[653] The Air of Life (2)
"You mean it's over?"
Shirone blinked, and Austin handed the note back to him.
"What is this?"
"It's a map of the underground canals beneath Mr. Brooks' mansion. Estera was supposed to guide you, but she won't be able to leave this place."
Most of the horses were already dead, and a bombardment had wiped out an entire cliff, so any mounts that survived had long since fled.
Shirone examined the map.
It wasn't as detailed as an architectural blueprint, but from the flow of the passages it was clear someone unfamiliar with the routes would easily get lost.
"You probably already know this, but our guild handles all letters to Mr. Brooks. I don't have much to tell you, but remember this: a commission follows the client's conditions. Don't concern yourself with anything except delivering the letter. This map should help. When you reach the end of the waterways, Mr. Brooks' men will meet you."
Shirone looked up. "What about you, Austin?"
"I'll clear the place out. I'll collect your spoils. Of course, I take ten percent as my fee."
He hadn't intended to take spoils, but it would be foolish to refuse a promised reward.
"All right. Please do."
Now that they knew many organizations were after Armand, Shirone had no intention of taking the obvious mountain road, so he accepted readily.
"It'll take time to tidy things up and then catch up with you. One favor—finish the job and be sure to stop by the Silvering headquarters."
Guilds are sensitive about information; in a case like this, rumors spread like wildfire.
By the time Shirone reached the capital, countless guilds would be trying to recruit him.
Austin's decision to forgo personally guiding them was the veteran's calculation: if he couldn't escort them himself, he might as well at least secure the loot.
"Don't worry. I know the value of trust."
Austin smiled wryly.
'Which is precisely why it's more worrying.'
Shirone knew his own strength, but from Austin's point of view that was only a raw measure of skill; as a rookie, how far Shirone could go was still unknown.
'Trust...'
In this line of work, trust is basically an insurance policy for the weak. In a world where skill is everything, Shirone was already someone who didn't even need to invoke trust.
"We should hurry if we want to reach the capital before sunset. Let's go."
"All right. You be careful too, Austin."
"Oh, and—"
Just before Shirone and Rian entered the mountain path, Austin called after them.
"When you get to the capital, check into Mr. Brooks a little before you complete the job."
It was veteran caution, even for a delivery that was supposed to end once the letter was handed over.
This world can spin into chaos over a single small variable—like who happens to do the job.
Shirone, who had been thinking for a moment, smiled and nodded as if he understood.
"All right. Don't worry."
'Indeed—who would I be worried for?'
As Shirone and Rian entered the mountains, Austin picked up a longsword and began cutting down the bandit leaders.
Third Reset—the Great Purge.
Shirone: five bandit groups exterminated. Case closed.
* * *
With Armand's ability fueling him, Shirone ran the mountain path with the lithe speed of a wild animal and cleared a ridge in twenty minutes.
When the capital's outer wall and the distant silhouette of the citadel came into view, Rian suggested, "Shirone, let's wash up before we go in."
It wouldn't do to walk into the center of civilization smelling of blood.
"Good idea."
Using Fly magic to scout, Shirone and Rian reached a small lake.
Was it fate, or the result of causes and effects?
Ra Enemi was there.
He sat on a rock by the lakeshore with one leg dangling. He was a handsome man with the swarthy complexion typical of Middle Eastern types and sharply defined features.
His eyes seemed to either hold everything or nothing at all, and his straight, compressed lips could be read as joy or sorrow.
"It's cold. You'll be okay out here?"
Shirone asked as he passed the rock where Ra sat.
"This kind of cold is nothing. Come to think of it, you don't really need to wash—there's no blood on you."
"No, I still want to. Fighting leaves my head muddled."
Cold water shocks were the best way to clear one's thoughts.
Shirone turned Armand into a sword and tossed it to the ground. Ra glanced at it and tilted his head.
In the same instant, the two of them stripped and dove into the lake.
"Ugh—cold, cold."
Shirone hugged himself and shivered while Rian dove deep and surfaced with a splash.
"Ah! That's refreshing."
Shirone watched Rian splash water over his face. Whatever calm came after countless battles, Rian wasn't the indifferent killer Shirone had assumed.
"Rian, how do you get through it?"
Rian's hand, washing his face, froze.
"I don't get through it. I just...don't think."
"Don't think?"
"There's no right answer. Whether they're villains or saints, once you draw your sword I decided not to hesitate. You make that decision."
Rian sank into the lake.
"Shirone, there's no situation where killing is 'acceptable.' The opposite is equally true. It's the same as deciding whether to drink a cup of water. What matters is responsibility. I chose to bear it, so I don't think about it."
Ra, listening, nodded.
"Responsibility for life."
Rian cupped water in his hands and looked down.
