MHHC Chapter 68

Information Broker

"First, I have a commission for the Hawk Claw mercenary band. After that, I plan to visit the Grand Cathedral."

"The mercenary band... and the cathedral?"

Donovan tilted his head, voice colored with confusion as he echoed her words.

"Yes. The High Priest who visited the territory before is staying there. He's known me since I was young, so perhaps he'll share some information about the church's internal matters regarding this situation."

As she spoke, Adelheid closed her hand gently around the bracelet encircling her wrist—the one Valentin had given her, imbued with power to suppress magical energy.

Whether High Priest or Pope, they would find it difficult to sense the magic dwelling within her.

Yet even knowing this, the thought of walking voluntarily into the Grand Cathedral—that place crawling with High Priests like ants in a disturbed nest—made her palms slick with nervous sweat.

'I saw something too shocking last time.'

Before she could fully suppress her trembling hands, Donovan stopped walking.

He stretched his arm forward, pointing across the street where carriages clustered like feeding animals.

"Do you see it there? That's the Hawk Claw mercenary band's building."

The structure Donovan indicated stood crooked and worn, as if one strong wind might send it crumbling into memory.

How it remained upright seemed almost miraculous—likely held together by the surrounding stalls and canvas tents pressing against its sides like crutches supporting a cripple.

In front, several rough-looking men sat in a circle, smoking leaves that produced bluish smoke curling into the air like restless spirits.

As Adelheid's complexion visibly paled, Donovan seized the opportunity presented by her wavering resolve.

"I don't know your reasons, but this isn't a place for a woman of noble birth to enter. Why don't you and Margaret wait somewhere safe while I deliver your business to them?"

Adelheid nearly agreed—the unfamiliar sense of menace pressing against her was that substantial, that real.

But if this were something she could easily entrust to someone from Ansgar, she wouldn't have forced herself to make this difficult outing in the first place.

'This is about Greta.'

Among Ansgar's people, Greta's reputation had plummeted to the deepest circles of hell.

When Adelheid herself had been ostracized, Greta's reputation had been merely questionable—shrewd, self-serving, but in the North, being plundered made you the fool. Strength was the only logic that mattered.

But the moment Greta touched the war reparations, she'd fallen from cunning opportunist to contemptible traitor—someone with neither honor nor loyalty, wrapped in shame.

Those funds represented the blood price for warriors who'd sacrificed flesh and bone for Ansgar.

'If I told them I want to find Greta and offer her even minimal help...'

They wouldn't oppose her outright—her position was too secure for that—but they'd show reluctance. Adelheid bit her lip hard enough to feel teeth against tender flesh.

'I don't want to see the Ansgar people disappointed in me. But I can't back down here either.'

If these were feelings easily discarded, she would have abandoned them long ago. But Greta's situation was homework Adelheid absolutely had to complete—a debt written in her bones.

She owed Greta the duty of listening to her excuses at least once—calmly, without judgment hanging between them like a blade.

Why she'd fled. Why she'd had no choice. Whether she'd considered other options... For Adelheid, who'd once consumed Greta's rice porridge like mother's milk, this guilt was inevitable as gravity.

'No one would understand this relationship. I've known that from the start. I prepared myself... If I say I'm looking for Greta, none of the Ansgar people will help me actively.'

Thinking of Margaret and Donovan—who lately acted as though they'd give her their very organs—made her chest ache with something uncomfortably close to betrayal.

Adelheid pressed her fist against her heart, thoughts hardening like cooling iron.

'But this will be the last time I help Greta, the last time I listen. I can't part ways knowing nothing.'

Steeling her resolve, Adelheid shook her head.

"No. This is something I must do myself. Besides, I want to see with my own eyes whether the person who'll accept my commission is trustworthy, whether I can safely entrust this to them."

"...If you're certain, I can't force you otherwise. Well, if worst comes to worst, I'll protect you."

"That's reassuring."

Donovan's jest loosened some of the tension coiled in Adelheid's chest, and she smiled faintly—a small crack in her worry.

Taking a deep breath, she set her expression with determination and headed toward the Hawk Claw mercenary band.

As she drew closer, the mercenaries stationed at the entrance began turning their attention toward her one by one, gazes accumulating like weight.

Blood drained from Adelheid's face, yet she managed to reach the door with dignity intact.

"What business brings you here?"

