Chapter 82: Drunkard Father (Patreon)

From the royal capital to Agante, a village on the western border of Barielle Domain, an ordinary dragon carriage would take two or three days of jostling to arrive.

Being so remote, the roads here left much to be desired — plenty of rugged mountain trails to cross, and just climbing the slopes was enough to wear the ground dragons ragged. If they didn't want the poor beasts dropping dead in their harnesses, it was better to travel in fits and starts, resting often.

But for Natsuki Subaru, none of that was a problem.

He could move quickly by slipping into shadows, Dark Templar-style. Each jump only covered a limited distance, but the beauty of the skill was that it had no cooldown — as long as his psionic power held out, he could teleport as many times as he liked.

Of course, there was an obvious price to pay...

"Aw, jeez! That was brutal!"

Shifting positions so abruptly through shadow travel brought on serious disorientation and vertigo. Once or twice wasn't so bad, but doing it over and over was genuinely dangerous. Right now Subaru felt like he'd been stuffed into a washing machine and spun dry for hours, his brain shaken to porridge.

This was exactly why proper transportation still mattered. If it weren't for the need to get there and back quickly, he wouldn't have wanted to go through that feeling ever again.

Subaru shook his head, steadied himself against a crooked old tree, and straightened up. He opened his Conversation Mirror, turned its surface toward his surroundings, and asked:

"Is this the spot?"

"That's it. That's the wooded hill country around the edge of Agante Village. See the village down below? That's Agante." Ciel's voice came through the Conversation Mirror.

"Good, then I guess I didn't suffer for nothing. Time to get moving!"

His vision sharpened again, and Subaru surveyed his surroundings. The climate here was cool, and the mountain forest offered natural cover — clearly a prime spot for anyone with ambitions in the banditry business. Given enough time, no doubt such an enterprise could really flourish.

But obviously, not with him around.

Subaru closed his eyes and spread his void psionic power outward, sensing the area. Before long he found a spot bustling with activity and slipped through the shadows to take a look.

There he found a gang of bandits in tattered leather armor, brandishing dull blades and clubs, surrounding a man who looked just as scruffy as they did.

Given that Marcos had already set a precedent for what a tough guy looked like, Subaru figured his buddy's father — an Order of Knights vice-captain — ought to at least look imposing, even if he couldn't split a mountain in half with a single sword stroke.

But this uncle, who shared Reinhard's red hair, was about as far from "imposing" as it got.

Even from a distance, the deep flush of drunkenness on his face was obvious — he looked like a red-faced Guan Yu. He wasn't wearing the fine white uniform of the Royal Guard either, just a set of light leather armor barely nicer than what the bandits in front of him had on.

A middle-aged man showing up at this time, in this place — this had to be the "unworthy son" that Grandpa Wilhelm so despised, and also the biological father of his good friend Reinhard: Heinkel Astrea.

"Hand... hand it over!"

Heinkel bellowed, his voice thick with drink.

"I know you bastards have that thing! The 'Silver Cup' that cures every illness! If you know what's good for you, hand it over right now, or else... or else I'll send the whole lot of you to meet the Divine Dragon today!"

The bandits surrounding him exchanged glances. This man was clearly the one being surrounded, yet somehow he was even more arrogant than the actual thugs — and he had that trademark red hair of the Sword Saint family, House Astrea.

House Astrea did carry some renown across the realm of Lugnica. After four centuries of bards diligently singing their praises, even a bandit who'd flunked prenatal education knew this family wasn't to be trifled with.

The bandits of Agante were no exception. Remote as their turf might be, they'd been in this line of work long enough to have some basic judgment.

But even though they suspected this man might belong to the Sword Saint family, watching him sway on his feet and rant nonsense, they couldn't quite believe it. Did the Sword Saint family really produce degenerates like some drunk getting tossed out of a tavern?

It wasn't just the bandits — even Subaru, hiding in the shadows, slapped a hand over his eyes, too embarrassed to keep watching.

"Boss, is something wrong with this old man's head?"

A one-eyed bandit wearing an eyepatch leaned in to whisper to his leader.

