Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 920

Capítulo 920: Rat Catcher(3)

“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Hypathio asked as he draped a worn civilian cloak over Laedio’s chainmail, hiding the gleam of steel beneath rough cloth.

“Perish the thought, man!” Laedio laughed softly. “What divides a good idea from a bad one except the outcome? Success blesses even the stupidest schemes, and failure curses even the wisest.” He straightened the collar. “And as much as I would love to pretend otherwise, I am no Alpheo. I do not see tomorrow before it arrives. Though I admit”a grin tugged at his lips”I always wished I could.”

Hypathio’s jaw tightened. “Would I be a fool to suggest sending one of the men in your stead? Explaining to the prince how his favored captain got himself slit open in a shoemaker’s backroom… that is not a conversation I wish to have with a royal.”

Laedio’s look told him the matter was closed long before he spoke.

“A man must move himself forward, Hypathio. If he does not, he forgets what it feels like to be alive.” He clapped him on the arm. “Have the men ready. The moment I give the signal, break down the door and may your next move be based by your eyes’ proof.”

Hypathio handed him the last pieces of his disguise: a pair of boots with a broken heel and a small clay urn. Laedio took them, one in each hand, then rolled his neck until it cracked, stretching his face into the most harmless, disarming smile he could summon. One would think he was going to flirt with a baker, not walk into a den of criminals.

“Wish me luck, friend!For I will be in a sea of fiends” he said brightly.

And before Hypathio could muster a reply, Laedio slipped into the narrow street, his steps light, his manner careless, as if not a single drop of doubt existed in him.

He entered the shop with the cheer of a man greeting a dear cousin.

“Good afternoon!” he called, stepping inside with a bounce in his voice that felt almost obscene in the heavy, stale air.

He scanned the room instantly beneath the mask of good humor. One man behind the counter,likely the shoemaker. Another leaned against the far wall, eyes angled upward with an angry expression. A bodyguard?A door-watcher? Fortunately, just one.

Next, he stole a glance around the floor and walls, seeking any hint of the rumored entry to the tunnels. Nothing obvious. Of course. Vermin seldom leave their holes in plain sight.

He had taken barely two steps inside when the shoemaker finally looked up, brows lifting.

“Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” Laedio replied with a warm, almost sheepish chuckle. “But I do hope we’ll become better acquainted, Master Sherman. For today, though, I come simply as a customer.”

He set the battered boots on the counter with a patient dignity, as if they were prized relics rather than weary leather with a broken heel.

“I was hoping to have these repaired.”

Sherman’s eyes flicked between the boots, the urn, and Laedio himself,lingering just a little too long on the man’s posture, on the smile.A brow arched, perhaps in suspicion, perhaps in simple curiosity.

It was not the kind of customer who usually walked through the door for secondary services.

Not at all.

Sherman had barely parted his lips to respond when the man leaning against the wall spoke first.

“The man isn’t looking for new clients,” the bodyguard said, voice flat and edged like a whetted blade. “He’s already got enough orders to fill a month. Try again another day or better yet try another shop.”

Laedio’s gaze flicked toward him. “You don’t sound like an apprentice, Mr…?”

“He’s my son’s friend,” Sherman cut in quickly. Too quickly. His hands twitched as if he’d been caught juggling two lies and dropped both. “I’m just letting him… stay here for a while.”

Laedio nodded as if that made perfect sense. “A charitable man. Hard to find these days.” He lifted the boots again. “Then perhaps I can simply leave these here and come back in a few days to pick them up?”

Sherman opened his mouth, but the bodyguard stepped forward, boots slapping against the floorboards with deliberate menace.

“Are you deaf?” he snarled. “Get out before toss you into the street with broken bones.”

He leaned in so close that flecks of spit burst across Laedio’s cheek.His breath smelled too….

Bothered by both, Laedio held his gaze for a long, steady moment.

Then, slowly,and once again pleasantly, he smiled.

“My gentlemen,” he said softly, “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here.”

With a casualness that felt out of place in the rising tension, he set the small urn on the counter. Both men glanced at it, curiosity briefly overriding suspicion, especially when Laedio produced two small wooden cups.

“This,” Laedio said, loosening the cloth stopper, “is pure cider vintage. A rare treat. And in my humble opinion, there is no better way to set aside tempers than to share a fine drink.”

The bodyguard hesitated only a moment before his eyes lit up. Court cider brown-golden and unmistakable, was not something street rats ever got to taste. The thought of turning it down was laughable.

