Chapter Thirty-Four: Silencing Witnesses

What should be done if the culprits can’t be found? Keep searching! This time, although it appeared that no one had died and only a few new recruits had been attacked, recruits—no matter how green—were still members of the kingdom’s regular army. If regular soldiers on official duty could be assaulted at will, what would become of military authority? In these peaceful times, unlike the days of war, even a single recruit being attacked and injured was a matter of grave concern. Furthermore, these recruits were not ordinary; among them were the son of the city lord, the general’s son, and the vice president of the merchant guild’s son—figures of some weight. Their own sons had been assaulted without reason; could these parents simply sit idly by? Moreover, the recruits had been escorting the vice principal of the Royal Academy.

Pressure mounted from all sides upon Kevin’s 254th Legion, demanding they uncover the enemy’s identity! As commander, Colonel Orson was under immense strain and was willing to offend even two mercenary groups if necessary. Yet, there were still no results; Kevin had pinched 323 behinds, but still had not found the one he sought.

It mattered little—if the mercenaries themselves could not be identified, then their families would be checked, along with cousins, distant relatives, neighbors, friends—none would be spared. All minor mercenary groups with ties to the two major ones would be investigated. If that failed, then even the relatives of those minor groups would be scrutinized. If still nothing came of it, the entire city would be turned upside down. Whether or not they could actually find the culprit, the whole city would be made to understand: after assaulting the army, they would face days of unrelenting misery.

Orson made it clear to Kevin: tomorrow, even more people would be interrogated, and even more behinds pinched. Their new recruit drills would be postponed indefinitely.

Kevin could not help but explain that he merely wished to check for bruises; in two days, the marks would likely vanish, making the process futile. Orson, however, insisted that as long as there was a one percent chance, it must be pursued—what if the culprit’s bruises faded slowly? Kevin, resigned, could only obey orders.

That night, everyone privately wondered what was going on. Most still believed their attackers were auxiliary members of a mercenary group, or perhaps third-party troublemakers. They were also puzzled—why had the scent-tracking failed?

Reportedly, the moment Kevin returned to camp, the commander dispatched the Dragonhawk Unit to investigate in the Venomous Forest, but as yet, no word had returned. It was feared the enemy possessed professional counter-surveillance and extraction techniques. Yet, for people with such capabilities to fight Kevin and his fellow recruits to a standstill seemed odd.

Kevin replayed the battle in his mind; he saw no sign that the enemy had held back—they had fought with all their might. In truth, though, their fighting style focused more on defense than attack. Even armed with superior weapons, they had only managed a draw, which owed much to their defensive approach.

Kevin and the others were outmatched and had a person to protect. If they attacked, they would break formation, risking their charge’s safety. Thus, they could only defend. Similarly, the enemy favored defense, resulting in a prolonged stalemate.

This defensive style was common among mercenaries, who often fought magical beasts—fierce and resilient foes. Mercenaries had to observe carefully and strike only when an opening presented itself, making them generally skilled in defense.

Moreover, mercenaries lacked formal training, usually self-taught or battle-hardened. Their skills were unbalanced; some excelled in close combat but were poor archers. This, too, suggested they were ordinary mercenaries.

But why would ordinary mercenaries, after suffering such losses, persist in their assault? It was a perplexing question. Kevin could not help but think of the assassin who delivered the package—was there some grand conspiracy at work?

The next day, the entire army remained on alert. Distant relatives, neighbors, and friends of the two mercenary groups were brought in, one by one, for investigation—no inconvenience was spared! Kevin continued pinching behinds, one after another.

Meanwhile, after returning, Qian Jue, leader of the Purple Gold Mercenary Group, lodged a protest with the Mercenary Alliance headquarters, denouncing the army’s excessive behavior and claiming to have been insulted.

The Mercenary Alliance was led by Guildmaster Hilde, the Sword Saint, who commanded all the kingdom’s mercenary groups. The king had once tried to curtail the Alliance’s power, but with Hilde at the helm, it was not easily done.

He was aware of the situation but could do little to stop a proper investigation. All he could do was placate his subordinates with delays: “We will look into it further, wait for our news, don’t act rashly,” and so on.

That morning, Kevin pinched another 149 behinds, still with no result. After washing his hands and eating, he prepared for the afternoon’s round.

The army was not entirely stingy; the mess hall provided food for all waiting for inspection. Since there was not enough room, people ate on the parade ground. The food was neither good nor bad—poor folk found it satisfying, the wealthy frowned, but they had little choice.

