Chapter 29

Interlude I Won’t Make the Same Mistake Twice I can feel contemptuous stares swirling around my entire being. The room is cramped and flooded with hazy light. Human figures crowd around a few dingy tables in the windowless barroom, and the bartender wears a mask just a bit more stylish than mine. A few of the tables are lined with liquor bottles, but I can’t smell alcohol or tobacco smoke. The indistinct aroma of herbs wafts toward me—it’s a deodorizer. Calling the rabble underneath the dim lamplight mercenaries would be entirely banal. They’re completely different in appearance from the mercenaries and monster hunters I’ve seen in Vale Village or Golem Valley—they’re either overwhelmingly massive or lack any sense of fear whatsoever. This is a place where mercenaries come to unwind. Like Thira back in Vale Village, these locations have a special back entrance for those who meet special requirements. Towns that are big enough will always have one, but this place is different. It’s a members-only tavern, the kind only seen in big cities. It looks like a bar, so everyone calls it “The Bar.” It’s not your average watering hole—it’s something more exclusive, with members clearly not of the normal party deviation. They’re all hired mercenaries, cream of the crop, real-deal types. The majority of them have earned enough money to live in decadence for an entire lifetime, yet, they’re still gathered here. It’s as if they’re searching for especially difficult commissions, something that will give them meaning. Before leaving for the water capital, I head to the only bar in Ruxe’s own royal capital. Back in Golem Valley, I was way too low on capable party members. Particularly when tracking Felsa, things would have been a lot easier if I’d had someone with a special set of skills. I won’t make the same mistake twice. Fortunately, I have plenty of money from selling off Stey. It appears that I’m the only paying customer around. The Bar is strict when it comes to letting in members. The only reason I got in is due to a connection from back when I belonged to a mercenary party. The second I enter, I hear nothing but the patrons’ hushed voices. That, and the echoes of the secret codes they’re tapping out on the tables. There are only a few people in the room, but I can’t tell what voice belongs to which person. High-level individuals who specialize in espionage and secrecy excel at such techniques. Even though I’m high level myself, I have a hard time understanding what’s being discussed. The information and experience they hold sets them apart from the average mercenary. One of the voices says: —Check out the black ring on his left hand. Episcopal earrings, the mark of a priest. He’s a black sword of the God of Order. A hoarse voice seems to respond: —A battle mace made of orichalcum. A young man with silver hair and green eyes—it’s Ex Deus, Out Crusade first order, Ares Crown. No doubt about it. —He’s a high priest, and a former member of the A-class monster hunter party “Endless Blade.” “…” …For some strange reason, they seem to know my name instantly. —Just over a year ago, he was level eighty-seven. Now, he could easily be over ninety. One of the strongest priests in existence. —He’s exterminated more followers of darkness than anyone before him, and all by himself. The man is insane. Pretty harsh, but that’s the kind of thing we crusaders tend to get. How do they know my level, though? I never include it in my reports to the Church, and I can conduct level-up rituals by myself, leaving few opportunities for anyone to find out. Of course, Creio knows, but the chances of him leaking such information are awfully slim. It’s not something I go to particular lengths to hide, so I suppose it leaking isn’t the end of the world. But why the hell do they know the level of a guy who literally just walked in? This is my first time at the Bar. I knew it existed, but at any rate, it’s pretty expensive. I give a slight shudder, and soon another voice chimes in: —He reeks of the winds of Golem Valley. “…You can’t be serious.” It’s been over a week since I left Golem Valley. Even if the winds there had a particular scent, there’s no chance it’d still be on me at this point. —I can also smell the Great Forest of the Vale and Yutith’s Tomb on him. “…You’re kidding me, right?” Come on, this has to be a joke. This goes beyond having a sharp sense of smell. However, the patrons seem fully convinced of their assumptions. The ones speaking must be highly credible. —Why would a top crusader visit such low-class battlefields? —The royal castle summoned a hero, so I’m told. Creio Amen was in charge and the Saint of Light, Tilt, executed the order. —The hero summoning. —So they mean to vanquish that calamity, huh? —The summoned hero has black hair, black eyes— Where is this information leaking from? However, these people are Ruxe mercenaries. Not to mention, they’re of formidable repute, and they have sway over the aristocrats. There are many individuals involved in summoning the hero. There’s a gag order in effect, but it’s not surprising that there’s been a leak. At any rate, this is not good. I have to stop any further chatter, so I clap my hands loudly. The room falls silent. “I’m in need of good men.” —…That’s a tall order. This is the stuff of legend. —I can smell the stress and conviction on him. —There’s proportionate risk, too. —But he’s dead broke! I heft my trunk up in front of me, containing fifty million lux, and a hand-signed promissory note for the remaining fifty million. It contains the signature of Cardinal Sylvester, former merchant of legend, which makes it extremely credible. Anyone would give it the okay. “I have gold.” Silence fills the room after I speak. Then, the voices begin again. —That’s the sound of lux gold bullion. I’d say nearly fifty million. And…there’s a promissory note for another fifty million. A hundred million in total. —This is an attempted spending cut. These bastards don’t know what money’s worth. —That’s the price of our world, eh? One hundred million lux. —Now I can smell the agitation on him. You should all keep your mouths shut. This is heresy. I’d like to bludgeon all these assholes with my mace. They’d probably survive. Perfect timing—just as I feel the power surging through my hand, the bartender breaks his silence. “Just what sort of men are you after?” My irritation is slightly abated by his calm voice. I haven’t even reached the water capital yet, but this is the moment of truth, in a way. The difficulties I face on my next mission are riding on the kinds of skilled mercenaries I can employ here. I take a deep breath and compose myself before stating my demands. “I’m seeking someone with the proper battle prowess and scouting skills capable of taking down a steel tiger only a party over level seventy can defeat. In addition, I need two girls cute enough to make anyone fall for them, who won’t balk in the face of demon foes, and both with a strong tolerance for stress. Their level is not a concern.” “…” The masked bartender falls silent, utterly speechless. —…Tryin’ to wine and dine them, eh? You’ve got your work cut out for ya. Whoever spoke doesn’t know just how perfectly they’ve described it.