Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Chapter 37

Rickart, Boribori, and the Nameless Man were practically companions now. They had never made any explicit promise or entered into any formal agreement, but they seemed to have joined forces for the time being to achieve their respective goals. Or perhaps, without even realizing it, they had simply grown attached to one another.

The three of them headed west, toward Ernberg.

For the moment, however, they did not pursue the Ernberg Five. There was someone closer by whom they needed to deal with first, so that was where they headed.

There was still some time before sunset, but the group settled early at a suitable place to camp. Travelers seemed to use the spot fairly often, judging by the traces left by people who had stayed there long ago.

Rickart roughly cleared away the spider grass with his scabbard, then swept the ground with his foot to drive off the insects. Afterward, he lit a fire in the makeshift hearth that was already there. Fortunately, several pieces of firewood were lying nearby.

Rickart sat down and unfolded the wanted poster the Nameless Man carried. It bore a drawing of an unpleasant-looking, plump man grinning repulsively.

Beneath the portrait was a brief description of the criminal, his distinguishing characteristics, and a record of his crimes.

[Hasphil—also known as "He Who Saddens Mothers." Leader of the criminal organization known as the Murder Guild.

Criminal record: Murder of clergy, rape and murder of numerous women, multiple homicides, plundering of monasteries, private torture, human trafficking, and dealing in stolen goods.

Primary area of activity: Siegfringer. May also be found elsewhere. Possibly colluding with other dangerous criminal organizations.

In the name of God and the Empire, a reward of forty gold coins shall be paid for the capture of the above criminal alive, or ten gold coins for his severed head.]

"Wow..."

An exclamation escaped Rickart’s lips before he even realized it. The man was so vicious that, even setting aside the Nameless Man’s personal vendetta, Rickart could only wonder how such a bastard could exist.

The problem was the difficulty. In some ways, dealing with him seemed even harder than taking on the Five.

Even so, Rickart did not believe it was impossible. Difficult and impossible were entirely different concepts, and Rickart’s personal philosophy was that any human being could be killed.

Though still vague, several plans began forming in his mind. He already knew a number of ways for a small group to fight a larger force, and he was also familiar with the weaknesses of men like these.

Organizations made up of criminals were invariably loose and poorly structured. They lacked discipline and proper organization. They might constantly prattle on about loyalty among themselves, but when a critical moment arrived, they would betray one another as easily as turning over a hand.

There were two main ways to bring such men down: weaken their unity by sowing discord, or inspire in them a fear even greater than the fear they had of their leader.

Rickart decided that they should first gather information by asking around Siegfringer.

The larger plan was to help the Nameless Man take his revenge, then have him join them against the Ernberg Five. Rickart was not helping him purely out of goodwill.

His ultimate objective was to complete the commission so that the academy students would not starve and could survive the winter safely.

While Rickart considered their future plans and strategy, Boribori returned to the campsite from wherever he had wandered off to. He seemed to be carrying something beneath his cupped hands. Had he caught a bug or something?

Grinning, Boribori spoke to the Nameless Man and Rickart.

"Guess what I brought."

"Did you bring some larvae to snack on?"

"No. Look."

Boribori opened his neatly cupped hands. A single bright-red camellia lay upon his palms. Beads of moisture from the snow clung to it, making it look remarkably fresh.

"Ta-da! Flowers bloom even in winter!"

Rickart showed a momentary flicker of interest before his expression rapidly turned indifferent. He respected Boribori’s tastes, but they simply were not his own.

Then the Nameless Man abruptly snatched up the flower, slipped it beneath the cloth attached to his helmet, and began chewing it.

"Th-that isn’t for eating..."

Boribori stared at him in bewilderment, but the Nameless Man paid him no mind and swallowed it.

It was utterly absurd, but if they wanted enough strength for the long road ahead, they needed to eat whatever they could, whether it was a flower or anything else.

