The Disease of Suspicion
He drained an entire bottle of wine in one go.
“Ahh…….”
The reason he drank was a kind of compensatory psychology. He had lived his life with a reasonable amount of effort—so why had things turned out like this?
Besides, he couldn’t even get drunk. A body that shrugged off anesthetics strong enough to put an elephant under—what good would alcohol do?
“……Shall we go.”
Rodeban seized Veraoke by the head and hauled him up. He meant to check the other train cars. Given that no one had come despite all the racket, it was highly likely Veraoke had put the remaining station staff—and even the engineer—to sleep. If that were the case, the train might overshoot its destination. Or, if luck ran sour, it might cause an accident.
Ah, what a pain……
The moment he formed the plan, laziness crashed over him. The instant the fight ended, that pest called Fatigue had stuck its head in.
“Gotta do what needs doing…….”
Creak—
He opened the door and stepped into the next car, revealing a space that looked like a storage hold. Crates of goods were stacked everywhere. He advanced, dragging Veraoke’s body along the floor. Leaving the man in the VIP car where everyone slept was out of the question.
Killing him would have been simplest, of course—but he hadn’t interrogated him properly, so he’d kept him alive. The man seemed not to know the exact client. Still, Rodeban needed at least the circumstances of the job, how much he’d been paid, and from whom the commission had come.
He’s a dead man walking anyway.
This was the bastard who had attacked a train carrying a noble lady. Minimum: the death penalty. Maximum…… he didn’t know. Didn’t care.
Bang—!
He threw open the door to the control cabin. The engineer lay sprawled on the floor. Without a second’s hesitation, Rodeban slapped the man’s cheeks a few times.
Smack! Smack!
“Eh—uhh?”
The engineer, who had been making strange noises, jolted awake. The moment he saw Rodeban, his eyes went round.
“R-Rodeban-nim? What brings you to the control room… A-ah—wait. Why was I asleep in the first place?”
Rodeban nodded as if to set him at ease.
“There was an attack. This man released a powerful drug through the train.”
“……Hah!”
The engineer recoiled the instant he saw Veraoke—the severed shoulder, the face painted thick with blood. He checked the instrument panel at once.
“I-I’ll stop the train. The nearest station is…… Ah—fortunately I wasn’t out that long. Only about thirty more minutes.”
“Is that so. That’s a relief.”
“Thank you so much, Rodeban-nim. I owe you a great debt.”
“Not at all. Debt? Please…….”
As Rodeban watched the engineer bow, a strange feeling crept over him. The train had been attacked because of him, after all. Being thanked for saving them from that attack left his conscience pricking hard.
The engineer went on,
“Once the station staff wake, I’ll send them straight to your car, Rodeban-nim.”
“Understood.”
The moment Rodeban returned to the VIP car, Seria was just pushing herself upright. She looked as if she had only just come to.
“Rodeban-nim?”
Her gaze fell on the bloodied mass in his hand—and her eyes flew wide as if her mind had snapped fully awake.
“Ah—so it was an attack after all. I thought it strange that sleep hit me so suddenly, but by the time I realized, it was already too late…… What’s that you’re holding……?”
“Yes. A mercenary famous in the underworld by the name of Veraoke. He came after my Magic Eye.”
“……Veraoke—the wanted criminal known as the Red Axe?”
Dismay washed over Seria’s face. It was the look of someone who had just understood how close she had come to dying. Veraoke’s list of crimes ran to murder, arson, kidnapping—every variety of atrocity.
Rodeban nodded.
“You know him well.”
“He’s caused trouble in the North as well. I heard he’s stronger than most northern knights…… Thank you for saving us.”
She studied him for a quiet moment, then murmured a soft note of admiration.
“Fortunately you don’t seem hurt. Even after retirement, your skill remains as sharp as ever.”
He answered evenly.
“I got lucky. By the way—what kind of poison do you think he used? It smelled of mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms…… Then it’s likely one of the poisonous varieties harvested from the Great Forest. They’re generally extremely difficult to obtain…… This man is no ordinary sort either.”
As she spoke, the train’s speed began to fall away.
“Did you go to the control cabin?” she asked.
“Yes. The engineer was asleep as well, so I woke him. He said he would make a brief stop at the next station.”
“Hmm…….”
Seria glanced around the car. It was a wreck. Blood freckled the floor, the walls, the windows, the ceiling. In one corner lay what was clearly Veraoke’s severed arm. The wall cabinets hung open as if a thief had ransacked them. Amid the chaos she spotted a wine bottle rolling on the floor and turned to Rodeban.
“……Did you drink?”
He shook his head with perfect composure.
“Drink in this mess? I’m no drunkard.”
“Hmm…….”
A suspicious look lingered on him for a beat. Then she looked away.
“……Well, all right. It would be best to get off at the next station and change our means of transport. It seems our route has been exposed.”
What exactly “well, all right” was supposed to mean, he had no idea—and no desire to find out. Rodeban nodded vaguely. He truly could not understand why everyone was so fixated on alcohol.
“Understood.”
Hiss……
The moment the vibrations subsided, the train came to a halt at Loperhard Station.
“Please disembark.”
From here a carriage ride to their destination, Preyagrad, would take roughly two hours. In other words, the attack had come almost on the doorstep of arrival.
