‹We’re gonna break those houses! No, we’ll completely flatten them!›
With Raon’s brutal commentary in the background, Cale bypassed the glass Hilsmann had filled for him and picked up the bottle instead.
Hilsmann grew anxious. “L-Lord Cale…”
Clack!
The sound of the empty bottle being placed on the table snapped him back to his senses. Cale’s face had turned red.
Sporting flushed cheeks even though he wasn’t drunk, Cale grabbed another bottle and pushed it toward the stunned vice-captain. Hilsmann recoiled, recalling the way Cale used to throw bottles in the past, before accepting the bottle with hesitant hands.
Cale really did spend all day eating and drinking, never saying a word. It wasn’t until the sun began to set that he finally broke his silence.
“Hilsmann.”
“Yes, my lord?”
As Cale’s guard on duty, Hilsmann had limited himself to one or two drinks. Then he’d simply observed, marveling that Cale’s reputation as a lout wasn’t for nothing. The count’s son really could drink the day away.
“Ron.”
“Yes, young master?” Ron asked, rising to his feet.
Both men waited for further instructions. Cale turned to the two of them, then toward the window, caressing an empty bottle as he watched the setting sun. Beneath the blazing sky, Frizia sent a signal from the bridge. The merchant guild did indeed hail from the Mogor Empire, just as Cale had predicted.
Cale stood, his chair creaking. “I’ll be using the shield today,” he said.
“What? Where’s this coming from?” asked Hilsmann. Is he drunk?
The vice-captain thought the day’s indulgence had addled Cale’s senses, but Cale smiled as he went on, “I need to destroy them.”
He was talking about the ten houses.
“Destroy? Destroy what?”
Ignoring his baffled vice-captain, Cale made his way out of the bar. A number of other patrons—mostly locals—watched as he strode directly from the bar’s third floor to the exit without a single misstep. They couldn’t believe Cale could walk straight after drinking all day.
Hilsmann was equally amazed, but then he noticed the empty bottle in Cale’s hand. He rushed after Cale in horror. “L-Lord Cale!”
“What is it?”
“P-please, put the bottle down first!”
“Ah.”
Cale had forgotten; he hadn’t even realized he was still holding it. Fwish! He raised it aloft, much to the vice-captain’s horror.
“Eek!”
Memories of a scene from two years ago flashed through Hilsmann’s mind: A certain degenerate had lobbed bottles at the gangsters in Henituse territory, and Hilsmann had been forced to clean up the aftermath.
“Are you drunk?”
“Pardon?”
Cale frowned at Hilsmann, who’d raised both arms in the air, before handing the bottle to Ron. “Take it.”
“As you wish.”
Free of the bottle, Cale exited the bar. Ron passed it to the waiter along with payment for Cale’s drinks, then followed his young master with unhurried steps. He made sure to grab the dazed vice-captain, who hadn’t budged from his spot.
“What is Lord Cale planning to destroy, sir?” Hilsmann asked. Ever since he had learned of Ron’s abilities, he’d behaved more respectfully toward the assassin. He considered Ron to be a fearsome expert hiding in plain sight.
“I’m not sure,” the assassin said lightly. “Houses, perhaps?”
“What?”
“Come now, let’s be off.”
Hilsmann chased after Cale, Ron trailing behind him. By the time the vice-captain caught up, Cale was standing in the middle of the bridge, looking stone-sober. Hilsmann came up beside him, thinking, Lord Cale’s plans tend to get way out of hand!
Again and again, Cale claimed he would do something small, only to wreak havoc in the process. Hilsmann was familiar enough with this pattern that it had him waffling on what to do.
Cale’s voice interrupted his dithering. “Vice-Captain.”
“Yes, my lord?” Hilsmann looked up to find Cale peering down at the flowing river. It made for a picturesque sight: the redheaded noble standing between the river and the sky, both dyed crimson in the sunset.
Few people crossed the river at this time of day; the bridge between the slums and the shopping district saw little foot traffic to begin with. Yet Cale kept his voice so soft, only those close to him could hear. “A butler from a noble household visits the slums every so often to bring food for the poor.”
The topic had sprung up out of the blue, but the vice-captain listened and shared his sentiments. “What a virtuous butler.”
“Yes, he would be—except he works for the household that kidnaps citizens from the southwestern region and sells them into slavery.”
“Excuse me?”
Cale faced the slums across the bridge. “That butler just passed through here. He was headed for the ten houses that have citizens imprisoned in the basements.”
“I need to destroy them.”
Vice-Captain Hilsmann gradually pieced together Cale’s plan.
“Hilsmann.”
“Yes?”
“What are your thoughts?”
Cale didn’t have to wait long for his answer. “A knight never turns a blind eye to injustice.” When Cale looked at him, Hilsmann added, “But if our lord is involved in the matter, we shall hold ourselves back regardless of the outcome.”
“Is that part of the knights’ creed as well?”
“No. It’s my personal philosophy.”
A knight took action when faced with injustice unless his charge was an active participant. Contradictory though it might’ve seemed, Hilsmann lived and worked by this principle. Cale didn’t find Hilsmann’s values unpalatable; the man had climbed his way to vice-captain of the Henituse forces, where such consideration was valued.
Pushing off of the railing, Cale said, “Then we won’t hold back now.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Cale turned to the shopping district on the other side of the river, where Frizia was sending him another signal. This time, her message was that the people tailing Cale had returned to their master—who was, of course, Antonio Guiller. Cale had made his move out in the open, fully anticipating that Antonio had eyes on him.
Setting his sights on the first shabby house across the bridge, Cale walked off. The ten houses were arranged in a zigzag pattern, starting from the first.
When Cale came to stand in front of the building, a middle-aged man in the front yard addressed him warily. “Hello?” His eyes darted between Cale, who appeared to be a noble, and the knight beside him. Noticing Cale’s red face, he slumped in despair; it seemed he’d realized he was dealing with a drunk lordling.
“Do you live alone?” Cale asked.
“Sorry? No, I live with my family.”
“Is that so?” Cale smirked. “Bring your entire family outside.”
“Come again?”
“I’ll give you ten seconds. Ten… Nine…”
Cale’s counting made the middle-aged man anxious, yet he didn’t snap to it right away. That is, until Cale added, “I guess you think a noble’s orders aren’t worth obeying.” Then the man raced into the house without delay.
Their interaction could be seen as far as the shopping district across the way. The slums’ other residents hurried into their houses and locked their tattered windows and doors. They were all thinking the same thing: Looks like a crazy noble is causing trouble.
The middle-aged man felt the same way as he walked outside, bringing his family with him: a wife, two sons, and a daughter.
“This is my family, my lord.”