Chapter Forty-Eight: Return to the Barracks

"It seems you two have let slip quite a bit," the Guildmaster scrutinized Little Spoon and Little Nine.

Both lowered their heads, not daring to speak.

"I'll deal with you when we get back," the Guildmaster said curtly, wasting no words before turning his attention to Kevin.

Sensing the Guildmaster's gaze, Kevin nodded politely out of courtesy. "Guildmaster."

"Kevin Indistinct," the Guildmaster said as he walked over, "The resident ambassador has already sent word, and I know you lent considerable assistance this time."

Kevin forced a laugh, careful not to say anything rash. By all rights, anyone who would dispatch assassins just for writing a story about the Guildmaster eating filth was likely petty indeed. Dealing with such a master of pettiness required utmost caution. One wrong word might trigger a taboo. If he chose to kill them now, no one could stop him.

"According to the information from the ambassador, you seem to be an arrogant man, but for now you do understand propriety and decorum," the Guildmaster appraised Kevin from head to toe.

Kevin nodded again with a forced smile.

"Enough, I won't say more. Our department is of a confidential nature. I expect you to keep your lips sealed," the Guildmaster warned the two of them. "We operate in coordination with the military camp; we are essentially an independent division within it. To reveal our existence is tantamount to leaking military secrets. You understand the consequences, don't you?"

"Yes, sir!" Kevin and Jack both instinctively snapped to attention.

"Very well, I'm leaving. You two, return to the city," the Guildmaster said with a wave of his hand. In an instant, he vanished, leaving Kevin and Jack staring at each other in shock.

Little Spoon and Little Nine exchanged glances, then turned to Kevin. "We have to go as well."

"Oh? Not traveling together?" Kevin was surprised.

"No," Little Spoon shook his head. "We're taking a different route back."

Kevin hesitated. "You're not planning to go rescue Laurel, are you?"

They shook their heads at once. "Of course not. Assassins have their own rules. We'll explain another time if we get the chance."

Kevin and Jack could only nod in confusion.

"Farewell, then!" Little Spoon waved. "Mr. Author, I'll keep reading your books. After skimming your draft last time, there haven't been any new chapters, have there?"

Kevin gave a wry smile. "I've had to adjust to a new life, and besides, my editor is in the military camp as well."

"Well, whatever happens, I'll be waiting for your work!" Little Spoon smiled at him, then turned with Little Nine and hurried off. In a flash, the two assassins were only black shadows in the distance.

Suddenly, there came two coughs from the ground. Kevin and Jack jumped; all the black-clad figures had been killed, most with their heads blown off—could someone have survived?

Looking closer, they realized it was the coachman from earlier. At the start, he'd been shot and collapsed, the horses bolted, Jack had severed the harness, and the battle had raged on. All the while, the coachman had been alive, simply feigning death on the ground.

Kevin helped him up, seeing that the man had taken an arrow through his left arm—a serious wound, though not fatal.

"Such rotten luck," the coachman shook his head. "We haven’t even reached Laubol yet and we've been ambushed." His face was twisted in pain, understandable after taking an arrow.

Kevin and Jack exchanged a look, both inwardly scornful.

"Laubol is too dangerous," the coachman fretted, glancing at the battered carriage. "You’ll have to go on without me. My horses are gone, and I can't take you any further." He sighed, cradling his arm, not daring to pull out the arrow, and trudged away alone into the desolate landscape—a solitary, woeful figure.

Kevin glanced at Jack, who was still staring intently at the coachman.

"Don't tell me you’re thinking it looks unbalanced and want to put an arrow through his right arm as well?" Kevin teased.

"Of course not!" Jack was startled. "I’m not that obsessive!"

"Then why are you staring at him like that?" Kevin continued.

"I just don't understand," Jack mused. "How can there be such a gulf in intelligence among people?"

"It’s perfectly normal—blame the policy of keeping the populace ignorant," Kevin replied. "If the common people were all prodigies, who would obey the rulers? Even if the rulers are powerful, they're only human—they have to eat, sleep, and have their weaknesses. If the people are too clever, the rulers' positions won’t last."

"And rulers can't manage an entire country alone; they have to appoint officials. Those officials’ abilities must be inferior to the ruler's, and in turn, the officials must ensure their subordinates are less capable than themselves. Level after level, so by the time you reach the lowest rung, the commoners are naturally the dullest and most incapable," Kevin explained. "At least in the country of Leibochiel, that’s how it is."

"So that’s why small countries stay small?" Jack wondered aloud.

