The Journey Begins - 3
A tavern is truly a wondrous place.
Because no matter the years that pass, or the lands you visit, one tradition never changes.
"You smashed a wine bottle over someone's head?!"
"That insane bastard!"
The tradition that the moment a single spark of a fight ignites, brawls erupt one after another all across the room.
People who've drunk far past the point of rational judgment are bound to have their emotions running hot.
Even someone with nothing to do with the fight will come charging like an animal if they so much as get bumped into.
Knowing this tavern culture, I was the one who threw the first punch with a wine bottle.
Then I snatched a beer mug from a nearby table and hurled it at the laborer standing behind the mercenaries.
The man, who had been heartily gulping down his drink, took the mug to the back of his head and spat his beer right back out.
He whipped around with a face twisted beyond recognition.
"They did it."
"What?!"
Between me, coolly spouting my lie, and the mercenaries frozen in confusion, there was no need to explain which side the drunken louts saw as the culprits.
"You sons of bitches want to try something?!"
"We didn't do anyth—urk!"
The mercenary at the very back scrambled to clear up the misunderstanding, but before the words could leave his mouth, someone had already seized him by the collar.
And then the fists began landing on his face.
Perhaps inspired by the fiery spectacle of manly combat, the remaining mercenaries charged at me as well.
Not keen on the overzealous physical affection of these hotheads, I shoved the first one lunging at me sideways.
The mercenary I pushed crashed straight into the blacksmith, who had been in the middle of a long, leisurely meal.
"You little shit!"
The old master blacksmith rose from his seat in a flash, slamming his fist down the length of the table.
One look at his flushed, mottled face, and anyone could tell he was genuinely furious.
At the blacksmith's sudden outburst, every pair of eyes in the bar swung toward him.
Seizing that exact moment, I threw an object at another customer to fan the flames of the brawl even wider.
"Have you green young whelps all lost your minds together?!"
"Those bastards, get them!"
"A fight? Count me in!"
Thanks to me, the tavern descended into utter chaos in the blink of an eye.
"They do say alcohol is your worst enemy for a reason."
My apologies to the owner, but I had no choice but to cause a massive commotion.
After all, a disturbance of moderate scale would never be enough to slip out of a tavern unnoticed.
A half-hearted brawl was guaranteed to end with me getting caught by the collar.
"So then, shall the survivors of this purgatory have a nice, long chat?"
"Ugh! Let go of me!"
"Whoa, easy now. If you cooperate, I promise I won't do anything rough to you."
Before escaping the tavern, I dragged out the youngest-looking of the mercenaries who had picked a fight with me, gripping him by the scruff of his hair.
The reason was nothing special. I simply had questions I wanted to ask him.
"You said you'd never seen me around these parts, which means you've been operating here for quite a while, yes?"
"Ha! You think I'm going to answer you nicely?"
"Hmm, well? You'd know better than I would."
"Graaaaagh!"
Crack!
Without hesitation, I bent his ring finger upward and snapped it.
Once my questions were done, we'd never see each other again — there was no need to spare anyone's convenience.
Unlike with the merchant women, who still had ongoing value to me.
"Hhhk…! Aghh, aghh!"
"If you're not used to pain, I'd suggest answering politely. I don't hold grudges against people who treat me friendly."
Even the most insolent punk turns docile as a lamb once you break a finger — as if nothing had ever happened.
And it worked even better when you showed not a trace of guilt about it.
"So, your answer?"
"Y-yes, that's right! I've been settled in this village for three years now!"
"I see. Then I suppose you also know that this village once had a branch of the Tongues Merchant Firm?"
"Of course I do…!"
"Well, I took a quick look around town, and where that merchant firm should've been, there's now a bakery. Care to tell me when it changed, and where the firm's people went?"
The reason a branch of the Tongues Merchant Firm had come to such a small, remote village was, of course, me.
Maxwell had established it on the condition that I could summon him anytime something urgent came up.
But from the moment he resolved to betray me, the branch lost all its value.
Still, this branch had a means of contacting Maxwell directly, so its staff would have surely asked him what they should do.
He, in a position where he had to scrape together every last coin, would have given his employees a rendezvous point.
If I could just secure that information somehow, Maxwell would be as good as caught.
"I don't remember clearly, but the firm's building must have turned into a bakery about a month ago."
The Tongues Merchant Firm's withdrawal — the firm that held the prime commercial footing in the village — had been shocking news at the time.
The surrounding merchants had asked the firm's staff, their neighbors for so long, why they were pulling out,
and reportedly heard nothing but that it was an order from headquarters.
"Once their preparations were finished, which direction did they leave in?"
"The Tongues Merchant Firm loaded everything onto wagons and headed south."
"South, of all directions…"
In the end, I hadn't salvaged a single piece of useful information.
Had they gone east, I could at least have predicted their route, but the south offered no answers at all.
Every region of the Kinel Holy Kingdom had roads leading onward from it.
And given that it had been a month, they'd long since passed through the Holy Kingdom and traveled far away.
If I wanted even the barest thread to follow, I had no choice but to visit the Kinel Holy Kingdom and dig up information on them.
"Is that everything you know?"
"Ah! Now that I think about it, there was one peculiar thing!"
"What is it?"
