Chapter 13 of 15

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Noble fighter, my ass..."

Haral frowned at the noisy voices digging into his ears.

The Imperial Capital felt more excited than usual.

And amid that restless atmosphere, most of the voices seemed to be speaking one name.

Riyan.

The name of the traitor who had once threatened the continent.

And now...

The name of the Arena's newest rising star.

The pure and noble White Wolf who had torn apart the old wolf driven mad by blood and established himself as the new leader.

The exaggerated descriptions of the storytellers had apparently left a powerful impression.

Everyone wandering through the market seemed to be speaking Riyan's name.

That wasn't all.

In an empty lot scheduled for construction, children played while holding branches like swords, reenacting the match.

The problem was that every child insisted on being Riyan.

Kids aren't even allowed inside the Arena until they're adults.

Regardless, the entire commotion could be summarized in one sentence.

Riyan had won.

Haral smiled bitterly.

He had personally crossed swords with Riyan and experienced that bizarre skill firsthand.

Even so, if the bet had involved his life instead of money, Haral probably would have chosen Yavrik.

Looking at the matter coldly, that was the truth.

When he told Berka that Riyan might win...

When he actually bet on Riyan...

Those decisions had been born from only the thinnest thread of hope.

Maybe it was attachment.

After taking direct responsibility for him, exchanging swords, and watching him train, Haral had certainly sensed something different about Riyan compared to other slave fighters.

But it had still been only a tiny possibility.

And that tiny possibility...

Actually happened.

Yavrik might not have been comparable to a true knight.

But he was undeniably a Champion equipped with a Masterpiece.

And Riyan had defeated him.

Haral had worried about what would happen afterward because it had been a Winning Streak Battle.

Yet even that had been cleanly resolved by the Empire.

They must have recognized it too.

A fighter who possessed both overwhelming ability and appearance was an extremely rare commercial asset.

There was no way the Empire would leave something like that unattended.

That had always been their unspoken method.

And yet, for some reason...

Haral now felt that Riyan had become strangely distant.

"Tch."

He clicked his tongue and continued walking.

He left the brilliant main avenue shining beneath the sunlight and entered a shaded alley.

He kept going deeper.

Eventually, he reached his destination.

The building looked shabby.

The paint had peeled away, leaving the walls dry and weathered.

The sign hanging from the edge of the roof creaked whenever the wind blew, probably because the metal ring was rusted.

The front wasn't much better.

A drunk staggered while vomiting.

Another man slept on his knees with his head buried against the mouth of a gloomy alley.

A half-naked woman stared blankly at the sky.

There was always shadow behind brilliance.

And behind the shining streets of the Imperial Capital existed places that looked like the jaws of hell.

"What?"

A drunk reeking of alcohol glared at Haral.

Haral lifted one side of his robe.

The sight of the sword beneath it immediately made the drunk collapse backward.

"A-Ah."

"Move."

In the Imperial Capital, openly carrying a weapon meant one's identity had been guaranteed by the Empire.

That was far beyond what a starving drunk could handle.

The man scrambled aside.

Haral entered the building.

Outside, it was still late afternoon and bright.

Inside was horribly dark.

And smoky.

The air was thick with tobacco smoke.

Haral waved a hand before his face, then closed and opened his eyes to adjust.

There weren't many people.

Those present were mostly playing cards at corner tables or drinking alone.

Going deeper, Haral saw someone standing behind the bar, wiping a glass.

"Danny?"

"Been a while, Haral. Danny's upstairs. Heard you pulled off something big?"

"News travels that fast?"

"Of course. Good thing you didn't come at night."

The bartender tapped the back of his head lightly with the glass.

Haral smiled faintly.

"Want something to drink?"

"No. I'll see Danny and leave. Busy today."

Haral started toward the stairs.

"No need to come up. I'll come down."

A door opened.

A large middle-aged man appeared.

His beard was thick and poorly maintained.

Rubbing it, he descended and sat at the bar.

He gestured.

"Give me something to drink. Haral, sit down. You owe me one."

"Since when?"

"You owe me a debt."

"When did I ever owe you anything, Danny?"

"A few days ago."

"..."

Haral quietly sat beside him.

As far as he knew, Danny wasn't the kind of man who spoke nonsense without reason.

If Danny said Haral owed him, then Haral owed him.

That was also the law of this place.

Haral gestured toward the bartender to bring alcohol.

He didn't need to specify the drink.

The bartender already knew what Danny liked.

