Chapter 46: City of Fanatics (7)

Nike headed straight toward the table where food had been laid out, then furrowed his brow.

‘Annoying.’

From outside the castle, he felt multiple presences. Killing intent, all directed this way. Individually they seemed insignificant, but there were so many that they formed a collective swarm.

Vigo and Rowen seemed to sense it too, their brows tightening.

It was the reason they could not relax even inside the castle. The Golden Dawn still hunted Nike, and they were no doubt watching everyone who entered or left the castle.

‘They might have infiltrated already.’

Rowen let out a low sigh, reminded once again that this place was not safe, and sat at the table. Vigo also did not lower his guard.

The only one who appeared unconcerned was Nike.

Once everyone sat down, Count Simas spread his hands and said,

“Now then, the table is well stocked, so please enjoy yourselves. Before a fight, one must eat plenty to have strength, don’t you agree?”

“That’s true!”

Nike immediately reached toward the roasted turkey dish he had been eyeing.

Tap!

Rowen’s hand caught Nike’s wrist.

Nike rolled his eyes toward her.

Rowen only shook her head with her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Vigo spoke.

“As guests, I know this may seem discourteous, but for today we must decline. We will accept your sentiment instead.”

“What, what do you mean by that?”

Vigo fixed his gaze on the window. The unpleasant presences outside were still directed toward them, and there was no guarantee those hostile eyes had not slipped inside the castle as well.

“Look at the circumstances. Trusting someone we only met today completely would be foolish.”

“Now, now. My castle is safe. Do you think the food has been poisoned!?”

“Of course.”

Instead of enjoying the feast, Vigo pulled out a piece of bread from inside his cloak. The same dry rations hunters ate endlessly while on missions.

Rowen pulled one out too and handed it to Nike.

“Here, fill your stomach with this.”

“Hah…?”

Nike’s face twisted in despair.

With a banquet spread out before him, was he really being told to eat dry bread?

“Vice boss. This is abuse.”

“Whatever you say.”

Smack!

When Nike reached again toward the food, Rowen smacked the back of his hand.

“No.”

“Unfair.”

The count’s mood soured.

Even if witch hunters were clergy recognized by the Hall of the City God, at their core they were still lowborn. Those who became witch hunters abandoned their status and were reborn as ascetics.

That such people would dare reject a meal he, a count, had prepared! If not for the current situation, he would have thrown them out at once.

Yet Vigo’s suspicion was reasonable. To think the food might be poisoned was only natural.

‘If I get angry here, I’ll only lose face.’

The witch hunters were merely refusing to neglect their duty.

“It’s partly my fault. I should have been more careful… damn it…!”

Pierre, who had been silent until now, chimed in, playing the part of a man crushed by guilt.

That small addition helped draw out the count’s apology. If blame was shared, then guilt was lessened, and it became easier for the noble to lower his pride.

“Hm. I understand. In truth, I share in the fault. This is embarrassing. Hahaha.”

The count scratched his head with a forced smile. He had no choice but to suppress his anger, because he needed their help.

“Thank you for understanding. Once this is resolved, I will host you properly then.”

“That would be best.”

The count raised his wine glass.

“I swear to you the food is safe. Only the best ingredients were used.”

“Heh. We’re just like this because of our jobs. Do understand us.”

“A hard profession indeed.”

The count took a sip of wine.

A bite of bread dipped in soup.

A slice of meat, carefully cut and eaten.

“Mm. The chef did a fine job, I see.”

He raised his brows and shoulders as he savored the dish, showing there was no poison.

Regardless, the three witch hunters chewed only on their hard bread. To say they did not want the well-prepared meal would be a lie, especially after such a hard day.

To distract himself from his hunger, Vigo opened his mouth.

“You seem very interested in martial arts. Quite the collection too. I enjoyed the display.”

The count paused mid-bite.

“Oh? Do you think so? You must mean the weapons displayed in the drawing room. Yes, you’re right.”

“You’ve studied more deeply than most it seems.”

The count’s eyes gleamed at Vigo’s words.

“Sharp indeed. As expected of a witch hunter. For a man, isn’t martial training a basic virtue? A male must be strong. I must protect my people and my domain.”

He spoke like an excited child, rambling mostly about weapons and martial skills.

“One day I too wish to taste the ultimate realm of martial arts. They say there are hunters who reached such heights, no?”

“Well, a long time ago there was a genius who wielded the sword as though it were magic.”

“Remarkable. I would love to see that.”

The two debated martial arts for a while. As a true warrior, Vigo entertained him, while the count spoke enthusiastically.

‘He actually knows very little.’

So it was just another pretentious noble’s hobby, polished to look grand. None around him would dare correct the truth.

“Teach me sometime. I’ll invite you.”

“Anytime.”

After a bit more small talk, Vigo shifted the topic.

“Now then… we’d like to hear the information you have.”

“Ah, yes.”

The count quickly set down his utensils and wiped his lips. His expression turned grim. Of course food would not go down easily in such times. It was better not to eat at all.

“They began to take the city in earnest about half a year ago. At first it was subtle, but by the time I noticed, it was too late to stop them…”

“No surprise.”

That cunning and dangerous group would easily overwhelm a complacent noble. The fact that he even noticed deserved some credit.

“I tried to act. I organized troops, attempted raids, strengthened law enforcement, but it was too late.”

The city had already fallen to the Golden Dawn. Every plan he made was exposed and thwarted. With enemy eyes and ears everywhere, he had no chance.

“So… I rooted out spies again and again, and in the end… I had no one left to trust. Even the city guard I brought with me earlier was the last of them. The rest can’t be relied on.”

“Looked like less than a hundred, no?”