The bandit leader was a burly man with a face full of hard flesh. He spat, glared viciously at Heinkel, hesitated a moment, then gave the order:

"Damn it, might as well take what we can get. Head problems or not, let's just rob him first!"

"Get him, boys! If he's got some connection to the Sword Saint family, he's bound to be carrying something valuable!"

"Waaah—!"

The bandits let out a battle cry and charged at Heinkel, waving their blades, spears, and clubs.

"Ugh, seriously, why does everyone insist on giving me trouble!"

Heinkel cursed, drew the sword at his waist, and struck back. A few crisp clangs of metal rang out — despite looking dead drunk, his sword hand held steady, blocking the bandits' clumsy attacks without fail.

Then his footing wobbled as if he were about to fall, his body tilting to dodge a swinging club — and with one precise stroke, his sword found the bandit's carotid artery. Blood sprayed out, sending the surrounding bandits staggering back several steps in terror.

To be fair, calling Heinkel an "unworthy son" was a bit much — his shortcomings only showed next to the other monsters in the Astrea line. By ordinary human standards, this guy was terrifyingly strong.

The bandits' attacks couldn't even graze his clothes, while every stroke of Heinkel's sword was lethal. One by one they fell like scythed grass, leaving the rest pale-faced, frozen between charging forward and backing away.

It looked like this uncle might clear out the entire bandit den without any help at all.

"Hold on there, sir. Keep this up and you'll kill them all!"

Subaru slipped through the shadows and appeared right beside Heinkel, catching his sword-wielding wrist in one hand. The bloodied blade stopped just inches from the bandit leader's skull.

The burly, hard-faced bandit leader was already scared stiff. He'd thought he'd stumbled onto some addled god of fortune — but this was no god of fortune, this was the Grim Reaper! In under half a minute, this man had killed nearly half his men. Was he even human?!

"What do you think you're doing? Punk! Get out of my way, don't mess with my business!"

Heinkel snarled, trying to wrench his arm free of Subaru's grip, but found his wrist wouldn't budge an inch. A strange look crossed his face.

This kid had appeared out of a puff of black smoke — clearly not something normal. Could this be a hallucination? Or were ghosts actually real?

"What the hell is going on? Am I just that drunk? He's just some punk kid... argh! Hallucination or not, take this kick!"

Subaru's eyes narrowed. He grabbed Heinkel's arm, hooked a leg behind his ankle, and used the momentum of his turn to sweep him off his feet.

Heinkel felt the world spin, then crashed flat onto his back, staring up at the darkening evening sky, his mind a total mess.

What kind of hallucination could do that?!

"You should be grateful it was me who showed up, and not Priscilla — otherwise you wouldn't have gotten off with just a fall, old man."

"Priscilla? You mean... the Bloodstained Bride? The Royal Selection candidate?!"

After that fall, Heinkel's muddled head cleared up fast.

"You're one of her people?"

"That's right. You were out here brawling with bandits on my boss's territory, asking around about some cure-all treasure — as the local turf-holder around here, I figured I ought to look into it."

As he spoke, Subaru planted Heinkel's dropped sword upright in the ground, turned around, put a foot on the bandit leader's chest, and demanded:

"Alright. As payment for saving your life, more or less — why don't you tell me about this cure-all Silver Cup of yours?"

"I'd suggest you come clean. At worst I hand you over to the local sheriff to rot in jail — otherwise I'll just leave you to that scruffy uncle over there."

"Y-yes sir!"

The bandit leader wailed, all his earlier bravado gone.

"Punk, who are you calling scruffy? Do you have any idea who I am? How dare you talk to me like—"

Heinkel cursed and got to his feet, about to throw out his name and the Astrea surname to intimidate the kid like he always did — but the moment he got a clear look at the black-haired young man's face, he was the one who got scared out of his wits, thoroughly cowed into silence.

"You... you're that Natsuki Subaru who turned the royal capital upside down?!"

"Looks like you already know me, old man. Saves me the introduction, then."

Subaru was rather pleased with his own notoriety. He crossed his arms and nodded smugly.

