The Butcher's Letter

To Luden, mercenary work had always been nothing more than a means of survival.

After the Rex Three Brothers stripped him of everything and left him flat broke, becoming a mercenary was the only option he had left.

Needless to say, it hadn't been easy.

Luden had been raised in the lap of luxury by a noble house — when had he ever known hardship in his life?

The first time he'd been drenched in monster blood, he'd vomited up everything in his stomach. He'd been swindled out of his pay on contracts more times than he could count, working himself to the bone for nothing.

Those were rough days. Cursed out left and right, sleeping rough on the streets.

Not a single day had been easy until he finally found ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his footing in the mercenary trade. It was all in the past now, but they weren't exactly fond memories.

"Tch. I learned the hard way that leaving home means living like a dog."

Honestly, there had been plenty of times he'd considered swallowing his pride and going back to his family.

He never did, in the end.

While he was lost in old memories, the merchant who had hired him for this escort job approached. He had a fairly youthful face — more the look of a scholar than a merchant.

"Thank you for your hard work. Thanks to you, we arrived in Bern without delay. This is the payment we agreed upon."

"Hm? This seems like rather a lot."

"Heh heh. It's a modest sum, but I added a little extra. The others agreed to it as well, of course."

Apparently Luden's conduct during the escort had left quite an impression.

There was no reason to refuse when the man insisted.

"Thank you. If the opportunity arises, I'd like to work with you again."

"The pleasure would be all mine, anytime. By the way, Mr. Luden — do you plan to stay in Bern for a while?"

"That's the plan for now."

"Then I'd advise you to be careful."

With that, Arnold glanced around the area and continued in a cautious voice.

"Actually, I heard something while handing over the goods earlier. Apparently something troublesome has come up in Bern recently."

"Troublesome?"

"You're aware of the beastfolk territory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠near Bern, aren't you? Word is that the beastkin have been attacking people traveling to and from the city lately."

"The beastkin, you say? Well, that's certainly unusual."

"Indeed. There's even talk that the Viscount is gathering troops over it. Though that may just be rumor."

So that was it.

Now that he thought about it, the streets had felt strangely subdued ever since he'd arrived. Despite the crowds, there was little energy in the air, and looking closer, he could sense an undercurrent of unease in the people.

"I know of your skill, Mr. Luden, but please take care of yourself."

"Thank you for your concern."

After watching the merchant's retreating figure for a moment, Luden set off as well.

He'd thought about doing some sightseeing, since he'd finally made it to Bern, but the mood of the city put a damper on that idea. He gave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up and went looking for an inn instead.

"I'll be staying about a week. One clean room with decent soundproofing."

"Five hundred rubles."

His funds were plentiful, so he paid five silver coins and was shown to his room. The room itself was passable enough.

He'd barely unpacked his things and was savoring the softness of the bed when a furrow creased his brow.

"Word's already spreading, huh. Faster than I expected."

Arnold had called it rumor, but before long, Bern would be recruiting soldiers. Luden knew this well — in his previous life, it was that very affair that had brought him to Bern.

"War."

The war between Bern and the beastkin.

It was an event from his past life — and a future soon to descend upon Bern.

And it was the reason Luden had returned to Bern at all.

After a brief nap, Luden donned the dark blue robe and stepped out of the inn. Night had already fallen, and the streets were pitch black.

If it's him, he should be there by now.

It was his first time in Bern in decades, yet he didn't lose his way. As if his body remembered the city, he walked while glancing around, and before he knew it, he was heading exactly where he needed to go.

His destination was a shabby little tavern.

Creak.

A quiet atmosphere hung over the interior. A few customers sat scattered about — apparently that was just this establishment's style.

There he is.

Luden's eyes gleamed as he surveyed the room, and he walked over to a table and sat down.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man's eyes were instantly wary. It was only natural to regard a stranger who suddenly sat down with suspicion — but this wariness went far beyond that.

Correct answer.

Smiling inwardly, Luden asked.

"Black Rat Gareth. That's you, right?"

"Oh, so you're a customer."

At a single word, the man's guard melted away. His reaction was practiced, as if this happened all the time.

And in truth, it probably did.

'Black Rat' Gareth.

An information broker operating in Bern's back alleys.

That was the man's true identity.

Hm. He's certainly well-groomed at this point in time.

Luden had first met him at the height of the war between Bern and the beastfolk. Back then, Luden had joined the war to earn money, while Gareth had been thrown in jail for fraud and forcibly conscripted.

Truly rotten luck. It was his own fault, admittedly, but hearing his story, Luden couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy.

Unlucky as he was, though, the man was quite competent as an information broker.

"I want to buy information. Fair warning — if you try any funny business, I'll start by cutting off that pretty face of yours. So don't bother."

"Oh come now. What do you take me for? Find me another broker in this business with credit as good as mine. Go on, try."

Right.

Somehow I don't think that's something a man who went to prison for fraud should be saying.

Worse, he used to brag about his methods to anyone who'd listen.

"Enough. I want to know about the recent incident involving the beastfolk."

"Ah, the story that's got the whole city buzzing. Of course I know it."

Gareth wet his mouth with beer and began.

