WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Sword Master of the Fallen Kingdom

Chapter 16

──────

Rumors of a Windfall (1)

"Your order. I went a little extra with the portions."

A large bowl piled with food was set down on the bar counter.

Soft white bread, a well-cooked joint of meat, boiled eggs, a pat of butter alongside some jam, and a clean glass of water.

Reaching for his utensils, Kyle glanced around the room. The tavern on the first floor of the inn was packed at this late-afternoon hour, full of all sorts of people.

Mercenaries bristling with equipment, lightly dressed travelers, people who looked like they came from merchant caravans. A varied crowd. Kyle didn't stand out, and that suited him fine.

"How's the food?"

"Not bad."

"Pretty hard to please, aren't you. You have no idea how skilled our cook is. I can't say much else, but when it comes to food, this inn beats everywhere around here."

The bartender polished a cup with a white cloth as he spoke, pride clear in his voice. Kyle chewed quietly and gave a small smirk.

Several days had passed since he left Donel.

After collecting his payment from Count Metis and parting ways with Katrin and Veil, Kyle had left the city before dawn. As always, all he carried was a sword that looked plain at a glance and a black cloak draped over his shoulders. No particular destination in mind.

It was always like that. Alive, but not quite. Drifting across the continent like a ghost without direction, killing men and monsters on autopilot just to earn enough to get by. He couldn't die, so he kept going. But even now, after all this time, he had no idea what he actually wanted.

From five years ago, when the Northern War broke out.

No. From three years ago, when he lost everything and was left alone.

Some people wanted money. Some wanted honor. Some wanted power.

Kyle was none of those. People were creatures of desire, or so they said. Kyle had none of it. Even when he earned a fortune, even when he obtained rare relics and artifacts, even when power beyond counting lay within his reach, it brought him no joy. For three long years he had asked himself what he wanted, and no clear answer ever came.

Was he after revenge for those already dead? Or did he simply want to see the faces of the people he loved one more time?

If not even that. Maybe he had simply given up, and was waiting for the rest called death.

"Where are you from?"

The reverie broke. At the bartender's voice, Kyle realized he'd been sitting there in a daze, fork in hand.

"Donel."

"A guest from the west, then. That city is one of the busier places around here. It's where the Metis count family's main estate is, after all."

"It's not all that."

"Not all that?"

The bartender finished polishing the glass in his hand and picked up another damp one.

"Compared to Arcandier, the imperial capital, or Lenavic where the Federal Assembly sits, it's little more than a small town."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

"Still, this city isn't bad. It has its own charm."

"Easy to say as an outsider. For someone like me, born and raised here all my life, it's the same tired scenery every single day. My friends were singing about becoming famous mercenaries from the time we were kids, and the moment they came of age, they left."

"What happened to them?"

"Nothing much. Haven't heard a word from any of them since, so they're probably dead."

A brief silence. Death was ordinary in this world, unlike the Korea Kyle had come from. Boys from the outskirts who left home chasing dreams of glory, bleeding out in some back-alley gutter, that was common enough it didn't even make for good drinking talk.

"There are quite a lot of people here."

Kyle resumed his meal and asked. Sure enough, the first floor was unusually crowded for a time still too early to call evening. For a city of this size, it was clearly out of the ordinary. So much so that there were more guests here than at the inn where he'd spent a night in Donel.

"Oh, that?"

He was quietly chewing through a halved egg when the bartender answered, easy and unbothered.

"Lot of things happening around here lately."

"Things?"

"Word is, an uncleared dungeon was discovered nearby. I heard it secondhand, so I can't be sure. But with guests piling in over the past two weeks and the city filling up with people, it doesn't quite feel like a complete lie."

"......."

"I'd bet the other cities nearby are all the same. Word is, not just famous mercenary companies but nobles are eyeing it too...."

The bartender glanced around and dropped his voice a notch. Kyle sat still, looking down at the glass of water in his hand.

"An uncleared dungeon...."

"Interested?"

The bartender asked, voice gone a shade sly. Kyle didn't answer. He turned the words over in his mind instead. Dungeons, ruins, labyrinths. The names were all different, but what they offered was always the same.

Enormous sums of money. Or the chance to strike it rich overnight.

An uncleared dungeon even more so. Just as Count Metis had claimed an undiscovered ruin first and made a fortune from it, a dungeon that had never been cleared was no different from a pot of gold left by the side of the road. Most dungeons brought incredible rewards.

