“Noble gladiator, like hell.......”
Haral frowned at the clamor boring into his ears.
The air of the Imperial Capital was more feverish than usual.
And the shouts heard amid that bustling atmosphere mostly pointed to one person's name.
Riyan.
The name of the traitor who had once threatened the continent.
And the newly born star of the arena.
The pure white, noble wolf that had bitten the blood-crazed old wolf to death and now reigned as the new leader.
The gossipmongers' chatter must have made quite an impression, for everyone walking the streets had that name on their lips.
And that wasn't all.
In a vacant lot slated for construction, children holding sticks were playing, reenacting that day's bout. The problem was that every one of the children claimed to be Riyan.
‘No, the arena only lets adults in to begin with.’
In any case, the whole uproar could be summed up in one sentence.
Riyan had won.
Haral smiled bitterly.
He had felt that uncanny skill vividly by crossing swords with him himself, but if it had been a bet on his life, he would probably have bet on Yabrik too.
When he coldly questioned himself, that was surely the case.
Talking up Riyan's victory to Berka and actually betting on Riyan had really only sprung from a slender thread of hope.
One could call it a grudging fondness.
He had no intention of denying that, while being in charge of him, crossing swords with him, and watching his training, he had felt something different from the other slave gladiators.
But that was, after all, only a truly tiny possibility.
‘And yet, that tiny possibility.......’
had come through.
Though not comparable to a true knight, he had pulled off an upset by defeating a Champion who possessed a Masterpiece.
Since it was a Victory Streak Match, Haral had worried about what would come after, but that too had been neatly wrapped up by the Empire's handling.
They must have felt it as well. A gladiator with such formidable drawing power, satisfying both skill and looks, was rare.
They couldn't have left him alone with their eyes wide open. This was also the Empire's unspoken way, practiced over the past several decades.
But at this moment, for some reason, Haral felt that Riyan was far away.
“Tsk.”
Clicking his tongue, Haral walked on in silence.
He left the main road of the Imperial Capital, shining brilliantly in the sunlight, for the shaded alleys. After burrowing in for a long while, the place he had set out for appeared.
It had a shabby exterior.
The walls, looking parched with peeling paint, stood out first. And its hook must have rusted, because the sign hanging at the edge of the roof creaked whenever the wind blew.
And what about in front of it?
A drunk staggering and vomiting, someone sleeping on his knees with his head jammed into the dank mouth of the alley, and a half-naked woman staring blankly at the sky.
Behind brilliance there is always shadow, and on the other side of the gleaming streets of the Imperial Capital, a face like a hell of hungry ghosts coexisted.
“Wha?”
With a hiccuping belch, the drunk, reeking of liquor, glared at Haral.
When Haral lifted the hem of the robe covering his body slightly, the scabbard poked out, and the drunk fell on his backside.
“Ah, oof.”
“Step aside.”
At least in the Imperial Capital, carrying a weapon meant being someone whose identity was vouched for by the Empire. It was more than a mere drunkard who sated his hunger with liquor could handle.
Leaving behind the drunk, who flailed his sodden body away as if rolling across the ground, Haral entered the building. Outside, it was still late afternoon and bright, but inside it was terribly dark.
And smoky.
Waving away the tobacco smoke that filled the place like a raccoon's den, Haral closed and opened his eyes for a moment to adjust to the darkness.
There weren't many people. Most of those there were playing cards at corner tables or drinking alone.
Going further inside, he saw someone standing behind the bar wiping glasses with a rag, and he spoke to him.
“Where's Danny?”
“Long time no see, Haral. Danny's on the second floor. By the way, I hear you pulled off a big one?”
“Word's out already?”
“Of course. Good thing you didn't come at night.”
The bartender tapped the back of his own head with the glass, tap, tap.
At that, Haral grinned too.
“Want something to drink?”
“No, I'm going to see Danny and head right out. I'm busy today.”
Then, just as Haral was heading for the stairs.
“No need to come up. I'll come down.”
A door opened and a figure appeared. It was a heavyset, middle-aged man. Rubbing his bushy, unkempt beard as he came down, he sat at the bar and beckoned.
“Get me a drink. Haral, why don't you sit too? You ought to buy me one.”
“All of a sudden?”
“You owe me.”
“Since when do I owe you, Danny?”
“Since a few days ago.”
“.......”
At Danny's words, Haral quietly sat down next to him.
As far as Haral knew, Danny wasn't the type to spout nonsense for no reason. If he said Haral owed him, then Haral owed him. That was also the law of this place.
Haral signaled the bartender to bring drinks. He didn't give a detailed order. He already knew what Danny liked. This building was his guild's hideout, after all.
“First, this is your payout.”
Danny took a leather pouch from inside his coat and pushed it toward Haral. Haral loosened the string slightly and opened the pouch.
Perhaps because it was dark inside, the gleam of the gold coins, stamped clearly with the seal of the imperial family, seemed—exaggerating only a little—to hold the sun itself.
“How much?”
“A bit under forty coins.”
“.......”
