[658] Recruiting Mercenaries (2)
"Captain, Captain—you're wrong."
Shagal murmured to the night sky as if stepping out of a memory.
He was an acquired killer.
Perhaps because of that, the starless sky looked even sadder tonight.
As his hand, which had just set down the practice magic blade, brushed his body and rose, a freshly honed dagger was already gripped in his hand.
The unique weapon of the rapid-fire sword: twenty-three blades layered like a shell.
As he stared at a tree ten meters away, Ra Enemi's face flickered in his mind like an apparition.
He swung his arm vertically; one of the shell-like blades popped out and thunked into the tree.
It struck exactly where Ra Enemi's brow would be.
He snapped his arm back up; another shell popped out and slid precisely into the blade already embedded in the trunk.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Each swing sent another blade flying, and soon his arm moved back and forth too fast to follow with the eye.
Puff-puff-puff! Puff-puff-puff!
Blades fired in volleys, piling into the same spot until the tree shook. After Shagal had sent twenty-two blades, he threw the dagger itself; with a final thunk the trunk was pierced through.
The dagger—reassembled just as when he first threw it—fell to the ground, and the pierced tree twisted with a groan and toppled to the side.
"I told you you were wrong, Captain."
Shagal was an acquired killer.
And he was, among evils, the worst of the worst.
* * *
The next morning.
Shirone left the inn with the commission bearing Brooks's seal and stepped into the street where guilds clustered.
Even at this hour people streamed by—each one a specialist who had honed a particular skill.
"As expected from the capital. You can't compare it to the provincial guilds."
Mage, swordsman, traveler, alchemist, blacksmith—the head offices of countless guilds jostled upward as if competing for floors.
"It's better for us this way. We don't have much time."
Gathering the twenty mercenaries Lupist wanted, one by one, could easily take more than a month.
"When he said 'do as you like,' he meant meet the headcount, but I want them to be elite if possible."
This was a mission into Radom, a place the kingdom had so far been unable to touch; it was a task where lives couldn't be guaranteed.
The cutoff for the mercenary unit was that, even in the worst-case scenario, each man should at least be able to keep his own life.
"First, let's finish the commission."
Shirone and Rian headed toward the Silvring Guild headquarters, and, as if by agreement, fell silent.
They were being followed.
After traveling through so many danger zones and surviving life-and-death moments again and again, a person's nerves grow catlike.
Among the many gazes Rian noticed a few that felt out of place; with Elysion activated, Shirone kept a certain distance and Rian confirmed a tail matching their pace.
"Who is it?"
"No idea. If word got out we wiped out that band of thieves, anyone could come."
Rian kept his movements steady and only glanced to the side.
"Shall we catch them and rough them up?"
"No. They won't act in a crowded place. Same for us. Besides, we have the Ultima System—there's no risk of an ambush."
Because Elysion has no boundary to the Spirit Zone, the other party wouldn't notice even if they were Jonar.
Trailing uneasy gazes, the two arrived at Silvring's main building and looked up at the six-story structure.
It wasn't on par with the Magic Association, but as one of the kingdom's three great guilds it carried an overwhelming presence.
"Let's go in."
As Shirone walked toward the entrance, Rian twitched his brow and snapped his head around.
'They're coming!'
Two hooded figures were running through the crowd toward them.
'Here? No—!'
Startled, Shirone braced himself and Rian grabbed the hilt of his greatsword, but the two who had been following them plunged forward, rummaging and shouting.
"Now! Start!"
'Damn—assassination tools?'
Rian drew his sword, ready to cut them down before they produced anything, when the guild doors burst open.
"Welcome! Welcome to the Silvring Guild's newest member!"
A pretty manager knelt and presented a bouquet; two burly men split to either side and unfurled a banner.
While Shirone stared in bewilderment at the inscription—"Arian Shirone: Welcome to the Silvring Guild"—the two tailers produced paper firecrackers and set them off.
Bang! Colorful confetti scattered, and Rian's greatsword stopped just before it could slice the two figures in half.
"Eek!"
The startled mage hit the floor and landed on his backside; his hood flew off.
He had a young face.
A girl of a similar age who'd been tailing with him hurried to support him.
"You okay?"
"Huh? Ahaha! Of course! My foot slipped!"
It had been a surprise welcome, but Rian—Shirone's blade—felt nothing but irritation.
"Who are you?"
The boy dusted himself off and offered Rian a hand.
"You were startled. My apologies. I'm Tyler, a mage of the Silvring Guild."
"Elza," the girl added with a bright smile and a bow, but the taut nerves weren't easily soothed.
"Shirone, let's go in. No need for a scene."
"Right."
Shirone crossed the guild's threshold without showing emotion.
More than twenty people sat at their tables, each with a razor-sharp air about them.
It was hard to tell how many were accredited, but it was clearly a gathering of those who'd crossed battle lines.
"Everyone, everyone! Presenting the rookie who appeared like a miracle in the Silvring Guild, Arian Shirone!"
Mikela, the Silvring Guild's manager, cued the applause; a few tables obliged.
From the guild's perspective Shirone was a prize none could steal, but to them he was a rival, so their clapping lacked warmth.
"That's unfair. Guildmates shouldn't be jealous."
