XXI. Fugitive Knight

"Stop crying; you're a grown man making a spectacle of yourself. The Demon Hunter from Gion Kingdom is here."

Liszt looked at Archer's sorry state and thought he was not only unfit for chopping people but also seemed to have trouble just climbing into bed. Fortunately, over the years, he had already mastered the correct approach.

Archer's body went cold with fear upon hearing those words. He struggled to his feet with the help of a stone chair, unbuckled the leather belt on his back, and pulled out a heavy weapon with a unique design, gripping it in his hand.

The weapon was called a Curved Sword, somewhat resembling an oversized Nepalese scimitar.

Liszt had heard Archer say he'd never received any combat training; he'd only dealt with meat ingredients day and night before becoming a head chef, skinning, de-sinewing, deboning, and gutting, to the point where he could butcher a cow with his eyes closed.

Gion Kingdom had a famous dish which involved eating monkeys. For Archer, slicing a person was the same as slicing a monkey, and he'd picked up other combat techniques by cutting down a few people, making him a natural talent.

Cooking wasn't a job that purely relied on technique, lacking a bit of arm strength, and you wouldn't be able to handle the meals of dozens or hundreds of people.

Archer once thought being an assistant chef was tough, only to find that being a head chef was even tougher. After not even six months, he was forced to take to the sea. Before, he dealt with things that didn't move; now, he had to deal with things that did.

"Where?"

Archer's adrenaline soared, his liver metabolizing at what felt like dozens of times its normal rate; he sobered up considerably.

"Nah, I was just kidding. Look sharp; someone might die soon."

So Liszt spoke, for if Archer kept drinking, he'd be slain by thieves in a drunken haze without even knowing. But that was a vice he likely couldn't kick.

Fen urged the information peddler to lead the way quickly, as any delay could lead to trouble.

London City was no small place, and this was not the time to be stingy with the carriage fare.

The group boarded a carriage pulled by two Land Birds, creatures similar to ostriches but much larger, with thicker muscles on their necks and legs and feathers mostly dark green or dark cyan. They lacked the long-distance stamina of horses but were much stronger over short distances.

About fifteen minutes later,

the group left the bustling inner loop of Londen City and came to the outskirts. After paying six copper coins, they followed the information peddler to a nondescript alley by the city wall.

"Gentlemen, they're at the loose liquor shop around the next corner."

The information peddler couldn't fathom what he might have said wrong.

"Alright, come with us. If anything's wrong, I'll sacrifice your head as our standard."

Liszt hauled the information peddler along by his hair.

"Sir, I really didn't deceive you; it's a farmhouse warehouse rented in the city, storing some home-brewed loose liquor to sell to the big restaurants in the Inner City. Those Military Masters spent some money to stay there; there's not a shred of falsehood in it."

The information peddler was terrified, his legs shaking. In the future, he decided he'd rather just do business with adventurers; these wanted individuals were always paranoid, driving themselves crazy with suspicion.

While the information peddler did the talking, Fen anticipated that a massacre might be imminent.

Ten minutes later, inside the loose liquor warehouse.

Fen and this Knight hit it off as soon as they met, feeling that they should have been introduced sooner. They both used to be nobles, but after getting into trouble, they couldn't save their titles. They had gone from the heavens to the earth in an instant, finding common ground.

Before, they'd had meals served by Maids, with dietitians arranging the menus, including appetizers, main courses, desserts, and drinks, followed by elegant entertainments for leisure.

Their conversation summed up to this:

Once, they were profligate sons, deeply in love with the bustling life, with a fondness for luxurious dwellings and beautiful maidservants... admiring flowers and birds, indulging in tea and torturing oranges, their obsession with books eating away at poetry. Half a lifetime of toil, all turned to dreams and illusions.

Now exiled overseas, on broken beds and shattered furniture, clad in simple cloth and sparing meals, often to the point of having no food to cook, looking back to ten years ago feels truly like a lifetime apart.

