Chapter 142: Collaterally Damaged?
After enduring a few more strained pleasantries with Arthur, the man known as Three Black Birds finally reached his limit and spoke plainly:
"It has been a genuine pleasure conversing with you, but I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to. This child is shivering to the bone; we must find an inn with a hot bath and warm water immediately."
Arthur nodded. "Then I won't keep you. As it happens, I was planning to head back to my own room for a nap."
The man's expression flickered, a trace of anxiety crossing his face for fear that Arthur might ask which inn they were staying at. Fortunately, having said his piece, Arthur turned and vanished into the night with crisp efficiency.
The father and daughter stood on the wind-swept street, watching Arthur's silhouette fade into the distance before finally letting out a long, collective sigh of relief.
"Whew... that was a close one..."
The girl wiped cold sweat from her brow, her face flushed with an unnatural heat, her voice trembling with lingering dread. "I thought for sure he'd seen through us!"
She looked up at Villentretenmerth, her voice pleading. "Father, can we please leave this place? I hate human cities."
Villentretenmerth took the girl's hand and began striding toward the Moonlight Moss inn. His tone was gentle, yet carried a foundation of unyielding steel.
"We cannot hide from the eyes of humanity forever. The world is undergoing an irreversible change; we can only choose to embrace it, not resist it."
"You have been gifted the ability to take human form. It is a boon from the heavens—do not squander it."
The girl, Saesenthessis, followed close behind, grumbling her dissent. "But I just don't like it. Humans, dwarves, elves—they're all the same. They smile at my face while their hearts calculate how to exploit my body, whether I'm in this skin or my true one!"
"Most sentient beings possess intellect, yet their logic remains a slave to biological instinct."
Villentretenmerth smiled warmly. "Their greed isn't reserved solely for you; they treat their own kind much the same. It is good that you can distinguish their true intentions."
"But let's not dwell on such heavy matters tonight," he continued, his tone brightening. "I'm taking you to see an old friend. He's the savior of our entire family. With him, at least, you needn't worry about anyone coveting your body—well, at least not in your dragon form."
"Always so mysterious..."
Saskia wore a sullen pout, her foot lashing out to kick a stray stone lying in the road.
The pebble struck a roadside pillar and ricocheted at a bizarre angle, soaring into the sky. An owl gliding silently through the night was startled by the projectile, letting out a panicked hoot as it banked sharply to avoid the hit.
The stone's momentum eventually died, and it clattered onto a high roof, rolling down the tiles until it was stopped by a horizontally laid scabbard—made of fine rosewood.
Watching the pair disappear into the Moonlight Moss below, a cold light flickered in Arthur's eyes.
He had tested them repeatedly, hoping to lead them to a secluded spot before initiating a proper interrogation to avoid harming any bystanders. But now, they had walked straight into his own lodgings. What was left to test?
Arthur gripped Glacier, moving across the ridgeline with long, silent strides. In a heartbeat, he reached the roof directly across from the Moonlight Moss's main balcony.
He took a deep breath, his legs coiling and then snapping like a trap. He launched himself through the air like a prowling panther, clearing the gap above the street.
He rolled once upon landing to bleed off the momentum and slid down the slope of the roof, dropping onto the balcony of a luxury suite. Inside, through the glass, a gnarled old pear tree was currently pressing down on a fresh crabapple blossom.
"You—you—you! What do you think you're doing?! I'm warning you, this is a gross violation of my personal privacy!"
On the massive bed, a balding old man scrambled back in a panic, shoving away the beautiful young girl beside him. He clutched the silk sheets to hide his face, his few remaining hairs fluttering pathetically in the draft.
Arthur had no time to admire the "scenery" on the bed. He pushed open the glass doors and charged inside. The old man, seemingly struck by some sudden, hysterical terror, rolled off the bed and bolted for the door, screaming at the top of his lungs:
"Tell Lord Donde that Smith is no coward!"
What bloody madness was this?
His mind occupied by his companions' safety, Arthur didn't spare a second glance for the farcical scene before him. He pushed through the secondary door and made a silent, rapid descent toward the ground floor.
Back in the luxury suite, the old man remained frozen, one leg hitched over the windowsill, staring in bewilderment at the direction Arthur had vanished.
"What in the hells was that lad's business?"
On the bed, the young woman covered her mouth, a playful giggle escaping her lips. "My Lord, I didn't realize you enjoyed this particular... flavor of excitement. However, a third party is an extra charge—paid in advance."
"Plough your extra charges!"
Following a string of Cintran profanities that would have made a sailor blush, the old man realized his predicament and scrambled back inside. He panted heavily, clutching his side. "Get a doctor, woman! Don't just sit there! Do you want to watch me bleed out?"
The old man reached out with his uninjured hand to seize her, but the sudden thud-thud-thud of heavy, disciplined footsteps in the hallway made his temper flare again.
"Cursed brat! Are you never finished? By the gods, I'll have you put away with a single stroke of my pen! You—"
His tirade cut off as if his tongue had been knotted. The figures stepping through the door weren't Arthur. They were a group of lean, stone-faced youths dressed in practical, dark doublets. These were Calanthe's "Shadow-knives"—the specialists tasked with pruning the weeds of rebellion within the kingdom.
Beads of sweat the size of peas broke out on the old man's brow. He glanced instinctively toward the window, but his legs had turned to overcooked noodles; they wouldn't have carried him an inch.
Leaving Lord Smith to his inevitable fate, Arthur reached the lobby. His tension evaporated the moment he saw his companions were unharmed.
Whatever those two mysterious strangers intended, they would find no openings tonight.
The dining tables had been moved from the center of the hall, replaced by long sideboards laden with an assortment of cold delicacies for the guests to help themselves.
Maria, using her body to shield the movement from prying eyes, gave Arthur's forearm a sharp pinch—a silent reprimand for his rough, unannounced entrance earlier. Yet, the warmth in her eyes told a different story; she was clearly relieved to see him.
Arthur caught the hand that had just pinched him, pulling it to his chest and tracing her palm with his thumb. "My lady, you look breathtaking tonight."
She struggled playfully to pull away. "Hush now. There's a ball tonight! Dandelion is about to perform."
Arthur ignored the protest, his hand sliding shamelessly toward the curve of her waist. He smiled, leaning in. "You look stunning in the light of a ball."
"Behave! Dandelion is hosting this specifically because an old friend of his arrived."
Maria reached for a dried apricot and stuffed it into Arthur's mouth, cutting off his impending kiss. She gestured with her eyes toward the far side of the room.
"What sort of 'old friend' commands such influence that Dandelion would throw a ball in their honor?" Arthur mumbled around the fruit, stifling a laugh. Most likely, this "old friend" was some noblewoman the bard had wooed the previous afternoon.
He remembered when they had fled Maribor; the Great Poet had been perfectly content with dry bread and spring water. It seemed the moment he had coin in his pocket, his flamboyant nature returned with a vengeance.
With a mix of mild curiosity and heavy skepticism, Arthur followed Maria's gaze to see who this legendary friend might be.
But before he could identify a target, his eyes narrowed.
In a quiet corner of the hall, an elegant man with a head of unruly curls and a young girl were standing by a side table. They were methodically—and with surprising speed—demolishing a platter of venison.
It was the two he had been tracking.