What remained on the errand list were carrots, onions… and seeds to grow a flower.
After entering the market, I bought the carrots and onions while asking the merchants about the so-called merchant association.
At first, they gave vague answers, but once I mentioned what had happened to the old man in the alley, they began sighing deeply and clicking their tongues.
“They’ve got no compassion. They started as a militia during the Mage War, but after the war ended, they changed. Once they got a taste of money through these ‘dues,’ they even started tormenting people they shouldn’t. Back then and now, it’s always hard to make a living, isn’t it?”
“There are about six leaders, and around twenty underlings who go around collecting money. This whole area is under their control. If you refuse to join, they’ll wreck everything. They’re probably in cahoots with the police too, so reporting them does nothing. These days, everyone just pays to avoid trouble.”
As expected, the thugs calling themselves the merchant association were running this area like it was their own.
‘Which means they must also know a great deal about this city.’
That could be useful for finding relics.
After finishing my shopping, I hummed to myself as I returned to the estate.
There was no need to think further.
I would act starting tonight.
That night, near midnight.
After changing into plain clothes, I quietly slipped out of the estate without the head maid noticing.
Such secretive behavior was something a maid ought to avoid, but that wasn’t my concern.
Sometimes, there are things that cannot be accomplished without deceiving others. Especially when one must hide their identity as a maid.
I stepped into the pub the old potato seller had pointed out.
Clink.
As the door opened, the amber lights inside swayed faintly.
The first thing I saw was a large frame hanging prominently at the front. Inside the faded black-and-white photograph were the familiar faces of my old comrades—heroes of the Mage War revealed through newspapers.
Inside the pub were one middle-aged woman, four middle-aged men, and a bartender. Just as I had heard, there were six leaders.
‘People like these gather at their base the night something happens in their territory to discuss countermeasures.’
I glanced at their waists, but saw no guns. That meant I only needed to be wary of the bartender.
I took a seat at the bar. Since no one spoke, I started first.
“Serve the customer.”
The bartender scoffed.
“Hey, miss. You’re not from around here, are you? We’re not open, so leave nicely.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Why aren’t you open?”
As the atmosphere turned tense, a burly man approached lazily and sat beside me. His face looked oddly familiar.
“Wait, wait. Let me handle this. Miss, where are you from?”
He leaned in with a sly grin.
“What’s your name?”
So that’s why he looked familiar.
“Why aren’t you answering? You’re the one, right? That crazy maid who smashed my brother’s face in.”
Ah. The brother of the trash. Or should I say, trash number two?
Click.
In an instant, the bartender pulled out a shotgun from beneath the table and pointed it at my forehead.
“So it was you. If you don’t want to die, come quietly. We’ll mash you up and send you off on a slave ship.”
That action crushed even my last bit of expectation.
In the Empire, a pub was a place for one’s people and home. But clearly, not here.
Following the bartender’s command, I rose calmly. As I walked along the bar, the gun barrel followed my head.
When I reached the entrance behind the bar—
I suddenly lowered my body, spun halfway, and kicked the bartender’s wrist.
Bang! He flew into the shelf of glasses behind him, crashing to the ground as shards scattered like snow.
“Get her!”
Next, I slapped the brother square across the face, sending him crashing into the wall. The two at the round table were slammed into it, while the other two were introduced to the chairs rather intimately.
“…Ugh.”
Finally, it was quiet.
This is the kind of pub I know. Not a place for trash, but for people.
“Got any hidden guns?”
The middle-aged woman, standing with her hands raised, trembled as she looked at me.
“I asked if you do.”
“In the storage! I-I’ll bring them!”
“No need.”
I walked back to the bartender.
The brave man who had aimed a gun at my head was now rolling on the floor, one leg seemingly useless. I straightened him out and sat on top of him. His face twisted in despair.
“So, when are you going to answer my question?”
“Your question…?”
“Why aren’t you doing business? Is that ‘pub’ sign outside just decoration?”
“We’ll… do business.”
“Then why form something like a merchant association?”
“W-we’ll do business.”
“Answer the question. Why did you form it?”
“To… protect the interests of merchants in the city…”
“Who agreed to that?”
“All the merchants…”
“Did they agree willingly? Or were they threatened? Should I go around the neighborhood right now and ask? I’ll drag you along like a dog and have you face them one by one. Every time someone says they were forced, your lifespan drops by twenty years. Shall we try that?”
Strange.
Talking this much to people like them didn’t feel unpleasant at all. My own voice didn’t sound dreadful to my ears.
It almost felt like I had returned to Andert. My lips lifted more easily.
My tongue moved like a fish in water.
“I’m sorry.”
One of the men at the table, speaking through broken teeth, asked:
“W-who exactly are you, miss?”
I slowly looked over the six frightened faces, then pointed to the wall.
“That.”
The framed black-and-white photograph hung proudly.
In it were seven heroes—including me from my Andert days, Rafael, and Natasha, the imperial princess—raising their glasses toward the sky, smiling.
It wasn’t a particularly meaningful photo.
During the Mage War, when Archmage Mephisto’s sudden offensive pushed the frontlines north, a pub owner had taken it to boost morale.
I hadn’t understood how a photo like that would help, but it must have been published after the victory.
“I’m that.”
“What do you mean…?”
“I rolled around enough to save the world. But it wasn’t a world saved for people like you to run wild.”
The bartender now looked at me like I was a madwoman.
I pulled a chair and sat down, taking a sip of water.
“You wanted to know who I am? Let me tell you a little story. You’ll listen, right? Even if my speech is awkward, just laugh it off. I’m not very good with words.”
“Y-yes.”
“I have an important goal I must achieve within three years.”
“Yes.”
“But to achieve it, I need the area around my estate to be clean. Especially people like you. You know who I mean, right? Thieves.”
“We’re not thie—”
“Does that street belong to you?”
I swept my gaze over them. None could meet my eyes.
“Does that alley belong to you? Answer me.”
“No.”
“If it’s not yours and you charge fees, that’s theft. Because of thieves like you, dinner tasted bad tonight. The potatoes were poor quality. And why? Because the vendor hid in an alley to avoid your fees. In an alley, goods don’t sell quickly. They rot.”
“…Yes.”
“So if there’s no fee, the potatoes improve. Fresh ingredients improve food quality. But bad food makes people sick. And sick people, if unlucky, die.”
“Yes.”
I pointed at the bartender.
“In short, if you charge fees, I die.”
“…Yes? Wait—”
“So before I die, I’ll kill you first. In other words, self-defense.”
I smiled at them.
“Story over. Who wants to die first?”
Their faces turned pale.
Someone gasped.
Of course, I had no intention of killing them. Violence and murder are entirely different crimes. Both serious, but not the same.
Then, the bartender slowly rose to his feet. His fearful eyes now carried a hint of confidence.
“We have <Buried Let> above us.”
So he had something to rely on.
The bartender pulled out his loose tooth and pointed at me.
“So you cannot kill us. If you do, you become an enemy of <Buried Let>. And you will never survive.”
