Chapter 43: The Trap in the Back Alley

“That’s right. What else can I do? He won’t recognize me at a glance either.”

“……”

“And, if he tries summoning again, I might notice then. But so far there’s been no reaction. So if I get the chance, I’ll just have to touch him.”

“Ha…”

Lema covered his face with both hands.

Having lived as a devout holy knight, there were times when Bel’s words, so far beyond common sense, utterly turned his stomach upside down.

When she sat back down, he steadied his breathing, forcing the heat from his face before speaking again.

“Hrmm… In any case, you’re saying the summoner himself might not even realize Belmias-sama has been summoned.”

“He probably doesn’t.”

“Then if the summoner suddenly dies, what happens? Would you have to keep wandering, searching without end?”

“If the summoner disappears, I can tell.”

“I see.”

Relief flooded Lema. That was good—truly fortunate.

His plan was beginning to take shape.

Once, Belmias had told him: his very existence would inevitably clash with the summoner’s will. That was why she had tried to reject his offer to follow her.

A lordly, correct insight.

And indeed—Lema Valkaite harbored no fondness for this supposed summoner.

If possible, he wanted to prevent that strange man from ever meeting his master.

After all, what sane man begged a god to drown the world in evil and bring about its destruction?

At first, seeing Belmias so intent on finding the summoner, he had assumed it must be the will of the Lord Above—that the task was absolute.

But it turned out the summoner was necessary only to “interpret” the wish. Belmias did not seem bound to obey his will unconditionally.

There had even been cases of wishes being misinterpreted, leading to twisted results.

Right now, she was merely humoring the madman’s intent a little more than usual.

In other words—though he would never say it aloud, for fear of blasphemy—Belmias’s goal might fail.

I won’t let lowborn scum like that approach the Lord unchecked.

Even if some fool possessed a slightly stronger will, that gave him no right to make such prayers. Before such a man could approach Bel, Lema would uncover him—and strike him down in his Master’s name.

Bel’s faint awareness of Lema’s hostility stemmed from precisely this state of mind.

“Shall I clear these away? Would you like to order more?”

Lema was still burning with these thoughts when a waiter came over, gathering dishes. He was tall, with light-colored hair, and carried a genial expression.

Holding the tray with the beer bottle still on it, the man asked Lema politely.

“Ah, there it is.”

Lema tapped the bottle with his finger.

“Do you have anything else? A Lindy, 19-year vintage would be ideal.”

“Yes, understood. Anything else you need?”

“Ah, and prepare some Seordis cheese as well.”

“……”

The waiter glanced between Bel and Lema, eyes lingering.

“That one’s not often requested, so I’ll need to check our stock. It may take a while. Could you wait upstairs in the meantime?”

“Fine.”

At that, Lema rose, then turned to Bel.

Once the waiter had moved a bit ahead, Lema leaned close, speaking low enough for only her to hear.

“Mirgas was worried this method might not work anymore. Seems his worry was misplaced.”

So that was why Lema, who never touched alcohol, had purchased wine—not for Bel, but for this.

Because they were seeking someone specific, Mirgas had decided to link Bel’s party with an information guild. Normally it would take time, but there was a shortcut.

Following the waiter, Bel and Lema climbed to the second floor. They expected to meet the broker in a private room, but instead were led across a corridor into another building.

There, the escort changed. A different man took over, guiding them further.

They passed through building after building, moving into quieter, more desolate places.

“…This isn’t quite what I heard,” Lema muttered.

Perhaps this wasn’t the broker’s route after all.

“Maybe the method’s changed recently.”

“……”

“My lord?”

Bel, however, kept glancing back toward the waiter who had guided them earlier.

“That one.”

“Yes?”

“He looked delicious.”

“…Wh-what?”

Nearly raising his voice, Lema clamped both hands over his mouth. Then he whispered sharply, like a gust of wind.

“That waiter?”

“Mm.”

“Well, I suppose he was decent-looking, but—ugh.”

Realizing too late he was agreeing, Lema pressed his forehead, groaning in frustration.

“What nonsense is this? You can’t just—just eat anyone you please! That’s filthy!”

“You’re saying I’m filthy?”

“Never! I’d never dare say you are filthy, my lord!”

Lema clutched his neck, breathing hard.

“Just… choose something proper. Didn’t you always say knights suited your taste?”

“Well, true.”

“These back-alley drifters can’t possibly be of good quality. And with me here, what need have you of others as sacrifice?”

“…I still should’ve touched him.”

“My lord, the summoner is most likely a fanatic. Do you truly think he’d be working as a waiter in an inn?”

“……”

Bel had no rebuttal.

“I’ll vet them for you first. Then—if they’re worthy—you may touch them.”

…She hadn’t realized how much of a nag this man was.

“And it’s dangerous. If you accept sacrifice from just anyone, couldn’t you be hurt again?”

“No one else is like you.”

It was true—Lema’s willingness to lower his defenses, his fanatical devotion, was rare. Others wouldn’t be the same.

And besides, his divine power—Punishment—wasn’t something just anyone possessed. That, too, was uncommon. Perhaps only a summoner could match it.

But Bel didn’t bother explaining. She simply nodded to keep him quiet.

“…Perhaps. Honestly, I don’t want to touch anyone uglier than you. That one just now wasn’t as good-looking either.”

Lema had set the standard far too high.

As Bel muttered to herself, she noticed the knight had gone quiet. Looking up, she saw him, face red, covering his mouth with a hand.

For some reason, she suddenly felt she knew exactly how to silence his nagging when it suited her.

Still… a lot of eyes on us.

Even earlier in the inn, she had sensed them. Here, it was more blatant—their watchers lingered in shadow, not just passersby stealing glances.

Soon they were guided into a secluded courtyard, empty of people.

Clouds drifted overhead, casting sudden shadow between the buildings. Dark stormclouds warned of coming rain.

The buildings, ill-kept and grimy, seemed to deepen the gloom with every step. Moss grew along cracked stone walls. Then, deeper in, even moss gave way to rot and mold. The smell of damp and decay thickened.

Windows were boarded with nailed planks. It was doubtful anyone truly lived here.

And faintly—there was the scent of blood.

This wasn’t a place to exchange information. This place had another purpose.

Bel stayed quiet, watching.

The man leading them halted in the middle of the courtyard. Turning, he extended a hand.

“Payment up front.”

Without a word, Lema flicked a gold coin from his cloak.

Clink!

The man caught it, examined it, but shook his head.

“Not enough.”

“Not enough? That’s higher than I was told. Still, if your information is worth the price, we won’t object.”

Lema tilted his head, tossing another coin.

The man pocketed it—but his grin remained, curling unpleasantly.

“The rest is for silence. After all… we can’t have you talking, Lema Valkaite.”