Deceit (part 1)

"...wh-what do you mean, mister Medea...? I... I just stopped because I thought the young Miss would need a break. If I'm wrong, then we can continue right away...!"

Mark shook his head and widened his fake smile attempting to play innocent, and raised his hands about to smack the reins against the horses' back to make them move again.

"Mark. Dead people aren't going to show up."

"..."

Medea let out a tired sigh and revealed in a serious voice while the stunned coachman could only stare at him wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open.

"I'm kind of surprised you haven't noticed that those six were disposed of. Honestly, I would even say it's disappointing."

The black-haired man added, reaching out to his pocket and taking out a back of small pieces of parchment and dumping them right outside the carriage.

"...wh-wha...?"

Each and every one of them was filled with neatly written notes about what to keep in mind in order to swiftly deal with him and the young Miss Rotteloss, and the sight of them seemed to work as a physical hit to Mark, who managed to gasp, opening and closing his mouth like a fish that could not come to terms with being taken out of the water.

"Still, young Miss asked me to give you one last chance, so here goes."

The black-haired man leaned out even further and made proper eye contact with the young coachman.

"You aren't too bright, but your acting is passable. You also aren't half-bad as a servant. Work exclusively for her, and I will postpone your punishment... do a good enough job, and it will be an indefinite thing... hmm?"

"..."

Medea announced the option using the tone of a seasoned merchant advertising his good – but he closed his mouth, and his brows twitched lightly as large tears trailed down Marks's face.

"...those six... you have disposed of them...? Stop lying; when...? Ah...!"

The young coachman tried to pull himself together, but he was in such shock that he couldn't think straight and gasped as he recalled the morning of the third day of their travels when Medea showed up out of nowhere drenched in blood.

"...no... NO! They alarmed the rest! Right?! RIGHT?! BEFORE YOU KILLED THEM, THEY MUST HAVE CONTACTED THE REST OF THEIR...!"

Mark's face became white as a sheet before he jumped, shook his head, and jumped down, screaming his lungs off and reaching his hands towards Medea's neck.

*WHAM*

"GHU-UAGH...!"

At that moment, in Mark's eyes, the world turned upside down – or so it looked to him before he slammed his back against the ground, getting the air pushed out of his lungs from the force of the impact.

"Tsk. I'm perfectly fine with that sort of refusal, but if you don't say it properly, my dummy will feel terrible. Also, if you are refusing, we need to move into the thicket – she just began to feel completely at ease, so I don't want to remind her about the last trauma she got from an idiot of your sort getting carved up."

Medea clicked his tongue and scoffed from over the young coachman, whom he effortlessly threw to the ground.

*rustle*

"!!!"

While speaking, the black-haired man shook his arm, and a knife dropped into his hand, partially clearing Mark's head – or at least awakening his survival instincts and spurring him to roll away from the carriage before climbing up on all fours...

*stab*

*WHOOSH*

"!!!"

...and jump away, miraculously dodging Medea's foot as the black-haired man sends a powerful kick as a follow-up.

Follow up to what?

Well... to the knife throw that Mark ended up not noticing...

"Gh-hhhhgh...!"

The young coachman was so shaken because of the avalanche of emotions that he only realized that he had a knife sticking out of his side when its handle got stuck on a dried branch and deepened the wound.

"You know what? Now that I think about it, one of those guys managed to escape despite being severely wounded. He might have made it to his comrades in the capital and reported everything."

"...!"

The next words that came out of Medea's mouth caused Mark's eyes to light up with hope.

"Yeah, that's right. If that happened, it wouldn't be odd that the plan could continue – who knows, maybe more of those thugs would be on their way right now? Ready to aid you or whatever."

"Ugh...!"

As the black-haired man smiled enthusiastically, tilting his head to the side, the wounded coachman got up on his shaky feet and started backing off slowly before turning around and hastily limping between the trees.

"...~!"

Medea breathed out with his smile turning into a wide grin as he hooked his hand, arming himself with the second knife and following the escaping coachman in a playfully slow walk.

"They...! THEY ARE HERE! I BOUGHT THEM...! I BROUGHT THE GIRL! DON'T HARM MY SISTER...! P-please...!"

Mark was smart enough to know that not pulling out the knife from his side was the right choice; he also knew that shouting wasn't actually the best option in his situation, but the hope that Medea's words gave him pushed him to exert his throat... even though his shout turned into a whimper by the last word...

"..."

Medea raised his brows with interest but didn't hasten his peace – why would he?

*THUMP*

"Ough...!"

Just as the black-haired man expected, it was only a matter of time until the young traitor tripped and fell down, letting out a weak yelp as the blood from his wound splashed on the moss-covered ground.

"...he... He's here...! THE GUY WHO KILLED YOUR COMRADES! HE'S RIGHT HERE...! HELP...! H-help... you... bastards..."

As he was trying to crawl up, Mark gritted his teeth and started shouting – although as he was doing so, the fullness of such action dawned on him.

A bunch of hired thugs kidnapped his kid sister and used her to force him into becoming their accomplice.

What reason did those people have to come to rescue him? He was nobody. He was the only remaining member of the failed theater troupe that struggled each day to put food on his kid sister's plate.

For those thugs, Mark was the very definition of the word disposable.

If anything, even if they were a mere few feet away from him, they would never be bothered to help him. As for them, it was better if he ended up dead.

As for the hostage?