After all, this building was the hideout of Danny's guild.

"First, your winnings."

Danny pulled a leather pouch from inside his clothes and pushed it toward Haral.

Haral loosened the cord.

Perhaps because the room was so dark, the gold coins stamped clearly with the Imperial seal seemed almost bright enough to contain sunlight.

"How much?"

"Just under forty gold."

"..."

Haral lifted the pouch slightly.

A low groan escaped him at the weight.

Even if he added up everything he'd earned through a lifetime of working with a sword...

No.

Even several times that amount might not equal this.

The weight of gold gained from a single bet felt strangely hollow.

"Don't come here for a while. The atmosphere's bad. I could protect you today, but probably not next time."

"Why?"

"You won that much by betting on a fighter from your own training center. Whatever the reason, people aren't going to look kindly on it. Especially not with that much money involved."

"...Hah."

"I told everyone you were drunk and made a reckless bet that happened to hit. Pure luck. Most accepted it for now, but plenty are still suspicious."

"Suspicious? What kind of nonsense is that? They think I bribed the Empire to rig a match?"

"You're right. Logically, you're right. But you know better than anyone that swords don't have eyes. They don't have brains either."

"True."

It was true.

Arena gambling had been one of the few pleasures in Haral's life.

Realizing he wouldn't be able to gamble for a while left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He nodded.

"So that's the debt you were talking about?"

"Of course not. What do you take me for?"

"Warmhearted Danny."

Danny burst into laughter and emptied his drink.

Then he pulled out a pipe.

He placed it between his lips and struck flint several times.

Smoke joined the already thick haze.

"Give me one."

"Come on, Danny. These are gold coins."

"You won't lose money."

Danny smiled warmly around his pipe.

Haral had no choice but to open the pouch again.

The candle beside Riyan's bed flickered softly.

Riyan lay resting after returning from the match.

He was still recovering from both his injuries and the aftereffects of the elixir.

Then footsteps approached.

Riyan forced his heavy eyelids open.

He slowly sat up.

The door opened.

Haral entered.

"Must be nice. Lying around after sending someone else on errands."

Grumbling, Haral approached and dropped a leather pouch onto the table beside the bed.

It landed with a heavy sound.

He pulled over a chair.

Then crossed his arms.

"How's the body?"

"Time will fix it."

Riyan answered casually.

It was true.

The barbarian elixir's aftereffects weren't especially severe.

The problem was that they lasted.

He would probably feel weak for nearly two weeks before fully recovering.

Rather than explain all that, Riyan looked toward the pouch.

"How much?"

"Just under thirty gold. I already took my share. We agreed on thirty percent."

"Less than I expected."

"Less? Other slaves would collapse if they heard you say that."

Really?

Riyan had never bought or sold slaves.

He had no idea what their normal prices were.

Then my own price must be absurdly high.

Berka had said one hundred and fifty gold.

Technically, that had been the value of the monster Riyan killed, not Riyan himself.

Riyan nodded.

He touched the heavy pouch, then looked at Haral.

"It won't be easy to keep making money like this."

"No. Everyone knows you're strong now. And even if it were still possible, that avenue's basically gone."

"Gone?"

"I don't know which blade is going to end up in my back. Can't even visit the gambling dens for a while."

Haral explained what he'd heard from the guild official who managed the underground betting scene.

Riyan nodded.

"So that's what happened."

"There's another problem."

Haral sighed deeply.

Riyan caught the strong smell mixed into his breath.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yes. And I'm going to keep drinking."

Haral pulled a bottle from his bag.

Riyan shook his head when it was offered.

Haral pulled it back, roughly opened the stopper, took a drink, and complained.

"The Empire assigned someone to watch us."

"Someone?"

"The Secret Intelligence Bureau."

"Are they dangerous?"

"You really know nothing, do you?"

Haral looked uncomfortable.

Then waved a hand.

"There's a saying here. The sewer rats in the Imperial Capital are as big as cats."

Riyan nodded.

"I've seen some."

"Huh? Where?"

During the war in his previous life.

Whenever a battle ended, crows and rats arrived as though they'd been waiting.

Once they grew accustomed to human flesh, those creatures kept following the army.

The legion sometimes looked like it carried plague wherever it traveled.

"Just joking. Continue."

"You're no fun."

Haral drank again.

His voice became heavier.

"People disappear in the Imperial Capital without sound or trace. Sure, that happens outside too. Frontier territories, subject provinces, wastelands. But at least there are obvious explanations there. Barbarians. Monsters. Bandits. Plenty of things can make a traveler disappear."

