TFR 03

CHAPTER 03

Rosellina switched horses at a roadside market where she had stayed the night. The color and markings of the horse she had been riding were already exposed. Her pursuers paid attention to such details, so Rosellina had made it a habit to change mounts regularly.

This horse had lasted her longer than most.

“I’m sorry. And thank you. If fate allows, we’ll meet again someday.”

Pressing her forehead gently to the horse’s head, she whispered the words only in her heart. She had never been the type to say such sentimental things aloud.

Even before she was being hunted, she had been a quiet person. Now she never spoke except when absolutely necessary—every word could leave a trace.

She discarded her torn, bloodstained clothes and changed into a new tunic. The best place to buy such things was the flea markets that sold mostly secondhand goods. Clothes that were worn, stained, or full of little holes wrapped around her figure helped her blend into the crowd without drawing attention.

The new clothes looked as if they had been worn for years, but Rosellina didn’t care. She had never once in her life felt greedy about appearances.

Layering a few tunics with sleeves and carrying a light satchel, she headed for a tavern. She chose one that had a bright atmosphere, where both men and women came and went freely. Strangely enough, high-level mercenary jobs were often found in such places.

A fugitive couldn’t simply keep running forever—tightening nets closed in quickly. At times like this, it was better to blend in with a mercenary band, or take on a job that allowed her to gain the support of a local noble. Especially now, when every route seemed blocked.

Dantes and his three companions had been closing in as if this chase were the final one, but Rosellina didn’t panic. Rather than recklessly searching for new methods, it was safer to do her best within the approaches that had always worked.

She would take a high-grade mercenary job, leave this town, and then decide her next destination later. As a wanderer, the next stop never truly mattered.

With her hair and face hidden, Rosellina knocked over the cup on her table and tapped three times with her finger. It was a secret signal known only among mercenaries.

One tap meant a low-level job.
Two taps meant mid-to-high level.
Three taps meant top-level.

The barmaid who had been watching her closely came over, tidying up the table as she spoke.

“Meal? Or drink?”

“Meal.”

“Today’s herring is good. How about grilled herring and a glass of rum?”

“Gin.”

“Alright. Gin instead of rum.”

She scribbled the order on a slip and tucked it onto the table. With the same natural motion, she slid a small folded note from her sleeve beneath it.

Rosellina didn’t open the note until her food arrived. She ate like anyone else, though her eyes moved quickly, as if she had eight of them. She stuffed down the grilled herring and hard bread, then washed it with gin to make it digestible.

Covering her mouth and nose again, she picked up the note like it was nothing more than a receipt and read it quickly.

Baron Aventurine’s only son missing. Last seen at a goblin attack site. Wants handled quietly. At least recover the body. Advance payment 50 gallons. Success reward 500 gallons.

Rosellina looked up at the barkeep. She gave the slightest nod, and he accepted the “receipt” from her hand, crumpling the real note and tossing it beneath the counter.

“Two gallons,” he said.

She pulled five coins from her pouch and handed them over—two for the food, three for the introduction fee. Normally, commissions were charged to the client, but mercenaries often gave a token of gratitude for decent-quality requests.

The barkeep raised an eyebrow. She was small and slight—he had doubted whether she could handle the job. But she clearly knew the manners of a top-rank mercenary.

As soon as he took the money, his thick fingers brushed inside her worn sleeve, leaving five crisp ten-gallon bills that slid lightly into her tunic—the advance.

Without a word, Rosellina turned and left the tavern. Her years as a wanted fugitive had taught her never to hold anyone’s gaze or engage in long conversation.

Hers was a life lived entirely alone. That was the only way to stay safe.

The commission note didn’t specify methods. All that mattered was fulfilling the client’s request.

“No need to go to Baron Aventurine’s house. It’s been a while since the son disappeared anyway. There aren’t many goblin haunts nearby, but I can’t search them all. Better to buy information from those who failed and move from there.”

Rosellina walked the streets, hugging the edges as always.

Thud.

She bumped shoulders with someone. She dipped her head slightly without looking. The other person did the same and kept walking.

The solid build told her this was a man trained for years. Rosellina pricked her ears, slowing her steps. A voice soon rang out.

“Seriously, this outfit is ridiculous. Look at Gunter—his chest looks like it’s about to burst!”

Marco.

Rosellina froze. She glanced back. Four men.

“Keep your voice down. Everyone knows Gunter’s name,” said the man she had bumped. That must be Cesario.

“But it’s not like he’s the only Gunter in the world.”

The towering figure beside him was unmistakable. Gunter Butler. He was taller now, broader too. Six years of running, and this was the first time she had seen them again.

“Hey, idiots. Cut it out.”

At that voice, her heart wavered. A voice she had missed—yet one she should never hear again.

Dantes. Dantes Belkin.

Rosellina turned sharply toward the wall, unable to face him. Her heart pounded.

“I give you decent clothes so you can move freely, and instead of working you just argue all day?”

His low, honeyed voice made her stop in her tracks. Six years of flight had not erased it. That playful lilt in his tone…

Her fingertips tingled. Friends who had once felt so far away were now only a few steps apart. No—no longer friends.

Realizing the danger, she shifted smoothly, melting into the crowd.

Just then, a gust of wind blew hard.

Rosellina clutched her hood tight and slipped deeper among the people. Wind was dangerous. The Brida family carried a faint rose fragrance in their scent. Few could notice it, but there was one man who remembered perfectly. Dantes. He would recognize it.

She buried herself in the crowd and hurried away.

The wind carried that faint rose fragrance straight to Dantes’ nose.

“Wait.”

“Huh? What is it?” Marco asked.

Dantes closed his eyes, searching through the mix of spices and smells until he found it—the faint scent of roses.

“He’s here.”

“What are you talking about, Dante? There’s nothing here.”

Gunter looked around. Since they couldn’t use his full name in public, the trio called him as they once had—Dante.

“Cesario. Did you sense anything?” Marco asked.

“Nothing,” Cesario answered shortly, though his expression was uneasy. The more they denied it, the clearer Dantes felt it.

Roberto Brida was here.

The scent faded quickly. It was clear—he had seen them and fled.

“Roberto Brida. He’s here.”

Dantes bolted toward where the smell had been strongest. The trio rushed after him.

“Hey, Dante!”
“Wait for us!”

They followed him toward the western edge of the square, where the market began and the alleys grew tight and crowded.

“Watch it!”
“Why are you shoving people?”
“Sorry! Excuse us!”

Cesario and Gunter apologized as Dantes barreled through the crowd, scattering vendors and shoppers. But no matter how they searched, the scent kept thinning, and Roberto never appeared.

At the empty edge of the square, Dantes turned in circles, searching. The scent was almost gone.

“Dantes, are you alright?” Marco asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Dantes’ eyes were sharp.
“Roberto was right there. Just behind us.”

“Couldn’t you have just imagined it? Wanted it too badly?”

“No. That scent can’t be imitated.”

He was dead serious. The trio looked around, but not even an ant stirred. Gunter gripped his shoulder.

“Dante. We already knew Roberto had to be somewhere nearby. We’ll find him again.”

“He saw me. He saw us. And then he hid again. Damn it. Again! Always again!”

Dantes stomped the ground furiously. The fleeting traces of Roberto Brida drove him mad. Always just out of reach. Always vanishing in an instant.

“Damn it!”

He raked his hair back in frustration. The trio said nothing, only standing by his side as his anger burned.