Liszt stood aside, barely enduring to listen any longer, as the two boasted of past grandeur and eloquence, now as forlorn as if stuck in the mire, reaching the sentimental phase of middle-aged men greasy with regret.

The intelligence peddler had not lied; this group of Military Masters indeed came to protect the son of a high official from the Aran Empire. However, the young lord suddenly fell ill and kicked the bucket, leaving them perplexed about how to report back. "Hello, your son has suddenly died of illness abroad." Who would believe that?

This knight was named Claude, who looked as if he was sculpted in three dimensions, wearing a full set of genuine Knight Master armor from head to toe, fully armed, the texture and luster faintly shining, undoubtedly forged with some special materials. The precision in the joints was exquisite, also costing at least ten Golden Dragons; perhaps the suit even had a special power circuit installed. Typically, there would be an emblem of a noble house to which one pledged loyalty on the chest, but after his offense, he had scrubbed it off.

Claude was in extreme disarray, with a scruffy beard and lifeless eyes.

In the warehouse, there were over twenty trained regular troops wearing Chain Armor underneath their linen shirts, equally haggard. Claude's failure to protect led them to share in the fallout; the Empire's influence covered the entire Western Continent, where could they run to? After much thought, they chose to set sail.

"Ah..."

Claude closed his eyes and sighed deeply, clenching his fist. After such rotten luck, they had arrived at this dire crossroads. They had spent most of their money while escaping to the East Shore, and now only had five Golden Dragons and some scattered silver coins left. It was one thing if he was on his own, he could live out the other half of his life in anonymity, but what about his brothers-in-arms who had faced life and death with him? Should they turn to farming?

Chatting was one thing, but Liszt did not intend to take responsibility for these men. The high officials of the Aran Empire were not small figures. Furthermore, the combat strength of these regular troops was not to be underestimated. If he didn't take them in, the other crappy pirates currently in the secret port wouldn't either.

"There's nothing I can do. We're not setting sail immediately either; we'll be staying for at least half a month anyway."

Liszt was ready to wash his hands of the matter and leave; there were other matters to attend to. Not knowing when the job from the Lord of Londen City would come, but he had to prepare the goods on the ship first, checking what was needed and placing orders at the wholesale market.

There was also plenty of loose wine stocked in this wine warehouse, and Claude had bought some as well. At this time, Archer was pouring drink without regard to the occasion.

Liszt was speechless; you drink someone else's wine and then just leave? To be honest, it's quite awkward.

"Ah, I understand that you're pirates. We're not getting on board to vie for a high seat, just to scrape a living. We can wait for half a month, the news won't spread that quickly."

Claude was determined to find a swift resolution, knowing that if he didn't find a way out soon, it would be too late once people arrived. He also knew what his fear was: bringing so many men aboard, he was afraid of trouble along the way.

Fen stayed silent. While they got along well, and it wasn't easy for the brothers, he would provide all the support he could, aside from assistance.

Liszt thought about how to tactfully refuse.

"You were someone once, how could you stoop to being a bandit? I do know someone who could take you on a ship to the Far East Islands."

Liszt spoke indifferently.

"The Emperor once waged wars, bringing about slaughter. We Aran people have no good days in foreign lands, waiting also for the Emperor to appoint a successor and grant amnesty to the nation. With gold, we might return and redeem our titles."

Claude murmured to himself.

Fen neither agreed nor disagreed. It seemed acceptance of becoming outlaws was not so easy after all. They clung to dreams—of course thieves and robbers could be pardoned, but for major cases? Impossible; there must be rules to form a square. Some corpses would always be needed to warn the citizens.

"That high official's son you were guarding, what was he here for?"

Liszt asked.

To his surprise, Claude's following words struck Liszt like a bolt from the blue, leaving him utterly stunned.

"If it was just a minor matter, it might be manageable..."