"One life is born and takes many lives. It's terribly unfair. No matter who they are, our actions break the balance—that can't be denied."
Rian turned to Shirone.
"So let us mourn, Shirone. For life itself."
And so they bore the weight without end.
"All right."
Shirone and Rian closed their eyes and observed a moment of silence as a cold winter wind blew.
As Ra looked up at the sky, lost in thought, a smile briefly crossed his face.
'What was that?'
Shirone's eyes snapped open.
'I could have sworn someone else was there.'
Even with Elysion activated, nothing registered.
The world humans perceive is at most the sum of five senses. Yet moments ago Shirone had felt as if an entirely new sensory organ had briefly appeared and vanished.
"You all right, Shirone? You look strange."
"No, it's nothing. Let's go."
Shirone shook off the thought of something nonexistent, climbed out, and changed clothes.
Ra, who had been watching only a meter away, slowly turned and stepped aside when Shirone approached, opening the path for him.
"I hope we arrive before word gets out."
* * *
By the time they reached Bashka, the sun was setting.
Before joining the not-very-long queue, Shirone took out the letter Estera had given him.
"I should know what it says."
Austin's pointed advice lingered.
"But it was encoded, right?"
"I'll try to decrypt it."
A personally devised cipher is usually amateurish and thus harder to crack, but the Ultima System let Shirone glean the general content.
"So it can take in information holistically."
"Yeah. It's like a language before language. Very handy."
It had been how he saw through the Red Knife band's scheme and deciphered the true intent behind the Birdsong Flute.
Shirone slipped the letter back into its envelope and put it in his chest. Rian asked, "What does it say? Is it dangerous?"
"No. Not really. Just personal matters."
Rian, not one to pry into others' private lives, didn't press further.
Because they were a mage and a noble traveling together, they passed through the city gates easily. Following Austin's advice, Shirone gathered information on Brooks.
After visiting several shops, a weapons vendor provided an answer.
"Mr. Brooks? Why do you want him? A mercenary?"
"No, he's a mage."
"Aha, with the Silvering Guild."
The shopkeeper nodded as if he'd expected as much.
"Mr. Brooks is a mercenary broker."
According to the owner, Brooks was a shrewd businessman; seven large organizations had formal contracts with him.
"In Tormia, there aren't mercenaries who haven't passed through Brooks' hands. But I don't know if he's at home today. He's terribly busy."
'A mercenary broker...'
That was precisely Austin's worry.
If Brooks was a businessman operating at the frontlines, it made sense his mansion's security would be tight.
Judging by the decoded letter, Shirone needed the ability to infiltrate without being noticed.
'Going through the waterways should work.'
They left the shop and reached Brooks' mansion.
Like other nobles' houses it occupied a large area, but it was heavily fortified.
Plainclothes guards armed at the entrance, and torch-bearing sentries patrolled the garden beyond the arch.
"They're all skilled."
Just sensing the overall mood made them incomparable to bandits.
"...Going through the canals was definitely the right call."
Following the map, they arrived at the sewer entrance two hundred meters from the mansion. Taking advantage of a spot where no one passed, they lifted the lid and descended. Rian sniffed in the stench and detected a familiar scent.
"Shirone, it smells like a rotting corpse."
A body left in the city sewer was chilling, but there was no point in doubting what was already there.
"Yeah. We can't let our guard down."
As they neared Brooks' house, the smell intensified until they found a body abandoned only a few days dead.
"What is this? It's not human."
The corpse belonged to an Ain with pale pink skin—its exact name unknown.
"There are signs of torture."
"No, it's not torture."
The mutilation was too extreme to have been done merely to inflict pain.
"Anyway...let's do what we were hired to do."
Austin's words—don't concern yourself with anything but the commission—resurfaced.
After winding through the maze-like waterways, they found stairs that had clearly been modified.
The top of the stairs was barred with iron, and a man sat in a chair by the sewer with his arms folded.
Rian instinctively stopped.
'What is with this man...?'
Long hair like a woman's hung down on either side of his face, hiding his features. He gave off no distinct personal impression—almost corpse-like.
"Sniff, sniff."
The man, quiet as if dead, inhaled and slowly lifted his head.
Rian grabbed the handle of his broadsword and stepped forward.
'This guy is insanely strong.'
That only made it stranger. If someone of that caliber were guarding the place, Austin would surely have at least mentioned a name.
The man looked at them with dull, stray-dog eyes and fixed his gaze on Shirone.
"You...you met Ra, didn't you?"
"What?"
The man rose slowly from the chair; in his hands were short blades that looked like kitchen knives.
His name was Shagal.
The fact that Shagal had been designated one of the world's top 100 dangerous individuals—a serial killer—was something even his employer, Mr. Brooks, did not know.