The Merchant and the Blacksmith (4)
A sudden silence fell over the street. All eyes turned to where the disc of light had come to a halt.
“A spell…?”
What had appeared to be a disc of light was actually a hand axe.
The axe had split the stone slab cleanly in two and buried its head deep into the ground beneath.
“Isn’t it a spell?”
Someone muttered weakly.
The first to regain his senses was the thug holding a dagger to Penny’s throat.
“Shit! Get it together, everyone! We’re under atta—ugh!”
The thug, who had been shouting, suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed. His back was caved in as if struck by a massive hammer.
As the thug fell, Penny, whom he had been holding, staggered as well.
A gentle hand caught her.
“Idiots.”
Next to the fallen thug’s body, Dalen emerged from the mist and spat on the ground.
He carefully laid the unconscious Penny on the ground and raised his blood-stained fist.
The thugs glanced between Dalen’s fist, his cloak fluttering in the winter wind, and the hand axe embedded in the ground, their only weapon.
Then someone shouted.
“He’s unarmed! Now’s our chance!”
“Shit, shit!”
“Get him!”
The thugs charged with a roar.
Dalen smirked.
“Ugh. A monster…”
Crack!
A thug, dragging a broken leg as he tried to flee, had his neck twisted and died.
Dalen looked down at the fallen thug’s body for a moment. He snorted, then hoisted Penny, who was lying on the street, onto his shoulder.
“Who… who are you…?”
The blacksmith, Reberon, stammered, his face a picture of disbelief.
It had taken Dalen less than five minutes to deal with nearly forty thugs.
If they tried to stab him, he deflected the blade or broke their wrists. If they rushed him, he simply punched them in the face.
He was the man who had fought through an army of frogmen without a weapon.
These local thugs were no match for him.
In fact, it was more challenging to hold back enough to avoid harming Reberon or the other townsfolk.
Fortunately, he managed to control his strength well enough that the thugs died with their necks twisted or their spines snapped.
‘No matter what, I can’t leave forty bodies strewn about the main street.’
Dalen retrieved the axe from the stone slab and approached Reberon, who was still gaping.
“Here, twenty-six gold coins.”
Reberon accepted the pouch with a bewildered expression.
He stared at the pouch for a moment before speaking in a slightly trembling voice.
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
Dalen shrugged.
“There’s no harm in being friends with a blacksmith. Like I said, just make me some good armor. And a sword and shield.”
Reberon was silent. Hmm, maybe he needed some time.
Leaving the dazed blacksmith behind, Dalen grabbed one of the thugs by the collar.
“Ugh, ugh!”
“Playing dead, are we?”
The thug, bleeding from the wrist and with one leg grotesquely twisted, was the one who had been threatening Reberon and caressing Penny’s face earlier.
He seemed to be the leader of this gang, so Dalen had spared him.
He needed to know why the Telia Trading Company was going to such extremes.
“Are you the leader of these thugs?”
“Ugh. Yes, I am.”
“Name.”
”…Bankal.”
The thug, who called himself Bankal, glanced at Dalen with a look of resentment, his eyes filled with malice. Dalen asked.
“Do you know me?”
“Know you? Of course, I do. You’re the one who slaughtered our inn members ten days ago! The grudge of those who suffered that day… ugh!”
Too much talking.
Dalen gave the thug leader’s cheek a light pat and pointed to the pouch Reberon was holding.
“Twenty-six florins, including this month’s interest.”
“Ugh, ugh.”
“But that’s not what your bosses want, is it?”
The thug leader, spitting out broken teeth, shook his head vigorously. The malice in his eyes was gone, replaced by a docile look.
“Then tell me.”
Dalen lifted the thug by the collar again, this time bringing their eyes level.
The thug’s feet dangled off the ground as he struggled.
“What did the trading company tell you?”
“They said to capture everyone.”
“Who?”
“Artisans. Merchants. Capture them, or if that’s not possible, kill them.”
“Who ordered this?”
The thug hesitated. Dalen tightened his grip on the collar.
As the thug choked and gasped, Dalen asked once more.
“Who gave the order?”
“Te-Telia… the head of the Telia Trading Company… Boris Telia… ugh, ugh!”
The thug suddenly screamed.
At that moment, Dalen’s heightened senses detected something amiss.
Inside the thug’s body.
Something was writhing.
Amidst the pounding heart, gasping lungs, and tense muscles, there was a strange, foreign sensation.
Thump.
The pulse quickened.
“Haaah.”
The exhalation carried a foul stench of blood.
Seeing the light in the thug’s eyes flicker, Dalen immediately hurled him against a building wall.
Roar!
Even as he flew through the air, the thug howled like a beast.
Thud―!
As he hit the wall and bounced off, blood and flesh sprayed from his back.
Without hesitation, Dalen charged and swung his axe down.
Grrk―!
The thug’s head, which had begun to twist grotesquely, fell to the ground with a thud.
Crack. Crackle.
The headless body twitched and convulsed.
The skin turned a dark red, and the limbs began to be covered in something like scales. The way it clawed at the ground was like something out of a horror movie.
Fortunately, the convulsions didn’t last long. After all, a body without a head was a dead body.
”…What on earth?”
As Dalen watched the limp body, Reberon spoke up.
“What is that thing?”
Dalen answered briefly.
“A monster.”
A monster.
The main force of the Apostles of Regression.
Their technique for granting regenerative abilities was still lacking in many ways, but the process of turning someone into a monster was already effective enough for practical use at this point.
Even an ordinary human, once subjected to the procedure, could become a monster with strength surpassing that of a grown man.