A part of him felt he was acting a bit like Priscilla just then, but in a moment like this, putting on airs was never a bad move.

"So, old man, don't you want these bandits' treasure? Why not come closer and listen carefully?"

Heinkel gulped, and whatever bluster he'd had left instantly deflated. He didn't dare breathe too loud.

Outwardly he acted tough and rude, but that was just camouflage to hide his insecurity. Faced with someone as thoroughly unpredictable as Subaru, he folded faster than anyone.

Seeing Heinkel turn so spineless, Subaru instantly lost interest. Truth be told, the three generations of House Astrea were each a piece of work in their own peculiar way.

The grandfather was a socially hopeless case wound tighter than a spring; the grandson was a saint so perfect he barely seemed real; and the father was a coward who acted like a tyrant outside but folded at lightning speed the moment he met someone tougher.

"Actually... actually that thing..."

The bandit leader, pinned under Subaru's foot, looked ready to cry. He glanced at Heinkel glaring daggers at him, then at Subaru grinning down at him like a devil, and finally broke.

"That thing was never really a cure-all 'Silver Cup'! It's just a 'Meteor' — it turns regular ale into a painkiller, that's all!"

"What?!"

Heinkel's eyes went wide.

"It's just... just something a few of us made up while drinking and bragging, to make ourselves sound tougher on the street!"

The bandit leader wailed his explanation.

"Aside from making you not feel your wounds after drinking, it doesn't do a damn thing! If we actually had some cure-all treasure, we wouldn't be bandits stuck out in this godforsaken place — we'd have gone to the capital ages ago to trade it to dying nobles for gold! Mercy! Please, have mercy, my lord!"

Hearing this answer, Heinkel's expression froze solid.

"Fake... it's fake again..."

A wave of pure fury and humiliation surged through him. He snatched his sword up off the ground, eyes red, and swung it at the bandit leader's neck.

"You bastard! How dare you lie to me! I'll kill you!!"

"Easy, old man."

Subaru sighed and reached out to stop him again.

"We're all in this business together — you've gotta have some standards. This guy already confessed honestly, and you're an Order of Knights vice-captain — getting worked up over trash like this is beneath you."

"But he—"

"Enough. Fake is fake. You could turn him into mincemeat and that cup still wouldn't become real."

Maybe it was because Subaru had shown him some respect by pointedly mentioning his vice-captain title, or maybe it was simply because Heinkel had no confidence left in his own worth — but uncharacteristically, he said nothing more and smoothly sheathed his sword.

Everything after that was much simpler to handle.

Subaru and Heinkel together cleaned out the bandits' hideout.

The loot the bandits had plundered was, at Subaru's decision, distributed directly to the struggling residents of Agante town. In his own words, this was "nature's free gift."

As for the surrendered bandits, the Barielle Domain guards who arrived on the scene tied them up tight like crabs in a bundle. Word had it these men would be marched off to a nearby mine to serve as forced labor — call it reeducation through hard work.

As for the legendary "Silver Cup" everyone had been talking up...

Subaru picked it up and looked it over.

Whatever its supposed powers, from the outside it was just a crudely made, somewhat tarnished old cup.

"Something like this is better off destroyed."

Subaru curled his lip, drew the Warp Blade on his arm, and sliced the so-called "Silver Cup" clean in two with a single stroke. After the pieces hit the ground, he stomped on them a couple more times for good measure, flattening it into a scrap of useless metal.

Honestly, if it weren't for the bandits' wild exaggerations about this magic item, today might not have ended with so much pointless bloodshed. Both the bandit who bragged about having it and Heinkel who'd charged into the den to steal it had suffered plenty because of this thing.

"Alright, old man, don't look so down."

Subaru turned to look at the dejected middle-aged man still staring blankly at the scrap metal.

"Since you've come all the way out to my turf, let me at least play the proper host. Come on, I'm buying — let's go grab a couple drinks at the tavern in town."

"You mean it?"

The moment he heard there'd be drinks, Heinkel's eyes lit up instantly, all his earlier gloom swept away.

"Kid, you'd better be ready — I'm gonna drink you dry tonight!"