Chapter 77: Imperial Capital Edelmarion (5)
Russell’s Crescent Moon was a guild that gathered intelligence from all over the empire.
Though it had recently suffered significant damage and was undergoing extensive restoration, its deeply entrenched roots hadn’t been completely pulled out. Restoring all the damage would undoubtedly take time, but the remaining roots were still usable.
Thankfully, the foundation left in the capital, Edelmarion, was one such example.
Some had gone into hiding, ready to declare independence if Crescent Moon collapsed entirely.
Fortunately, that independence never came to pass.
Given its importance, Russell had stationed trustworthy people there, which was why he managed to reestablish contact after only a few days of effort.
Information, after all, was best exchanged in either a completely silent place or a boisterously loud one.
This time, the meeting spot was the latter.
The area wasn’t exactly a slum, but the streets were lined with old, worn buildings—a place known as Old Town.
Their destination was a raucous tavern, one of those with private rooms reserved for select customers.
Inside the room, they were greeted by a grumpy-looking dwarf.
His face alone was enough to tell you he had quite the fiery temperament. The dwarf’s expression stiffened as he glanced at Russell’s shoulder.
In a rough, mocking tone, the dwarf jeered at Russell.
“Look at you, you pathetic idiot. No, wait, I should call you a proper cripple now, shouldn’t I? You kept whining about being incomplete, and now you’ve actually gone and lost an arm.”
“It’s been a while, but your words remain as sharp as ever. I’ll take that as proof you’re happy to see me.”
“Happy? Oh, merciful goddess, grant your humble servant the strength not to bash this fool’s head in. Seeing this idiot again must be your divine test of patience.”
“Haha, you’re the same as always. That’s reassuring.”
The dwarf clasped his hands as if in prayer—or at least pretended to.
Unable to hold back his own temper, he threw the wooden mug in his hand at Russell.
It didn’t seem like he put much strength into it, though.
“Damn you!”
“Is this really how you treat a friend?”
“Friend? Don’t give me that nonsense. You’ve got three limbs total, and I’ve got four. Shouldn’t you be calling me your elder?”
“Haha, everyone, this is just how he is.”
Four beer mugs were placed on the table, though no one had ordered them.
The two men naturally began drinking, so the rest followed suit, figuring this must be the way things worked around here.
But meeting in a tavern? That wasn’t to Russell’s liking. The reason was Sirien.
Next to him, a small pair of lips sipped beer with an audible gulp, gulp.
Despite trying to appear indifferent, the corners of her mouth curled upward in delight. She normally loved sweets, so why did she have such a fondness for alcohol? Especially given her terrible drinking habits.
The dwarf sighed as he glanced at Russell.
Despite his rough words, he seemed genuinely concerned.
“At least you’re still keeping your head attached. And you got here just in time.”
“Not too late, then? Sounds like you’ve got something new for me.”
“Oh, I do. Too much, actually—it’s a massive headache.”
The dwarf rubbed his temples with a groan, then pulled out a piece of paper.
“Start with this. It’s a report we recently got from the northern mountain rangers. It arrived just the other day.”
“You should read it first. It seems more relevant to you two.”
“What, are you planning to step away entirely?”
“Not quite. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but I’m leaning toward safer work if I can.”
“Suit yourself. Judging by your expression, though, it seems losing that arm taught you something worthwhile.”
“Oh, it did. Something very valuable.”
The report wasn’t long.
It detailed the complete annihilation of a village in the northern mountains, seemingly the work of a beast called the Red Feather.
Russell recalled a story he’d once heard in passing.
One of the rangers who had escorted them in the northern mountains had mentioned a beast with red feathers. A cunning creature that was difficult to track.
It wasn’t unusual for beasts to attack humans, and tracking a powerful one was no small feat—but that was the rangers’ job.
Though serious, it didn’t seem directly relevant to them. Even Sirien, after reading the report, seemed unperturbed.
“A beast I’ve heard of before. By the way, I don’t believe I’ve caught your name yet. What should I call you?”
