Compared to Ubel, who was forced to stay at the base and couldn't leave freely, Sense was clearly in high spirits early in the morning.
Although her cool little face, as always, showed almost no expression, the slightly bigger steps she took when heading out made her mood obvious enough.
But when she reached the street… and stopped in front of the wanted poster, she couldn't help showing clear dissatisfaction with the quality of the sketch.
"Is this really Lord Ash? They made you look way uglier than you are. And it doesn't even look like you."
The portrait had been drawn based on bystanders' descriptions from when they took away the dwarf, so it was only about eighty percent accurate to begin with. Add in some exaggerated features and details… and at the time, he had been wearing a hat and a cloak.
On top of that, the deliberate uglification made it practically look like a different person. If not for Ubel's very recognizable traits beside it, Sense might not have even realized it was Ash's wanted poster.
"Don't worry about weird things like that. Isn't it better if it doesn't look like me?"
"I guess that's true."
She nodded reluctantly, but still seemed a bit unhappy.
He couldn't quite figure out what went on in this kid's head most of the time, so he just casually patted her on the head and led her toward the tavern Rasen often gathered at, according to his memories.
It was a tavern at a T-shaped intersection, with two simple tables and a few backless chairs set outside.
Due to the nature of their work, even though it was a tavern, it was tucked away in a quiet corner of the city with little foot traffic.
The place itself wasn't large, and the location wasn't great to begin with. This early in the morning, there were naturally no customers.
And with the tense situation, business across the imperial capital had been poor. Even on the busy commercial streets, there weren't many pedestrians.
"Here?", Sense stood at a street corner not far away. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the walls and the stained glass windows installed for private meetings, as she murmured, "There are two people inside. Both look like warriors."
"There's also a drunk female mercenary outside. She's probably keeping watch for them."
Compared to the warriors detected by magic, Ash's attention fell on the ponytailed female mercenary sitting by the door, hugging a large bottle of wine, a longsword resting beside her.
She looked half-asleep from drunkenness, but he didn't care. He walked straight over, crouched in front of her, and smiled.
"Hey, Miss Mercenary, sitting here like this, aren't you worried about running into bad people?"
"Haha~ you're funny, kid," The mercenary groggily opened her eyes and waved dismissively, "Who'd go looking for trouble with a mercenary?"
"You never know. Can I ask your name?"
"What, you want to hire me?", The drunken mercenary, Schritt, looked surprised at being approached like this and sized him up, "Just so you know, my rates aren't cheap."
"That's fine. I've got plenty of money. As long as you do what I ask, everything's negotiable."
"Really? Then you must be quite the client. So, what's the job?"
"How about going inside and killing the two people in there? As for payment, two gold coins, plus your life."
Ash stated his proposal without expression, a blunt threat.
The moment he said it, the mercenary's amused smile froze. The lazy drunkenness vanished, her eyes turning sharp, her voice dropping low.
"Who are you?"
"Don't always ask questions like that. Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is… if you don't do it, you'll die here. After all, congratulations. Looks like you really did run into a bad guy," Compared to her tension, Ash's smile didn't change, his tone almost teasing, "Of course, that's just a joke. Who's good or bad isn't so clear. But that's not important."
"What are you trying to say? What is important?", Her hand unconsciously moved toward the sword beside her.
"I've seen you in Rasen's memories. Your special squad isn't made up of Shadow Warriors trained from childhood, but people brought together later, skilled individuals. Your loyalty isn't as strong as the usual Shadow Warriors', right?"
"Rasen's memories?", The phrase she couldn't ignore slipped out under her breath. A bad feeling rose in her chest, her gaze turning razor-sharp, "Who exactly are you? What happened to Rasen?"
"I told him from the start I didn't want to cross blades with someone I knew. Even though I didn't use a weapon. Unfortunately, during a spar, I accidentally crushed his head."
Ash, who had killed Rasen barehanded just as he said, showed a trace of indescribable regret. He reached out and placed his hand on her head before she could dodge, speaking softly.
"I really don't want to crush anyone else's head. So please, don't make me do something unpleasant. Let's resolve this peacefully, alright?"
"?"
Schritt wanted to pull away, but her body… wouldn't respond properly.
She wanted to deny his words, but the aura around Ash shifted from harmless to terrifying. Fear bound her in place, leaving her unable to move at all.
