The moon hung like a hook; a cool breeze stirred.
The commotion finally drew the attention of other night watchmen in the caravans. A few approached with torches, cautious at first. Seeing the mess and the trussed-up bandits, they startled, then caught on and thanked Shane and Erza in turn.
"Really, thank you!"
"You two are incredible!"
"Just lending a hand," Shane said with an easy smile—while thinking, Less talk, more tip would be nice.
He waved it off like it was nothing, then steered the topic aside. "By the way, the bandit chief said there's been talk of a wish-granting tavern in Shirotaon. Funny rumor, huh?"
At once, the chorus of thanks thinned. Most smiles went stiff; eyes slid away; expressions turned odd.
The air went taut.
"Hahaha!" A big laugh cracked the silence. A burly fellow in a leather apron, leading a packhorse, spoke first: "Wish tavern? Don't buy it. Just going to gawk."
With someone breaking the ice, the rest chuckled weakly, muttered "yeah, yeah," "probably just talk," and found excuses to drift back to their wagons.
So… maybe there's something to it after all? Shane filed their reactions away, curiosity pricking.
With things wrapped, they caught a short nap by the fire before dawn.
At first light, caravans bustled, loading goods and getting ready to roll.
Shane tossed the bandits' confiscated weapons into the wagon—"spoils," barely—thinking maybe the smith could bundle them with the delivery and squeeze a bit more coin.
Then came the prisoner problem.
The wagon was packed; no room to haul men. No one else dared take them. After some back-and-forth, they strung the bandits together with hemp rope and tied them to the smith's tailboard to drag along.
It slowed them, inevitably.
Noel stared at the drooping chain and grimaced, but had no better idea.
By late afternoon, with the sun westering, the sulfur-tinged walls of the hot-spring city finally took shape ahead.
Inside the gate, the mood felt… off.
Near the entrance street was normal enough, but deeper in, the noise thickened. One turn later, the sight stopped them cold.
An entire long street looked flattened by a giant rolling through—a straight gouge cut dead center from end to end.
Wooden stalls, stone planters, brick-and-tile shops—anything along that line had been crushed and scraped flat, leaving a debris-littered corridor.
A knot of craftsmen, men and women, argued hotly—faces taut with anger and a touch of fear.
"…Had to be a mage! No ordinary person could do this!"
"The city guard's out looking—they'll catch whoever did it!"
"Damn it, I just fixed this shop—and now the street is gone!"
A mage? Underground mages working in the open? Shane's brow twitched. He wanted no part of it.
"Erza, you and Noel handle the delivery. I'll take this lot to the guard," he said quickly.
Erza nodded. She glanced at the scar down the street, said nothing, and followed Noel toward the merchants' guild that handled the smith's goods.
Shane hauled the line of "grasshoppers" toward the city guard. No doubt they were swamped; best to dump the trouble early.
As expected, the guard post was chaos—men in and out, busy with the "mage vandalism."
Hearing he was there to turn in bandits, the desk guard was curt and impatient.
They merely confirmed the leader was on a wanted circular with a 50,000 J bounty, then hustled through the handover. No interest in the details.
Shane didn't care about their attitude—what irked him was how quickly the henchmen were tossed into cells with the boss. He worried whether they'd later "cosplay" someone they shouldn't.
But the fresh-inked bills in his hand tugged a smile out of him fast enough.
"Fifty thousand J…" he murmured, mood lifting. One bandit chief paid better than the entire escort—an unexpected win.
"Cleaned up," he grinned, and stopped thinking about streets, taverns, or headaches. He'd be gone tomorrow, none of it his concern.
"Oh right—the hot springs."
Whistling, he headed for the guild to meet up with the others.
At the door, he saw Noel with a well-dressed middle-aged man, standing over several opened crates.
Erza stood off to the side, arms folded and looking sour. Noel's head drooped like a frostbitten eggplant.
The middle-aged man—probably the guild officer—held a shortsword Noel's shop had made, tilting it to the light. His face was stiff, mouth pinched, every inch of him broadcasting nitpick.
"Here, see? Uneven polish marks." He pointed to a barely visible scuff on the spine, voice pedantic. "And the guard—minor deviations in angle and spec. Not up to standard."
He tossed the blade back into the crate—no different from the rest, to Shane's eye—then picked up a longsword and judged it just as harshly.
"But… sir, none of that affects function, and the prior contract clearly—" Noel tried, face hot.
"That was then," the man cut him off. "These are our standards now. Miss the mark and we refuse the lot."
In the final tally, nearly half the shipment was stamped "unfit" and rejected.
The man snapped his ledger shut, face unreadable. "We'll pay for the accepted lot. The 'seconds' are your problem." He turned on his heel and left without another word.
Noel stared at the rejects, eyes reddening, ashamed to face his master's trust.
He glumly pulled a coin pouch to pay Shane the agreed escort fee.
"Shane-san…" his voice held hurt and confusion. "Master said this guy always greeted them with a smile before—real friendly. But now…"
Shane clapped his shoulder, pouch in hand. "People change."
"Master said business used to be rough—small scale. But now…" Noel glanced at the grand guild doors, voice thinning. "Maybe people have to change for business to grow?"
Watching the young man's face twist, Shane didn't want him knotting up.
With a wince, he loosened the fresh pouch and let the coins clink. "Come on. Drinks on me. Then a hot spring. We didn't come all this way for nothing."
In truth, he was annoyed too—the wagon still held the bandits' captured weapons, and not a single one sold.
"Shane, the kingdom's law says you have to be fifteen to drink," Erza reminded, prim as ever.
Shane pretended not to hear and tugged Noel toward the street. "Come on. Don't dwell. With our luck, maybe we'll even stumble into that wish-granting tavern."
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 50 Chapters Ahead of Others!
Also, get 50% off your first month on every membership tier this December! Take advantage of this offer and join. Thank you!