They roasted hardy crops such as potatoes, corn, and sweet potatoes over the fire. They filled a bowl with snow, melted it, then mixed in grain powder and drank it. They also sliced up some ham. It was no feast, but they managed to eat a reasonably balanced meal.

As they ate, the careless Boribori got something around his mouth. The Nameless Man quietly raised a hand and wiped it away.

Huh?

Watching from beside them, Rickart felt slightly bewildered. What was that? Yet at the same time, he was strangely moved.

That single, insignificant gesture conveyed a great deal. It felt as though they had finally connected with a ferocious beast that could not speak their language.

Boribori himself was not startled in the slightest. He merely gave his usual sun-bright smile.

In any case, after spending the night outdoors, the three of them resumed their journey toward Siegfringer the next day.

Along the way, they occasionally stopped at villages and traded potatoes or similar goods for the use of a barn.

At every village, they asked about Hasphil and his criminal organization, the Murder Guild. But the villagers, many of whom had never left their homes in their entire lives, said they had never heard of them.

Then, as they drew closer to Siegfringer, a farmer whom Rickart questioned suddenly recoiled in alarm and fled.

Watching the villager run away even though Rickart had offered precious winter provisions in exchange for information, Rickart realized they must be getting close.

After that, he stopped asking questions openly. They had already discovered Hasphil’s main area of activity: a place called Lunenberg, a city within the Siegfringer region.

The city’s Thieves’ Guild served as Hasphil’s lackeys, while the bandits based in nearby Mount Lunen were his subordinates.

Normally, Hasphil wandered around the city under the Thieves’ Guild’s protection. Whenever things began looking dangerous, he retreated into the mountains and hid there for a while.

It seemed that the Thieves’ Guild and the bandits were collectively known as the Murder Guild, whose main line of work was, as its name suggested, contract killing.

Yet their contract killings were anything but professional. After receiving a request, they frequently did not even begin the job. Instead, they threatened the client and extorted more money from them.

In other words, despite the grandiose name "Murder Guild," they were little more than common thugs.

Rickart was not even sure whether to call it a business, but how did an operation run so incompetently avoid going bankrupt?

"Let’s be honest. When the Adventurers’ Guild accepts unsavory commissions, it deals only with people who have a great deal of money or high social standing. But anyone can wish someone dead, regardless of their station. There are wives who hate their unfaithful husbands so much that they want them killed, aren’t there? Who else will grant the wishes of people like that? When you hate someone enough to want them dead, you can’t think rationally. That’s why plenty of people still gather up their money and go to the Murder Guild despite its terrible reputation. The customers never stop coming. For that wretched organization to go bankrupt, people would have to become kinder. But life is hard, and the people you trusted and loved are bound to drive nails into your heart. That’s why it survives despite being run that way."

The merchant spoke while arranging cargo on his wagon. Rickart handed him a silver coin in exchange for the information.

Apparently believing he had been paid rather generously, the merchant offered one more piece of information.

"Hasphil is hopelessly addicted to gambling. You can usually find him without much trouble at a tavern called the Mother’s Sorrow—unless he’s hiding in the mountains."

"Thank you. I wish you good fortune."

After buying a cloak from the merchant, Rickart and the others continued toward Lunenberg.

He bought one large enough to conceal the Nameless Man’s entire body. It had not originally been merchandise, but had belonged to a large man traveling with the merchant’s party, so it smelled somewhat unpleasant. They merely shook off the dust and draped it over the Nameless Man, who did not seem to care in the slightest.

Upon reaching Lunenberg, Rickart did not immediately enter the city. Instead, he surveyed the outskirts.

Sure enough, a mountain rose to the south. A river flowed between the mountain and the city.

Rickart wandered around until he found a suitable place to hide, then spoke.

"Let’s do this. First, we’ll find lodgings in the city. Bori and I will disguise ourselves as customers and visit the gambling den. Sir, you’ll stand behind us as though you’re our bodyguard. Once we’ve assessed the situation, we’ll return to the inn and make our plan. On the day we carry it out, we’ll regroup here. How does that sound?"