But nothing came free. Clearing a dungeon required numbers. Whether it was a small group of highly skilled fighters or a large crowd grinding forward at the cost of their lives, either way it demanded time and resources.

And still, people chose to enter. Because it was worth it. Kyle himself had explored uncleared dungeons and newly discovered ruins a handful of times. Not just for money, but to obtain artifacts and relics that couldn't be found even at auction.

More than anything, if he was lucky, he might find something capable of lifting the curse lodged in his body, or even bringing someone back.

If he could just be rid of the curse eating him alive, there was so much he could finally do.

"Times are rough, you know. Even the fine noble lords get cut down and killed all the time. Honor and glory don't mean much. Money and strength, that's what actually matters. An uncleared dungeon, you could sell just the byproducts alone and walk away rich, couldn't you?"

"......."

"And if you're lucky, you pick up an artifact or a relic and you've made your name."

"Starting to sound tempting."

"Figured as much."

He shrugged, pleased with himself. Kyle turned an ear toward the back of the bar. Sure enough, the uncleared dungeon was all anyone could talk about. Listen carefully and you'd catch snippets of people forming teams, looking for party members.

"Anyone want to come with me?"

"Hell of a lot of people. Flies, the lot of them...."

"Same grade? Is that actually true?"

"An uncleared dungeon means risking your life going in. I'd rather...."

"Coward. That's why you'll never get anywhere."

All kinds of voices from all kinds of people. When Kyle showed interest, the bartender nodded toward the crowd.

"If you're looking for party members, why not go over and say something. Buy them a cheap round and they'll probably let you tag along."

"Don't need to."

"Don't need to? You planning to go in alone?"

"If I can, then yes."

"Why, though?"

"Because I've already done it that way plenty of times."

Going into dungeons and exploring ruins was fundamentally a team effort. You never knew what might happen in an unknown space, and handling every emergency alone was difficult.

Kyle was different. If it came to it, he'd just go in alone. He'd done it successfully more than a few times. The more people there were, the more the profits got split. From his position, there was no reason to drag along mercenaries he couldn't trust just to cut into his own take.

"Ha. That's some confidence."

"......."

"You seem like you're doing well for yourself. What grade are you?"

"Silver."

"Silver grade?"

The answer came from behind. Kyle swallowed the last bite of meat and turned around. A group sitting a bit away from the bar counter was looking at him and snickering among themselves.

"Going into a dungeon alone? Already done it plenty of times?"

"Madman. He's out of his mind. I thought it was strange that vermin were crawling in because of the dungeon lately, and now some rat who couldn't catch a mouse is out here playing silver-grade mercenary."

"It's always the ones with nothing who put on the biggest act."

"Oh. Looks like he heard us. He's looking over here."

"Let him look. What's he going to do about it, idiot."

Insults flying out of nowhere. Kyle's eyes narrowed as he looked the group over. Mercenaries, by the look of them.

Going by the atmosphere, they seemed like a party that had banded together with the dungeon in mind. Their gear looked decent enough from a glance. The table was cluttered with half-eaten food and empty cups, they'd been drinking there longer than Kyle had been eating.

"Not trying to be a busybody, but...."

The bartender's face had darkened and he was about to say something, when Kyle spoke first.

"The water's no good, innkeeper."

"Huh...?"

"Was this inn always so full of trash?"

Kyle set down his utensils. The group that had been talking loudly about him went quiet all at once.

"Hey, what did you just say?"

One of the mercenaries shoved his chair back and stood. A lean man with long limbs was staring at Kyle like he wanted to kill him.

"Shut up and finish your drinks."

"What?"

"Or is that your thing? Picking fights to shake people down for money."

"Ha ha ha!"

The lean man burst out laughing. The other mercenaries at the table weren't far behind.

"Wow, this guy is actually hilarious."

"I knew he was off, but not this much."

"Hey. What do you think you are?"

A mercenary with a thick beard asked. The first floor had gone so quiet that only Kyle and the mercenaries' voices broke the silence.

Fights between mercenaries were common. Among them, the ones that risked lives were practically entertainment. It wasn't rare for bystanders to egg things on when it wasn't their problem. The bearded mercenary felt the eyes in the room shift toward him and let his voice drop.

"Never seen your face before. You're not from around here. An outsider."