The two group leaders were still shown some respect, allowed to dine with the officers. Kevin didn’t know what they discussed, but Qian Jue seemed stiff, eating only a bite before putting down his cutlery.

Suddenly, two sharp whistles sounded overhead, followed by a rush of wind. Three Dragonhawks swooped down and landed steadily. The three riders dismounted and hurried into the mess hall, saluting the colonel: “Colonel! We have a discovery!”

Orson immediately stood, tossing aside his cutlery. “Report!”

“We found three corpses downstream of the Feilu River. Their appearance matches the description provided by Kevin and the others. We brought them back for your inspection!” the Dragonhawk rider reported.

Kevin set down his cutlery at once and strode outside, the other recruits following. Three Dragonhawks stood side by side—their appearance that of giant eagles, feathers vibrant, wingspan five meters wide, the pride of Lowbauer’s veteran air corps. Three wooden coffins had been unloaded from their backs. As a rider opened one, the stench of death wafted out.

“Everyone else, keep eating!” Orson ordered, then led his staff to the coffins, motioning for Kevin to join.

Kevin and the others obeyed. The bodies were slightly decomposed, their clothes matching those worn by their attackers. After soaking in the river, they were swollen, with bits of flesh torn away by fish or shrimp. Even Kevin felt a wave of nausea.

“Sir,” Sain stood and took a deep breath, “I can only say that this is one of the men from that day; his clothing is the same. There’s a bloodstain on this corner—my blood, from the fight.”

“Sir,” Statt also answered, “this one fought me; the blood on his right arm is mine.”

When both had spoken, all eyes turned to the third corpse. Kevin, fighting his disgust, pulled down the man’s trousers, but there were no marks on either side of the pelvis.

“Well?” Orson asked.

“This one has been dead for two days. Judging by the timing, he likely died soon after we left. The back of his skull is shattered by a blunt instrument—probably the cause of death. His clothes match the man I fought, but I can’t confirm if it’s him,” Kevin replied.

Orson was silent.

His adjutant stepped forward calmly and patted Kevin. “Step aside, I’ll take a look.”

After a moment, the adjutant said, “Yes, his account matches.”

“Take the three bodies away for a professional autopsy,” Orson ordered. “Everyone else, back to your meal.”

No one moved. Even Kevin had lost his appetite, but Colonel Orson, true to his rank, returned to the table and resumed eating heartily.

Qian Jue, after a moment’s hesitation, asked, “Now that the killers are dead, does this have anything to do with us anymore? Can we take our people and go?” According to Kevin, there had been eight enemies—one killed by the package assassin, two crushed by the gorilla, two shot by Sain, and three escaped. Now, with three more bodies found, the case seemed closed.

Orson smiled. “Since you’re all here, there’s no need to rush. Didn’t you hear? We can only confirm the clothing matches, not the people inside.”

“Colonel,” Qian Jue frowned slightly, “the time of death matches soon after your departure. What could they have done in that time?”

“Plenty of time to change clothes,” Orson replied with a smile. “The case is far from clear. Three deaths look more like witnesses being silenced. The bodies were thrown in the river to drift downstream, making scent-tracking difficult and delaying discovery. It all seems too deliberate. We need to investigate further.”

Qian Jue snorted and left the table. Orson only smiled helplessly and continued his meal. The Dreaming Back Mercenary leader could only force a smile—there was nothing to be done.

That afternoon, Kevin thought he would finally get a break, but unexpectedly, there was more behind-pinching to be done—another 146 people. Every person examined was recorded; Kevin needed only to flip through the register to know how many he had checked.

Such a foolish process left the mercenary groups thoroughly disgruntled. The investigation had already delayed their missions; now, even with the bodies found, the endless inspections were intolerable.

Protests echoed across the parade ground, but to no avail. The army sent a few officials to placate the crowd with the usual lines: “Stay calm,” “Cooperate,” “We’re helpless,” “We’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as possible,” and so on.

But often these words were just a façade; the real decisions were made where the common man could not see. That afternoon, Colonel Orson met directly with the Army Group Commander, who then submitted a report to the king, essentially stating: The eight attackers who assaulted our recruits have all been silenced. All evidence suggests they were mercenaries fostered by foreign powers, aiming to stir up conflict.

As these organizations are mostly abroad, it would be inappropriate for the military to cross the border. Your Majesty, please consider.

That very day, the king ordered the assassin corps to uncover the mastermind behind these men—or which country was responsible! The Assassin’s Guild, long idle, finally had work to do.

On the surface, the army continued to summon the minor mercenary groups allied with the Purple Gold Mercenary Group for inspection, earning a chorus of curses.