Hostage 1

“So, you’re saying that Marquis Tercerion vomited blood, collapsed, and is now on the verge of death?”

The Lord of Noark was struck by a despair that defied words when he received the report. No, despair could wait. His first response was pure disbelief. And who could really blame him?

“Do you really think that makes any sense?”

The Marquis had countless high-ranking knights and mages in his entourage. Every single one of them was a ‘human golem,’ raised by the Marquis since childhood and brainwashed to the point where even the concept of betrayal had been surgically removed from their psyches.

In fact, there was a time when the Lord of Noark had envied the Marquis, thinking that with such attendants, he would have nothing to fear.

And yet—

“They broke through that level of security?”

The Marquis’s ironclad defense had been breached.

“Even if he’s allied with Jandel, isn’t he just a rank seven navigator?”

No matter how many times the Lord of Noark heard it, it simply made no sense. Even if that “mere rank seven navigator” possessed an unidentified rank three essence, it was still incomprehensible.

What on earth was the Marquis thinking? To bring someone in without even placing an essence sealer, right under his very nose!

“I suspect… they were perhaps overconfident in their own information, but…”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say the Marquis might act that way. But among all those guards, not a single one questioned it?”

At the Lord’s fury, the subordinate kept his mouth tightly shut. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say.

From his perspective as someone serving a lord, he could reasonably assume that the Marquis’s guards had anticipated an assassination attempt by the navigator. At most, they probably expected a fireball or a hidden blade.

They would be standing at the Marquis’s side, and the moment the “navigator” tried something, they would block it immediately, perhaps even earning the chance to say something cool like, “A pointless act. Are you unharmed, my lord?”

‘Hmm. That’s not bad, actually.’

A solid plan, especially since no one actually gets hurt.

The marquis would be reassured that his money was well spent, and his attendants could accept their next month’s pay with a bit more pride.

But—

‘Maybe it’s because they’re the marquis’s men. Clever, but devious. I should take notes for later.’

Normally, that would have been his impression. Instead, his thoughts were cut short.

The Noark lord might have sympathized with their feelings if events had unfolded differently, but there was no room for that now. What should have remained an attempt had succeeded, and the marquess might well have been assassinated.

‘…Those useless idiots.’

Now the marquis’s attendants were nothing but complete failures. Still, since he wasn’t one of those failures, he didn’t voice the thought aloud. Why would he? The Noark lord was not upset with him, and nothing positive would result from a superior being privy to a subordinate’s thoughts.

As he expected, it wasn’t long before the Lord of Noark let out a sigh. The Lord was a reasonably intelligent man and did not vent his anger on the wrong person. He simply showed a bit of frustration and asked:

“All right. I understand that the assassination attempt succeeded. But what exactly do you mean by saying the marquis is ‘on the brink of death’?”

From the lord’s perspective, it was a perfectly natural question.

The marquis wasn’t some impoverished commoner who couldn’t afford a priest’s healing.

Either he was dead, or he was alive. Being “on the brink of death” made no sense.

“Well—”

At the lord’s question, the servant squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for what was coming.

“To be precise, he is not actually on the brink of death.”

He hadn’t said that to begin with.

He had noticed the misunderstanding early on, but the atmosphere hadn’t allowed him to interrupt. Rather than point it out and create awkwardness, he chose to continue before the lord could speak again.

“The Marquis possessed an artifact that saves its bearer from mortal danger at the cost of rendering them unconscious for two days.”

He skipped the details about the artifact’s number and name. In this situation, that wasn’t important.

“I don’t know whether I should feel relieved…” His relatively sharp superior finally grasped the full scope of the situation and asked, “Does the authority to wield the magic weapon still rest solely with the marquiss?”

The ancient weapon, considered more strategically valuable than even the captain of Orcules, was reduced to nothing but scrap, all because of a mere rank seven navigator.

“It means we can’t use Thunder for two days.”

“Then what happens to the plan?”

The question lacked a subject, but the man, who had served the same lord for over a decade, understood immediately.