Under the orders of high-ranking apostles, they moved strategically, a monstrous army that charged without regard for severed limbs.
And unlike creatures like the frogmen, the monster army could be produced explosively in a short time.
The slums were full of beggars.
Kidnapping them for the procedure was all it took.
“Damn it.”
It seemed they had made a decision.
These monsters were not something to be unleashed near the main street.
Even though the Bronze Guard rarely interfered with back alley affairs, they were extremely thorough when it came to civil unrest.
Moreover, kidnapping artisans and merchants to exploit their skills and wealth meant one thing.
Swoosh.
Dalen tucked the axe into his belt and handed Penny, who was still slung over his shoulder, to Reberon.
“Take her inside and lay her down. She just lost consciousness for a moment from being choked, so she should be fine.”
“Where are you going?”
Reberon asked, holding Penny. Dalen turned his gaze to the mist-filled street.
“To the Gallios Trading Company. The gold in your hand came from their vault.”
He nudged one of the bodies lying on the ground with his foot.
“It seems these thugs are targeting one of my wealthy clients.”
Hiring thugs to conscript people.
And some of those thugs had already undergone the monster transformation procedure.
Dalen knew what the Telia Trading Company’s actions signified.
‘The Apostles of Regression. They’re accelerating their grand plan.’
Their grand plan was to realize the will of the Great Apostle to bring down the seven walls.
In other words, they were preparing for an all-out war with the city.
And once they had decided on all-out war, they would eliminate anything that stood in their way.
Dalen was concerned about the safety of the Gallios Trading Company’s head.
‘The request they want to entrust to me is related to the Telia Trading Company.’
The fact that they were looking to hire a mercenary with a sword suggested that the trading company head didn’t have a good relationship with the Telia Trading Company.
If he didn’t hurry, he might lose a trading company that could become a great ally in the future.
‘Volkma, that old man, is a bit of a chatterbox and a miser.’
But for a merchant, being a bit of a miser was only natural.
It also meant he was competent, which could be very useful in the future.
Step.
Dalen began to walk into the mist-filled street.
He paused for a moment, glanced back, and said.
“Keep your doors locked for a few days.”
”…”
“I’ll come back for my armor and weapons once the job’s done.”
The towering warrior disappeared into the shadows of the alley.
Lebeon couldn’t bring himself to respond.
Dalen sprinted down the alleyway.
Falcion was a sprawling, intricate city, and the distance from the blacksmith to the Galleos Trading Company’s branch was considerable, even by carriage.
To make matters worse, the morning crowd was beginning to swell along the main street, promising to add even more time to his journey.
“Damn it. It’s already getting crowded.”
Dalen halted at the alley’s exit.
The street ahead was already teeming with people, horses, and carriages, leaving no room to maneuver.
Damn traffic.
He pushed off with his toes.
Thud!
With a light push, his body soared into the air.
Grabbing a window ledge, he pulled himself up, kicking off the wall again.
Thud! Thud!
After a few repetitions, he found himself on the roof of a four-story building.
“Let’s go.”
Dalen resumed his run.
Ignoring the throngs below, he leaped from rooftop to rooftop.
Someone spotted him and screamed, but Dalen paid no mind.
This wasn’t Earth, where everyone would whip out their phones and the internet would explode with the news.
“Not that I’d be rooftop-hopping on Earth anyway.”
The thought made him chuckle. Sweat beaded on his brow. Dalen’s speed was akin to a galloping horse on flat ground.
For the first time in a while, he felt both his body and mind heat up with excitement.
Ten days in the city had been enough for his extraordinary intellect to map out his own mental guide.
In his mind, a three-dimensional navigation of the Bronze District unfolded.
Of course, it was different from a real navigation system.
He ignored all the conventional paths, carving out the straightest route possible.
Thud!
He leaped off another ledge. The trading company’s branch came into view.
That’s when his heightened senses picked up on something suspicious.
“Looks like we have some guests.”
Dalen focused his senses on them.
Creak—click.
The sound of a pulley drawing a taut string, a trigger being set. The perfect setup for a sniper.
Assassins. Professional snipers armed with crossbows.
Dalen didn’t stop. Chasing them down one by one would be a waste of time.
The snipers were positioned around the trading company’s building. Their target was clear.
“The head of the Galleos Trading Company.”
Dalen’s eyes scanned the building quickly.
Early morning. The workers had already started, but the head wouldn’t be up yet.
“The head’s quarters are on the fourth floor… there.”
Through the faintly refracted sunlight on the window, Dalen’s keen vision spotted the head of the Galleos Trading Company.
He was still in his pajamas.
“Just woke up, huh?”
Dalen smirked. He took a deep breath, using his momentum to propel himself forward.
Crack!
The plaster roof beneath him split.
Boom!
His massive form soared through the air, crossing over the street and crashing through the fourth-floor window.
Crash!
“What the—who are you?”
Volkma, still in his pajamas, froze in shock. Dalen rolled across the carpet and immediately strode toward him.
With a firm grip, he seized Volkma’s shoulder.
“D-Dalen?! Why are you—?”
“Get down.”
Galleos instinctively threw himself to the floor, a survival instinct honed by years of experience.
Whizz—whizz—whizz!
A chilling sound of arrows slicing through the air passed by his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut instinctively.
An eternity seemed to pass in a single moment.
“There you are.”
Volkma opened his eyes to Dalen’s usual calm voice.
In Dalen’s hands were four arrows, caught mid-flight. He spoke again.
“Stay under the bed for now.”
“Y-yes, alright.”
Volkma hurriedly crawled under the bed.
The last thing he saw was Dalen, grinning fiercely as he drew his axe.