"The beastkin started attacking humans about a week ago. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Their main targets are merchants hauling cargo — but strangely, they never take the goods."

"So plunder isn't the goal?"

"Right. From what I hear, they're searching for something, though nobody knows what. But it's getting worse by the day, so I figure the Viscount can't ignore it any longer."

Certainly, once things escalated this far, the Viscount could hardly stand by. But with beastfolk as the opponent, moving rashly was dangerous too.

At this rate, it may only be a matter of time.

Either way, it wasn't good news.

"There. I've answered, so now about the price—"

"One more thing. I heard the Viscount's son isn't in Bern right now. Do you know when he'll return?"

"Hmm. Why do you ask?"

Suspicion flickered in Gareth's eyes for an instant — but the moment Luden produced a single gold coin from his pocket, the man opened his mouth as if nothing had happened.

"Well, what does the reason matter, eh? Let's see. The Viscount's son is off at a social party held by another noble house, so he should be back in three or four days."

"I see. Thanks for the information."

When Luden handed over the money, Gareth's grin stretched so wide he couldn't have hidden it if he tried.

Greedy then, greedy now. Some things never change.

"Well, I'll be off."

"Ah, come use my services again sometime."

"If I need to. Oh, right — one more thing."

Just as he was about to leave, Luden turned back and offered Gareth a piece of advice, as if it had only just occurred to him.

"If you're going to run a scam, at least pick your targets carefully. Don't ruin your life by choosing the wrong person."

"What? What's that supposed to—"

"And especially — never, ever go around selling noble names."

Unless you want to end up in prison and get conscripted straight from there, that is.

Swallowing the rest of that thought, Luden left the tavern behind Gareth's bewildered stare. The cold night air burrowed deep into his lungs.

"Three days, then. Less time than I thought."

Frowning, Luden continued working through it.

There had been one decisive trigger that set off the war in his previous life — and he'd just heard about it.

The Viscount's son.

When the man was attacked by the beastkin, the Viscount of Bern drew his sword. In other words, until the son returned in three days, there was still time.

And Luden had a way to solve this problem.

"If I want their help, I have to stop this war no matter what. And to do that, first—"

"Hm? This is...?"

Luden's eyes went wide as he stared at the quest window. But what had caught his attention was neither the Unique box nor the failure condition.

"Party System Unlocked? What's that?"

It was a reward he'd never seen before. Items, skills, breakthroughs — those had appeared as rewards plenty of times, but never an unlock of the system itself.

"Wait. Come to think of it, the Status Window was opened as a quest reward too, wasn't it?"

Did that mean the Party System possessed abilities similar to the Status Window? The Status Window, which let him quantify his own abilities and watch his growth in real time, was an incredibly useful power.

If the Party System was anything like it, then it would be worth the hardship to obtain.

"No choice, then."

Steeling his resolve, Luden pulled the Robe of Concealment over himself. His footsteps headed in the opposite direction from the inn.

"Zeke. Have I been spoiling the boys too much lately?"

"I doubt it, sir. I can't imagine any fool who doesn't know your temper is still walking around free."

"That's what I thought. Then what do you make of this?"

Zeke took the letter Drag held out, read it, and frowned.

"They've lost their minds."

"Or I've become a joke. Ha — a taunt, aimed at me? How very entertaining."

He said it was entertaining, but Zeke could tell that Drag was holding back his fury. He hadn't spent all these years as the man's second-in-command for nothing.

And the letter, from the very first line, was a blatant provocation aimed at Drag.

"Who is it from?"

"Can't you see? The letter bears the Scorpion seal."

"The Scorpions, you say? But there's no way those vermin could know we possess it, could they?"

"Could be a forgery."

But the scorpion-shaped seal was genuine, even to Zeke's sharp eye. It was a seal used only for the most important correspondence within the Scorpions themselves.

Besides — how many people in Bern would have the gall to taunt Drag like this?

"How on earth did they find out?"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that someone out there knows we have it."

"Hmm."

Drag was right. The contents of that letter were a secret that must never reach anyone's ears. There were no demands attached — but that alone was enough to set fire to their feet.

Whether there was a rat inside, or a mistake had been made somewhere — as long as someone already knew, it was too late to do anything about it.

Drag rose from his seat.

"There are three kinds of people I despise. You know them, don't you, Zeke?"

"The incompetent, those who don't know their place — and those who covet your bowl, sir."

"Right. And the owner of this letter fits all three. What do you think I should do?"

"Perhaps we should wait and see? What if it's a forgery, sir?"

Zeke tried to calm him. If this was someone's scheme, then reacting would mean dancing to their tune.

As he saw it, there was something off about the idea that the Scorpions had sent this letter.

But—

"It doesn't matter. Forgery or not, we have exactly one thing to do."

Drag's eyes were already brimming with killing intent. The bared teeth of his face were as vicious as befitted the man called the Butcher of Bern.

He picked up his beloved greatsword and gave his order.

"Show them what we're made of. Start by making those Scorpion bastards pay for daring to taunt me like this. Zeke — gather every man. Now."

"...Understood."

Drag all but ruled half of Bern's underworld with an iron fist. His command was about to whip a bloody wind through a city that was already tense enough.

Meanwhile, a shadow that had been watching their every move quietly slipped away.