Boribori had only learned some swordsmanship and knew nothing about operations like this, so he readily nodded.

The Nameless Man, however, remained motionless, perhaps because he disliked the plan.

Rickart understood why he was not responding. It was easy enough to infer from the way the man fought.

"I know something unexpected might happen. You might lose patience and kill him on the spot. That’s fine. Bori and I will handle what’s behind us, so you just carve open an escape route."

Only then did the Nameless Man nod.

Rickart and the Nameless Man merely had different styles. Both were experts when it came to work like this. They would have to carry out an operation together before learning how well they could coordinate.

Rickart understood what method suited each of them and assigned their roles accordingly.

The Nameless Man excelled at breaking through enemy lines, while Rickart was better at responding to attacks. That was why, even though there were only three of them, he had divided their responsibilities between the front and rear.

Having established at least a rough plan, Rickart, Boribori, and the Nameless Man entered Lunenberg and took rooms at an inn as close to the city gate as possible.

That night, they headed to the tavern called the Mother’s Sorrow.

Contrary to expectations, the tavern was not situated in some secluded alley but in the middle of a bustling district. When Rickart showed the doorman a purse stuffed with silver coins, the man let them through immediately without questioning their ages, identities, or social status.

After all, a gambling den treated its suckers like kings.

The interior was as bright as midday. Thousands of candles burned throughout the establishment, and the distinctive smell of wax was strong enough to make Rickart dizzy. The patrons, however, seemed not to notice. Their eyes gleamed with greedy madness.

Wealthy men, even nobles, sat at the tables alongside people who had scraped together every last possession they owned. The establishment provided expensive liquor and prostitutes.

The gamblers watched the dealers with grave expressions. When the results were announced, some unleashed cheers loud enough to bring down the building, while others sighed as though the entire gambling hall were collapsing around them.

Completely intoxicated by uncertain expectations, no one paid any attention to Rickart’s group.

Boribori’s eyes widened as he gazed around at this strange new world. Rickart, meanwhile, calmly examined where the guards were stationed, where reinforcements might emerge from, and which escape routes appeared safest.

After getting a general sense of the building’s layout, they took seats at a long horizontal table. Four people were already sitting there. The dealer placed two dice inside a bowl, overturned it on the table, and had the gamblers bet on whether the total was odd or even.

It was simple.

Before each round, the dealer held the two dice between his fingers and raised the bowl, showing it from side to side to prove that nothing was amiss before beginning the game. On the surface, everything appeared completely legitimate.

"Odd or even! Odd or even!"

Perhaps trying to excite the crowd, the dealer punctuated his words with a peculiar chant. He swept the dice into the bowl, slammed it upside down on the table, shook it, and brought it to an abrupt stop.

The lively clattering of the dice rang out.

"Will you live—or will you die?"

At the dealer’s shout, everyone at the table placed their bets. Not a single copper coin was in sight. Every wager was made in silver—a considerable sum.

The clatter of the dice and the jingle of coins sounded strangely pleasant together.

At first, Rickart merely watched how the game worked.

One round, two rounds, three rounds, four...

By the fifth round, the dealer spoke.

"Are you going to play? If not, you’ll have to pay for the seat."

"I’ll play now."

The dealer silently rolled the dice again.

Rickart stared at the overturned bowl for a moment, then placed all the money he carried on even.

Twenty silver coins.

Everyone, including the dealer, looked startled. The other tables remained noisy, but a brief silence fell over Rickart’s.

The dealer slowly raised the bowl.

Even.

"Gasp!"

"Whoa!"

"That’s insane!"

The gamblers at the same table stared wide-eyed.

Perhaps this was the thrill that made people gamble, though none of them were the lucky winner. Even so, merely watching it happen made their hearts swell with excitement.

