The Devil’s Sacred Sword (1)
Dalen spent a full week resting at the inn.
It was the third time he’d suffered from overexerting his strength, and this time, the aftereffects were the worst.
The first time he tore a goblin apart with his bare hands, he only had mild muscle soreness for a few days.
Considering he didn’t even have the regenerative factor of dragon blood back then, it was just a minor strain.
When he sliced a merchant guild leader in half, it was more serious. He was out cold for an entire day.
And now, the third time…
Crack!
”…Damn it.”
Even after a week, he was still plagued by chronic muscle pain.
“Curse this medieval land. Not a single pain relief patch in sight.”
Dalen grumbled as he got out of bed, the frame creaking under his massive weight.
Still, his body had improved significantly over the past week.
For the first three days, he was completely bedridden, his body constantly regenerating from the brink of death thanks to the dragon blood.
By the fourth day, he could move around despite some muscle pain.
But Dalen didn’t step outside his room.
There wasn’t a particular reason. He just felt like it.
“I did need a break.”
He thought as he massaged his stiff shoulders.
Since arriving in the city, he had been running non-stop.
Retrieving the first corpse, taking on Sienna’s request.
Starting with the sewer mage, he dealt with the silver-masked apostles one by one, eventually getting caught up in their grand scheme and waging a war.
It had been a few weeks filled with events and gains.
A bit of idle time as a small reward to himself was necessary.
”…Maybe I’ve been too idle.”
The thought crossed his mind, but he shook his head.
Even the psychiatrists on Earth emphasized the importance of rest.
Experts are experts for a reason.
Grrrr.
”…”
His stomach growled loudly from the morning.
Dalen rubbed his belly and left the room.
Crackle. Crackle.
In the spacious living room, the only sound was the crackling of the fireplace.
A teapot hung at a safe distance, keeping warm, and a breakfast spread that could be called a feast was laid out on the table.
This was the best room at the Sword and Shield Inn, and even the stay was free.
Of course, it wasn’t originally free.
Volkmar Gallios, the head of the Gallios Trading Company, was covering the cost for Dalen.
As one of the biggest beneficiaries of recent events, it was his way of repaying the favor.
In the process of wiping out the Apostles of Regression, Dalen had toppled the Telia Trading Company, causing a storm in the local market.
The monopoly held by the company was broken up and distributed among other merchants, and the shrewd Gallios Trading Company wasn’t one to miss such an opportunity.
According to a letter from Sienna, the Gallios Trading Company might soon take the place of the former Telia Trading Company.
Having gained such a large piece of the pie, Volkmar was eager to do more for Dalen.
Though Dalen had locked himself in his room for a week, refusing to see anyone, leaving Volkmar at the door several times.
“Mm. Delicious.”
Dalen ate breakfast while opening a letter from Sienna.
Hidden cleverly between slices of bread, it was hard to tell if it was a piece of cheese or paper at first glance.
While Dalen was holed up in his room, Sienna had been sending him daily updates on the rapidly changing city situation.
She had gained a lot indirectly from the recent events, so it was a kind of service.
It felt like receiving a newspaper with hotel breakfast, a nostalgic touch.
“Your request box is about to burst from all the requests in your name. And big shots who never showed their faces are visiting the tavern multiple times. If you plan to visit soon, be careful. More people recognize you now.”
Looks like I’ve become a celebrity without meaning to.
Dalen chuckled as he folded the letter.
He tossed the folded letter into the fireplace and finished his breakfast.
This top-tier room even included room service for meals.
Of course, it was quite pricey, but since Volkmar was paying, it didn’t matter.
A stew brimming with beans, onions, and meat sat in a small pot, accompanied by freshly baked bread of various kinds.
There was a large bowl of salad and grilled fish that seemed to have been shipped directly from the northern district.
The meal was topped off with a refreshing glass of beer filled with ice.
“Ahh.”
In just a few minutes, Dalen had devoured the seasonal fruit served as dessert, wiped his hands and mouth with a damp towel, and stood up.
Having rested well, it was time to get busy again.
After a week of seclusion, he had a lot of catching up to do.
“Let’s start with the Crow’s Nest.”
Dalen strapped on a belt over his tunic and casually tucked in a hand axe.
If Sienna went out of her way to leave such a letter, it meant his reputation had spread throughout the city.
Hiding was one option, but Dalen didn’t feel like doing that.
“Flies will keep swarming anyway.”
His fame was only going to grow, and those trying to leech off him would only increase without intervention.
To prevent any mishaps caused by them, it was time to draw a clear line.
“A shock treatment for the flies.”
Time to swat some flies.
Dalen left the room, casually patting the axe at his waist.
That afternoon, on the main street of the southern district, often associated with the Bronze District.
Dalen wove through the bustling late afternoon crowd and turned into an alley.
Crunch. Crunch.
The cobblestones gradually gave way to dirt paths, and the number of streetlamps noticeably decreased.
Surprisingly, there weren’t many thugs or vagrants wandering the streets.
Even considering the time of day, it was a much more relaxed atmosphere compared to usual.
It seemed the recent storm had just passed.
The city guards had swept through the alleys, so everyone was lying low for a while.
The powers that be in the back alleys knew.
The Bronze Guards didn’t neglect the alleys because they were weak, but because they were short-staffed.
Swoosh.
Dalen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small badge.
In the late afternoon sunlight, the gold-embossed mercenary badge gleamed brightly.
Before heading to Sienna’s tavern, he had stopped by the Bronze Guards.
When a client offers a reward, it’s a mercenary’s duty to collect it, even if it means seeking them out.
“I spoke with the Mercenary Guild and arranged for this to be treated as an official request from the Bronze Guards. It’s a modest reward compared to your contributions, but please accept it.”