“What good would knowing my name do? Just call me ‘Dwarf.’ I don’t care for yours, either.”
“It’s for safety. If something happens to one of us, it’s better to keep things clear.”
“Russell is one thing, but it would be trouble if I mentioned your names, wouldn’t it?”
“I see. That makes sense.”
A kind of unspoken rule in this line of work, it seemed.
The dwarf stood up momentarily, his mug now empty.
He refilled it from a large oak barrel, prompting Sirien to eagerly do the same, her eyes lighting up.
Russell hesitated. Should he really let her drink more? In the end, he decided there wasn’t much he could do for now.
The dwarf resumed speaking.
“Anyway, that Red Feather isn’t just a beast.”
“Are you saying it’s a demon?”
“Bingo. Nailed it.”
“No, I wasn’t saying it because I knew.”
Sirien, who had been quietly sipping her beer, cast a sidelong glance at the dwarf.
It was proof that the conversation had piqued her interest.
The dwarf let out a hearty laugh.
“What you’ve just seen involves demons. It’s a bit of a long story, so listen carefully.”
****
Of course, Crescent Moon wasn’t the only group handling what people called “backdoor business” in Edelmarion.
In any country, central politics were rife with schemes and conspiracies. To devise clever plots, one had to be willing to use dirty tools.
While some noble houses trained their own “tools,” others simply hired such individuals with money.
Though it wasn’t as chaotic as a place like Requitas, there was still a distinct “industry” for this kind of work.
“Even among people like us, there’s an old saying that’s far more important than skill or anything else. Those who ignore it often end up like Russell.”
“Don’t swallow a prize that’s too big. If you try, your mouth will tear, and if the prize is too rare, your stomach will split.”
“Exactly. Keep that in mind while you listen. Not too long ago, someone came to see me. An ambitious fellow, but he was completely terrified, saying it felt like his mouth was about to tear open.”
The dwarf launched into his story without hesitation.
Although the man he met had tried to speak in a roundabout way, there was no fooling the dwarf.
Crescent Moon had been the first to uncover Count Eloran treachery, and naturally, that information had reached the dwarf as well.
The gist was that the man had been tasked with smuggling demons into the northern mountains.
If they traced the employer, it would undoubtedly lead to Count Eloran, but the dwarf refrained from saying so outright.
The man had known it was dangerous—potentially grounds for immediate execution.
But if he had taken the job anyway, it meant there had been a tempting bait.
At first, everything had gone smoothly.
The man’s skills were as exceptional as his overwhelming ambition. The hidden paths and corrupt territories across the empire were practically his playground.
The problem began when the demons he smuggled started to spiral out of control.
They needed to stay quiet until at least the following year, but the demons had started attacking trade caravans and even destroying civilian homes.
To make matters worse, the rangers, who had been lying in wait, launched a large-scale search.
The rangers, experts in mountain terrain and tracking, were among the few incorruptible elites in an otherwise rotten empire.
With the possibility of a demon extermination order being issued, it was only a matter of time before the smuggled demons were discovered.
The ongoing search was likely suffocating the man’s every move.
“He seemed desperate, like the executioner’s blade was already at his neck.”
“He’s itching to wash his hands of the whole thing. If things go smoothly, you might get what you’re looking for without much trouble.”
“Here’s the time and place for the meeting. Look for a man with a cross-shaped scar under his chin.”
Only a day remained before the meeting.
If we hadn’t met with the dwarf today, he would have “handled” the man himself.
Once the main discussion was over, there wasn’t much else to talk about.
The dwarf left first, advising us to stay put for at least another 30 minutes before leaving.
In the meantime, I had the unenviable task of making sure Sirien didn’t drink too much.
When Sirien drank too much… things got difficult. Very difficult.
“Razen. Can’t we stay a little longer and have just one more drink?”
“No. How long has it been since your last incident?”
“But it’s just beer today!”
“It started with beer that time, too.”
I stood my ground like a fortress.
The last thing I needed was to have my ears bitten again.
If that kept happening, even my patience would run out eventually.
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