As his hand gently stroked the top of her head, she could clearly feel a bone-deep chill, like being thrown into an arctic sea.
She couldn't help but suspect, this man had really killed Rasen.
And not in the way they had imagined. There was no mutual destruction, no dragging each other down.
Rasen had simply been killed by something stronger.
"What's wrong, Miss Schritt? Aren't you going to give me your answer?"
"N-no… I'm a mercenary. Since you want to hire me, of course I'll listen. But…"
"No matter how much the Empire offers, I'll pay double."
Though these Shadow Warriors weren't entirely loyal to the Empire, Ash didn't fear betrayal at all. Smiling, he extended his hand.
After a moment's hesitation, the mercenary returned the smile and took it.
At that instant, it seemed like an employment agreement had been reached. Though what she truly thought inside, no one could tell.
———
This special shadow squad often gathered at this tavern.
Right now, even the barmaid was absent. Only the owner and a peddler who had recently managed to fleece a mage were there.
Though they were Shadow Warriors behind the scenes, aside from mission rewards, they handled daily expenses separately.
Compared to other Shadow Warriors, theirs was more like a hired group. They all had their own main professions. In fact, they relied more on those professions for disguise and livelihood.
"You actually paid off all your tab," The middle-parted owner looked at the four silver coins on the table, sighing in surprise, "That's rare. Wish the drunk outside would learn from you."
"I figured I'd settle my debts while I still can," The young peddler took a swig of his beer and answered without hesitation, "In a couple days, we might all be dead. I don't want to owe anything at the end."
"Don't say something so ominous," The owner stared at the coins, his expression turning serious as he lectured, "Gazella, most of life is made up of ordinary days. Even if things are tense now, if you don't prepare for the chance you survive, life later can get troublesome. I've been through that more than once."
"But this time is way worse than before. Back then, we could at least solve things through cooperation. This enemy isn't on the same level. Even Rasen, our strongest, might already have been… taken out."
"But don't we have someone stronger than Rasen on our side now?"
"Lowe?", The peddler thought of the Proof of the Staff the mercenary outside was holding.
Ordinary Shadow Warriors were raised as expendable tools, trained from childhood without even names. Their chances of betrayal were extremely low.
The village chief Ash had met before was just a temporary alias for a mission. Normally, it wouldn't be used long. But somehow he'd been forgotten and spent his whole life there, the fake name becoming real.
These Shadow Warriors, however, were different from what Ash initially imagined. They did have loyalty, but it felt more like employment.
Of course, refusing orders could still get them hunted down.
Someone like Rasen, once a hero, was different still. His loyalty to the Empire was almost brainwashed. As for why… Ash didn't know, and neither did the others.
After all, Ash couldn't just casually look through someone's entire life, it was too long. He could only pick out key fragments.
As for the strongest among them, Lowe, he used the Proof of the Staff, a trophy from killing a great mage, which Frieren also carried, to maintain their loyalty. He had temporarily given it to Schritt as proof of the mission's feasibility and his own strength. Otherwise, once they heard the target was Serie, some might have tried to run.
But even after seeing the Proof, the peddler still looked doubtful.
"Even if Lowe has that, it doesn't prove he's the one who killed the great mage, right?"
"Even killing a great mage doesn't mean much. You don't really understand magic, so you probably don't know about Serie. She's not just some 'strongest great mage.' She's a living fossil from the mythical era. Just in terms of mana alone, she has at least five times that of a great mage. You can't even use great mages as a benchmark."
Before the owner could respond, the door swung open.
A stranger, young man, walked in with a small, long-haired girl and the drunken mercenary from outside, naturally inserting himself into their conversation.
With the mercenary outside, the two had felt safe talking.
But the moment the uninvited guests entered, the atmosphere in the tavern shifted.
Oppressive… and tense.
The peddler instinctively reached for the dagger at his waist, while the owner grabbed a bow and arrow from under the counter, though he still forced a merchant's smile onto his face.
"What's the matter, customers? We were just talking about legends. Why are you taking it so seriously?"
"Sense, close the door."
Without turning his head, Ash had Sense shut the door. Then he sat at the bar, smiling as he patted the peddler's shoulder.
"Let's talk first… peacefully."
"How peacefully?"
"How about taking your hand off the dagger first? I'm unarmed. It's not very fair for you to hold a weapon, is it?"