"But it's strange for that to happen in the Imperial Capital."

"Exactly. How does someone vanish without a trace inside the Empire's own house while it's watching everything? People don't say it openly, but everyone knows the Secret Intelligence Bureau is behind it. There are even stories about those missing people wandering through the Imperial sewers afterward. Fortunately, our situation seems a little different."

Different.

The answer came quickly.

If the Secret Intelligence Bureau truly handled the Empire's darkest work, they wouldn't be incompetent enough to let their targets notice surveillance.

If Haral had somehow learned they were being followed, then the Bureau had probably left traces on purpose.

That alone revealed one thing.

"At least I won't die in my sleep without knowing why."

"Smart as ever."

Haral lightly tapped Riyan's head with the bottle and smiled.

"This might actually be good for you. It means the Empire wants to verify you properly. If you pass, you'll have a smooth road ahead. They won't put you against battlefields or opponents that are too unfavorable or dangerous."

"Because I'm merchandise."

"Exactly. Merchandise for the citizens who come to the Arena. They'll preserve you carefully."

Until he stopped being useful and ended up like Yavrik.

Haral swallowed that part.

No reason to say it aloud.

"I understand why I'm being watched. Then I assume the reason they're also following you is related."

"Yeah. Probably making sure I don't try to use you or ruin you. They already know I bet on you too, I'd imagine. It's a warning not to buzz around their food like a fly."

Haral sighed.

He looked out the window.

"Ever since you showed up, I feel like I'm getting dragged into increasingly ridiculous things. Sometimes I wonder whether I should quit being an instructor right now."

"What did you do before becoming one?"

Riyan asked naturally, like it was simply part of the conversation.

Haral almost answered automatically.

Then froze.

He was discussing personal matters with a slave.

Normally, if a slave started asking an instructor personal questions, the expected response was a beating.

But Haral shook his head.

Beat Riyan?

The image didn't come easily.

More importantly, Haral would probably be the one beaten half to death by that monster.

Whatever.

He shrugged.

"I was a mercenary."

"I thought so."

"What does that mean? Is 'mercenary' written across my forehead?"

It wasn't difficult to guess.

Haral's swordsmanship wasn't simply crude.

It felt like someone had taken practical pieces from many different places and stitched them together like a patchwork blanket.

If he'd been properly trained as a knight or fighter, there would have been a recognizable system inherited from some family or training center.

The strength of that system might vary.

But it would be present.

"Just the impression you give. Continue."

"...Nothing impressive. Mostly worked in the northern Empire. Escorted merchants. Helped important people collect taxes by standing behind them and looking threatening. If the pay was high enough, sometimes I joined expeditions to suppress barbarian tribes."

Another drink.

"I saw plenty of blood. Didn't think much about it when I was young. These days, sometimes I remember the screams of people my sword went through. That's why I quit. Berka happened to be trying to recruit me around then. What did he say? He liked my dead eyes or something."

"If you worked in the north, you've been to Bellance."

"I have. That's where you were born, right?"

"Do you know a village called Leblun?"

"I wandered wherever work took me, so maybe. But I don't remember every single place I've visited. Short answer: no."

"Then what is Bellance like overall?"

"What is it like?"

Haral's expression turned slightly gloomy.

"It's not a place where people live. It's where livestock live. Every time I stayed there for work, I thought even the air smelled poor. Kids wake up and dig through dirt looking for something to eat. Adults spend their lives licking the boots of Imperial officials just to keep breathing."

"Doesn't sound especially hopeful."

"Hope? That's a luxury there. People breathe because they were born. They shove whatever they can into their mouths because they're hungry. Back then, I swore I'd leave that miserable frontier and live proudly in the Imperial Capital."

"..."

"And now I miss those days. Funny, isn't it? Still, ten gold is enough to start over. Maybe it's time I seriously think about it. Especially with the Bureau watching me. They'd probably be happy if I left."

Haral's words carried both undisguised contempt and strange pity.

After that, he calmly told stories from his mercenary days.

There was none of the romantic image people usually associated with mercenaries.

Only coldness.

Cowardice.

Their ugly methods of survival.

Several times, Haral hesitated when describing people he had killed.

Still, he didn't stop.

Riyan stared quietly through the window at the red sunset.

Not because Haral's stories were boring.

He could simply feel the regret hidden beneath those rambling words.

Eventually, Haral finished.