Chapter 138: Hitting Your Own Side
The royal capital of the Re-Estize Kingdom.
Dusk light came in from the far end of the street, staining the entire length of cobblestone a deep, sullen orange. The buildings on either side cast long shadows across the ground — like cracks torn open from the earth by some invisible hand.
Momon stood before the entrance of a building.
The heavy wooden door had been smashed through. Splinters covered the ground. The door frame had snapped clean at the middle, leaving a dark corridor exposed beyond.
The air carried a mingled smell of dust and blood, drifting out through the gaps in the broken brickwork.
He still held his fist in the follow-through position.
A few flecks of dark red marked the gauntlet of his black full-body plate armor, catching the dying light with a dull gleam.
The wall he had punched through — chunks of brick and stone were scattered across the street outside, several of the larger pieces pinning down a body in leather armor.
He had been the strongest guard in this remnant Eight Fingers safehouse.
He was now curled in the rubble, the leather plate at his chest caved inward, blood from the corner of his mouth dripping onto the ground below. His eyes were half-open, the pupils rolled back, consciousness already somewhere far away.
The second guard had gone considerably farther. He had hit the wall of a blacksmith's shop across the street, and on the way down left a long smear of red along the stonework.
He was still moving — but only in the useless, thrashing way of a dog with a broken spine.
Narberal emerged from inside the building.
Blood on her sword. Nothing on her face.
"The safehouse interior has been cleared." She reported to Momon. "Eleven in total. These two aside, all eliminated."
Momon gave a slight nod.
He withdrew his fist and turned to face the street.
The street was packed.
The news had traveled faster than expected. When Momon's punch had sent that guard through the wall — the crack of shattering brick, the boom of rubble hitting the street — it had drawn half the block's worth of people before the dust settled.
The braver ones had pressed right to the middle of the street. They stood there staring, wide-eyed, at the warrior enclosed in black armor.
That composed, unhurried bearing. That air of absolute ease.
At a speed everyone could clearly follow, Momon raised his right hand. His feet came together. He performed a textbook German military salute.
The crowd erupted.
"Incredible!"
"Momon-sama, you're amazing!"
"Nabe-sama is beautiful!"
"That's the Adamantite-ranked adventurers Momon and Nabe? That form — the presence is something else."
"I just saw it — one punch through a solid wall, and that man went flying!"
"He's that strong! With him here, Eight Fingers' remnants don't stand a chance!"
The voices rose and folded over each other like water coming to a boil.
Someone started clapping. Someone else raised a hand and waved in Momon's direction.
Momon lowered his right hand. The gaze beneath the full-face helmet moved across the crowd, as though all of this were exactly what he had anticipated.
"Did you hear?" A middle-aged man's voice carried out from somewhere in the crowd, carrying the particular weight of someone who enjoys knowing things first. "This is the newly promoted Adamantite-ranked team that His Highness the First Prince personally brought in from E-Rantel."
"His Highness the First Prince?" The person beside him didn't quite sound convinced.
"Absolutely. His Highness learned that Eight Fingers was planning a significant move and was concerned that Blue Roses alone wouldn't be enough to hold off a desperate last counterattack. For the safety of the people, he went to considerable expense to bring them in."
The man tilted his head in Momon's direction. "Look at that ability — what ordinary adventurer punches through a wall? His Highness really committed this time."
"Is that right?" Another voice from farther across the crowd, clearly skeptical. "Because I heard the First Prince was the one with ties to Eight Fin—"
"Shh!"
The voice cut off. Someone had apparently covered that mouth with a hand.
"Are you out of your mind? Saying things like that without any proof?"
"Well, I don't have proof exactly..."
"Then that settles it." The middle-aged man's voice recovered its certainty. "The fact is the First Prince hired Adamantite-ranked adventurers to root out Eight Fingers. Besides the princess, His Highness is the member of the royal family who genuinely cares about the people."
A brief silence.
"Something still feels off to me..." The rebutted voice muttered quietly, and didn't press further.
Momon stood where he was. He hadn't been trying to listen, but he had caught every word of the exchange.
Spent money to build a reputation, and it's this unconvincing. He thought privately. Just how poor is this First Prince's image with his own people?
His gaze dropped to the unconscious guard buried in the rubble at his feet.
Still. This isn't bad at all. Ainz-sama's follow-on plan will be easier to carry out.
Narberal moved to his side. Her gaze passed over the still-murmuring crowd. Her brow drew in slightly.
"Momon-sama." Her voice dropped low. "The things these people are saying—"
"Don't worry about it." Momon's tone was even. "Let's go."
Narberal gave a slight nod and fell into step behind him as they walked toward the far end of the street.
The crowd parted on its own, watching Momon and Narberal go with eyes full of reverence.
City guards arrived shortly after to deal with the aftermath.
Inside Lorente Castle, in First Prince Barbro's private sitting room.
Bang!
Barbro's fist came down on the table.
"Those ungrateful commoners—!"
His voice echoed through the room. His face had gone deep red. The veins at his temples pulsed visibly.
"I spent all that money bringing in Adamantite-ranked adventurers from E-Rantel, personally arranged the whole operation to sweep out Eight Fingers' remnants — and they can't even show a shred of gratitude!"
Barbro was breathing hard, his chest heaving.
He had bought this achievement by selling out his last remaining allies. And it wasn't even being recognized.
Baron Chenako stood to one side. His pencil mustache gave a slight twitch. His lips parted — he was working up something in the way of consolation —
But the First Prince's fury seemed to cut off on its own, as though someone had pinched a cord. The expression of rage that had twisted his face smoothed away, slowly, as though an invisible hand were pressing it flat.
Baron Chenako swallowed the words he'd been about to say. He didn't dare make a sound. He only watched with great care.
Barbro settled slowly back into his chair.
The anger in those blue eyes receded, degree by degree. What replaced it was a cold quality that made the air feel several degrees colder.
I was still feeling some reluctance, Barbro thought quietly. But if these commoners don't know how to be grateful...
Then there's no reason for me to go on being kind to them.