—————————————————————–
Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
—————————————————————–
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The winding path up the steep slope eventually opened to a wide plateau and the fortress gate.
The familiar sight brought back memories.
During the early days of the Age of Ruin, I’d spent nearly half a year here at Polkin Gate, fighting until my guts twisted. Battles raged nonstop for six months, and countless nights were spent sleepless on the front lines.
‘Hah. Thought I’d never come back, yet here I am.’
At the gate, a long line of merchants waited for inspection. Thanks to a prearranged escort, we bypassed the queue and entered immediately.
Inside, a dozens-meter-long underground passage stretched ahead, lined with iron gates and bars, each guarded by soldiers ready to seal them at the first sign of invasion, holding their ground to the death.
Beyond the gate lay a vast open space enclosed by towering cliffs. The bustling town within housed 50,000 civilians, 3,000 soldiers, and 200 knights—a modest garrison for the so-called “impregnable fortress of the world,” but it didn’t matter.
Polkin Gate could hold back a million with just five hundred.
Honestly, how would anyone scale 90-meter sheer cliffs? Siege weapons would just bounce off or shatter against the 60-meter-thick granite walls, and most arrows wouldn’t even reach the top.
No army, no matter how vast, could take this place head-on.
“Master! We’ve been expecting you.”
Three warriors from the Verve Trade House approached. They’d been surveilling Alron’s mercenaries and were to brief me.
“Which one’s Sein?”
A brown-haired man in his thirties stepped forward.
“That’d be me.”
“How many in Alron’s group now?”
“About fifty.”
“Just fifty? That’s it?”
“Yes. He only took his core followers when fleeing Karah.”
“And the rest?”
“Abandoned in Karah.”
“Why?”
“Probably didn’t want to split the mercenary funds.”
What a piece of trash.
Last I saw him, Alron had nearly three hundred men. To ditch all but fifty? I knew he was scum, but not this bad.
Well, good. No guilt wiping them out. I hate traitors.
“Got it. Tell your bribed official to unseal the west gate. I’ll wait outside and slaughter them all except Alron on the mountain path.”
“Uh… about that…”
“What?”
“That plan might be… difficult.”
Sein explained the problem.
Alron and his men were holed up in an inn called The Wanderer’s Rest, which they’d rented entirely. But they were on high alert—realizing only they were barred from the west gate, they’d stopped even looking that way and barely left the inn.
I smirked. Trash though he was, Alron was still a veteran mercenary captain.
‘Cheeky little rats. Sharp instincts.’
“Now’s not the time to laugh! If we don’t capture Alron soon, our young master will—”
“Relax. I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
I drew Requiem slightly.
“By taking out the trash. Makes the world cleaner.”
Sein paled.
“Master! No bloodshed!”
“Why not?”
“The gate commander won’t stand for it. If a massacre happens and he investigates, our trade house will be banned from Polkin Gate—ruined. Please find another way.”
“Oh? Who’s the commander?”
“Count Malthus.”
I knew him. We’d fought together during the Age of Ruin’s defense of Polkin Gate.
Count Malthus, a mid-tier Master Swordsman, was a careerist who’d dedicated his sword path to “success.”
Problem was, his ambition bordered on obsession. He refused bribes, fearing they’d hinder his rise.
If I caused a bloodbath here, he’d lose his mind—his career would take a hit.
Not that I cared, but I couldn’t let my client suffer. Bad for business if word spread I’d ruined them.
“Annoying. Of course it’s Malthus…”
“Exactly. You must be careful.”
Tricky job. Too many restrictions, unfavorable environment.
But Kao Yan’s Detective Agency prided itself on service. We delivered exactly what clients wanted.
I pulled Armida aside.
“Noona, how many times can you teleport?”
She tilted her head.
“Hmm… Maybe thirty? Eighth-circle magic drains mana fast.”
Thirty was impressive. Human mages could manage three or four on a good day.
‘Twenty to spare… Should be enough.’
Malthus was a climber. He’d rage at public scandals but sweep ambiguities under the rug. Give him plausible deniability, and he’d look the other way.
