Chapter 84: Marching on the Brothel
Night had fallen over the capital's brothel district. Lamplight fell across the wet cobblestones in uneven, murky patches.
Lucian stood before a heavy metal door and studied the building's exterior.
The grey-white stone walls looked particularly cold in the dark. The windows were sealed tight, letting through only a few threads of faint light from the gaps around the door.
The air carried a smell that was difficult to name: cheap perfume, sweat, and something darker underneath, drifting in the night wind and then gone.
Sebas stood half a step behind and to his side. The black tailcoat dissolved into the darkness. The old butler's hands hung naturally at his sides, his bearing entirely composed, as though he were accompanying his employer on a perfectly ordinary evening stroll.
To anyone who didn't know better, this had every appearance of a young nobleman and his butler paying a visit to an entertainment establishment.
"According to the intelligence, that building over there also has an entrance."
Lucian raised his hand and indicated a building several houses down.
Sebas followed the gesture and gave a slight nod.
"The entrance doubles as an escape route. Standard operating practice would be at least two guards posted there." Lucian brought his hand back and turned to face Sebas, lowering his voice. "With that in mind, Mr. Sebas, perhaps we should split up. I'll take the front. You take that entrance. What do you think?"
Sebas's brow moved by the smallest possible fraction.
"Mr. Lucian, if you will forgive my saying so." The old butler's voice carried its usual steadiness. "The front is considerably more dangerous..."
Sebas didn't finish the sentence. The meaning was clear enough without it: the more dangerous position should fall to whoever had the greater strength.
Lucian looked into Sebas's eyes.
He knew perfectly well that the front was more dangerous.
"Mr. Sebas."
Lucian's voice was steadier than before, carrying a weight to it. He met Sebas's gaze without looking away, and that young face showed no sign of retreat.
"I know your strength far exceeds mine."
He said it plainly, without embarrassment.
"But Mr. Sebas is my guest. You came here to accompany me."
A layer of gravity had entered his voice, as though he were stating something that admitted no argument.
"How could I leave the most dangerous part to my guest."
Sebas looked at him.
The old butler's expression didn't change. But the light in his eyes flickered, just slightly.
A brief silence passed. Sebas gave a slight nod.
His chin settling downward, the way someone does when they mean it.
Wait, hold on. Is Sebas actually agreeing?
Lucian's internal commentary went into something close to panic. That was a courtesy gesture. I didn't mean it.
He added quickly: "And this action is to eliminate evil and uphold justice."
His voice took on a gravity that bordered on solemn oath. His gaze shifted from Sebas's face to the sealed metal door.
"Even if I face..."
He paused. His throat moved slightly, as though swallowing something.
"...danger to my own life, I would not hesitate."
The words "danger to my own life" came out with a faint stumble, but resolute for all that.
Night wind moved through again. The gold of Lucian's hair shifted at his forehead. The light from the door lamp fell across his profile and lit up those pale green eyes.
Sebas looked at that face.
The old butler's lips moved, barely.
"Mr. Lucian is doing this for my lady as well." Sebas's voice came quietly. "I cannot allow Mr. Lucian to face the most dangerous part."
Sebas took half a step forward, positioning himself between Lucian and the metal door.
The hem of the tailcoat shifted in the night wind. His salt-and-pepper hair caught silver in the door lamp.
"But..."
A note of uncertainty had entered Lucian's voice.
His gaze moved between Sebas and the door and finally came to rest on Sebas's face, showing a stubbornness that didn't want to let this old man take the risk on his behalf.
"Please allow me this, Mr. Lucian."
Sebas inclined forward in a slight bow.
Lucian watched the bow, and something taut inside him finally released.
Good. Sebas still responds to this kind of thing.
He let out a quiet internal breath. His expression, though, had grown more complicated.
A few seconds of silence.
"Then I hope Sebas will agree to one request of mine in return."
Lucian's voice had dropped slightly.
"Please go ahead, Mr. Lucian."
"Come back alive."
A pause.
"Also... Sebas doesn't need to call me Mr. Lucian. Just Lucian is fine."
Something in Sebas's expression shifted, extremely subtly, as though something had touched him.
"Then Lucian may simply call me Sebas."
Lucian gave a single nod.
"One more thing," Sebas's voice returned to the calm of someone moving toward a task, "I'll try to take them alive where I can. But if there is resistance, I'll kill without mercy. Is that acceptable?"
It was the final confirmation before battle. A gesture of respect to the person beside him.
Lucian thought of the original story.
Those "spared" members of Eight Fingers, after the organization's destruction, had continued living just fine. They changed their appearances, attached themselves to new masters, and went on scraping through this world without consequence.
While the people they had harmed lay in the cold earth, permanently.
"No."
Lucian's voice was unusually calm.
"No need to take them alive. We've effectively secured the relevant intelligence already. Leaving them creates the risk of certain nobles pulling them out. Sebas should simply kill those you judge to be deeply guilty."
Sebas's eyes shifted, slightly.
"Understood."
Sebas turned and faced the heavy metal door.
Lucian stood where he was and watched Sebas's back move away.
Then he turned and walked toward the side door concealed in shadow.
Night wind came through the alley mouth and moved through his golden hair.
The mithril armor caught the moonlight and gave back a cold gleam. The upright black sword crest on the chest plate was there and not there in the dark.
Sebas stood before the heavy metal door.
The warmth in his eyes withdrew, degree by degree, replaced by a clear and quietly focused calm.
"Well then."
His voice was very low, barely reaching anyone but himself.
"Let's begin."
He reached out and pushed the door open. The heavy metal offered no more resistance than paper.
On the other side of the building, Lucian had already reached the side door.
He raised his hand, knuckles coming against the door panel four times.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
The correct signal.
A faint sound from the other side. The door being drawn open.
Lucian's hand came down to the sword hilt at his waist. Through his fingertips, the cold that belongs to metal.