“The authority to proceed with the plan to capture Bjorn Jandel using the Divine Spear Aynar has temporarily been transferred to the eldest son, Eltora Tercerion.”

“…And if something happens to him during that time?”

Then things would get complicated.

No matter how meticulous the marquis was, he wouldn’t have appointed a temporary deputy’s temporary deputy.

The honest answer would be: No one knows.

Unless, of course, someone intervened.

“In that case—”

This was an issue caused by external factors rather than an internal one, which meant the alliance treaty could be reinterpreted entirely. With that in mind, the subordinate condensed the idea into a single, simple sentence.

“You, My Lord, may temporarily take over the command.”

“…I see.”

Having heard the desired answer, the Lord seemed in a much better mood than before. Only then did he voice a personal question born of curiosity.

“By the way, what happened to that Navigator?”

“Well, about that…”

Realizing that his boss’s mood had lightened, the subordinate began to talk with a more relaxed heart.

***

Auen Rockrobe.

The first thought that came to him when he opened his eyes in the dark, underground prison was this:

‘Why am I alive?’

This was a world where you’d be sent to the gallows if you couldn’t pay your taxes. Consequently, common sense meant struggling desperately to survive every single moment. As a resident of such a world, Auyen Rocklov knew the value of life—or more accurately, the value of his life—better than anyone.

However…

‘Seriously, why am I alive?’

Rather than relief, what he felt was confusion. He was relieved, to be sure, but confusion still weighed more heavily. It was natural. If you saw a massive meteor crashing toward the earth and closed your eyes, only to open them and find yourself perfectly fine, your first thought wouldn’t be “I lived!” but rather “Why am I alive?”

So, he reconstructed the events before he lost consciousness.

[Cough…!]

Immediately after the Marquis collapsed, vomiting blood.

[Y-Your Excellency…!!]

A number of high-ranking servants, seemingly mages or priests, rushed to the marquess with worried expressions.

Then…

It’s an assassination…

The knights, whose only role was to rely on brute strength, rushed him and overpowered him. He was forced to the ground as his entire body was restrained.

And “entire body” was no exaggeration. His arms, legs, neck, ankles, left thumb, middle finger, even his ears were restrained, the knights piling onto him as though they were sealing away a great demon.

Thinking back, it wasn’t hard to understand. How could they stay still when the Marquis had collapsed? There was no room for thoughts like, ‘Other knights have him restrained, I’ll just watch.’

[……]

Crushed under dozens of knights, he couldn’t breathe, and his consciousness gradually faded. And when he opened his eyes, he was here.

Seriously… why am I alive?

One strange aspect of consciousness was that even while suffocating, the mind could still take in information clearly.

“The marquis has lost consciousness!”

“You unforgivable bastard!”

“Why are you just restraining him? Kill him at once!”

The hatred and fury directed at the marquis’s assassin.

That was why, even now, he couldn’t tell if this was a dream or reality, or whether he’d already crossed into the afterlife.

A cold silence filled the underground prison.

Auyen kept questioning the reason he had survived, his thoughts shifting from why he was alive to why they had chosen to keep him alive. Before long, a stranger arrived at the underground prison and answered his questions in person.

“My name is Eltora Tercerion.”

The stranger, who identified himself as the Marquis’s son, spoke.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

At first, Auyen wondered if the man had come to demand that he die a painful death after suffering horrific torture.

But—

“Please. Save my life.”

After hearing the request, it took a long time before Auyen could respond with a dazed voice.

“…huh?”

He couldn’t understand it at all.

***
Waiting might appear passive at first glance, but its meaning changed depending on how one perceived it.

Just look at the dictionary.

Passive: To be moved by an external force.

Active: Acting of one’s own will.

If you wait because you choose to, that is an active action.

If someone threatens you with a blade and orders you to wait, that’s passive.

Amelia Rainweilz was the former.

