Chapter 025: The Night of Resistance (3)
The blacksmith street of Canchester was a cluster of large and small forges tightly packed together.
As trade merchants frequently visited to order tools for ship repairs and navigation, word spread of abundant work.
Blacksmiths, drawn by the rumors, began settling one by one, shaping the area into its current form.
‘…Wow, a place like this existed?’
Janson kept licking his parched lips.
He had been frantically navigating the winding, narrow alleys and the rat-hole passages between forges, following Henry.
Before he knew it, he found himself in a secretive spot, like a hidden hideout.
It felt like the underground storage of a sprawling tavern.
“This is where Canchester’s night craftsmen hold their secret gatherings,” Henry said casually, as if he were used to the place.
“If you go that way, you’ll hit the plaza. That box behind you—mind putting it over here?”
Henry, also carrying a box with both hands, pointed with his chin toward Janson’s back.
Janson turned, startled, and asked, “What’s in it?”
“Weapons.”
He thought it foolish to ask.
Hadn’t they spoken of an “uprising” with grim resolve? The weight of the box sank heavily into his chest.
As they moved the boxes one by one, the sound of multiple footsteps began to echo.
Henry reassured Janson, who had widened his eyes, “They’re our night craftsmen.”
They arrived in droves, as if timed perfectly.
Their tightly pressed lips and steady strides radiated determination.
Among the arriving craftsmen, many faces seemed vaguely familiar.
‘Blacksmiths I’ve passed by before. Seeing them like this, the vibe is completely different.’
Janson swallowed hard, staring at them. The reality was sinking in.
Just then, someone pointed at him.
“Henry, that kid…”
“He’s an Easton guard sent to find me. I told him to hide here until things calm down. It’s too dangerous to leave now.”
The suspicious glances from all directions vanished as quickly as they had appeared—a testament to their trust in Henry.
“They say the enemy’s heading to scout the coast tonight.”
“About a third of them, I heard. That’s a sizable number.”
“Henry’s plan hit the mark perfectly.”
“As expected of Gaff’s adopted son.”
Each person checked their weapons, tossing out comments.
They glanced at Henry with pride, their rough gestures as coarse as their words.
Henry, however, focused solely on sharpening his weapon, his eyes fierce as if he had no time for their praise.
‘Henry…’
Janson, feeling his friend seemed like a stranger amidst the thirty or forty blacksmiths, was shrinking into himself when—
“Everyone! Look over here! Urgent news, urgent news!”
A man, rushing in from somewhere, panted heavily. All eyes turned to him.
“What’s the rush, Smith?”
Smith, still catching his breath with hands on his knees, straightened up.
His voice trembled with urgency.
“An Imperial! An Imperial went into their hideout…! I-I saw it!”
“An Imperial?”
While the blacksmiths exchanged puzzled looks or tilted their heads as if it were no big deal, Henry, after a quick glance at Janson, approached Smith.
“Tell us slowly, Smith.”
“An armed Imperial, escorted with utmost care by the Family’s men, went into Roxley’s hideout!”
The blacksmiths began to murmur.
Anxious speculations passed through words and glances.
“…”
Henry’s eyes darted side to side.
Something clicked belatedly.
‘The Gunbel Trading Company!’
The Imperial trading company rumored to have dealings with the Roxley Family and the face of the Imperial Janson had been with earlier overlapped in his mind.
As he turned, Smith, wide-eyed, pointed behind Henry’s shoulder.
“That guy, the one you call your friend! The Imperial was with him! I’m sure of it!”
Janson, who had been cautiously approaching Henry, froze.
Icy glares poured in from all sides.
Suppressing a hiccup, Janson waved his hands.
“N-No…! It’s not what you all think…”
“What do we think, then?”
“I-I mean… I didn’t know anything from the start! I was just sent to find Henry…”
His defense came out in a flustered rush.
He stopped mid-sentence, realizing it himself.
Amidst this, he felt an odd clarity.
Normally, his face would’ve turned beet red, and he’d have babbled incoherently, but a corner of his mind was calming, like a breath of fresh air.
—Call me Cervantes.
That vivid memory, now a mental anchor, held his fleeing reason in place.
Perhaps because of it, Janson didn’t flinch when Henry strode right up to him.
Instead, the cocky attitude he used to show around Bill emerged.
“Bihen’s not that kind of guy. There’s some misunderstanding.”
“Can you take responsibility for that?”
“Of course. What, Henry, you think I’d snitch to the Roxley Family?”
“Everyone’s lives are on the line here. This isn’t about trusting you as a friend.”
“Fine, alright.”
Janson nodded.
His gaze, scanning the weapon crates, landed on a pike—a long pole with a sharp iron tip.
Thud.
Grabbing the pike’s middle, Janson held it horizontally toward Henry.
He was mimicking a scene from an illustration in a manual he’d once seen.
“I-I’ll fight too. I’ll stand at the front.”
He’d been uneasy about staying behind while sending Henry off.
It felt like an invisible Bihen was pushing him forward.
A single day together.
More than enough time to believe in ‘Cervantes.’