"Not entirely,” Kevin laughed. “Every king wishes for a vast, prosperous land. Many small kings have tried hard, but with little result. Small countries remain small mainly because the great powers don’t want more great powers rising on the continent.”

Jack fell silent, lost in thought.

Kevin had no wish to continue the topic—discussing it could go on for hours, and standing amidst corpses hardly put him in the mood.

"Their weapons aren’t bad," Kevin crouched to examine them. "Should we take them back?"

Jack wrinkled his nose at the blood-soaked ground, reluctant to touch anything. But seeing Kevin unconcerned, he decided he didn’t want to look weak and knelt to inspect the gear. "They're definitely better than the standard issue in our camp. But how do we bring them back? Just carry one or two?"

Kevin stood, patting the broken carriage. "We haul them back ourselves."

Jack hesitated, glancing at the blazing sun. "I could have my parrot call for someone to pick us up."

"This is a small matter—we can handle it," Kevin objected. "Besides, hauling a cartful of equipment back ourselves means all the credit is ours. If you call for help, the rewards get split."

"That makes sense!" Jack brightened at the mention of merit.

Quickly, the two gathered swords and shields from the ground, stacking them on the carriage—twenty of each, plus bundles of arrows, clearly the standard kit for these black-clad men. Still, the cart had room to spare, so they stripped the inner armor as well.

The armor was crafted from some kind of beast scales—decent quality. With twenty sets of inner armor, the cart was finally full. Kevin even checked the pants and shoes of the dead, but found them mediocre and left them.

They tied ropes to themselves and began to haul the cart away, leaving behind a cluster of headless, naked bodies. Within moments, crows began to circle.

One crow flew right over Kevin and Jack, cawing incessantly.

Halfway along, drenched in sweat, both men shed their shirts and tied them around their waists, pausing to rest. The crow kept circling above them.

"What is it doing?" Kevin asked, glancing up.

"No idea. If my parrot were here, maybe they could talk," Jack replied. "A crow flying overhead isn’t a good omen."

"Come now," Kevin said cheerfully. "Maybe it’s just mocking us."

Jack was speechless.

After a short rest, they resumed dragging the cart. The ambassador had urged them to return quickly, but with the assassins dealt with, there was little chance of another attack. Besides, the Guildmaster of the assassins was clearly on their side—and likely off to cause trouble for their enemies.

By the time dusk fell, they were still hauling the cart. Sweat poured down their bodies, but fortunately, there was water on the carriage. Both were soldiers as well as mages—used to hardship. Though tired, they managed.

As the towering city walls drew closer, a sense of homecoming filled them both. At the gates, soldiers stopped them for inspection. They announced their identities with pride, as well as their haul of spoils. The guards were astonished and immediately reported to the garrison commander, who came in person to receive them, check the trophies, and promised to recommend them for commendation.

That night, Kevin stayed in the city guard quarters to answer questions about their bounty. He had a clear conscience and nothing to fear.

He slept soundly until dawn, feeling refreshed—he hadn’t been so relaxed in ages. No need to worry about assassins, or outwit foes, or fear ambushes, or listen to idiots boasting. This was Kevin’s homeland.

At daybreak, Kevin and Jack left the city walls and went their separate ways, each returning to his own camp.

At the camp, new recruit drills had just begun—the previous days had been spent rounding up mercenaries and their families, re-registering them under the pretext of the trouble Kevin’s side had stirred up. Mercenaries were always a source of chaos; cleaning house was good for the city’s peace. Sain and the others couldn’t avoid this, even if they weren’t the real culprits. They had to be paraded before the mercenaries—maybe Sain would never recognize every mercenary in the city, but every mercenary would surely recognize him.

Strolling back to his old unit, the 254th, Kevin found the camp nearly deserted except for a few sentries. Several ornate carriages stood at the gates—a sign that some high-ranking officer had arrived.

A quick inquiry revealed that everyone was assembled at the parade grounds to watch the new recruits’ drill.

The drill was important—it determined future assignments. Kevin hurried to his quarters, changed into uniform, and rushed to the field.

The veteran soldiers sat on one side, watching. The new recruits stood stiffly in formation. Several generals sat on the dais. Kevin, as a new recruit, hesitated at the entrance, unsure if he should barge in so abruptly.

His old friends—Stadt and the others—were in the ranks, but hadn’t noticed him. With the generals reviewing, everyone stood at attention, every inch the model soldier.

At the center of the field stood Sain, with two soldiers lying at his feet, apparently after a bout. Suddenly, Sain laughed and called out, "Come on! Who dares to defeat me? I’ll call him Grandpa! Hahaha!"

Kevin could only sigh.