Lifting the pouch slightly, Haral let out a low groan at its weight.
It was a sum that even all the money he had earned living by the blade his whole life—no, even multiplied several times over—might barely match. The weight of this gold, won with a single bet, left Haral feeling strangely empty.
“Don't set foot in here for a while. The atmosphere's ugly. I can cover for you today, but I can't block it next time.”
“Why?”
“You bet on a guy from your own school and walked off with that much. Whatever the reason, it's not going to look good. Especially given the amount.”
“......Hah, unbelievable.”
“For now, I spun it as you getting dead drunk and placing a reckless bet that happened to hit. A coincidence, in other words. Everyone went along with it for now, but there are still plenty of people who are suspicious.”
“Suspicious? What kind of nonsense is that? That I bribed the Empire to rig the match?”
“Right. You're right. But you know well enough. Blades don't have eyes. Or heads to think with, either.”
“That's true.”
It was the truth.
Arena gambling had been about the only joy in his life.
Smacking his lips at the thought that he couldn't even dream of betting for a while, Haral nodded.
“But is this the debt you mentioned?”
“Hardly. What do you take me for?”
“Good-natured Danny.”
At Haral's words, Danny laughed heartily and downed his glass in one gulp.
Then he took out a pipe, put it in his mouth, and lit it by striking a flint, click, click. Then he let out a mouthful of smoke. The room was already no different from a raccoon's den, so it changed nothing.
“Give me one coin.”
“Hey, Danny. These are gold coins.”
“You won't lose out.”
Danny smiled genially with the pipe in his mouth, and in the end, Haral had no choice but to open the pouch again.
***
The candle at the head of the quiet bed flickered.
On the bed lay Riyan, who had returned to the school after the match. He had been recuperating from the injuries he had sustained in the match and the aftereffects of the elixir.
Then, hearing footsteps approaching, Riyan forced his eyelids open. As he groggily sat up, the door opened and Haral appeared.
“Must be nice. Sending other people off on errands.”
Grumbling as he came over, Haral set a leather pouch down on the table beside the bed. From the rather dull thud it made, it seemed heavier than it looked.
Then, dragging a chair over and sitting at the table, Haral crossed his arms.
“How's your body?”
“Time will take care of it.”
Riyan answered casually.
It was true. The aftereffects of the elixir the barbarian tribes used weren't severe, strictly speaking, but their drawback was that they lingered thin and long. He would probably have to be ailing like this for nearly half a month before his body returned to normal.
Since it would be awkward to explain it all at length, Riyan looked at the pouch and changed the subject.
“How much?”
“A bit under thirty coins. I took my share out in advance. We said thirty percent.”
“Less than I expected.”
“Less? The other slaves would faint dead away if they heard that.”
Is that so?
Riyan had never bought or sold slaves, so he had no way of knowing their price.
‘Then my price must be absurdly high.’
According to Berka, it was a hundred and fifty coins. Strictly speaking, not his own price but the worth of the monster he had killed.
Nodding, Riyan fingered the heavy pouch, then looked at Haral.
“It won't be easy to keep making money like this.”
“Right. Your skill's known now. And even if it were possible, it's all gone up in smoke anyway.”
“Up in smoke?”
“I'm in a spot where I don't know whose blade I'll die by. I can't even go near the gambling dens for a while.”
Then, when Haral relayed what he had heard from the officer of the guild that ran the underground gambling, Riyan nodded.
“So that's how it went.”
“On top of that, there's one more problem.”
Haral let out a deep sigh.
Riyan tilted his head at the strong smell mixed into that breath.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yeah, and I'm going to keep drinking.”
Haral took a bottle from his bag and held it out slightly, and Riyan lightly shook his head.
At that, Haral pulled his hand back, pried the stopper open as if breaking it, took a swig, and grumbled.
“Apparently the Empire's put someone on us.”
“Someone?”
“The Secret Intelligence Bureau.”
“Is it a dangerous place?”
“You really don't know anything, do you?”
Making a sour face, Haral waved his hand.
“There's a saying around here. The sewer rats of the Imperial Capital are as big as cats.”
Riyan nodded.
“I've seen them too.”
“Huh? Where?”
In the war he had lived through in his past life. When a battle ended, crows and rats would hold a feast as if they had been waiting for it.
Once they got a taste, those things kept following the unit. Because of that, the legion came to look as though it carried a plague wherever it went.
“Just a joke. Please continue what you were saying.”
“Dull kid.”
Another swig.
Haral's voice had grown languid at some point.
“Anyway, in the Imperial Capital, people sometimes vanish without a trace. Of course, it's no different out on the frontier or in the provinces or the wilds beyond, but at least in those places, there's some reason you can guess at. Whether you run into barbarians on the road or monsters, there are plenty of reasons for that sort of thing to happen.”
“But it'd be strange for that to happen in the Imperial Capital.”
“Right. How could a person vanish without a trace in the Empire's own living room, where it keeps its eyes wide open? Everyone keeps it hush-hush, but it's the Secret Intelligence Bureau's doing. It's an open secret that the people who vanish like that end up haunting the sewers of the Imperial Capital. Luckily, this case seems a bit different.”
