The party followed the light Lancelot had pointed out and made their way down the passage.
For a tunnel supposedly hidden beneath the sewers, it gave off a strangely sweet scent.
A sweet smell, not a stench—in a sewer?
The whole group wore expressions of utter confusion.
“Amazing. I never imagined there was a place like this in our domain,” Rom said, eyes wide as he glanced around in disbelief.
He looked especially stunned that something like this had been hiding right under the barony.
While Rom was busy grappling with this revelation, Lancelot blinked and asked, “Where exactly are we?”
“Where do you think? We’re on the way to our destination,” I replied.
“What, is this some kind of hidden temple?”
Did he really just say that?
I shot a contemptuous look at Lancelot. Why would anyone build a temple in a place overflowing with muck? Only heretics would get up to such antics.
“If you built a temple in the sewers, I’m sure the Goddess would be absolutely delighted,” I said pointedly.
“Ah.”
“Enough with the nonsense. Just follow me. We need to go further up from here.”
I brushed past Lancelot and entered the passageway.
The deeper we went, the stronger that sweet scent became.
And then, finally…
Tap.
“We’ve arrived.”
It was no longer the inside of the sewer, but a passage that seemed to lead somewhere else entirely.
Beyond it, an underground cavern opened up, vast and filled with a sprawling green glow.
“What the… What is all this?” Lancelot blurted out in shock.
I curled my lips into a satisfied grin, replying, “What do you think? It’s all my money.”
* * *
Mithril… also known as the Divine Ore.
If you look through the history books, every time Mithril appeared, a bloody storm swept across the continent. Of course, that was in the old days, and things aren’t quite that dramatic now.
Still, when it comes to price or performance, nothing else even comes close.
Even now, if this ever got out, there’d be no shortage of people lining up to take it from me.
Which is why I need the Emperor’s protection.
Even the average thief, when faced with the prospect of the Imperial Family’s involvement, will usually swallow their disappointment and move along.
After all, no matter how much the Noble Faction tries to keep them in check, the Imperial Family is still, well, the Imperial Family.
“…So you’re telling me all of this is Mithril?” Rom asked, his face contorted in shock.
For someone who normally had the emotional range of a stone statue—much like Roxen—Rom’s reaction was a rare event.
I let out a small chuckle and nodded. “That’s right. All of this is money.”
“…Who calls Mithril ‘money’?” Rom said.
“Oh? It seems you, good sir, can’t see the enormous profit gleaming right in front of you.”
“…I think I’ll just keep my thoughts to myself.” Rom shook his head and turned his gaze back to the Mithril.
I shrugged at him and made my way over to the Mithril ore.
Thud. I broke off a chunk of Mithril. A greenish light shimmered across its surface, as if it was trying to outshine the rest of the rocks.
Top grade, as expected.
Mithril had a few features that set it apart from your everyday ore, but the most famous was its responsiveness to Aura.
Feed it a single unit of Aura, and it would give you back five, ten times as much.
Who wouldn’t want a weapon made from that?
With a satisfied smile, I tucked the Mithril away. It was all mine anyway, but surely I could skim a little off the top as a handling fee.
“Let’s head back. Now that we know there’s Mithril here, and considering I’ll need to present some to His Imperial Majesty, we’d best hurry.”
“…Huh. Moments like this, you really are a noble. How can you look at all this and still think about handing it over?” Lancelot clicked his tongue and muttered.
I shot him a look of pure disbelief. He really had no common sense.
As if I was doing this out of some noble sense of duty. No, it was all because of the Elder Council.
I recalled the promise I’d made with the Grand Duke: to return with results the Elder Council couldn’t possibly ignore.
That meant the whole business with the dead knight would be quietly erased from the record, and I would be rewarded for my troubles with the Miph Merchant Guild.
And so, there was only one method the Elder Council simply couldn’t refuse.
Get the Emperor involved.
For most matters, the Elder Council could slap on an iron layer of skin over their faces and deny everything. But if the Emperor was tangled up in it, the story changed entirely.
Raise an objection, and you’d be executed for treason.
Well… I had to give it to the Emperor anyway, so I can’t say I’m particularly heartbroken.
Of course, I’d still squeeze out every possible benefit before letting it go.
In any case…
I informed Lancelot, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and headed out of the mine.
Thus, our party returned to the Barony of Harris.
* * *
Meanwhile, just as Louis and his party left…
Tap. Crack.
A chill wind crept through the Mithril mine.
But this wasn’t the sweet, metallic tang that had wafted through before. No, this breeze carried the musky, rancid stench of wild beasts.
Wind, as a general rule, requires both an entrance and an exit.
And, as if to prove the point, a small crack had appeared in one wall of the Mithril mine.
Tap. Cr-cr-crack.
The crack widened, and soon enough, a heap of monsters tumbled out.
Monsters with the faces of hyenas and the bodies of men. Gnolls.
And monsters with the faces of dogs and the bodies of men. Kobolds.
They exuded a nauseating, animalistic stench, and when they saw the Mithril glittering before them, their lips curled up in greedy, twisted grins.
“Grrr…”
“Kerru! Kekkeru!”
They exchanged words in their own guttural language, then turned back the way they’d come, as if they were a reconnaissance team reporting back to headquarters.
“Grrr…”
One of the gnolls shot a sidelong glance at the mine, then grinned, letting a blob of yellow drool splatter onto the floor.
“Grr… Hu…man. Loot.”
