[528] An Ally (4)
North Aymond Republic.
Ruled by the iron-fisted dictator Igor, the North Aymond Republic was notorious for its reign of terror.
Society was tightly closed, the people belligerent, and when an issue touched directly on national interest they didn't hesitate even to carry out suicide attacks. Even great powers found it difficult to take the country—troublemakers on the world stage, in short.
They had harsh laws—cut off a thief's wrist for stealing—but crime never stopped.
Because the republic officially declared combat ability the primary requirement of a citizen, it wasn't unusual to see street kids with small knives at their hips. The only port city open to foreigners, Dormika, was a ticking time bomb for the western continent—every kind of weapon changed hands there.
Mercenaries, pirates, and discharged soldiers all made their home there; law enforcement was a joke.
Even Igor couldn't sweep away the underworld because the constabulary were no different from the others. They were paid mainly to tolerate other organizations' arms trades, and sometimes full-scale battles broke out between the constables and those groups.
Most ships docking at the port carried weapons; tourists were nowhere to be seen.
So it was natural that everyone's attention fixed on the blue-haired woman who had just stepped ashore.
"Wow, so this is North Aymond."
Miro looked every inch the tourist.
Her long hair was braided and wrapped like a scarf; she wore light makeup. She'd piled on flashy accessories that made her a perfect target, a long sweater whose sleeves dropped past her wrists, and a skirt so short it showed her thighs—an overall lively, carefree look.
In Dormika, a woman dressed like that would either be selling her body or be a fool who'd lost her wits.
"Whoa! Missy, you got guts. Flashing skin around a pack of hungry wolves—what, you want to be eaten?"
Fish delivery workers approached. Their waterproof work clothes stank of fish; butcher knives hung from their belts.
A bald man grabbed Miro's shoulder and shoved his face close.
"How about a little fun with us? I know a place that's a real blast."
"Oh my, I was just looking for a place like that. Where is it?"
"What do you mean where? Right here."
The man shoved Miro's hand toward his crotch.
"Ha! How's that? Beats a whale's cheek, right? Once I catch my prey—uuuuuagh!"
The man's eyes bulged and he clutched his groin, collapsing to his knees.
"My—my…!"
The workers watched blankly as he couldn't even form a cry of pain, then drew knives and closed in around Miro.
"Are you crazy? Do you know who we are? If you cross James Fisheries, you'll be fish food that very day!"
Miro casually wiped her clothes as if dusting them off and then held a hand out.
"Ah, fine. Do any of you know where the Ostos Tavern is?"
The men, who had been closing in as if to slash someone, froze mid-step.
Ostos Tavern was the base of one of the three forces that enforced their own law in lawless Dormika.
"Who the hell are you? If you're trying to slip away, imagine what'll happen to you right now."
Sometimes that trick worked. Those with no money and no strength would invoke Ostos Tavern to save their lives, relying on the tavern's rule of "no attacks on outsiders."
"I don't know the area. I heard Ostos Tavern was here."
Miro looked around calmly, showing no fear, and the workers felt compelled to check.
"Who are you looking for there?"
Miro glanced back with a smile.
"The Fallen Madonna."
Following the directions they gave, Miro arrived at the Ostos Tavern and looked up at the four-story building.
The first and second floors were tavern space, the third a lodging, the fourth a gambling den.
But Miro headed for a place closed to the public yet known to everyone: the deep basement of Ostos Tavern.
On the second basement level, two sword-bearing guards stood before a heavy door.
There'd been a wary air even at street level, but down here the aura of lethal intent was different.
"Hmm, clever."
For a group that posted guards of this caliber at their gate, one could say they'd raised a ruined organization back toward its heyday. That it had happened within only a year made it all the more impressive.
"So who let you in? Who sent you?"
"No one sent me."
The gatekeepers glanced at each other and drew their swords.
"Identify yourself. This is no place for games."
"Oh? I'm real."
Miro strode forward and held both hands out before the guards.
Banya's Guanyin Emblem swept in like a gust, shoved the guards aside, and the door clanged open.
In the roughly forty‑pyeong room, about ten people were scattered about, each busy with their own amusements.
Walled in by stone, the room felt like a subterranean tomb, but what impressed most was that no one was the least rattled by an uninvited guest.
Three men at a table, smoking and playing cards, didn't even look toward the door.
"Gah! It's an attack—an assault!"
The guards belatedly crawled in and shouted, but still there was no reaction.
A man in a hammock, puffing away at the last of a bottle, belched and turned his head.
"We know, kid. We've got brains, too! Who're our guests this time? Snaid, you?"
The large, broad-shouldered man pulled at a thick cigar and flicked his cards as he spoke.
"I don't know. Around here there's no one selling themselves who looks this pretty."
Silence stretched.
The man in the hammock snapped, annoyed.
"For real! Somebody do something! They said it's an assault!"
"Then you do it."
"Hahaha!"
Miro simply watched the ragged captains, each doing their own thing.
Then a woman's voice came from behind where the large man had been blocking the view.
"So, who are you?"
The man shifted his view, revealing a short-haired woman with catlike features sitting at the table, flicking an abacus. Beside her stood a pale man with no eyebrows, expressionless as a wax doll.
"You the Fallen Madonna?"
"Some idiots call me that. But I asked who you are."
Miro walked on, throwing a barb.
"I thought you'd learned your lesson on Galliant. You're still running with thieves."
Clack! Clack!