What did he mean by different?
The answer came before long.
According to Haral, it seemed to be a group that handled the Empire's shady work, and an organization like that would never be so sloppy as to let its target catch it tailing him.
That the tail had come to light by whatever route meant it was highly likely the Secret Intelligence Bureau had deliberately left traces.
From that fact, one thing could be known right away.
“At least I won't die in my sleep without knowing why.”
“Smart as ever.”
Tapping Riyan's head with the bottle, Haral grinned.
“It could be a good thing for you. It means the Empire's stepped in to vet you properly. All that's left for you now is a smooth road. They'll never put you on a battlefield or against an opponent that could be unfavorable or dangerous for you.”
“Because I'm merchandise.”
“Right. For the subjects who come to the arena. They'll use you carefully, like something precious.”
And once you're no longer of use, you end up like Yabrik.
Haral forced himself to swallow the rest. There was no need to say it.
“I understand that they're watching me. Then the reason they've put a tail on you as well, Instructor Haral, must be related.”
“Yeah. They probably mean to get rid of me right away if I try to use you or ruin you. They probably already know I bet on you. It's a warning not to swarm around their food like a fly.”
Sighing, Haral stared blankly out the window.
“Somehow, ever since you showed up, I feel like I keep getting tangled up in absurd things. Maybe I ought to just quit this instructor business right now.”
“What did you do before that?”
Riyan asked as though it were a continuation of their conversation, and Haral, about to answer naturally, faltered.
Talking about this kind of thing with a slave. It was a common sight for an instructor to beat a slave senseless if the slave brought up anything personal.
But Haral shook his head.
Beat Riyan? Not an easy scene to imagine. No, he'd be lucky if he didn't get thrashed by that monstrous bastard in the first place.
‘Whatever happens, happens.’
Shrugging, Haral slowly opened his mouth.
“I was a mercenary.”
“I thought so.”
“What are you talking about? Is it written on my forehead or something, ‘I'm a mercenary’?”
It wasn't hard to tell. Haral's swordsmanship felt less crude than patched together like rags, taking only the practical elements from all over the place.
If he had been raised as a knight or a gladiator, one would sense a systematized style passed down within a family or a school. Though there would clearly be a difference in their prowess.
“It's just the air about you. Please go on.”
“......Well, it's nothing great. I mostly knocked around in the north of the Empire. I guarded merchant caravans, put some muscle behind the high-and-mighty when they collected their taxes, and if the fee was fat enough, I sometimes joined in barbarian subjugations.”
Another swig.
“I saw a lot of blood one way or another. When I was young, I didn't think much of it, but now I sometimes think of the people who screamed as my blade ran them through. So I quit. Just then, Berka said he wanted to recruit me. What was it he said? That he liked my dead eyes?”
“If it was the north, you must have been to the Belance region too.”
“I have. You said you were born there?”
“Do you know a place called Reblan Village?”
“Back then, I wandered wherever my feet took me, so I might have been there. But I don't remember every single place I've been. Long story short, I don't remember.”
“Then what's the Belance region like? Even just in general.”
“What's it like?”
Haral continued, a little gloomily.
“What's it like? It's a place where livestock live, not people. I thought so every time I stayed there for a job—even the air there is poor. The brats start digging through the dirt for something to eat the moment they open their eyes, and the adults are busy licking the feet of imperial officials, begging for their lives.”
“Not a very hopeful scene.”
“Hope? That's a luxury there. You breathe because you were born, and you shove whatever you can into your mouth because you're starving, and that's all there is. Back then, I was determined to leave that squalid frontier and live it up in the Imperial Capital.”
“.......”
“But now I actually miss those days. Funny, isn't it? Still, ten gold coins is more than enough for a fresh start. It feels like the time's come to think seriously about it. All the more so with the Bureau on us. If anything, they'd welcome me leaving.”
Haral's words held unfiltered contempt mixed with a strange pity.
After that, Haral calmly went on telling stories of his mercenary days.
There was none of the plausible romance one might imagine of mercenaries. Only their cold, contemptible way of life echoed through the room. He hesitated several times, especially at the parts about killing people, but he didn't stop the story.
Meanwhile, Riyan kept his gaze fixed blankly on the red-tinged sky outside the window.
It wasn't that Haral's story didn't interest him. It was because the regret hidden behind that rambling came through without his needing to look.
When the story finally ended, Haral, feeling awkward for no particular reason, scratched the back of his neck.
“I rattled on about some pointless stuff.”
“I wouldn't say that.”
They were stories that couldn't be judged as fun or not.
Still, if he had to give an impression, what would it be?
Riyan withdrew his gaze from the window and looked at Haral.
“Rather than fun, I'd like to say thank you.”
“What? Thank you?”
Riyan silently nodded.
The sunset, grown even deeper at some point, bound the two men's shadows together into a single long one.
“What I need to do has become a little clearer.”