A Debt Paid With a Life
Perhaps a flicker of hope had stirred in him, because the assassin finally opened his mouth. Hope, after all, has a way of making men weak.
"Promise me, before God, that if I speak you will guarantee my safety."
"Fine. I swear it before God."
Of course, unlike the assassin's hopes, Johan did not hold oaths in particularly sacred regard. An oath only meant something to those who believed in God and feared Him. Even among the faithful, men broke their sworn word all the time — there was no chance in hell Johan would lose sleep over it.
If he really came to kill Lepiata, I'll dig out his client and then execute him.
However fond he might nominally be of a member of Nessos' Deadly Poison, Johan had no intention of sticking his neck out for nothing. Hadn't Kaegal himself said it — if you ever run into one, you needn't waste mercy on him. Just kill him.
"I took a contract to kill the governor. My payment was eight southern gold coins and thirteen silver."
"I see. So you were after Lord Lepiata— hm?"
Johan faltered.
The governor — not Lepiata?
The unexpected name caught him off guard.
"Who commissioned it?"
"How the hell should I know?"
The assassin stared at Johan as if he'd asked something absurd. Nobody who hired an assassin ever showed up in person. It would naturally have been a valet or a servant who delivered the payment.
"He spoke with an imperial eastern accent, in silk that looked terribly expensive. There was even embroidery on it..."
"So he must have had deep pockets, if his servant could dress like that."
It still told Johan nothing, though. Plenty of people spoke the imperial tongue with an eastern lilt — from the Empire itself to the nomad tribes to the petty kingdoms scattered about.
Giving up on identifying the client, Johan moved on to other questions.
"Were you planning to use poison on the governor?"
"Yes."
Poisoning was a craft beyond the reach of ordinary people. Your average man wouldn't know where to source the ingredients, let alone how to combine them.
"Did the guild teach you?"
"No. I was raised in an apothecary family. I bought a few techniques from other guild members with gold..."
Nessos' Deadly Poison operated on an entirely different principle from other guilds. Merchant guilds, smith guilds — guilds in general actively protected and looked after their members. They defended their rights, nurtured the newcomers...
This assassin guild shared nothing but its name. The only way up was to outlive the other masters until they died — or simply die yourself. Even the transmission of skills was restricted. A newly sworn assassin had to figure out killing on his own. If he wanted to learn from others, he had to scrape together the means himself.
"And the face-changing?"
"A curse laid on me at a heathen temple, when I joined the eastern campaign."
It looked like a handy talent, but in truth it was less a skill than a curse. At the heathen temple, he had been stripped of his original name, his lineage, his face.
Changing one's face seemed convenient enough, but there was no magic in this world without a price. Beyond all the preparation, every single change demanded that he endure the pain of bones shattering and muscles tearing.
As he listened to the details, Johan's expression soured.
Thought about learning it, but that's a lost cause.
Crossing the sea and heading east was a nonstarter to begin with, and even if he made the trip, it wasn't a technique worth learning. Too much was lost in exchange. The assassin couldn't even remember his own body, his own self.
Having heard everything he needed, Johan spoke.
"I saved your life. By the rules of Nessos, you'll repay that debt with a life of your own. Are you prepared for that?"
"...Yes."
When Johan invoked one of the guild's few remaining principles, the assassin's face twisted. Someone — he didn't know who — had apparently briefed Johan in excruciating detail.
"Good. Then kill Cardirian II."
"...!"
The assassin stared at him in open shock, his eyes screaming what lunacy is this?
Even assassins chose their targets. No assassin alive would ever go after an emperor.
"That is a contract no amount of gold could buy!"
"And yet sometimes a man has no choice but to take what comes. Cardirian II has one life. The governor had one life. What's the difference?"
Johan raised his sword and cut the rope binding the assassin.
"Now go. Leave this city. If I see your face again, I won't guarantee your life a second time."
"......"
Hollow-eyed, the assassin staggered out.
Johan set no great store by it. Whether the assassin went after the emperor, didn't, or tried and failed... If he succeeded, it would be an unthinkable windfall. Even if he failed, it would land a blow against the throne. And if he simply fled without trying, the debt would remain exactly that — a debt.
Johan himself didn't care about oaths, but the assassin apparently did. The man wouldn't be able to slink away as if nothing had happened.
Better than just killing him, at any rate.
When the orc came calling, Johan didn't recognize him at first. Only after the orc spoke did it click — the orc of House Alihim, the one he'd met at the manor.
"May I come in?"
Johan shrugged and waved him inside. So that was why the servants had pulled him aside earlier to ask, "A guest has arrived — what should we do?" Now that he thought about it, it was because the guest was an orc.
Plenty of people balked at letting an orc set foot inside their home. Send one in without the master's express permission, and the servants might well end up whipped for it.
"I thank you for the welcome. I came to say — you saved my life, and I am grateful."
"It needed doing."
At Johan's easy, unbothered hospitality, the orc marveled inwardly. It was far too unfamiliar a demeanor for a young knight to wear.
"Did you receive your reward properly?"
"Of course."
Once the affair was wrapped up, sincere thanks had poured in from both Count Ganelwood and Sir Carpati.
For Count Ganelwood in particular, the whole business had been a bolt from the blue. The hardest part of the campaign — taking the city itself — had wrapped up smoothly, and then this had nearly happened within its walls.
"W-well now... I truly don't know how to thank you. Truly, I'm g-grateful."
In return, the count offered a careful piece of advice.
"If L-Lord Lepiata offers you a position, it wouldn't be b-bad to accept."
"I have my family's succession to think of—"
"Ah, ah yes. You'd rather not be t-tied down. I understand."
Count Ganelwood had a fair guess as to what Johan was thinking.