"The Tongues Merchant Firm's people didn't leave right away. As I recall, they received an invitation from the Lord, stayed at his estate for one night, and only then departed."
"They left after spending a night at the Lord's manor?"
"Yes, I'm certain of it!"
"That's rather suspicious."
Unless it was a merchant prince, nobles almost never invited the employees of a mere trading company.
And the Tongues Merchant Firm was a rope worn nearly through by business failure.
There was nothing whatsoever to wring out of them — so why extend the invitation?
"Guess I'll have to pay the Lord a visit."
"Unfortunately, the Lord has never once admitted a mercenary into his estate."
"Who said anything about paying a proper visit?"
"Th-then how do you intend to meet him?"
"Illegal intrusion, obviously."
As it happened, I was dressed similarly to an assassin's garb in order to conceal my identity.
Just like them, I intended to make use of any entrance I could — a window, a chimney, whatever offered a way in.
"Since we're on the subject, let's go now."
"What? Am I coming too?"
"Of course. I don't know where the Lord's estate is. And you've heard my whole plan — you really think I'll just send you off with a smile?"
"I'll give you my map! And I swear I won't breathe a word of what you told me to anyone!"
"Any random stranger will do if it's just words? Enough chatter — come along. I'll at least make sure no harm comes to you."
"Agh, dammit…"
The young mercenary made his displeasure abundantly clear.
When I approached him, the boy panicked and launched into a string of excuses.
Regardless, I bent his broken ring finger back in the opposite direction.
"Graaaaagh!"
"Don't be scared. I was just setting the misaligned bone back in place."
I flashed him a sweet smile and even gave his shoulder a few friendly pats.
Try as I might, I couldn't help feeling that my behavior just now had been remarkably gentlemanly.
"Lead the way."
"Yes, sir…"
With my mercenary friend in tow, I arrived at the Lord's estate.
A grand manor standing utterly alone in the middle of a snowfield, far removed from the village.
It occupied a location that suggested, much like myself, an extreme aversion to contact with other people.
"This is the grand manor of the Lord I mentioned earlier."
"…Well, this situation just got interesting."
"Sorry?"
"Nothing. More importantly, you head back to the village."
"Wh-what? You're… letting me go?"
Look at this rascal, grinning ear to ear.
I'd considered simply dragging him along, but I decided against it.
I'd promised he wouldn't come to harm, so it was only right to consider his peace of mind as well.
"Yes, you may go. But if you go running your mouth around the village, you understand, right? Next time it won't be your ring finger — it'll be your neck?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
Having prevented any mishaps in advance, I turned my gaze back to the Lord's grand manor.
A deathly miasma no ordinary mortal could sense.
The aura of corpses — things that had already died yet refused to accept their death — filled the entire estate.
Two horses galloped hard across the snow-covered ground.
Astride them rode Aleyna, her platinum hair gleaming brighter than the purest white frost, and Roland, the knight in black armor.
Skilled in the saddle, they urged their horses onward in urgent flight toward their destination.
The snow mountains of Pernil, infamous as a peril-riddled land.
They gripped their reins tight, seeking Rian, said to be living in seclusion there.
"Lady Aleyna, I am sorry to say this, but there is a high likelihood the Hero has already departed elsewhere."
"I had anticipated as much. Still, if we can find evidence that Rian was living here, we should at least be able to narrow our search radius."
"I spoke out of turn. I sincerely apologize."
Just as Rian pursued Maxwell's trail, so too were they chasing Rian's.
Aleyna, desperate to meet Rian as quickly as possible and beg his forgiveness, raced forward blindly, eyes fixed only ahead.
Roland's gaze, however, was fixed somewhere entirely different.
"…Lady Aleyna."
"Sir Roland, we did not come north to purify wicked things. We came to attend upon the Hero. You can distinguish duty from personal matters, can you not?"
"Yes, I understand…"
Though his words expressed understanding, Roland's eyes would not stray from the place where the deathly miasma seeped.
Aleyna, who knew exactly why he behaved this way, heaved a long sigh.
In the days when Roland was still a snot-nosed child, his hometown had been attacked by an army of undead commanded by necromancers.
Calamity struck in the dead of night while everyone slept, and screams and flames erupted throughout the village.
Fortunately, priests of the Holy Kingdom arrived just before the residents were slaughtered to the last, quelling the disaster quickly, and Roland was saved.
But by then, Roland's family had already been torn apart and devoured by the undead.
From that day on, Roland was raised in the Holy Kingdom's orphanage, where a blind thirst for vengeance against the undead took root and grew.
A knight made by vengeance alone, he had even earned Aleyna's trust.
'Sir Roland is fine in every way, but whenever the undead are involved, his eyes roll back like this…'
His skill was more than worthy of a knight-captain's post.
The decisive reason he never attained that position was simply that his own convictions ran stronger than the goddess's will.
"Stubborn as ever. I concede — let us dispose of the undead quickly and be on our way."
"Thank you for your consideration."
"In return, make it fast and clean."
"Understood."
Aleyna and Roland wheeled their reins about, changing the course of their steeds.
They rode toward the grand manor from which the heavy aura of death flowed out.
'And so the moment of our reunion is pushed back once more…'
Aleyna had no way of knowing that the very goal she sought awaited within the manor she now approached.