“Correct. At this point, they can’t even maintain city order, let alone defend the inner walls.”

The city was suffocating, and the witch hunters had arrived just before it was strangled to death. If it could even be called luck, it was divine luck.

“You are my last hope. Please, please help me.”

“We understand your plight. What I want to know is their information. Without it we can’t plan.”

The count downed his wine in one go, then spoke again.

“I bled out nearly forty percent of my personal fortune and lost close to a hundred men to acquire what I know.”

Nike chewed his dry bread but pricked up his ears.

“They are not ordinary heretics. They sent some of their top members here. I believe at least two of their highest leaders are staying in Banyaksenir.”

“Two?”

“I don’t… know their names myself.”

Rowen broke in.

“One must be that noblewoman we saw earlier.”

“If she’s one of the Seven Seats, then she’s a leader of the Third Order too. That’s the pinnacle. If another is here too, then he must be just as dangerous.”

“What? What are you all talking about? You know something?”

Vigo waved his hand.

“That’s classified by the Church. Is that all you know? If so, I’ll be disappointed.”

The count ground his teeth in anger, feeling as if Vigo had begun to treat him dismissively.

“Nonsense! Do you know how much I invested to get this intelligence?”

“Then speak.”

“The most important… their base of operations. Where they hide.”

Vigo’s brows rose. The count fidgeted nervously with his fingers.

“That would be the most useful thing you’ve said so far.”

The count pushed aside his plate, clasped his hands, and rested his chin on them.

“There is a sewer system running beneath the river through the city. Banyaksenir’s great pride.”

“Yes, the city was indeed clean.”

“Exactly. But now, it’s being used as the heretics’ lair.”

“Is this reliable information?”

The count shook his head.

“Everyone sent down there died. Bodies floated out at the river’s end. Or they simply vanished.”

“One of my own informants too!”

Even Pierre spoke up, as though confirming it. Circumstances made it clear the lair was indeed there.

“Then it’s settled. Master, we must head there. All sewers connect eventually.”

“Good. The objective is clear.”

It was better not to waste time with drawn-out plans. They adapted quickly.

Vigo looked at Nike.

Nike chewed his bread with a sulky face.

“Nike. Did you understand?”

“I understand.”

Even if he looked distracted, Nike always listened. Vigo and Rowen knew better than to nag him.

“Uh… That’s all?”

The count asked, surprised at how quickly a conclusion was reached.

“What more is there? The destination is decided. We just go.”

“Shouldn’t we um… plan more concrete operations? You aren’t telling my soldiers to just sit idle, right?”

“I am. Bring them and they’ll only be baggage. Just pretend to strengthen the castle’s defenses as usual. That’s enough.”

“Baggage?! How rude!”

Vigo ignored the petty argument. He began issuing orders.

“We three will move alone. Pierre, focus on recovering here.”

“…No. I will go with you. To lie here would disgrace me!”

“How are you going to move with that body? You’ll only slow us down.”

“…”

It was payback for his earlier arrogance. Pierre faltered, humiliated.

“A wounded hunter doesn’t join a witch hunt. The Scales are no different in that regard, I believe.”

Vigo patted his shoulder with a sly smile.

“You’re right. I’ll stay.”

Pierre forced a calm smile, knowing he had no choice.

“Then before we leave, let’s tie up loose ends.”

“Loose ends?”

The count raised his head in confusion.

Thud!

“Argh—!”

A dagger slammed into the back of Pierre’s hand on the table. He screamed, and Rowen immediately pinned his other hand with a table knife.

“Agh! What are you doing?!”

“W-What is this…?”

The count’s eyes shook, shocked by the sudden violence.

* * *

— You have a task to do.

When Vigo spoke, Rowen turned back from following Nike. Her mentor’s voice was dead serious, and Rowen straightened.

— Watch Pierre closely.

— What? Surely not…

Rowen’s eyes widened. Was her suspicion correct?

— Check the wound he took earlier. Something was off.

Vigo suspected Pierre. Rowen obeyed, examining the injury.

The direction of the wound was strange.

* * *

“I thought about it for a while. Why were we discovered the instant we entered the city, I wonder.”

“Uuugh… my hand…!”

Vigo sat himself on the table and drove the dagger deeper into Pierre’s hand.

“Arghhh…!”

“I was careful, so very careful. We disguised ourselves in ways that don’t suit my years. I thought it would last at least a day. Yet we were found in half a day. Damn ridiculous.”

“W-What are you saying, Vigo! Ah, fuck! Please pull it out!”

“Pierre. My patience is thin.”

Vigo shoved his fingers into the wound, tearing the flesh apart. Pierre screamed like a beast.

“Ahhh! Huff! Damn it… you crazy old bastard…!”

“They knew everything from the start. That we were coming, where to meet, the exact time, and even our number.”

Vigo declared,

“There had to be a spy inside.”

“H-Hah, huff… Why do you suspect me? Maybe an idiot of yours spilled something by accident!”

“Me? No chance. I know myself, and I didn’t. Rowen. Nike. Did either of you betray us?”

“No.”

“I’m innocent!”

“See?”

“Y-You call this logic?!”

Vigo wiped his bloody fingers across Pierre’s face.

“You accuse me with nothing but suspicion? No wonder people say the Silver Blades are reckless fools. Do you even have proof, you bastard—?!”

“Proof? Yes. The kind you Scales followers worship. Tangible proof.”

Vigo grinned coldly.

“The wound on your side. The angle doesn’t match. It wasn’t from another’s blade.”

“What…?”

“We already checked. It was self-inflicted, wasn’t it? A deliberate strike carefully avoiding your vital spots.”

“…”

Pierre’s expression, furious moments before, fell cold.

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