Reinforcements

The side of the carriage skimmed past the edge of the wall, and they left the protected main road behind.

At the street entrance ahead, the coachman called Carpenter suddenly tugged the reins. The carriage completed a beautiful drift at the corner before crashing into the alley beside it.

At the end of the alley stood two people facing each other. One wore a black cloak, his palm hanging loosely at his waist.

Opposite him stood a knight whose entire body was wrapped in armor.

The coachman codenamed Carpenter pulled on the reins the instant he saw Riel ahead. The horse's hooves struck the ground in a dense drumbeat like a torrential downpour pounding on leaves.

"Long time no see, Black Tea."

After the brief greeting, Riel slowly walked forward and finally stopped three paces from Black Tea's toes.

On this distance, both their weapons could just barely reach each other, but his small sword would undoubtedly be a step faster.

Sure enough, Black Tea, who knew the full measure of his opponent, retreated half a step.

"Long time no see. Would you hand him over to me?"

"This is another boring, meaningless slaughter. You've failed to get that gold coin from him all this time, and you've even kept him well-fed and well-housed for so long."

"This isn't the Riel I know. Did a succubus curse you, or is that little brat actually your son?"

Forced to retreat half a step, Black Tea was the first to strike back verbally.

"Your ranger is here too, right? He's truly formidable."

"But I can't give up Heka. Could you grant me a little more time? We aren't enemies."

Black Tea paused, then shook his head firmly.

"My team and I can't stay here forever. Besides, I don't trust you. Who knows what kind of deal you'll reach with him?"

Riel turned to look at the carriage that had brushed past him and vanished into the neighboring street. There was an ambush waiting behind it, but time had been too tight for him to call out more people.

Besides, he didn't dare summon too many people under these circumstances. After all, the Black Mountain Merchants had no shortage of enemies within the city.

"He's just a child from the slums. He has no value. He isn't my child, nor is he someone who needs protecting."

"I'm protecting him right now only because he still has something I need."

"I've heard that good hunters are patient. Why not wait a little longer, until..."

"One month, two months, or a year?"

"You told me the same thing back then. I believed you, and now you're giving me the same excuse again."

"I don't want trouble. You Black Mountain people hold grudges fiercely, and unless necessary, I don't want to kill any of your people."

"Have your people leave. After I kill that little brat, I'll take my team and leave Seapeak Port. I absolutely won't target you again."

"Kami is skilled at interrogation. Few people can keep a secret under his hands. If you can't bear to do it yourself, we can handle it for you. The place we uncover will belong to you."

Riel sighed regretfully, then placed a finger on the small sword at his waist.

"If you'd told me this a few days ago, I might have been tempted. But not now. His value is too great."

"Let's each take a step back. Cut off his leg and left hand. I need his brain and right hand to remain functional."

"After a year, how about I personally deliver him to you?"

Riel offered the suggestion sincerely. In response, a greatsword was drawn from its scabbard, its finely forged blade wrapped in a layer of shifting blue radiance.

"Looks like there's nothing left to discuss. What a pity. You came at the wrong time."

The small sword stabbed out from the blackness beneath the cloak, meeting that descending streak of deep blue.

On the roof, the ranger Kami shifted his gaze away from the two people in the distance, who had finished their trash talk and begun fighting.

A profession level couldn't represent all of someone's combat strength. Its source was merely a device placed by the Realm Forger inside the Adventurers' Guild to measure the height of an individual's energy level.

It couldn't measure a person's will to fight or combat experience, and naturally couldn't fully judge their battle strength.

Kami had faith in his leader. His opponent's combat experience—especially his experience fighting humans—was extraordinarily rich.

His task now was to kill that little brat.

Kami drew an arrow from the quiver at his waist, nocked it, and pulled the bowstring back before his cheek.

He had performed these familiar movements countless times. His body had long since replaced his soul in completing the motions of preparation.

After aiming the gleaming, icy blade down below, Kami released the fingers gripping the bowstring.

A peal of thunder exploded, and the arrow cleaved through the drowsy morning light.

Heka braced himself hard against the carriage wall. While they had been on the main road, the coachman called Carpenter had shown some restraint.

Now that they had entered the narrower alley, the other man finally displayed his astonishing skill at tossing the contents of a carriage, all while maintaining the same speed.

The five people inside were like five potato slices of various sizes, squeezed, twisted, and battered.

The armored gauntlet of the Mr. Carpenter who wasn't called Carpenter dug painfully into Heka's stomach. Fortunately, the Tuft of Hair, temporarily unconscious from divine magic, served as a cushion between them.

The carriage drifted sideways once more, and the compartment instantly tilted to one side. Heka could even feel that the wheels on one side had lifted slightly off the ground.

Fortunately, he wasn't underneath this time and didn't have to face the crushing weight of the three meat-filled suits of iron inside the carriage.

But the good times didn't last. This time, the carriage failed to come to a steady stop as it had before.

Right before their eyes, an arrow came from above and, before anyone could react, blew the head off the coachman called Carpenter.

The arrow pierced through the iron helmet on the coachman's head as easily as it would pass through a sheet of thin paper.

After shooting straight through the coachman's skull, the arrow's tip protruded from the other side.

It looked as though the coachman had put on an exquisite hat with an arrowhead and fletching added to either side.

The Carpenter who wasn't called Carpenter had been sitting closest to the coachman. He kicked the already-dead Carpenter away, then seized the reins with all his strength.

But by then, the carriage had reached the point of no return. The horses pulling it ahead strained painfully against the reins, while their horseshoes struck the alley's stone-paved ground with a clanging, hammering rhythm.