His expression rigid, the dealer took money from beneath the table, added the losing bets, and paid the winners an amount equal to their respective wagers.

In the blink of an eye, Rickart’s money had grown to forty-two silver coins.

"R-Ricky, we’re rich! What do we do?"

Overcome with excitement, Boribori grabbed Ricky by the shoulders and shook him vigorously.

"Hey, calm down. Get ahold of yourself."

The real problem began then.

Every bet Rickart placed turned out to be correct.

He was identifying the numbers on the dice by memorizing their sounds, while watching the dealer’s eyes to determine whether he was attempting any trickery.

There was no way for him to lose.

Of course, it was only possible because of Rickart’s superhuman powers of observation and perception.

The gamblers at the same table did not care how Rickart kept winning. They simply followed his bets and placed all their money on the same side.

The dealer’s funds rapidly ran dry.

"Wahahahaha!"

Unable to contain the rush of dopamine, the gamblers roared with laughter. One of them suddenly seized Rickart’s head and showered him with kisses, forcing the Nameless Man, who stood behind Rickart, to shove him away.

By then, silver coins had piled up like a mountain in front of Rickart, nearly blocking his view unless he pushed them aside.

Naturally, they drew the attention of everyone in the gambling den. People crowded around the table to watch.

Then someone approached the dealer, tapped him on the arm, and spoke.

"Move aside."

Rickart raised his head and looked at the man who had appeared on the opposite side of the table.

It was Hasphil—the man from the wanted poster.

The Nameless Man stood directly behind Rickart.

Hasphil grinned with a genial expression. Every exposed tooth was made of gold. Rickart recalled the wanted poster and found himself impressed by how perfectly the artist had captured him.

"This is entertaining, kid."

"It’s so easy that I’m starting to get bored."

"True. Losing is part of what makes gambling exciting. But don’t you think betting money is a little stale? Why don’t we wager something else?"

"Like what?"

"Exactly what the dealer says—whether you live or die. Isn’t that the true essence of odd or even? If you capture me and deliver me to the Adventurers’ Guild, you’ll make a fortune."

The wanted poster had promised forty gold coins for his capture alive.

That amounted to a staggering eight hundred silver coins.

"Roll."

Rickart said it without the slightest hesitation.

Hasphil excluded the other gamblers and began a one-on-one match against Rickart.

Before long, everyone in the gambling den had gathered to watch. The hall, which had been deafeningly loud only moments earlier, became so silent that one could have heard a mouse breathe.

Hasphil tossed the dice into the bowl and overturned it on the table. Unlike the dealer, he did not shake it repeatedly.

He moved it only once.

Clatter.

Rickart heard the sound and smirked. He had allowed himself to expect something impressive, only to be met with such an amateurish trick.

"When did two dice become three?"

"Hmm?"

"One of them will disappear depending on what I say, won’t it? That way, you’ll win no matter what. What do they call something like this again?"

"Are you accusing me of cheating?"

There were many serious sins in the world, but the gravest sin inside a gambling den was what gamblers called pulling a con.

Cheating was the greatest offense of all and carried punishment regardless of rank or status.

Rickart stared silently at Hasphil, then drew a dagger from inside his clothes with lightning speed.

He drove it into the back of Hasphil’s hand where it covered the bowl.

"We’ll find out when we look!"

Crack!

The dagger pierced Hasphil’s hand, shattered the bowl beneath it, and embedded itself in the table.

The eyes of everyone nearby went wide.

Three bloodstained dice rolled across the table.

Hasphil involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath.

Just as he was about to shout, the Nameless Man sprang forward like a tiger. He leaped onto the table and charged at Hasphil, his already-drawn axe raised high above his head.

Chaos.

That was the battlefield on which the Nameless Man fought best.

Rickart knew it, and when the opportunity arose, he had deliberately set the stage for him.

Without speaking or even looking at each other, they understood one another perfectly—

like gamblers who had rehearsed their play together.