“Rodeban-nim. Would you wait here a moment? It will take a little while for the carriage to arrive. I’ll go report to my father briefly.”
“Understood.”
And so Rodeban was left in the waiting room with a few of the escorts. Through the window he watched Seria head off somewhere—probably to handle the aftermath of the attacker.
One of the escorts held out a change of clothes.
“Rodeban-nim. Please put these on. You’re covered in blood.”
“Ah—yes. Thank you.”
He changed at once. The red uniform he’d been wearing was so soaked that the smell alone was serious. Once he was dressed, his gaze drifted around the room of its own accord. The space was crammed with absurdly expensive-looking ornaments—exactly the sort of place that looked reserved for nobles alone.
This sofa’s probably worth more than our whole garrison building.
Was a commoner even allowed to use a facility like this? While he entertained such petty thoughts, his seated posture slowly slumped.
I want to sleep.
The moment he registered that the crisis was over, drowsiness poured down on him. The rebound from forcing his body into sudden motion earlier was arriving. Why was this body so frail? All he had done was wake up and swing a sword a bit.
……I need to get the Holy Fluid soon.
The reason he had come north rose unbidden in his mind. Holy Fluid—an elixir refined from the sap of the World Tree. A treasure of which only four bottles existed on the entire continent. The first material required to purify the Magic Eye. The medicine that would also restore his failing heart.
Just a little sleep……
Rodeban surrendered to the fatigue. His eyelids were already half-lowered. He blinked a few times, and then—
“……Rodeban-nim?”
Seria stood in front of him. He snapped back to himself and hurriedly straightened. Outside the window, almost no time seemed to have passed.
“M-My Lady. You’ve returned.”
A flush of embarrassment crept over him. His posture had been half-slumped in the seat—the most pathetic pose imaginable. But Seria only looked at him with worry.
“Rodeban-nim. Are you all right? I heard you retired because your injuries had worsened…….”
He waved a hand as if it were nothing.
“I’m fine. I’ve always been the type who sleeps a lot. Please don’t mind it.”
“…….”
Seria regarded him with a faintly sulky expression.
……Did I do something wrong?
As he flinched inwardly, she held out her hand.
“Let’s go. The carriage is ready. We’ve also transferred Veraoke into the custody of the knight order. The bounty will be delivered to you shortly as well.”
“Thank you. You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble.”
“You’re the one who went to the trouble, Rodeban-nim. I only handled the cleanup.”
“…….”
Somehow she feels a bit prickly.
Rodeban left the waiting room and walked the quiet platform. The train he had ridden was already gone. Looking farther, he saw that the escorts—once five—had swollen to fifteen. From the presence he could sense, additional forces were providing cover from a greater distance as well.
Outside the station, a pitch-black carriage waited. As he climbed aboard, a thought crossed his mind.
Isn’t there a car instead of a carriage?
The memory of the victory banquet surfaced. The ride that day hadn’t been bad. Rodeban preferred cars.
“We’ll be departing.”
At the coachman’s voice, the scenery outside the window began to slide past. Rodeban watched it for a moment. A snow-covered city. Even under the northern cold, cities rivaling the capital stood throughout the region.
Then Seria’s voice reached him.
“Rodeban-nim.”
“Yes, My Lady. Please speak.”
When he turned, that same sulky expression was still on her face. He swallowed without meaning to. His instincts whispered that—because she had held her silence for so long—something serious, important, and exhausting was about to come out.
“While you were sleeping in the waiting room, you were talking in your sleep.”
“……Yes.”
“That you needed to get the Holy Fluid soon. You were muttering it, so…… I contacted my father.”
“……!”
Rodeban’s eyes went wide.
What—I said that in my sleep?
It was absurd. Still, since the conversation seemed to be moving forward quickly, it wasn’t such a bad thing. Seria had heard and relayed exactly what he needed to say.
Actually, this is better.
Seria continued,
“To cut to the conclusion—Father said it wouldn’t be difficult to give you the Holy Fluid.”
“……Is that so?”
This easily……? His eyes widened again. Holy Fluid was a treasure of which one bottle appeared every fifty years—so scarce that ordinary money could never buy it. There was no way they would simply hand something like that over.
“Is that true?”
When he looked openly doubtful, Seria sighed and added,
“You’re every bit as suspicious as the rumors say. He said he would give it to you if you carry out the Magic Sword recovery commission.”
“……!”
At those words, even greater suspicion flooded his face.
That doesn’t make sense.
To Rodeban, recovering a Magic Sword was dozens of times easier than dealing with nobles. The Magic Eye shouldered every side effect of the blades. In short, the offer was practically the same as telling him to take the reward for free—so favorable he could not believe it.
“……I-Is that really true?”
It was his second question. Seria’s expression turned incredulous.
“Rodeban-nim. Have you only ever been deceived your whole life? Why can’t you believe this. Magic Sword recovery is no different from clearing a high-rank dungeon—so of course the pay should be substantial.”
She was so frustrated that informal speech slipped out. Only then did Rodeban quietly look away.
Was I a bit much?
But the disease of suspicion had been born from actually being deceived by nobles all his life; he couldn’t help it. Still, there was something he needed to say.
“Let’s write a contract.”
Seria shook her head back and forth.
“……Ah. Yes. Go ahead.”