It was clumsy human speech, but the meaning was clear enough for any monster.
In the past, the Barony of Harris had been plagued by Kobold invasions as regularly as clockwork.
Once again, a monster horde of truly record-breaking proportions was beginning to stir.
* * *
Meanwhile, Hera Artezia and Verick Dragunov arrived at the entrance to Death Veil.
Ordinarily, a job like this would have been dumped on some hapless underling. But Death Veil required that the client show up in person.
So, what choice did they have?
They had to do it themselves.
“Tsk! What kind of assassins hole up in a backwater like this?!”
“Milady, keep your voice down. If anything goes wrong here, we’re out of options.” Verick muttered quietly to Hera, then knocked on the door to Death Veil.
Creeeeak.
The door swung open, and an old man shuffled out, asking, “Who’re you?”
“Oh, fantastic, now it’s some old codger? Look here. Do we look like peasants to you? Show some respect, will you?!” Hera snapped, her face twisted with irritation.
But just as she was about to let loose with another round of colorful language, clearly still unsatisfied—
Smack!
“Can’t you keep your mouth shut?” Verick slapped Hera across the face, pressing his lips together in frustration.
Hera dropped to the ground, dazed, her pupils trembling as she stared at the floor.
Verick, meanwhile, paid her no more attention, fixing his gaze on the old man before him.
…He’s a monster.
Verick himself was an exalted Aura Expert, but he had no doubt this old man could take his head off in the blink of an eye.
Yet this sort of man was working as a doorman.
For a brief, unsettling moment, Verick realized he’d walked right into the tiger’s den.
But now that he was here, there was no turning back.
If he wanted to get out alive, he’d have to play along with whatever these people wanted.
…Fuck. If only that bitch hadn’t run her mouth…
Verick shot a glare at Hera.
She was still sitting on the ground, staring up at him in shock, blood trickling from her lips, her eyes swimming with a cocktail of confusion and simmering rage.
Verick spoke to her in a tone that brooked no argument. “Get up. When you’re in someone else’s house, you follow their rules.”
“…Verick.”
“If you can’t even recognize that I just saved your life, I might lose my temper all over again.” Verick snapped, irritation prickling in his voice.
Hera pressed her lips together, swallowing whatever retort she’d been brewing.
“…Fine.” Reluctantly, she nodded and got to her feet.
The old man, watching the pair impassively, finally spoke. “You seem to be finished. Now, I’d like to know why you’re here.”
“Ah, here it is.”
With a rustle, Verick pulled the Token of Death Veil from inside his coat.
Suddenly—
The old man’s figure vanished, only to reappear right in front of Verick’s eyes.
A dagger had materialized in the old man’s hand, its edge now resting under Verick’s chin, gleaming coldly.
“Where did you get this?” The old man’s killing intent flooded the room as he asked.
For Hera Artezia, who was a civilian and not accustomed to this sort of ambiance, the pressure was unbearable.
“Kh—!” She dropped to the floor again, clutching her throat as if she couldn’t breathe.
Verick didn’t spare her a glance. He managed to force out a reply. “M-my grandfather once helped Death Veil…! That’s how he received this token…!”
“Your grandfather’s name?”
“Dragunov! Mero Dragunov!” he shouted desperately.
Whether it was the name or the volume, something seemed to get through.
The old man withdrew his killing intent and sheathed his dagger.
“Hmm… Now that you mention it, I do recall someone by that name.”
“Hah… hah…! So you believe us?”
“Yes. Come in for now. And watch your step. There are plenty of traps.”
With that, the old man disappeared into the shabby manor.
Verick followed.
Only Hera remained on the ground, unmoving.
* * *
The inside of Death Veil was, in most respects, sorely lacking in what one might call “manor-ness.”
Unlike other manors, there were no expensive ornaments, nor were there any servants or maids bustling about. Only sinister traps waited to greet intruders.
Whoosh!
“Gah!”
Clang!
Verick swung his sword, fending off the murderous implements.
If he so much as stepped off the exact spot the old man had trod, a trap would come flying at him.
It was hard to tell if they even wanted to take a commission.
“…Hah. Is this your usual way of receiving clients?”
“Of course not. If it’s ordinary folk, the traps don’t even twitch. They only spring to life when someone with Aura comes calling.”
…Goddamn it.
Verick let out a shaky breath, panting. He decided not to dwell on how such a system could possibly work, and instead wondered if he’d survive long enough to state his business.
Just then…
“We’re here.” The old man stopped and knocked on the door of a side room.
Knock. Knock.
“Veilmaster, the client has arrived. He’s brought the Token of Death Veil.”
“Let them enter.”
“Yes, sir.” The old man bowed deeply to the presence beyond the wall.
Then he jerked his chin at Verick, clearly indicating he should go inside. “Go on. The Veilmaster is waiting.”
Creak.
The sliding door to the side room opened, revealing a space vast enough to make an emperor’s audience chamber envious.
But unlike an audience chamber, there wasn’t a single ornament in sight. Only darkness, and in the middle of it, a solitary throne.
Verick swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and lifted his gaze.
The figure on the throne regarded Verick with a blank look, then slowly closed their eyes.
“…You’re not the one.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind. So, what request brings you here?”
Verick was curious about the Veilmaster’s strange reaction but quickly brushed it aside. He had a feeling it would only lead to trouble.
He swallowed hard and spoke, slow and deliberate.
“Louis Berg. I want that man dead.”