Chapter 9
What was left on the errand list were carrots, onions… and seeds to grow a flower.
After entering the market, I bought the carrots and onions while asking the merchants about the so-called Merchant Guild.
At first, they tried to brush it off, but when I mentioned what happened to the old woman in the alley, they sighed deeply and clicked their tongues.
“They’ve got no compassion. They started as a vigilante group during the Magic War, but they changed after it ended. Once they got a taste of money under the excuse of ‘fees,’ they started harassing even those they shouldn’t. Life’s always been hard, hasn’t it?”
“There are about six leaders, and around twenty people collecting money under them. This whole area is in their hands. If you refuse to join, they’ll make a mess of your life. They’re probably in bed with the police too—reporting them does nothing. People just pay because it’s easier.”
Just as I expected, these thugs calling themselves a Merchant Guild were controlling the area like it was their own.
Which means they probably know a lot about this city too.
That could be useful for finding the relic.
After finishing my shopping, I headed back to the mansion, humming to myself.
No need to think further.
I’d start acting tonight.
***
That night, close to midnight.
I changed into plain clothes and slipped out of the mansion without the head maid noticing.
Sneaking out like this wasn’t something a proper maid should do—
but that didn’t matter.
Sometimes, there are things you can’t accomplish without deceiving people.
Especially when your identity needs to stay hidden.
I entered the pub the old woman had pointed out.
Clink.
As I opened the door, the dim orange lights inside flickered slightly.
The first thing I noticed was a framed photo hanging on the wall.
It was a faded black-and-white picture of familiar faces—
heroes of the Magic War, published in newspapers.
Inside the pub were one middle-aged woman, four middle-aged men, and a bartender.
Just like I heard—six leaders.
People like these gather at their base the night something happens in their territory.
I checked their waists.
No guns—except likely the bartender.
Good.
That meant I only needed to be careful of one.
I sat at the bar.
No one spoke.
So I started first.
“Serve customers.”
The bartender scoffed.
“Hey, miss. You’re not from around here, are you? We’re not open. Leave.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“I asked why not.”
The mood turned hostile.
A large man walked over and sat next to me.
He looked oddly familiar.
“Hold on. Let me handle this. Miss, where are you from?”
He leaned in with a grin.
“What’s your name?”
Ah.
Now I see.
“Why aren’t you answering? You’re the one, right? The crazy maid who smashed my brother’s face in.”
The trash’s older brother.
Or… senior trash?
Click.
In an instant, the bartender pulled out a shotgun from under the table and aimed it at my head.
“Was it her? If you don’t want to die, come quietly. We’ll turn you into pulp and ship you off on a slave boat.”
So much for my last bit of hope.
In this empire, pubs are supposed to be places for people—
for community.
Clearly, not this one.
I calmly stood up and followed.
The barrel of the gun stayed pointed at my head as I walked beside the bar.
When I reached the inner doorway—
I suddenly lowered my body, spun, and kicked the bartender’s wrist.
Crash!
He flew into the shelf of bottles.
Glass shattered like snow, scattering over him as he collapsed.
“Get her!”
Next—
I slapped the older brother so hard he slammed into the wall.
The two at the table were thrown into it.
The remaining two met the chairs… quite intimately.
“Ugh…”
Finally.
Quiet.
This is the kind of pub I know.
A place for people—not trash.
“Any hidden guns?”
The middle-aged woman, trembling with both hands raised, stared at me.
“I asked—any?”
“In the storage! I—I’ll get them!”
“Don’t need them.”
I went back to the bartender.
The brave man who had aimed a gun at my head was now rolling on the floor, one leg clearly broken.
I straightened him out and sat on top of him.
He looked like he was about to die.
“So when are you answering my question?”
“Question…?”
“Why aren’t you doing business? Is the ‘pub’ sign outside just decoration?”
“We’ll… we’ll serve customers.”
“Then why form a Merchant Guild if you don’t even run a proper business?”
“We’ll serve customers.”
“Answer the question. Why form the guild?”
“To… protect the interests of local merchants…”
“Who agreed to that?”
“All merchants…”
“Really? Or did you threaten them? Should I go around the area and ask? I’ll drag you along like a dog. Every time someone says they were forced to join, your lifespan drops by twenty years. Want to try?”
Strange.
Talking this much didn’t feel unpleasant.
Hearing my own voice didn’t disgust me.
It almost felt like I had become Andert again.
That made it easier to smile.
And my tongue moved freely.
“I’m sorry.”
One of the men at the table, teeth broken, spoke clumsily.
“M-miss… who are you?”
I slowly looked over the six terrified faces—
then pointed at the wall.
“That one.”
The framed black-and-white photo.
In it were seven heroes—myself as Andert, Raphael, and Princess Natasha among them—raising glasses and smiling.
There wasn’t anything special about the photo.
It had been taken by a pub owner to boost morale when the war turned bad.
Apparently, it ended up in newspapers after the victory.
“That’s me.”
“What…?”
“I fought like hell and saved the world. But not so people like you could run around in it.”
The bartender’s expression changed—
like he was looking at a lunatic.
I dragged a chair over, sat down, and took a sip of water.
“You asked who I am? I’ll tell you. Just listen. My speech might be a bit awkward.”
“Yes… yes.”
“I have an important goal I must achieve within three years.”
“Yes.”
“And to do that, the area around my workplace needs to be clean. Especially people like you. You know who I mean, right? Thieves.”
“We’re not—”
“That alley belongs to you?”
I scanned them.
They avoided my gaze.
“Does it belong to you? Answer me.”
“No.”
“If it doesn’t, then taking money is theft. Because of thieves like you, dinner tasted bad today. The potatoes were awful. And why were they awful? Because a merchant hid in an alley to avoid your fees. In an alley, things don’t sell quickly. They rot.”
“…Yes.”
“So if there’s no fee, the potatoes improve. Fresh ingredients make better food. Bad food makes people sick. And if someone gets sick?”
“…They might die.”
I pointed at the bartender.
“So in summary—if you take fees, I die.”
“…Yes. Wait—what?”
“So before I die, I’ll kill you first. In other words—self-defense.”
I smiled.
“That’s it. Who wants to die first?”
Their faces turned pale instantly.
Someone gasped.
Of course, I had no intention of killing them.
Violence and murder are different things.
Both crimes—but not the same.
At that moment, the bartender slowly got up.
The fear in his eyes was gone.
Instead—
confidence.
“We have someone above us. The Buried Rat.”
Ah.
So that’s their backing.
He pulled out his loose tooth and pointed at me.
“You can’t kill us. The Buried Rat repays everything twofold. If you kill us, you’ll become their enemy—and you won’t survive.”
