TPWSM 63

Chapter 63

“Looks perfect, right? I’ve been lurking around here the past few days, and I haven’t seen a single person using this place. Neither knights nor servants seem to know about it. What do you think of my eye for detail?”

“Well done.”

With that brief reply, David bent low and slipped through the small hole.

Kirill followed behind him with a goofy grin.

It felt like he had gone back to his teenage days as a squire, embarking on an adventure into unknown territory. Somehow, the sense of being closer to his lord made him giddy.

He didn’t even forget to grab the handle fixed on the inside of the plank and close the opening again.

The tavern in the southern district, where the pawnshop was said to be, was a two-story building with a large grain warehouse attached.

In front of it, David pulled out his pocket watch. The hands pointed exactly to ten o’clock.

From the loosely open crack in the door, a lively mandolin melody spilled out. Even before stepping inside, Kirill’s shoulders began to bounce in rhythm, and he whistled along.

“Heheh, think there’ll be a lot of women inside? They say land-dwelling women are healthy and full of life. How about dancing with them after the job’s done, Your Grace—”

Kirill’s chatter stopped abruptly when David’s cold eyes swept over him.

“What sort of person is the pawnshop owner?”

David halted at the entrance and asked, his posture stiff with tension.

“Ah, I forgot to mention the important part. He’s deaf and mute.”

“…Deaf?”

“Yes. So he communicates only through sign language. I heard he always has a sign language interpreter with him. Anyway, since he can’t speak, he’s said to be reliable at keeping secrets. Unless you’re caught lying and hauled off, there’s little risk of rumors spreading.”

“I see.”

If it was sign language, David had no worries. Even if the interpreter twisted the meaning, he could correct it.

Relieved, he pushed the door open and went inside.

At once, the music had shifted into a sticky, heady rhythm that clung to his ears. People dressed in colorful, flimsy outfits swayed and writhed to the beat, as though they had shed all sense of self and surrendered their bodies to pleasure.

“Wow, just opened and already packed.”

Kirill muttered.

David frowned. He would never get used to this chaos. Pushing through the crowd, he spotted a staircase leading down on the far left.

He glanced back. Already caught up in the atmosphere, Kirill gawked with his mouth half open, looking all around.

“Sir Kirill, wait here.”

“What? Truly, Your Grace? Thank you! Then here—”

Kirill hastily pulled his identification token from his jacket pocket and handed it over to David, then vanished into the throng as though melting away.

Leaving behind his thoughtless bodyguard, David let out a quiet sigh and descended into the basement.

The tavern opens at nine, the pawnshop at midnight… Did I come too early?

He looked around. No one had arrived to borrow money yet. On the floorboards before the pawnshop’s sturdy iron door, neat letters read: Line starts here.

David stood tall at that spot and waited.

Not ten minutes later, groups of five or six bustled down the stairs and joined the line. Soon the underground space filled with people hoping to borrow money.

“I hurried too, but looks like the tall fellow here got first place today. Which district are you from?”

A middle-aged woman standing behind him struck up conversation.

“…The central district.”

Since the lord’s castle was in the central district, it wasn’t a lie.

“My, fancy neighborhood. But why are you covered head to toe in black? I can’t even see your face.”

“…Because I don’t feel proud of myself.”

David answered curtly.

Unfazed, the woman kept chatting, showering him with questions—about his accent, whether he was borrowing for marriage expenses, or if he was a soldier who survived the war against the invading nation.

David could barely answer. All he could see before his eyes was the face of his younger sister, left behind on Pardon Island.

“I’m here to repay interest. Just a hundred rebel a month, so convenient. Plus I get to chat with Madam, exchange greetings, and report business profits.”

It seemed the pawnshop owner had debtors pay a set amount each month directly.

“…I see.”

When the conversation dwindled, the woman turned to chat with the person behind her.

Time passed until both the minute and hour hands pointed straight up.

“Hm, why isn’t she coming? Has she taken days off and not opening today either?”

“No, no, I heard she’d open tonight.”

The surrounding murmurs made David restless.

He pulled a kerchief from his pocket and tied it over the lower half of his face. Maybe it was his imagination, but he felt several women in the back staring holes into him.

Then suddenly, all chatter cut off.

“Look, Madam is coming down!”

“Oh my, oh my, straighten the line.”

“Good evening, Madam!”

People in line waved cheerfully toward the stairs.

David turned his gaze. Two figures in pitch-black robes descended.

The one on the left was tall and lithe, almost impossible to tell male from female. The one on the right had the figure of an ordinary woman.

So the “Madam” must be the one on the right?

His guess was quickly proven wrong. The one on the right unlocked the iron door, while the one on the left strode in confidently as the owner.

Clang. Clang.

A bell rang. As David hesitated, the woman behind him nudged his back.

“Young man, go on in.”

“…Yes.”

David calmly stepped into the pawnshop. Behind him, the heavy iron door shut with a thud.

The pawnshop owner lounged lazily on a leather sofa, still veiled and robed.

It was clear she was hiding her identity carefully—just as David was doing.

“Let’s start with your information.”

The sign language interpreter stepped forward and spoke. The voice was oddly familiar, but likely just his imagination.

“…My name is Danil.”

Danil was Kirill’s surname.

Then silence, so heavy even breathing couldn’t be heard.

Strange.

He had expected to be asked for his identification token. But the pawnshop owner only made the slightest rise and fall of her shoulders—no further reaction.

Why? David stared at her.

The owner slowly leaned forward over the desk.

Her gaze locked on him with sharp intensity.

David didn’t back down. He met her eyes. Though her black hair veiled them, she seemed to be studying his face closely.

Her eyes traced every part of his hidden features.

Feeling weighed down, David dropped his head.

If only my face were so plain it could be forgotten at a glance… Then I wouldn’t have had to wrap myself up like this.

He clenched his teeth. He had come here with only one purpose: to save Melania. This dark, dank basement was the final obstacle.

He gripped the identification token in his pocket. If asked, he would hand it over.

But the pawnshop owner waved her hand sharply at the interpreter—no need to check. Move on to the next step.

After a pause, the interpreter spoke again.

“Very well, Danil. What do you wish to pawn? Be it an item or a talent, show it. Madam herself will judge its worth.”

…So he had to present the item first.

David nodded heavily. He slipped his hand into his left sleeve.

His rough palm grasped the cold touch of metal. Grabbing a handful at random, he pulled them out and laid them on the desk.