Chapter 30

That’s a death sentence. He needed to hand the guy over to get the reward, but there was no way he could reveal his identity to the prince. No, that was completely out of the question. “Okay, what if I just have you restrain the culprit and leave them in my room instead?”

「And what of the one who resides there with you?」

Goodness, how selfish. They criticized him for wanting to leave a dangerous culprit with his colleague. The cats continued their relentless chatter.

“Then I’ll just rent a separate room beforehand and have you drop the culprit in there.”

「But unless you apprehend them in the act, how do you intend to provide proof that this stranger is indeed the culprit?」

“…”

Strange. They were never this difficult. Why were they suddenly being so obstructive?

It was true he was physically and mentally drained, but this was absurd.

Exhausted in body and soul, Isaac let his shoulders slump. What kind of mystical favor carried such suffocating restrictions? At this rate, it was only useful for summoning tea.

None of it mattered.

Everything had spiraled into chaos from the moment he was forced to spend the new-moon nights with the prince. But he could not sit idly by forever. Even now, having just returned from the prince’s palace, Isaac remained plagued by the sensation that a phantom hound was mere heartbeats away, chasing him down.

His instincts had never lied.

The prince would certainly hunt for him.

For the witch’s child.

In truth, the situation was far too precarious for him to rely on the whims of new-moon wishes and wait for the cycle to turn once more. One way or another, the tinderbox had to be located. Whether he would eventually cross into the Land of the New Moon with the relic or pursue an entirely different path was a calculation for another time; for now, logic dictated that securing the tinderbox offered the only viable trajectory to shatter the stalemate of his current predicament.

To achieve that, he required a formal reward from the king.

As for the methods to secure such a bounty, identifying the perpetrator who had assassinated Sir Leon was the sole remaining option.

Living through a rough life as an orphan does come in handy after all.

Isaac muttered the words to himself, his body pressed flat as he crawled across the grit of the dusty crawlspace.

The utterance was nothing more than a ghost of a sound, barely a vibration against his lips, and he immediately clamped his mouth shut, sealing the thought away.

Directly beneath the floorboards where he lay, six or seven exceptionally lethal men had converged. Determining when and where the subordinates of Roverni would congregate had not been a difficult task.

Even so, that success was entirely predicated on the years Isaac had spent navigating the shadows, performing every variety of unsavory task before he had ever donned the uniform of the royal guard. Several years had elapsed since he had joined the guard, trading the chaos of the underworld for the rigid, upright stability of royal service.

Before that transition, however, Isaac had been, by all accounts, a remarkably successful errand-runner. He had been selective about the contracts he accepted, but once a deal was struck, he guaranteed a result that left no room for complaint.

Among those who operated in the darker corners of the city, he held a reputation for reliability and discretion. Because he strictly avoided the most egregious criminal enterprises, he had never achieved a notorious fame nor amassed a fortune, yet more than one illicit broker had expressed genuine disappointment when he announced his retirement to live a transparent, mundane life as a royal guard.

He was no longer in contact with those men, and he certainly did not pine for the days when he was forced to witness all manner of human ugliness, regardless of how carefully he curated his commissions.

Still… in contrast to the clean, sunlit path of his current life, those former skills provided convenient shortcuts whenever necessity dictated.

Here. Remember, I know nothing about what happens after this.

The scrap of paper passed to him by a broker he had once known well contained nothing more than a time and a location. Furthermore, the rendezvous was set for that very day. The nature of such clandestine meetings meant that variables could shift in an instant, and the risk of an unexpected trap was always high.

Yet, Isaac accepted the intelligence without a murmur of protest.

The simple fact that the broker had successfully pinpointed the exact moment and setting of a gathering among Roverni’s inner circle served as proof of the man’s peerless network.

The broker tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with professional opportunism. “So, what’s the verdict? Are you finally coming back? That would be a sharp move. Honestly, how many coins can you possibly scrape together as a royal guard? If you return to the fold, I can guarantee a steady, uninterrupted stream of work,” he goaded.

“Nope. Not happening,” Isaac replied. He casually folded the note into his mouth, working it into a sodden, pulpy mass before swallowing it. “Things spiraled, so I needed your help just this once, but I am intent on living a quiet, impoverished life. I am content with my lot.”

His old acquaintance, a man who had always addressed him with a grating, reckless familiarity, clearly anticipated that refusal. He showed no sign of disappointment, merely offering a dismissive shrug. “Well, that has been your favorite refrain for a long time,” he muttered, clapping a hand onto Isaac’s shoulder twice. Then, his demeanor shifted, his tone turning uncharacteristically grave. “But… are you truly going there?”

Isaac offered only a silent, grim nod in response.

“I looked into it because you asked, but if I were in your position, I would avoid that place at all costs. My network is extensive. This intel was not easy to verify, yet even so, it surfaced with suspicious ease.” The broker had delivered that warning with a furrowed brow, explicitly referencing the recent volatility within Roverni’s inner circle. Isaac understood the subtext: the intelligence was almost certainly a deliberate leak intended to lure the mysterious culprit out of hiding.

Even so, Isaac could not simply retreat. If he allowed himself to be paralyzed by every potential threat, he would remain stagnant forever. With that, he had brushed off his friend’s concern and departed. He traveled to the location where Roverni’s subordinates were rumored to congregate, willingly embracing the gamble. Currently, he was pressed against a narrow, suffocating space above the ceiling, worming his way through a gap barely a handspan in height.