Heads snapped toward the stairs at the voice.
A long-haired man in a black robe embroidered with red flames at the hem was descending; it was Arkman, master of the Silvring Guild.
"Master, before you call it jealousy, shouldn't you show some fairness?" grumbled a burly bearded fellow who hardly looked like a mage.
Word from the Kentra branch had arrived, and news that five thief bands had been annihilated had come through Austin at dawn, but more than one person disliked the sight of a guild that'd set aside even the authority of one of the three great guilds to celebrate a single rookie.
"I'll grant the skill, but do you really think a mage who's even been nominated to the Ivory Tower will stay with our guild long? In the end he'll betray us or only stir up trouble!"
Trust requires equality.
From the guild's side, there was little it could offer Shirone; the upside for the guild was enormous.
"Hey, rookie! Answer me! Can you truly commit yourself to the Silvring Guild? Will you fight with a sense of belonging and responsibility?"
The bearded man jabbed a finger and shouted.
If he were a Veteran A, he'd be a fearsome senior to a rookie, and some mages glanced at Shirone.
Shirone had no intention of staying with the guild long, and as silence continued the bearded man slammed his hand on the table.
"See? He can't even say anything! This is just a ridiculous show! I won't stand for it."
When the man rose to leave with his things, Arkman called after him.
"Con, it's a welcome for a new member today. As a senior, you ought to remain."
"Hmph! What decorum—soon enough—"
"Shut up and sit down."
Con flinched at the blunt rebuke and slunk back to his seat.
'Foolish.'
Would the guild master not understand they couldn't bind Shirone?
'If we let Shirone leave as is…'
Rival guilds—the War Chariot and Bloodrose—would stop at nothing to recruit him.
War Chariot was aggressive and strong; Bloodrose, mostly female mages, excelled at seduction.
Silvring's strength was money, but against a candidate for the Ivory Tower it felt lacking.
"Sorry. I apologize for my guildmember's rudeness."
"No, it's fine. He's not wrong."
Arkman nodded at the honest reply and called Shirone to a place where everyone could see.
"Now then, we will begin the welcome ceremony."
With emotions tangled in the room, he knelt before Shirone and bowed his head.
"Become the new master of the Silvring Guild."
Con's eyes went wide.
"Master! Why?"
At the breach of convention, the guild members finally grasped the gravity of the situation and stirred.
Who was Arkman?
A pyromancer who'd climbed to Unofficial Rank 4, he was the pride of Silvring and a household name in the mage community.
Only manager Mikela knew Arkman's true intention.
'Show maximum goodwill. That's the first strategy.'
Even an Ivory Tower candidate's rank can't be adjusted at will.
The only way was to promote him to master.
It was unprecedented in the guild's history—but precisely because of that, it would be effective.
'If he accepts becoming master, we'll begin verification procedures. If he refuses…'
Con spoke again.
"Master, are you serious? This has no precedent."
"There's no precedent for an Ivory Tower candidate joining either."
That ended all objections.
But Shirone wanted nothing more than to cooperate with the guild to quickly assemble twenty mercenaries.
"No."
The guildroom went cold.
The reason many climbed desperately from rookie to senior to veteran was the dream of becoming guild master.
It wasn't an opportunity for everyone, and that hope drove them.
'He doesn't even think it worth considering?'
Shirone could have received the same offer elsewhere; Arkman must have expected a refusal was possible, but the immediacy of the answer was a shock.
"Then how about certifying it? Promise you won't join another mage guild within the Kingdom of Tormia."
Calculated, there was no reason Shirone should accept.
"I won't."
"You damned—! So you plan to betray us!"
Arkman rose to stop the man lunging at Con and said to the manager.
"Mikela, turn off the mana regulator."
If he couldn't bind Shirone, the sensible move would be to give up, but Arkman still had something to confirm.
"Shirone, it's turned into a standoff, but there's a point we can't yield as masters. For you it's just a choice; for us it's our lives. If you go to another guild, dozens of our members will suffer massive loss. All we ask is a certification."
"I won't give more than trust. I won't leave without a special reason. But I won't accept certification or the master position. That's as far as I'll go."
Arkman signaled; Mikela swallowed and flipped the switch on the mana regulator.
'The qualification for the Star Title.'
Wouldn't Arkman also dream of the highest honor among mages?
'To hand it to a mere twenty-year-old boy—'
Beyond the obligation to feed guild members, something personal burned in Arkman's chest.
A personal ambition—this was a once-in-a-lifetime challenge for someone who'd reached Unofficial Rank 4.
'I want to know what the difference is.'
As Arkman unfolded the Spirit Zone, the flames embroidered on the hem of his robe seemed to ripple as if alive.
'Magic armament. An option for flame magic perhaps?'
If a master of one of the three great guilds used it, it surely wasn't common equipment.
"Shirone, shall I—?"
"No, it's fine."
Stung in his pride, Arkman raised a pillar of flame from the floor at his feet.
"Then excuse my intrusion—"
"Master, surely you wouldn't actually do it here—"
Before Con could finish, the hellfire coiling around Arkman hurled forward.
"You actually did it!"
Guild members ducked under tables as the guild's front doors exploded with a bang, the wall with them.