Chapter 40
“The smell might be a bit strong.”
Just before entering a narrow, cramped alley, the gatekeeper stopped the carriage nearby. Fabian hesitated as he spoke. Even from here, a damp, musty smell was wafting out—something like rotting food scraps.
“It’s fine. Lead the way.”
With that, Demian pulled me into his arms. I reflexively placed my hand against his chest. The heavy, oppressive air seemed to disappear, replaced by a cool scent that filled my lungs.
Ah.
I could breathe again. I lifted my head to look at him. Demian whispered gently.
“If it gets too hard, tell me.”
I nodded. Even though there was nothing he could actually do if I said the smell bothered me, for some reason those words comforted me.
We carefully stepped deeper into the alley.
The stones paving the ground were all wet, their edges chipped. Squishing sounds followed every step.
The gutters attached to the buildings were rusted through, and something moved within the piles of garbage leaning against the walls.
As we approached, it scurried away—rats. Startled, I couldn’t even scream; instead I pressed myself closer to Demian. His arm tightened around me as he watched the rats vanish into cracks.
“Even for an alleyway, this place hasn’t been maintained in ages.”
“Budget cuts, after the death of the Margrave of Shardena,” the gatekeeper grumbled behind us. His tone wasn’t openly hostile, but there was sharpness underneath. Demian looked at him.
“Who’s in charge of this territory? The Empire should’ve dispatched someone.”
“Baron Mayer resides in the neighboring domain. He only receives written reports about this place.”
“He didn’t hear we were coming?”
“No, he heard. He gave orders to tidy up the manor.”
For the crown prince and his wife to arrive personally, and yet the official couldn’t even bother to show his face? Quite the nerve. I swallowed. Demian let out a dry laugh.
“I suppose he didn’t think we’d actually come.”
“Indeed. He’ll probably show up three days from now, seeking an audience.”
I glanced over the gatekeeper. His beard was so thick it was hard to read his expression. He stood straight, staring ahead.
“Did you serve the Margrave of Shardena as well?”
“…I did.”
At that, the gatekeeper finally met my eyes. After a brief silence, he said quietly:
“Your Highness resembles your father greatly.”
Then he looked forward again. I stared, stunned. He clearly recognized me—yet unlike the head maid, he held no warmth toward me.
Perhaps I shouldn’t expect it. Even pressed close to Demian, the alley’s stench clung stubbornly.
“We’re here.”
After weaving through spiderweb-like alleyways, a small shop appeared, marked only by a tiny brass sign. The door was green with a little glass window at the top.
There were no display cases, no extra windows—just a long stretch of dark, sooty brick.
“It really does feel like we’re entering through a backdoor…”
“You’re right. The landlord split a normal shop into two and rented them separately. Thanks to that, my brother got this place for dirt cheap.”
Fabian grabbed the doorknob— but it didn’t open.
Clunk.
“Huh?”
Fabian blinked, flustered. He grabbed the knob again and shook it.
Clunk, clunk.
The door rattled but didn’t open. Fabian turned to us, stammering.
“J-just a moment. He should’ve opened by now. Maybe he’s sleeping, or sorting inventory. I’ll… excuse me for a moment…”
Rambling, Fabian gripped the knob with both hands and pushed harder. When that didn’t work, he balled a fist and pounded on the door.
He hit it so hard I began worrying the door—or the window above—might break.
“Hey, it’s me! Open up! We have guests! And they’re important, so hurry!”
No one else was in the alley, so his voice simply faded into empty air.
He shouted for quite some time, until—
THUD!
The door shook violently from the inside. It wasn’t Fabian this time. Startled, Fabian stumbled back and fell on his rear, his face crumpling.
“Here.”
A voice came from inside. Fabian scrambled up, face flushed, and turned the knob. The door opened easily.
“Welcome.”
The shop felt cramped, but at least it didn’t stink. A man—stronger-built than Fabian, though resembling him—greeted us half-heartedly.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties. His eyes narrowed when he saw us.
“Huh.”
Then he suddenly stepped forward toward Demian and me, tapping his chin as though thinking deeply. And then—
“Demi?”
“…Alain?”
I had never heard Demian sound so lost. The calm, controlled aura vanished. Still holding me with one arm, he asked,
“Are you really Alain?”
The man shrugged. Then he shifted his gaze to me, then the head maid, then the gatekeeper.
“The master has returned.”
“Tch.”
The gatekeeper clicked his tongue in displeasure. Alain snorted.
“Old man, even if you don’t like it, you shouldn’t show it to his face. Could get your head chopped off for being rude, you know?”
Funny, considering he was just as rude. But Demian looked genuinely delighted. Alain spread his arms wide.
“Well, look at you. How long has it been?”
“If you are truly Alain, then nearly twenty years. Your appearance changed so much I wasn’t sure.”
Demian grasped his hand and they shook. Alain burst into loud laughter.
“Impressive—you recognized me.”
“You’re the only Shardena native who ever called me ‘Demi.’”
Hearing their exchange made me feel strangely out of place. I tugged on Demian’s sleeve. He looked at me.
“He’s the man who always told me strange stories whenever I visited Shardena.”
“Your Highness, I’ll have you know I was an apprentice knight under the late Margrave,” Alain protested. He waved his hand dismissively and turned around.
“Fabian really did bring important guests. Tea, anyone?”
“Yes.”
I nodded. We followed him to a small table in the corner and took seats.
“I heard you used to be a treasure hunter.”
As soon as Alain brought the tea, Demian got straight to the point. Alain nodded readily.
“After the Margrave passed away and the knight order disbanded, we all lost our jobs. Since I’d learned the sword anyway, I figured I should put it to use. The military was an option, but as Your Highness knows, I’m not exactly the type to fight for noble causes.”
Demian nodded politely. I sipped the tea he served. The cup was crude, the tea a little bitter, but its aroma strangely suited the antique-scented shop.
“That does sound like you. No offense intended.”
It was the softest tone I’d ever heard from Demian. I looked at Alain. Though he was smiling, something about him felt… detached. Like he found all of this incredibly dull.
“Then I’ll ask directly—why have you come?” he asked.
“I want to speak with treasure hunters.”
“Ah, then you’ve picked the perfect place. My old friends still drop by often.”
Despite the cordial greeting, their exchange was curt and straightforward. Demian nodded, satisfied.
“Will you assist me?”
“How could I refuse a royal command?”
“Good. I like your attitude.”
Demian grinned.
“But I’m surprised you’re not curious about what I plan to ask them.”
His smile was easy, but his eyes were sharp. Even so, Alain remained unchanged.
“If His Highness came all the way here in person, my opinion hardly matters. You don’t need my understanding. Just give me orders.”
At that, Demian’s gaze softened. As he calmly explained his plan to form a special division out of treasure hunters, I suddenly thought—
He must be terribly lonely.
When Demian finished speaking, Alain opened his mouth.