Her body hadn’t fully recovered yet, and when she assessed the situation, she could tell that her rescue target was still safe. The wiser choice would be to wait for a better opportunity rather than act immediately. Of course, she would have to act if she noticed any suspicious movement before then.

After making that decision, Amelia waited. She didn’t feel bored at all. Having performed numerous infiltrations and assassinations, she was accustomed to waiting.

Snore—!

The fact that the rescue target was snoring in that situation was irritating, but regardless, her task remained the same.

She hid her breathing and erased her presence. Opening her ears, she listened to nearby conversations and gradually pieced the information together.

Sometimes, there are important pieces of information too.

Like this one.

“Why are we even guarding that woman? Isn’t it a waste of manpower? Wouldn’t it be better to just kill her?”

“Tsk. Aren’t you being a bit short sighted?”

“Short-sighted? What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t see beyond what’s right in front of you. Think about it. Why do you suppose the higher-ups went to the trouble of capturing the Divine Spear alive and imprisoning her like this?”

“She’s bait. To hook a much bigger fish.”

“A bigger fish… Ah! Are they trying to catch the Giant?”

“Exactly. Otherwise, there’d be no reason to devote this much manpower to guarding a single subdued barbarian.”

After hearing the theory, the man said nothing. He simply studied the person who had explained it to him for a moment before asking, “Did you come up with all of this on your own?”

“Haha, of course not! I only heard it from someone assigned to this mission. They had apparently been at headquarters before that.”

“…And that ‘short-sighted’ nonsense was his too, right?”

“Obviously! Educated types always insist on using fancy words…”

Judging by how the conversation unfolded, this was not merely a theory the two of them had devised, but the official plan.

Hidden in the ceiling, Amelia couldn’t afford to ignore what she had just heard.

‘………………So it was bait to lure out Jandel.’

She was glad she had come to save Aynar despite Auyen’s advice, but time was running out. The situation had become a race against the clock. She needed to act before Jandel walked into the trap, because it was obvious that the barbarian would rush in to save his ally the moment he heard, even knowing it was a trap.

The best outcome was to finish things before he arrived.

There was no doubt about that.

But—

How?

The answer came from an unexpected place.

“Everyone, step outside for a moment. I have business with the woman.”

Soon, a man dismissed the troops guarding the area and approached the cell where Aynar was imprisoned.

Eltora Tercerion…

Amelia’s eyes glistened as she crouched in the darkness. She did not know what business that man had with Aynar, but it was clearly nothing good. He was the marquiss’s son, perhaps the greatest evil of the era. It was obvious he was plotting something.

Auyen…?

‘Dammit, he was captured?’ After identifying the face of the man following the Marquis’s son, Amelia bit her lip and swiftly ran simulations in her head.

‘If he doesn’t even know I’m up here…’

Not only could she take his head, she could also subdue him.

And if she could subdue him, she could threaten him and manipulate him from the shadows.

There would be no better opportunity than this.

With that thought in mind, she moved into action without delay. After all, instinct worked best in moments that called for snap decisions.

Amelia dropped her stealth, leapt from the ceiling, and dove down. Her target looked up and noticed her then, but it was already too late to react to her blade.

After dropping from the ceiling, Amelia wrapped her legs around Eltora’s neck. With her one usable hand, she brought her dagger down, blue aura like lightning crackling around the blade.

Whoosh—!

The dagger stopped just short of Eltora’s widened pupils.

“Make a sound and you die. Move without permission and you die. Try to think and you die. If you understand, kneel. Slowly.”

“L-Lady Emily!”

“Save your thanks for later.”

“He’s on your side! That man—”

…Huh? On our side?

What was he talking about? Ah, perhaps…

“…You’ve been brainwashed already?”

“Wh-What? Brainwashed? N-No, that’s not it…….”

“Those bastards…….”

“No, I’m really fine, I swear!”

In the end, he explained the entire situation to Amelia, and it took her a long time to come to terms with it.

“…So, you’re saying this guy is planning to betray his own father and join us?”

“Yes………………! That’s right!”

Auyen nodded his head vigorously.

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