"And?"

"Quit pretending to be a silver-grade mercenary and keep your mouth shut. You know how many frauds like you have been showing up lately? All of them running their mouths trying to get into a reputable team, and not long ago there was even one who forged his mercenary badge."

"Your eyes must be decorations."

"What did you say?"

The man's beard quivered at the unexpected comeback. Kyle kept going without missing a beat.

"A mercenary badge is just one of many ways to prove your worth. Someone with real ability can gauge another's level just from the way they walk and carry themselves."

"......."

"You lot, at least, are not."

"This son of a..."

One of them, unable to hold back any longer, kicked back his chair and stood. Bang, the table lurched hard.

The moment the man reached for the sword at his hip,

Clang!

A clean metallic ring. A severed length of metal clattered across the tavern floor. The wide-eyed man looked down at his waist. What remained was the hilt of his sword, sheared cleanly through just below the cross-guard.

"Want to keep going?"

Kyle said quietly. He was already on his feet, sword in hand, the blade catching the light with a smooth gleam.

Late afternoon. The silver blade, lit by the slant of the dying sun.

"Ah...."

A sound escaped the man, small and trembling. His legs wouldn't stop shaking. His mind refused to accept what had just happened.

He drew? When? How? I didn't even see it.

If that blade had been aimed at his throat....

He snapped back to his senses, stumbled backward, and bolted straight out of the inn. The rest of them read the room and filed out behind him.

"Sorry about the commotion."

"No, that's...."

"Did you get their tab?"

Once they were all gone, the packed first floor fell silent. At Kyle's question, the bartender shook his head.

Kyle reached into his coat and pulled out a generous handful of silver coins, setting them beside the empty bowl.

"This is...?"

"For the meal and the information. That should more than cover those men's drinks on top of it. Thanks for the talk."

"Wait! I can't accept this much...."

He didn't hear the rest. Kyle sheathed his sword in one smooth motion and headed upstairs. The bartender stared blankly at the pile of silver coins sitting in front of him, far more than he'd ever expected.

"Well...."

"Did you see that?"

"He cut through a sword hilt in one stroke, without even using sword energy."

"That blade looked like no ordinary thing...."

"Seems like someone famous. Anyone know who he is?"

It didn't take long for the quiet first floor to fill back up with noise. The people who had just been watching the fight were now buzzing about Kyle's identity.

And someone was watching all of it. A pair of eyes in the corner had tracked the stairs Kyle climbed, steady and unblinking. After a moment of glancing around, the figure rose from their seat. A blue robe swayed faintly with the movement.

***

Kyle opened the door to his assigned room and stepped inside. The most expensive room in the inn, and it showed, tidy, well-kept.

A quick sweep of the space, and he found a washbasin set in the corner. No bath, but this was enough. Outside of the larger free cities and places like Donel, this was about average for inns in this world.

Kyle undid his equipment, dampened a clean cloth, and gave himself a quick wash. After tidying up, he lay down on the bed and set his sword by the headboard as he always did. By then, night had fallen. He reached over and turned off the nightstand lamp. The room went completely dark.

A somewhat soft bed. The rough texture of the blanket and its warmth. Sleep closing in.

His consciousness slowly sank.

And then....

A gentle wind blew. It caught his bangs and swept them back, and Kyle slowly opened his eyes.

Warm sunlight bathed everything around him. The blue sky was perfectly clear, not a cloud in sight. The branches overhead swayed and rustled like waves. Beneath the tree's shade, thick weeds bent and shivered.

A dream?

He blinked again. A beat later, the scene before him came fully into view.

He was leaning against a large tree growing on a hillside out in open country. White butterflies drifted here and there. A faint floral smell, earthy underneath, brushed his senses. Right beside him lay a sword, placed neatly on the ground.

All of it was achingly familiar. Clear enough to picture perfectly even with his eyes shut. Enough to sink into. Enough to keep pulling at a buried memory, again and again. Even knowing it was a useless past, enough to dream a hollow dream.

"Kyle."

A voice. He turned, and his eyes went wide.

There stood the one person he had longed so much to see. Sometimes like a friend, sometimes like an older brother, sometimes like a parent. The person who had guided him. The person who had loved him. The person who had given him everything. The person who, at the very last, had left him with the words "I'm sorry."

And the person who had given him the name Kyle.

The very person he could never see again.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried