I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy

Chapter 324

Trude held his breath, frozen as he stared at Ian. He must have realized that Ian's eyes weren’t smiling at all.

Caught in the deep, dark gaze, he hesitated. "Haha... Why would there be such a thing? I was just hesitant because it’s such a pigsty, that’s all. You know how I live."

Trude let out an exaggerated laugh, sweat glistening on his brow. Ian glanced at Lucia and Miguel, then picked up the bottle and stood.

"Looking forward to seeing just how messy it is."

"Haha... You, you really don’t mind?"

"Unlike you, I’m used to sleeping rough." Ian headed toward the stairs.

The group pressed themselves against the wall, fear from their days together in Travelga fully revived. Even without those memories, fearing and respecting Ian was only natural. Unlike regular members, they knew he bore Karha’s blessing, and fought on battlefields like a true superhuman, and some even had vague, dreamlike memories of him fighting among dragons. Thus, they couldn’t simply dismiss any rumor about Ian as baseless.

"... Understood."

With a stiff expression, Trude nodded and glanced around the hall.

"Listen up! Show proper respect and behavior to our guests! Got it? They come from the Temple of the Brazier! This is the future Saintess and the one-armed priest!"

"Iron Fist."

"Huh...?" Trude turned at the quiet voice.

Miguel, chewing on a sausage, added, "Call me Iron Fist Priest. It’s a nickname given by the Dragon Slayer himself."

"Is that so? Did you all hear that? The future Saintess and Iron Fist Priest are here!"

"Enough talk, just go up already. Stop blocking the stairs." Ian added indifferently.

Trude coughed and hurried up the steps. While the frozen members didn’t notice, the officers clearly saw his shoulders slump.

Once Trude and Ian disappeared upstairs, an odd silence fell over the hall. No one, except the two calmly eating their meals dared speak or move.

"Come on, stop clinging to the walls and sit down," Miguel said, gesturing casually.

As the familiar officers hesitantly nodded and approached, Miguel exchanged a glance with Lucia, who spoke up.

"Now, we’ll need your help." @@novelbin@@

She surveyed the room and added calmly, "First, anyone from the snowfields or with experience traveling there, please stand up."

After a brief exchange of puzzled looks, a few mercenaries rose hesitantly. Most were Northerners, including a few officers who were just about to sit down.

Miguel, chuckling, motioned them over. "Then everyone, come closer and take a seat. We need to put our heads together. First, though, let our Saintess finish her meal."

A quiet buzz of activity filled the tavern as the mercenaries moved.

***

The second-floor hallway was cleaner and quieter than Ian remembered. As expected, it seemed to be a space reserved only for the officers of the mercenary band. If all the mercenaries had access, it wouldn't be this spotless.

Ian muttered as they walked, "You’re paying for the lodging properly, right?"

"O-Of course." Trude, who was walking ahead, flinched and stammered in response. "We even pay more than the standard rate. Every week."

His face openly displayed worry and unease, with no effort to conceal it anymore. The need to maintain appearances was gone.

Ian nodded calmly. "Good. That’s a relief."

"... My room is at the end. I heard you used to stay there. Is that right?"

"Yeah. Not from the very beginning, though." Ian answered, recalling old memories, then smirked slightly. "So that’s why you made it your base."

"Well, symbolism matters, doesn’t it?"

Trude grabbed the doorknob and spoke again. "We’ve heard news about you from time to time, even here. Your fame has spread across the continent. But personally, I think nothing compares to the feat of slaying a drago—"

"Hey." Ian’s eyes narrowed as he cut in. "Just open the door."

"... Understood." Trude flinched, exhaling a long breath through his nose as he opened the door. His broad back was tense with anxiety.

... Well, just how much do you have to feel guilty about?

Clicking his tongue, Ian reached out, grabbed Trude’s arm, and pushed him aside.

"Huh...?!" The massive figure, who nearly blocked the door, was moved with little resistance. Trude’s eyes widened in surprise as Ian stepped into the room without sparing him a glance.

"Oh... quite noble, isn’t it?" Ian let out an inaudible murmur of admiration.

Right in front of him stood a large wooden desk. The chair behind it, facing the window, was tall and imposing, with a high back and armrests that gave it a stately appearance. On the desk were ink, a quill, a candle holder with a silver spoon for melting wax, and a book bound in leather. The guest chair across from it, in contrast, was small and worn.

"... So, that’s where the grandeur ends," Ian said as he glanced around.

The rest of the room looked like a typical inn chamber. A bear's pelt covered the floor, and weapons, bottles, and even silver coins were scattered around the bed.

"No matter how often I clean, it just gets messy again. Haha..." Trude, entering belatedly, let out an awkward laugh. However, his laughter didn’t last long.

Ian continued walking without hesitation, naturally rounding the desk and taking a seat in the head chair. Setting the bottle of liquor down on the desk, he gestured nonchalantly.

"Just bring the glasses." Although Ian acted as if he were in his own room, Trude couldn't muster any objections.

"... Of course." Resigned, Trude closed his eyes for a moment and trudged over to the bed.

Meanwhile, Ian opened the book that was on the desk. As he expected, it was a ledger. Initials, presumably those of clients, and figures were neatly recorded. There were probably more such ledgers in the desk drawers below.

"You have a talent for management."

