Damn it all... Cyril cursed Wyatt inwardly. It was the perfect plan... Why is my luck so terrible?!
Whether Hubert stole his money from those dog-goblins, or whether that terrifying farmer killed him, Cyril would have been freed either way. Now, though, he could see neither a way to get rid of Hubert nor any other way to scrape together the money he needed. Cyril wanted nothing more than to scream and shout his frustration, but he just barely managed to content himself with the occasional kick at the sandy riverbed.
Hubert stepped in front of him, bringing his face close to Cyril’s as he whispered, “Hey. You’ve already scouted this area out, right?” His breath reeked.
“O-Oh...I did. Just before our party set out.”
“Ssh! Keep it down!” Hubert hissed. “That means you can find us a shortcut to the village, right?”
“Yes...I think I could. We’d have to leave the path and cut through the woods, but I could lead us there. But why...?”
“You and me are gonna get there first, steal their most valuable stuff, and stash it away somewhere.”
Cyril was genuinely impressed, and pleased that something good had come from Hubert’s vast greed for once. “Would they just let us go off on our own like that?”
“I’ll leave it to you to come up with a good excuse. Tell them we volunteer to go on ahead as scouts or something, or that there might be traps set up.”
“What do I do if the guildmaster says no?”
“Wyatt’s not that bothered. Killing a few goblins is gonna be a breeze with this many people, and he knows it.”
“But—”
“Cyril, Cyril, Cyril, don’t tell me you forgot? If we can’t make good money off of this, you’re the one who’s screwed.”
Tch... He’s right, though. All Cyril had to do was bear the guildmaster’s annoyance for a little while. If their backup plan worked, his chances of having that farmer kill Hubert would greatly improve.
“All right,” he replied. “I’ll go talk to him now.”
＊
It wasn’t until the group stopped to rest that anyone noticed Hubert, Cyril, and several other people had slipped away. Wyatt had only just sat down against a tree when someone stepped forward with a message for him.
“Hubert went ahead? And took some of our men with him?” Wyatt said, frowning.
“Yes, sir,” the messenger replied; she was one of the many adventurers under Hubert’s thumb. “H-He said he felt bad, dragging everyone into his plan to avenge Theron and the others, and that the least he could do was to survey the rest of the path.”
With a sigh of irritation, Wyatt waved the woman away. He’d expected something like this to happen, leading a ragtag group of selfish adventurers on a march like a proper army. The only surprise was that the motley crew was unraveling so soon.
Many adventurers either loved violence, or had grown up with it, which meant that one could easily find incredibly skilled fighters among their ranks. The armies of Igris’s nobility, on the other hand, were packed with nothing but young upstarts as of late. In a smaller skirmish—two-on-two, or five-on-five—adventurers would come out victorious in almost every instance.
However, if a hundred of each were to do battle, a trained army would win easily. A band of lone wolves, no matter how skilled, could not best a synchronized force led by a commander. Wyatt would continue to aid Keighley and gather soldiers for her, but he was already learning just how difficult it was to control such unruly characters. Adventurers never received any formal training under an authority figure, and the more he gathered, the more they slipped out from under his thumb to do whatever they wanted.
What made an army an army was its organization; with that, even a force of thousands could operate as harmoniously as a single body. A battalion of adventurers lacked that critical element, and that made it an unwieldy weapon to wield in an actual fight. Wyatt wished he could take the time to actually train them, or at the very least figure out how best to corral them.
Maybe I should treat this monster-culling expedition like training... We’re more or less marching in formation.
When he thought about it like that, the undertaking could potentially kill not just two, but three birds with one stone: it would worsen Dugard’s reputation, build Wyatt’s reputation, and begin turning the adventurers into a respectable unit.
These are the cards I’ve been dealt, so there’s no sense in complaining. Just need to make them work in my favor.
Wyatt rose to his feet, announcing that their break was over as he took his place in the procession, behind the adventurers he’d assigned to the vanguard. They’d covered a fair bit of ground, when they suddenly heard a voice from the trees.
“Pardon me. Can I have a moment of your time?”
Pushing his way through the brush, a giant of a man emerged from the trees lining their path, stepping out in front of the vanguard.
“Who are you?!” one of the adventurers shouted at him, quickly drawing his sword and pointing it at the man. His nearby comrades followed suit, preparing to attack. Of the three sorcerers preparing their magical strikes, two held staves made from precious magical substances.
“Ah, no, I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.” The man held his palms up in a show of peace. While he was clad in leather armor, he carried no visible weapons. Realizing this, the adventurers gradually relaxed, lowering their weapons.
“All I want is to talk,” the man continued. “Could I speak with your general...or rather, your leader?”