Stain tilted his head and asked the attending soldier.
“Any other wounds?”
“The Frail Knight checked already. No notable trauma.”
“Really? Weird. No wounds, no poison…… Actual sudden death?”
Stain glanced at me, gauging.
I didn’t know why, so I just shrugged.
No interest in meddling with Florence’s mess.
Getting linked to him might draw suspicion.
Stain seemed frustrated but gave his diagnosis.
He wasn’t here to solve crimes, after all.
“My take: definitely not poisoning. That much I can say for sure.”
“Thanks for checking. We’d handle it ourselves, but given the situation……”
Normally, no knights or mages for cases like this—unless the victim was noble.
But post-war jitters made them sensitive.
“Worried it’d spark trouble? Glad it didn’t. We’ll dispose quietly—outsiders and all.”
Stain nodded, and the soldiers cleared the bodies.
I stared blankly, wondering if I should claim Florence’s corpse instead, then dropped it.
No obligation, and it’d just stir shit.
So I backed off.
‘War, mysterious deaths…… This territory’s got bad vibes?’
I split from Stain, unease lingering as I hurried to the workshop.
No peace in this place.
Silly thoughts, but they vanished the second I opened the workshop door.
“Maaaster! Why so laaate! That bitch was totally hitting on you, right?”
“Camilla! Don’t talk like that to the mage!”
“Eek, but…… how’m I s’posed to hold back when she’s flirting with Master?”
The workshop buzzed with one extra person.
Camilla stuck to my back like a cat the moment I arrived.
Her prosthetic arm and leg were well-hidden under clothes.
Gloves on the arm too—looked like Lena had taken her shopping.
Lena must’ve fussed over her thoughtfully.
Whether Camilla knew or not, she boasted anyway.
“Master! Maaaster! Lookit this! I found it near the artisan district today!”
“Found it? What?”
“Dunno! But I figured you’d know, so I grabbed it!”
“Grabbed it? Don’t just snatch up bugs or random crap……”
Not some kid, but what’d she grab? Then I saw it in her hand and facepalmed.
A sigh escaped.
“Oh? Isn’t that one of Master’s dolls?”
“Huh? It’s Master’s?”
“Looks broken……”
Camilla held one of my intel-gathering puppets.
One I’d released in the territory.
Sliced halfway through—who knew how—but repair was a lost cause.