As Trude, his face tense, approached the desk, Ian spoke without looking up from the ledger. "Judging by how organized these records are, it seems you managed the mercenary band just as systematically."

Trude placed the pewter glass on the desk, picked up the bottle, and muttered, "I was only pretending... just imitating."

"If that’s really all it was, then there’s nothing to worry about."

Ian raised his eyes and looked up at Trude. "But you didn’t just pretend when you were pocketing things on the side, did you?"

Trude froze as he was about to pour Ian's drink. He barely steadied the bottle as it nearly overflowed, setting it down as he swallowed dryly and spoke. "I-I’ll confess, Captain. You probably already know, but it’s true that we’ve been strutting around with a bit of swagger. And, as you just said, we indulged quite through backdoor dealings."

He rattled off quickly, licking his lips nervously. The hand holding the bottle trembled slightly.

"But we only did that when dealing with nobles. Especially His Highness, the Archduke. We never took advantage of the citizens or our fellow Northerners. Of course, there were a few instances where someone tried to extort passersby, but if we found out, we’d make an example out of them, starting with their fingers. We would do nothing to disgrace your name—"

"Enough." Ian's voice cut in. He stared at Trude with unreadable black eyes for a moment before motioning to the empty glass in front of him.

Trude, still frozen, instinctively poured his own drink.

"I’m not here to make an issue of what you’ve taken." Reaching out, Ian took the now-filled glass. "As long as you fulfill your duties and take responsibility."

As Trude held his breath again, Ian slowly tilted the glass to his lips, not spilling a single drop. The only glass that overflowed was Trude’s.

"It’s time for you guys to live up to the name, Trude." Ian set his glass down with a sharp clink.

Only then did Trude blink in surprise and set the bottle aside. He looked down, not even thinking about wiping the spilled drink, and finally spoke, "... So you are really back because of the Black Wall."

"Yes. I figured you might have expected it."

"I was hoping it wasn’t. I’d rather you come to upend us over rumors. That would be terrifying too, but at least we could beg for mercy...."

Trude let out a sigh and collapsed into the chair as if he were crumbling, the wood creaking as though it might snap under him. He picked up his glass, hands trembling so much that the drink spilled down the sides.

Ian watched him with an impassive expression as he spoke again, "I won’t accept any excuses about ongoing contracts. Cancel them all or postpone them. Don’t worry about the Archduke, either. I am here under imperial decree."

"... Imperial decree, you say?"

"Yes. I’ve been given an official title and position. I am now the Margrave of the Northern Snowfields." Ian picked up the bottle again as he replied.

Trude, who had just set down his glass, closed his eyes tightly. "Damn it, that explains it... I thought something felt off with the reports coming from the front lines..."

Ian’s brow twitched slightly as he filled his glass. "Unusual reports?"

"It seems like the troops on the front lines are being steadily withdrawn."

Ian’s frown deepened as he set the bottle down and added, "Tell me more."

"I don’t know all the details myself. I’m just repeating what I’ve heard." Sensing the shift in Ian’s tone, Trude immediately opened his eyes and spoke up.

Ian gave a small nod as he refilled Trude’s glass.

"A while back, I heard that the frontline legions were being redeployed. They said it was because the garrison troops from the capital were preparing to withdraw."

"The garrison troops?"

Trude nodded and lifted his glass again before continuing, "They said it was under Imperial orders. About half of them are supposedly moving to the Eastern Front, so they’re redistributing the troops in the forward fortresses accordingly."

"... When did you hear this?"

"Let’s see. About fifteen days ago, maybe? So, in reality, it probably started a few days before that, from what I understand..."

Trude’s voice trailed off as he caught sight of the bitter smile spreading across Ian’s face—a smile sharp enough to freeze Trude in place. He couldn’t understand why, but for Ian, the reaction was only natural.

So that was the plan all along.

At last, Ian could see the Emperor’s true intentions. Reinforce the Northern Front through Ian’s presence, while reallocating the remaining troops to other battle lines. It was, without question, a sound strategic decision. After all, the erosion didn’t strike every front simultaneously. If Ian were in the same position, he might have made the same choice. But understanding it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

... There’s always a reason for an old man’s worries.

It was enough to make the image of Archeas flash through his mind. It also reinforced his resolve to hold the front lines and return, determined to extract a fitting reward from the Emperor.

"Continue." Ian set down his glass and prompted Trude.

Watching Ian closely, Trude quickly resumed speaking, "From what I’ve heard... Karlingion lost the most troops. Even then, I thought it was odd. Karlingion is the foremost frontline fortress."

"Yes... the very front line." Ian’s lip curled up a bit more at the corner.

... So that’s why the quest was tied to Karlingion.

Murmuring internally, Ian refilled his glass. It was indeed the decision fitting for Archduke Olaf.

The troops deployed in the Bellium Fortress battle, which had made Ian into a Dragon Slayer, had, in truth, been mere sacrifices to buy time. Now, upon receiving the Emperor’s orders, the Archduke had once again prepared a place at the foremost fortress for the Northern champion and his legion, hoping for a repeat of that previous miracle.

"But then, more unsettling news reached me just a few days ago," Trude said, taking a gulp and stealing a glance at Ian before continuing.

"The Purification Squad and the Crusaders of the Order are said to be preparing for withdrawal."

This time, Ian’s smile vanished completely. "All of them?"