Captain Gawain had said, handing him the gold badge and thirty gold coins.
In addition to enhancing his abilities by collecting a bunch of corpses, he had also received a material reward for his efforts.
The more money, the better.
Reputation and status, if handled well, could also be valuable resources.
Enjoying the weight of the money pouch he received with the gold badge, Dalen leisurely made his way to Sienna’s tavern.
[Crow’s Nest]
[Business Hours: 4 PM - 2 AM]
Entering the tavern, which had opened slightly earlier than usual, he was met with an unexpected scene.
“The Gallios Trading Company is expanding into textiles…”
“I heard several guard posts are under investigation. Apparently, the captain was a traitor?”
“Have you been to the Philopon Orchards? Oh, you must be new to the city.”
Every table was packed with two or three patrons.
The air was filled with the scent of tobacco and alcohol.
Given the earlier opening hours, the tavern’s usual rowdiness wasn’t surprising.
But even considering that, the number of patrons was noticeably higher than usual.
It wasn’t hard to guess why.
Creak.
The noise in the tavern ebbed like a receding tide as Dalen descended the half-basement stairs.
“So, the one from the east…”
“Shh.”
”…”
The chatter quieted.
All eyes focused on one person.
Thud. Thud.
By the time Dalen, with a nonchalant expression, approached the bar, the tavern had fallen into complete silence.
Dozens of eyes were fixed on a single figure.
“One Melond Highlander, please.”
Dalen ordered a drink from the bartender, unfazed by the attention.
Clink.
Bourbon, who had been polishing a glass, poured the drink with practiced ease.
Meanwhile, Dalen casually surveyed the tavern.
“Ahem! Ahem! So, about that deal…”
“Is it true they’re expanding the fish farms in the northern district?”
Under Dalen’s steady gaze, the patrons awkwardly cleared their throats and resumed their conversations.
“Alright, let’s just enjoy our drinks.”
Dalen chuckled softly and accepted the glass of bourbon handed to him. As he sipped, he noticed that the other guests had also ordered an impressive array of drinks and snacks—fine spirits, wines, and an assortment of dried fruits and pastries to match.
“The bar’s profits must have doubled tonight,” he mused silently, taking another sip of the strong liquor.
Just then, a loud voice cut through the chatter.
“Hey, isn’t that the famous hero from the Bronze District? It’s not every day you see a face like yours around here!”
A slightly tipsy man staggered over, but Dalen ignored him, focusing instead on his drink. The man, feigning camaraderie, slung an arm over Dalen’s shoulder and leaned an elbow on the bar.
Who does this guy think he is?
“Bartender! I’ll have what this mercenary’s having—Melandro Highlander, was it?”
Dalen glanced at the man with a disinterested eye. The first thing he noticed was the man’s imperial-style clothing, made from luxurious fabric. A flashy sword hung from his ornate belt, and his hair and beard were slicked with oil. His southern drawl was unmistakable.
It didn’t take long for Dalen to size him up: a young noble from the Empire, inexperienced and naive.
Barely in his twenties, the young noble, trying to appear older with his long beard, patted Dalen’s shoulder and said, “For a silver-ranked mercenary, you’ve got quite the reputation! But no matter how famous you are, you shouldn’t be so aloof.”
His voice was full of feigned confidence, but the underlying anxiety was easy to detect. Dalen decided to deal with this nuisance before it became a real bother.
“Do you know how many times I’ve come to this bar looking for you—”
“Just enjoy your drink.”
Dalen’s voice was low and threatening. The young noble flinched and fell silent.
“Uh, uh…”
He stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and landing on his backside with a thud.
The young noble sprawled awkwardly on the floor, while his bodyguard, who had been glaring daggers at Dalen, drew his sword and shouted, “You scoundrel! Do you know who you’ve just laid hands on? This is Baron Sebron’s third son, a loyal subject of the Great Empire!”
What a pair of fools.
Dalen downed the rest of his drink in one go. Placing the empty glass on the bar, he fixed the bodyguard with a fierce smile.
“Well, I can see he’s just a brat.”
“How dare you—”
So that’s how it’s going to be.
As expected, the bodyguard swung his sword, and time seemed to slow for Dalen.
Swoosh—
The arc of the sword was so slow it was almost yawn-inducing. Dalen’s heightened senses and sharp intellect allowed him to consider his options leisurely.
Should I kill him here?
Or just beat him up and throw him out?
“Honestly, killing him wouldn’t be a big deal.”
There were over a hundred people with the title of baron in the Empire. Besides, this wasn’t the Empire; it was the heart of the city-state alliance led by Falcion. Killing the bodyguard of a baron’s third son wouldn’t cause much trouble.
“But once you get a reputation as a savage, it’s hard to shake.”
His main concern was his reputation. Everyone in the bar had heard of Dalen, and his actions here would shape his public image.
Appearing weak was the worst. But being seen as a ruthless barbarian wasn’t much better.
What would be the best course of action?
Just as he pondered this, five presences cut through his slowed perception of time.
Dalen smiled inwardly. Letting the owner handle it was always the best option.
Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack!
Time resumed its normal pace, and five arrows embedded themselves in the bodyguard’s limbs.
All eyes turned from Dalen to the source of the arrows. Dalen followed their gaze.
Click.
The sound of low heels on the wooden floor. A woman with long black hair expertly loaded a five-shot crossbow.
“Unbelievable. You’ve been mooching off cheap drinks for days, and now you’re waving weapons at my guest?”
The tavern owner and information broker, Sienna, finished reloading, her brow furrowed in irritation. She pressed her foot down on the bleeding bodyguard’s head and aimed the crossbow at his chest.
“There’s a limit to how much trouble you can cause. Do Imperial knights think this labyrinth city is some kind of rat’s nest?”