A gray-haired man stepped smoothly into her path, asking her purpose with unexpected courtesy—his voice far more polite than she'd imagined possible from such a rough-edged figure.

Adelheid looked at him with eyes mixing equal parts surprise and tension before answering clearly.

"I've come to commission work from the mercenary band."

"You don't seem to be a previous client."

"That's right. I was told that first-time commissions require visiting the band in person."

The man released a surprisingly deep sigh.

"Correct. One of our captain's very... particular quirks. Come inside, please."

He threw open the door he'd been guarding. Adelheid stepped through carefully.

The mercenary band's interior was far better than the worst-case scenario she'd imagined from outside. In fact, "impressive" would be more accurate.

Rugs covered the floor, a fireplace blazed along one wall, and the reception area was spacious and clean, with a neat reception desk crafted from mahogany—all of it breathing with unexpected refinement.

Adelheid felt her accumulated tension melting like snow under spring sun.

Glancing around, she noticed Margaret and Donovan's expressions had also relaxed considerably.

"Come, come this way."

"But isn't the reception desk over there?"

"That's for general reception. The captain's office is upstairs. I couldn't possibly direct someone of your standing to such a place."

"...You know who I am."

At this, the man grinned—teeth flashing white against his weathered face.

"If the Hawk Claw mercenary band didn't recognize Your Grace—who's been making such waves lately—we'd deserve to be disbanded."

Mercenaries lounging with limbs sprawled carelessly sent nods of acknowledgment as they passed, each trying to make an impression on this potential patron—a future source of gold.

Some even stripped off their shirts to display chest muscles, forcing Adelheid to avert her gaze hastily.

"Here are the stairs. Watch your step. And Sir Knight, mind your head."

"Ah. I'll meet with the mercenary captain alone. Margaret and Donovan, please wait in the reception room."

"That's not—"

Donovan immediately showed reluctance at Adelheid's words, but the mercenary escorting them shrugged.

"Not to brag, but Hawk Claw's clients range from commoners to nobility. If we'd compromised trust even once, do you think we could have established ourselves this well in Pragma?"

"This isn't your place to interfere."

"I'm just saying there's no need for worry. Properly communicating our prospective client's wishes is also part of our service."

At the mercenary's easygoing attitude, Donovan frowned—but causing a scene about the Grand Duchess's wishes in front of people who traded information would accomplish nothing good.

Finally, Donovan released a heavy sigh, dragged a chair over, and planted it directly in front of the stairs.

He dropped into the seat with deliberate weight, legs spread wide, then drew his greatsword and planted it point-first against the floor—every inch of him radiating the determination that no one would ascend those stairs without going through him first.

"Well... suit yourself. Any scratches that sword leaves will be billed directly to you, Sir Knight—not to Your Grace. Now then, shall we head up?"

The mercenary looked Donovan up and down with evident displeasure before smoothly shifting his demeanor back to obsequious cheerfulness, grinning at Adelheid and rubbing his hands together like a fly grooming its forelegs.

Adelheid followed him up the creaking stairs.

When the door opened, a room appeared that was exactly twice as ornate as the floor below—and three or four times stranger.

One wall held a long desk arranged horizontally, a large brazier stood incongruously in the center, and one entire wall was plastered with papers and parchments layered like scales.

Adelheid examined the wall with curiosity burning in her eyes.

'These characters... I can't read them. What era could this writing be from?'

"You won't extract any information from those papers."

The words pierced straight through her thoughts with unsettling precision. Adelheid's head snapped up.

A middle-aged woman now sat behind the desk—appeared there as if conjured from air itself. Adelheid stumbled back several steps from the wall, bewilderment and shock tangling together.

'When did she sit down there?'

The woman seemed to have materialized from nothing—a ghost taking sudden form.

If she'd been there from the beginning, even the most careless observer would have noticed her when surveying the desk.

There must be a secret passage in the wall or bookshelf leading to an adjoining room—that was the only explanation that made sense.

As Adelheid regarded her warily, the woman's smile deepened like shadow spreading.

"That's not standard writing but a cipher used by our mercenary band. The heads of each division post information they've gathered every dawn. Now, come sit over here."

The woman gestured gracefully toward the chair opposite her, voice smooth as silk over steel.

When Adelheid settled into the seat with practiced elegance, the woman rang a silver bell.

A side door Adelheid hadn't even noticed opened soundlessly, and a rough-looking man entered the room.