At that, everyone in the room leveled weapons at Miro. Their movements were so swift it felt like two pictures had been swapped in an instant.
Miro glanced to her right.
The eyebrowless man had crept up and pressed a mana‑cartridge gun to her temple.
"One last chance. Identify yourself."
"Well. Who could I be?"
As the finger curled toward the trigger of the mana‑cartridge gun, the woman spoke.
"Stop, Freeman."
Miro gave a small nod of approval.
If one couldn't even judge an opponent's strength, one didn't deserve to enter Di Abyss.
"You brought up Galliant, so you must know who I am?"
"Of course. Leader of the Parrot Thieves, Clay Marsha."
Clay Marsha—the leader of the band defeated after fierce fighting with Shirone's group on Galliant Island. According to Teraze's reports, she was an exceptional mimic and an irregular. She'd used an ability to extract others' magic because of trauma over her adoptive father, but after Shirone gave her "Catharsis," she might have been replaced by another power.
Marsha set aside her papers and finally turned toward Miro, crossing her legs. She brought a long pipe to her mouth; Freeman hurried up to light it for her.
"All right, I'm Clay Marsha. Were you expecting a winged angel or something?"
"Oh, Shirone will be disappointed to hear that."
At the name Shirone, Marsha's brows twitched, then she puffed on her pipe again with a nonchalant expression.
"That kid? I don't know how you know Shirone, but reality isn't that kind. Stealing's what I know."
Some strengths are proven by what they're willing to give up. Seeing Marsha wasn't someone to take lightly, Miro went straight to the point.
"Shirone's in trouble. If he came, he could help a lot."
Marsha didn't even bother to feign consideration.
"Sorry. I'm busy these days. Find someone else."
"It's actually serious. He might not wake up again."
Even without knowing details, Marsha's face told the story. This time too she'd likely throw everything she had for someone other than herself.
"That's a pity. But like you probably guessed, Shirone isn't my type."
She'd left Galliant and wandered the world, building power. She kept strong lieutenants under her, and in the fierce struggles of settling into North Aymond's port city, memories of Shirone had slowly faded.
"All right. I came on a bad day. Sorry to have taken your time."
Miro turned without regret, tapped the guard who was grinding his teeth on the shoulder, and walked out.
Fermi wanted someone who'd had a deep emotional exchange with Shirone, and Marsha—who'd experienced Catharsis—was the prime candidate, but if her heart had moved on, there was no need to drag things out.
"Wait."
Marsha called, and Miro stopped and turned.
"Why me? If someone of your rank is out looking for an aide, there must be lots of options besides me."
"Hmm. I don't know the details either…"
Miro shrugged.
"Maybe because you're someone Shirone embraced in his heart."
"..."
Marsha narrowed her eyes and blew a long stream of smoke.
"Everyone out."
All the lieutenants flowed past Miro like water and were gone outside the door in an instant.
* * *
A tavern in the Kingdom of Baiden.
Having left Rafne village and finally reached a place that could be called a city, Rian ate meat like a man making up for days of hunger.
His sturdy body and the greatsword on his back drew attention, but it was his voracious appetite that caught the tavern's stare.
"Sir, one more steak, please!"
The tavern owner, trembling, brought another steak to Rian's table.
It was already his fourth steak.
From his appearance he didn't seem wealthy, but the aura he gave off was heavy enough to make the staff worry inwardly.
"Um, sir."
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry, really sorry…"
The owner was almost in tears.
"You'll pay, right?"
Rian blinked, realized, and set down his utensils.
"Ah, sorry. I look like this, so you'd be suspicious. I'll give a deposit."
Rian emptied his travel funds to pay, and the owner finally relaxed.
Perhaps loosened by the patron's favor, the owner mustered his courage.
"By the way…aren't you the famous Knight of Maha?"
"Knight of Maha?"
Rumors about Rian had spread quickly among Lamdas' followers, but Rian, newly in the city, had never heard the name. He didn't even know the name of the man he'd cut down—Lamdas.
"Yes, the Knight of Maha. They say a giant like you, swinging a colossal greatsword single‑handed, has incredible strength."
Rian thought for a moment and shook his head.
"I'm just an unknown swordsman. The Knight of Maha must be someone else."
When Rian answered honestly, several patrons grumbled in annoyance.
Rumors tend to get exaggerated, but they'd been wary because of Rian's look.
"Tch, so it was a fake?"
"Right. Wearing a greatsword to make people think you're someone else. That stupidly big blade looks like he can't even swing it."
"There are plenty like that. Once someone gets a name, a hundred others pretend to be them and ride their coattails."
"But how could anyone imitate the Knight of Maha? They say he single‑handedly cut down a bandit force over a hundred strong."
While that chatter buzzed, Rian's mind was fixed on his food.
The tavern door banged open and a shaggy man a head taller than Rian strode in.
He had an enormous sword with sawlike blades on both edges strapped to his back.
"Hey, owner! Bring the best steak and booze for the Knight of Maha!"
"K‑Knight of Maha?"
All eyes turned to the newcomer.
Rian, now hearing the name, watched the man even as he chewed.
That man—big, all right. Did he learn a similar sword style?
Satisfied with the attention, the man cocked his chin arrogantly and pointed at himself with his thumb.
"Yes, I am the future great‑sword hero who cut down the entire Red Spear bandit gang—the Knight of Maha!"
"Pfffuuuu!"
Everything in Rian's mouth flew out.