Armida and I surveilled The Wanderer’s Rest from afar, tracking Alron’s men.
—
I strolled Polkin Gate’s streets, familiar yet strange without destruction. Spotting a tavern’s cellar, I grinned, recalling a fling with the freckle-faced owner’s daughter.
“Sera, stop playing. Come eat.”
A familiar voice. Ah, her name was Sera. She’d been twenty then, so now… Eh, whatever.
[Little brother. Three heading your way. You’ll meet at the intersection.]
Armida’s voice echoed in my ear. From a temple rooftop, she monitored Alron’s men, relaying updates via Message.
I adjusted my mask and turned the corner.
“Wh—White Mask?!”
Three mercenaries froze, legs trembling.
I feigned ignorance.
“Hey. You mercenaries?”
“Y-yes…”
“Perfect. Seen Alron’s crew around?”
They shook their heads vigorously.
“No.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Tch. Where’d those rats go? Heard they came this way.”
One mustered courage.
“What’s this about?”
“That captain, Alron—ran off with my money. When I catch them, I’ll skin them alive. Hah!”
I drew and sheathed Requiem. They flinched.
“Oh… Is that so?”
“Sure you haven’t seen them?”
“Never heard of them.”
“Fine. Scram.”
“Yes, sir!”
They turned to leave. I followed conspicuously.
One hesitated.
“Uh… why are you following us?”
I pretended to check a note.
“Same road. Heard they’re at The Wanderer’s Rest—this way, right?”
“Ah…?”
“You know where it is? Somewhere around here…”
He pointed straight ahead—right to the inn. Loyalty? Nonexistent.
“Thanks.”
“Glad to help.”
As I passed, I dropped a warning.
“By the way, I’m pissed. Might not care who gets caught in the crossfire. You mercs? Easy to mistake. Take a detour.”
“R-right. We’ll be careful.”
“Good. Go.”
They ducked into an alley and bolted.
Soon, Armida contacted me.
[They’re heading for the west gate. Lining up with a merchant group—probably fleeing Polkin.]
I snorted.
Those three were dead. Dozens of Verve guards waited outside the west gate. Sein knew every face in Alron’s band—they’d be cut down on sight.
But they were lucky. Better the guards than me. At least they’d get a proper burial.
I repeated this process, thinning their numbers before the real hunt began—a symphony of “accidents” and Armida’s magic.
—
Late that night, a mercenary half-carried his drunk comrade through an alley toward The Wanderer’s Rest.
“Idiot. Captain said stay inside, but you had to hit the brothels, huh?”
“Uurgh…”
“Shut up. You know how many’ve gone missing today?”
“Eh~ Seen it before. They bolted ‘cause the gate’s sealed. Good riddance. Burp.”
“Whatever! You’re getting a long talk with the captain tomor—”
Thud.
The merc collapsed mid-sentence. His drunk friend, seeing his neck twisted at an impossible angle, opened his mouth to scream—
Snap.
I dusted my hands and looted their pouches.
Armida appeared behind me, wide-eyed.
“What are you doing?”
“What? Didn’t use my sword.”
“That’s not what the client asked! Why this now?”
“Oh? So hands don’t count?”
“Of course not!”
She glared, suspicious.
Pocketing the coins, I shrugged.
“Relax. Can’t dump them now—gates are sealed.”
“Still! How will you hide the bodies?”
“You will. With magic.”
She blinked rapidly.
“Burn them?”
“Too slow. Smell lingers. Just teleport them somewhere.”
“But I didn’t bring my coordinate book…”
“You remember some, right?”
“Well… Chronos Skycity. Or the Hall of Divinity.”
“Perfect. Hall of Divinity.”
“But that’s sacred ground!”
“To humans. Isn’t it just your storage room?”
She rolled her eyes. To Valkyries, the hall was just a glorified warehouse.
“Fine. Wait a sec.”
The bodies vanished. Next year, some priest would faint upon opening the hall, but that was their problem.
My job was quiet efficiency.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
[Your Text Here]
LOL