Now it was costly, with a single cup being worth nearly half a silverii or five bronzii, but it certainly wasn’t something that a person could never taste in his life. Especially with how well the city economy was doing.

Laedio poured two cups with a steady hand. The rich scent of aged fruit filled the small room. He handed the first cup to the goon, who took it with a grunt of satisfaction, raising it to eye level as if admiring a jewel.

Sherman accepted his own cup with more restraint, wrapping trembling fingers around it. But when he tugged it toward himself, he felt resistance. He looked down, confused. The cup wouldn’t move.

His eyes rose slowly as he realized Laedio’s fingers still gripped the bottom of the cup, unmoving. The smile had vanished from Laedio’s face.

“Mr. Sherman,” Laedio whispered, voice low and utterly calm, “please do not scream.”

The room snapped at a moment’s notice.

Laedio’s left hand shot out closing around the bodyguard’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged as he was hoisted forward, balance lost. He crashed onto the counter, legs fraying back, splintering the wood beneath his weight.

Laedio’s right hand moved just as fast.

Steel flashed.

A wet sound tore through the air as the blade pierced the side of the man’s neck before being pulled out in a wide arc, promptly taking out a good chunk of meat as a butcher would do with a sheep.

Warm blood sprayed,splashing across the counter, the floor, Laedio’s coat, and Sherman’s horrified face. The bodyguard choked once, twice, then collapsed in a heap, gurgling weakly until there was nothing left to gurgle with.

Half a second.

That was all it took.

Sherman stared, frozen, the cup still trembling in his hand. His eyes were wide, mouth hanging open, lips quivering as if his body had forgotten how to form sound.

Laedio exhaled slowly, as if relieved.

“A good start, don’t you think?” he said gently, wiping a streak of red from his cheek with the back of his sleeve. “Now, I would greatly prefer it if you didn’t scream. Because if you do…” He nudged the lifeless body with his boot, rolling it slightly to reveal the wide, opened throat. “You will join your son’s friend here.”

He stepped over the corpse and lowered himself onto the nearest chair, still dripping with blood, crossing one leg over the other with unhurried ease, as though he were settling in for afternoon tea.

“Now then,” Laedio said, folding his hands atop his knee with the patient poise of a tutor addressing a slow-witted pupil, “I believe we are both owed a talk?”

Silence.

Not even a whimper. Not even breath, just that wide, glassy stare fixed on the cooling corpse at their feet.

Laedio sighed softly. He would’ve liked to give the man a moment to digest events, but time was something he never had in abundance.

He leaned forward and slapped Sherman across the face,hard. The crack echoed in the room like a whip.

“My apologies for the discourteous introduction, Mr. Sherman,” Laedio said politely, as the man flinched and jerked back into awareness. “Believe me, I would’ve preferred pleasantries. A handshake. Perhaps even a discount on boot repairs. Sadly, we are both trapped in our respective social roles, and those roles have brought me to your doorstep in a less… pleasant manner.”

Sherman didn’t answer. His gaze still kept darting,like a trapped rabbit,back to the body splayed on the floorboards, blood creeping along the grooves in the wood.

He forgot that it was probably his first meeting with death.

Laedio watched him for a moment, then studied him with a hint of professional curiosity.

Civilian, he noted. Soft eyes, soft hands, soft spine. Not a man of the trade. Merely a man with a basement and poor choices.

Good.

Civilians caved more easily to threats.

He flicked his fingers twice, sharp and impatient, forcing Sherman’s trembling eyes back to him before gripping his chin and holding it in place. His own gaze hardened.

“Attend to me, Mr. Sherman. Right now, I am the only thing standing between you walking out of this room alive or dangling from the gallows with your neck twisted like a broken branch.You are a criminal my dear.”

A shudder traveled through Sherman’s entire body, but at last finally some spark of awareness returned. His lips trembled as he forced sound past them.

“Y–you—” He swallowed, breath hitching. “I know you. I’ve seen you .”

Laedio lifted one brow. He shouldn’t, but he leaned in, interest piqued. Vanity, perhaps. Or amusement, he usually don’t receive much of eaither.

And it was hard to tell with him.

“Is that so?” he asked lightly. “Then you must know what they call me.”

Sherman’s voice nearly broke. “Th—the Rat Catcher.”

“Always a pleasure when my reputation walks into a room before I do,” he said. “Saves me the effort of introductions.”

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, entirely at ease while a corpse bled inches from his boots.

He was finally getting somewhere