The destination was the top floor of a tavern tucked away on a quiet street far removed from the city’s heart. Several of Roverni’s favored lieutenants were gathered beneath that roof, and Isaac remained wedged in the claustrophobic void between the ceiling panels and the eaves, peering down at them. Beside him lay a sentinel whom Isaac had incapacitated moments ago with an anesthetic needle. By the time dawn broke, the man would stir, under the impression that he had merely drifted into an exceptionally deep slumber.

Isaac had monitored the man from the darkness of the rafters as he exchanged secret signals with the associates below, waiting for the perfect window to slip inside and claim his vantage point. The fact that they had pre-positioned an armed companion in the rafters confirmed that this was a deliberate snare designed to trap the mysterious assailant.

As Isaac surveyed the assembly from his perch, he noted that they were all capable, hardened fellows. There was even a mid-level officer present, a man who answered directly to Roverni. The stockpile of weaponry they had brought would have been sufficient to slaughter dozens of men in a single strike.

Among them, one individual dominated Isaac’s focus. A man sat quietly at the far end of the table, his demeanor detached. He was scrawny, his frame slight, possessing an appearance that suggested he lacked the physical strength to even wring a chicken’s neck. Dressed in nondescript black attire, he habitually twisted a thick ring that circled his finger. In a room populated by brutal, battle-hardened mercenaries, he looked profoundly out of place.

“I doubt there will be any need for you to step forward, sir.”

Just then, a bald man who had been keeping a restless watch out the window turned toward the table.

The slight man, addressed with such deference, merely shifted his gaze toward him and allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk upward. “Didn’t you organize a similar meeting not long ago to lure him in, only to fail miserably?”

At that scathing remark, the bald man’s expression curdled, and he snapped his jaw shut. A bearded man beside him intervened, his voice tight with frustration. “Yanick was the one in charge that night. That fool let his guard down, and that was exactly how it happened.”

“I knew that affair would end in disaster,” another man chimed in, clicking his tongue in derision. “The man believed solely in his brute strength, arrogant beyond all reason. Hmph. But he was nothing but bluff and bluster. In truth, he was a hollow shell. That is precisely why he marched out with ten men under his command and still ended up with his head severed from his shoulders.”

The slight man offered nothing but a crooked, inscrutable smile in the heavy silence that followed.

Sir.

The very form of address betrayed that the man stood apart from the rank and file. Though the others clearly loathed his tone and haughty manner, they refrained from treating him with anything resembling negligence. At the very least, he commanded a position of influence. Who was he, then? Isaac tilted his head, dissecting the stranger’s features. The man possessed a dark, sharp aura, yet otherwise appeared unremarkable.

“You all are aware of the objective, but do not kill him,” the man said. “We must take him alive. Considering the way he dismantled Yanick’s group and the boldness of his recent actions, he is clearly not operating alone.”

“But the word is that the method used to slaughter Yanick’s men was identical in every instance, was it not?” one of the men asked.

“A single leader may be coordinating the strikes, but this is beyond the scope of a lone actor,” the man countered. “There is a faction backing him. We must unmask them.”

CLANG

A man with a jagged scar near his eye scowled, irritably inspecting the edge of his combat knife. “So we absolutely must keep the bastard breathing?”

“Lord Roverni’s orders are absolute. He does not care what condition the target is in when he arrives, provided he retains the faculty of speech.”

The scarred man grinned, his eyes glinting with malice. “Ah, so missing limbs or eyes are acceptable. That is exactly how it should be. We need to demonstrate precisely what fate awaits a piece of filth who lays a hand on the Roverni faction.”

“Nevertheless, remain vigilant,” the slight man warned. “He has eluded discovery without leaving a single trace, and his weapon mastery is far from ordinary.”

The scarred man scoffed. “Hmph. It matters not. As long as Lantes stands here today, he will not escape. Why so tense, Brother? Are you frightened?”

When the scarred man sneered, the bearded man who had spoken earlier widened his eyes in offense. The two men locked in a ferocious, murderous glare that sent the atmosphere spiraling into danger. Had the middle-aged man—the silent, high-ranking commander of the faction—not intervened with a sharp, “Both of you, cease,” they likely would have drawn steel then and there.

Once the two had reluctantly reseated themselves, still trading glares, the slight man—who had been observing the discord with a twisted smile—took a slow, deliberate sip of tea.

“There is no cause for anxiety,” he said. “Unless your head is severed or your death is instantaneous, no matter how catastrophic the wound, I can mend you in an instant. I, Urgo, may lack other grand talents, but you may stake your lives on my craft in this regard.”

The middle-aged leader nodded, his tone dripping with the kind of practiced flattery that preserved his own dignity. “Of course. I have heard much of Lord Urgo’s fame; your prowess in immediate restoration is said to be unrivaled. Lord Roverni spared no effort to secure your presence here. We have already exchanged greetings, but once this business concludes without incident, Lord Roverni will undoubtedly convey his gratitude in a more substantial manner.”

At these words, Urgo narrowed his eyes, a flicker of smug satisfaction crossing his features. It was only then that the truth crystallized in Isaac’s mind.

A magician.