At first he'd taken him for simply a young knight enjoying the duke's favor, but after the man's mad exploits in this punitive expedition, curiosity had gotten the better of him. He'd already had the man's background ferreted out from every quarter.
Any other knight would long since have been cozying up to the Brudhe children. Johan showed none of that instinct whatsoever. He was keeping his distance — deliberately, unmistakably so.
"But, but wading in a little wouldn't hurt either, you know."
"Are you suggesting Lord Lepiata will win?"
"N-no, no. I couldn't say. I, I only mean that there's nothing to lose by dipping a toe in. Nothing bad will come to you, at least. Even if you took a position from L-Lord Lepiata — do you imagine the others would dare spite you for it?"
"Surely they wouldn't."
The count gave a dry snort.
"You, you underestimate the duke sorely. That would be an a-absolute impossibility... And besides, if anything, they'd be trying to lure you in."
The duke's children were no fools. They wouldn't waste their breath on petty spite. Johan understood the count's meaning.
"E-even should another succeed the dukedom, no harm would come to you. You, you need only manage the fief you've been granted well, and the summons will come again."
"You flatter me, my lord."
"If, if only a knight like you had come ten years sooner. If, if another expedition arises, I shall call for you — I, I hope you'll come. The, the pay will be generous."
"Count Ganelwood is a clever man."
The orc said it through his nose, his face making no secret of his distaste.
"Trouble between you two?"
"Ha! That sly devil has fleeced orcs in court how many times now... A vicious, grasping bastard if there ever was one."
Johan didn't bother responding. There was nothing to gain by taking sides against the count in a bit of gossip. Coaxing and soothing the wealthy out of their coin was its own kind of talent — and it wasn't as if nobles who borrowed money and then brazened their way out of repaying it were a rare breed.
"So is expressing your gratitude the only reason you came? You could have sent a servant."
"Only an ill-mannered wretch gives thanks through another man's mouth. A being with self-respect and pride cannot thank a man that way."
The orc produced a rolled certificate and laid it before Johan, who eyed it with puzzlement.
"Even a knight runs short of coin now and then. In the name of House Alihim, I pledge you gold."
"A gift?"
"What nonsense is that? A loan."
At the orc's expression — as if to say, don't say idiotic things — Johan felt a flicker of disappointment.
Still, even a loan was a tremendous thing. Merchants only lent to nobles when there was collateral worthy of the risk — land, rights, the like. Johan, however, was a penniless knight with almost nothing to his name. All he owned was his fists and his sword.
"I accept with gratitude."
Johan showed no reaction of the "How dare you dangle money before me!" variety. He simply expressed his thanks and stowed it away without hesitation.
"......"
Most nobles did react that way, true — but only when they were truly desperate. Johan didn't look the least bit desperate, and yet there he was. The orc studied him with open fascination.
"So. Are you following Lord Lepiata, then?"
"It's a contract. We provide the gold, and his lordship..."
The rest went unsaid, but it was plain enough. The man was no doubt anticipating various rights and concessions.
"Some sneer at us for our dealings with him, but it's a laughable complaint. Where will you find a noble with no money troubles? Are merchants' souls any cleaner than ours, eh? Even the most arrogant nobles, once they're desperate enough, come groveling and begging at our feet."
"Can't argue with that. Gold is supreme."
"...?"
The orc stopped mid-sentence.
"Are you flattering me?"
"Why would I flatter you?"
At Johan's genuinely puzzled question, the orc flinched.
He'd been running his mouth as usual, but the sight of Johan had brought back the memory of that day at the manor — the young knight swinging his fists and beating hired swords to death.
The orc hurriedly straightened his posture. Surely the man wouldn't kill him over this — but hubris was a fool's game.
"N-no, if you say so, never mind. I misspoke — I didn't expect a knight to understand the worth of gold, that's all. Do forgive me."
Contrary to the orc's worries, Johan had not the slightest thought of killing him. He intended to wring a fortune out of this creature eventually; a little cheek was tolerable for now.
"You looked truly strong, back there. Where will you go next?"
"Hm? I've been granted a fief, so I mean to go see it."
"Couldn't you just send a steward for that? Why trundle off in person?"
Johan was hardly a knight with a established house, and he wasn't planning to install himself as resident lord, so there was no real reason to ride out and inspect every village.
A young knight ought, by rights, to be chasing grander opportunities — trailing his liege, or haunting the battlefields of the world.
Is he lying?
The orc wondered to himself. If it were Johan, he'd expected the man to be raising soldiers, coveting the territories held by the petty kingdoms and city-states nearby. This region was riddled with places begging to be attacked, and the petty kingdoms and city-states were too tangled in their own affairs to respond. A fine time to strike.
But that was the orc's misreading. The afterimage of what he'd seen at the manor had burned itself far too deeply into him. In his mind, Johan was a knight forged of steel and blood and violence.
"It seems wiser to see it with my own eyes."
"What... what's the point of looking at a village yourself?"
"It might help with managing the estate. I say I'm going to look after my own land and you keep hounding me about it — why?"
"N-no, it's just..."
It wasn't as if nobles never managed their lands. A clever lord picked his crops shrewdly, hired additional hands with no local ties, stockpiled serviceable equipment, and swelled the year's harvest.
But that was the work of a lord with schooling — a former bishop, say. Knights simply didn't do such things.
A knight's management was far cruder. Collect the taxes. Short? Collect more. Still short? Go somewhere else and take it. And when the peasants rose in revolt, put them down...
The orc was beginning to wonder whether he'd misjudged this knight entirely.
It was absurd — truly, genuinely absurd — but he could have sworn he'd glimpsed, just for a moment, a faint glimmer of intellect in the man's eyes.