"Then how about you take your hand off my shoulder? I don't like being touched by men," The peddler frowned and refused coldly.
Ash looked slightly troubled, then spoke patiently.
"I think it's better not to force things. After all… you're still young. You'll meet many people, go through many things, gain a lot, and lose a lot. But no matter what, there are two things you must never lose, your conscience and your ideals. And if I had to add one more, your life. Because if you die here, none of that will matter."
"Sounds nice. Do you even have those things?"
"I have some of them. Otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting here talking to me," Ash finally removed his hand, took the bottle handed to him by the mercenary, and drank deeply before smiling again, "I sincerely hope the two of you will listen carefully and choose the path that suits you."
"You are…", The owner had just started to speak when Ash cut him off.
"My name is Ash. You should have heard of it, at least a little. If Shadow Warriors have access to certain information."
"Ash," Hearing this, the owner finally remembered. He had indeed seen this name in intelligence reports.
Over eighty years ago, he had briefly associated with the Hero's party and seemed to have good relations with a neighboring kingdom, though there was no solid evidence.
Information on Ash mostly circulated among the upper ranks of the kingdom, and even then, it was vague. Very few knew the details, and those who did were strictly monitored. Leaks were usually silenced, either assassinated or eliminated outright.
Because of this, information about Ash had always been hard to confirm, limited to scattered rumors. No one really knew what kind of person he was.
After all, Ash wandered everywhere. Sometimes roaming alone in the northern continent, other times appearing in central or southern nations. He seemed to have ties with places like the Holy City and various kingdoms.
The owner himself lacked a clear understanding of him, only puzzled that someone who should be over a hundred according to records still looked young. Quietly, he stroked the poisoned arrow in his hand.
"What do you want?"
"Relax. I don't mean any harm. I just want you to answer a question."
"A question?"
"Live… or die here. A simple choice. As assassins, you should understand, right?"
By coming here, joining their conversation, and bringing up Serie, he had already made his stance clear.
The meaning of his final words was impossible to miss.
Yet after saying it, Ash simply drank at the bar as if nothing had happened. He looked completely unguarded, almost inviting an opening.
But something instinctive in his every movement warned them, they didn't dare act rashly.
Even if Ash gave off the impression of overwhelming strength, surrendering without doing anything was hard to accept.
The peddler sitting beside him couldn't endure it. The illusion of an opening that he couldn't grasp, the humiliation of being forced into submission.
So, in that suffocating silence, he silently tightened his grip on the dagger.
'No matter how you look at it, this guy is strong. But, as long as he's human, there'll be a moment of carelessness. At this distance, if I strike first, I still have a chance! I should have a chance!'
Convincing himself, swallowing his resentment, he gritted his teeth and suddenly drew his dagger, stabbing straight toward Ash's chest without warning.
The silent blade cut through the air.
But before it could reach its target, a flash of white descended from behind.
With a sharp slicing sound, the prepared mercenary swung her sword, and the peddler's arm, along with the dagger, fell to the ground.
Hot blood splattered across Ash's face.
The peddler stared blankly at his severed arm spraying blood. It took a moment before reality hit, and he let out a horrified scream.
"Ah! Ahhh! AHH!!"
He tried to clutch the wound, to stop the torrent of blood, but the cleanly severed shoulder continued to gush relentlessly.
"Schritt? You!"
The owner, who had been ready to act in tandem and had already prepared to fire the poisoned arrow, stood frozen in disbelief, staring at the mercenary behind Ash. He couldn't even finish his sentence.
Ash himself was a little surprised. He hadn't expected her to attack her own companion so directly.
But he didn't dwell on it. Shaking his head with mild regret, he muttered, "Too noisy," and casually waved his hand.
A powerful repulsive force surged out like an invisible tidal wave, crushing everything in its path.
BOOM!
Part of the bar was instantly reduced to splintered wood, shattered along with the floor decorations and blasted away.
The one-armed peddler was hurled through the wall into another room, rolling several times before collapsing in a pool of blood, motionless, his fate unknown. Only the severed arm continued to bleed.
His body had gone unnaturally limp, as if every bone had been crushed by that single burst of force.
In that instant, realizing his opponent might be a mage, the owner seized the opportunity. Flicking his finger against the tail of the poisoned arrow, he sent it shooting through the bar at lightning speed toward Ash.
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