* * *
After hearing the lengthy explanation, I finally spoke.
“So, you already knew a rebellion was brewing, and the vacant forge slots were to be filled by outside craftsmen at a higher rent?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you’ve already won over some of the rebel group.”
“Indeed. It was a grand selection process to identify Canchester’s true night craftsmen.”
“…Quite the strategist, Sir Roxley.”
Despite the heavy plate armor, Roxley bowed awkwardly.
“To receive such praise from an Imperial warrior, I’m truly at a loss.”
I followed Roxley up a staircase.
Each step of his plate boots sent a resounding clang through the building.
“I now understand the plate armor. It was for tonight’s rebellion.”
“I hope those who perish tonight find peace seeing a fine knight’s example one last time. In my own way, it’s an act of mercy.”
Roxley, panting as he climbed slowly, spoke.
I matched his pace, mulling over his words.
The world was full of people gone astray in various ways.
Unable to comprehend, I asked directly.
“What did you say to deter Zephyros? They’re cunning enough not to miss this chance.”
“The Sharon Faction is full of vain men. I played on that. I hinted that chasing short-term gains would cost them more later. By the time this is over, they’ll show up late, as usual, just to save face.”
I recalled what I’d heard about the Kingdom’s affairs.
Jewel had said the Kingdom was chaotic due to two knight factions clashing, while Janson claimed they were all in cahoots.
But after the Crimson Flame Cult incident…
Neither was entirely correct, I concluded.
This was a tragic yet ordinary tale of the powerful trampling the weak, oppressing and crushing them.
In the end, it was always the powerless who lost—not the Sharon Faction, the Langster Faction, or any cult.
“How did you sway some of the rebel craftsmen?”
Roxley paused, gripping the railing, and stretched his back as if limbering up.
“Why do mayflies swarm toward light?”
“Well…”
“Mayflies are just that—mayflies. No tomorrow, only today. I merely offered them the possibility of a tomorrow.”
“Possibility.”
“Yes, possibility. What they call hope… Ugh, how embarrassing.”
How far had we climbed? The shouts from outside grew audible.
“Abolish the war preparation tax!”
“Sir Roxley! Don’t we deserve to live too?”
“Reconsider, Sir Roxley!”
I glanced at Roxley.
He grinned, savoring the cries as if they were music.
“My lord.”
Roxley, opening his eyes, suddenly clasped my hand in both of his.
“Stand by my side and witness this. It would mean a great deal.”
“…”
At the landing before the final step, I realized the structure I’d seen outside—shaped like a duck’s beak—was a terrace.
A red carpet ran through the staircase to the open platform.
Stained glass on either side gleamed eerily under the moonlight.
Roxley’s men stood in formation below.
“Father, preparations are complete.”
“Oh, my son. Let’s soar high.”
Clang, clang, clang, clang.
Roxley’s men bowed as he passed.
The outside clamor grew louder…
Finally, I stood beside Roxley, looking down at the scene below.
“Sir Roxley—!”
“Give us an answer! We don’t want this catastrophe either!”
The torches burning below looked desperate to me, struggling against the darkness.
“Look. So many mayflies have gathered.”
From up here, their faces were indistinct.
But they could surely see us clearly.
“My lord, I must say, I admire the Empire. Its law of the jungle made me who I am today. Allow me to express my gratitude.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Roxley nodded and stepped closer to the terrace railing.
As if possessed by the Imperial Emperor, he began a grand speech.
“The weak have no place in mighty Canchester—!”
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After his long speech, Roxley struck his breastplate with his fist.
Behind, his men clapped. Below, wails rivaling ghostly shrieks echoed.
“Charge! Bring down the tyrant!”
“Judge Roxley—!”
For some reason, Roxley, wearing a slimy smile, waved his hand like an orchestra conductor.
“What are you doing…! N-No, betrayal?!”
“Edric! Gordon! Where are you going?!”
From above, the scene of betrayal unfolded.
The mass of torchlight, once unified, peeled apart like a shell, splitting in all directions.
“Oh, what a spectacle.”
Roxley marveled.
Then, his ambushing men joined the defectors, escorting them…
Leaving only a faint ember in the center.
“Roxley! Come down! Watch us die resisting!”
The voice tearing through the silence below was that of a young man, somehow familiar.
I responded softly.
“Well said.”
“…Pardon?”
“I was once down there too. But I feel I was weaker than them. I wandered without even holding a torch.”
“My lord, what are you…”
“It’s time I held a torch too.”
I stepped back two paces, then kicked Roxley’s back with all my might.
Clang!
“Uwaaaah—!!”
A satisfying series of crashes ended with a meteor-like thud.
Murmurs rose from below…
“Oh, Father!”
Looking at Roxley’s panicking men, I stood on the railing.
“If you’re wronged, come down.”
I drew my sword, running my frost-coated index and middle fingers along the blade.
A white flame ignited.
Thud!
In the brief moment I hung in the air, the view below was clear.
A certainty struck me.
The faint ember below, combined with the white flame of my sword, burned brighter and fiercer than the surrounding fires.