"Haa... haa... haa... haa..."
He sprinted desperately through the city as the shroud of night descended. He wore leather armor fashioned from monster hide to ensure his movements remained fluid, and his hands gripped an iron halberd. But despite his warrior-like attire, blood trickled from numerous gashes carved into the skin left exposed by his armor. Under normal circumstances, the shallow wounds would have posed no threat if he simply rested, but as he pounded the pavement, the intense exertion prevented the blood from clotting, leaving a crimson trail in his wake.
"That piece of shit Boruntar! Would he really go this far!?"
His idol and superior was Galahat, a B-Rank adventurer. Galahat had been gravely wounded, and Mult was acting on his specific instructions. He was supposed to be protecting Galahat’s half-brother, Boruntar.
However, that act of "protection" had threatened to undermine Boruntar’s authority. Realizing this, the merchant had dispatched his private soldiers to eliminate the witness. Now, Mult found himself fleeing through the darkening streets of Gilm, his body a map of fresh injuries.
Even at night, Gilm was still a bustling hub. Though the crowds were thinner than during the day, figures still moved through the streets. Yet, Mult didn't dare call out to the passersby for help; he simply ran with single-minded focus toward his destination. His pursuers were merely Boruntar's private soldiers. At best, the strongest among them was likely C-Rank. However, their numbers were overwhelming, and Galahat had explicitly requested that he keep this matter out of the public eye. Thus, he headed for his goal in silence.
He had received word from a fellow adventurer—information regarding the person who had served as the catalyst for this entire mess.
Logically, seeking help from that man while ostensibly acting to protect Boruntar from him was a glaring contradiction. Galahat had even warned him to stay away from the individual in question: Rei. And yet...
(If I want to save Galahat-san, I have no choice but to borrow that guy's power! ...Forgive me, Galahat-san. I know this is the one outcome you wanted to avoid most. But I refuse to accept a world where you die and Boruntar gets to live!)
As Mult cursed under his breath, the sound of an object slicing through the air reached his ears. He lunged diagonally forward by pure instinct. A split second later, something whistled through the space he had occupied and thudded into the earth.
"Dammit, they’re even using bow users? In the middle of the city!? Have they lost their minds?"
He cast a fleeting, bitter glance at the arrow buried in the ground before forcing his legs to move again.
A volley followed, but thanks to his light leather armor, he managed to evade nearly every shot. Nearly.
"Ugh!"
An arrow punched through his leather pauldrons and buried itself in his left shoulder. He didn't have a second to spare to pull it out. He simply spat on the ground and kept running.
Had he been on the main street, the presence of late-night pedestrians would have likely deterred them from using bows and arrows. But Mult was currently navigating the back streets, places rarely frequented even during the day. He had passed a few people, but as soon as they realized he was wounded and embroiled in a life-or-death struggle, they hurried away. He didn't blame them. He knew he would have done the same in their position. However...
"Shit, I'm almost there..."
In the distance, two figures stepped out from the shadows of the alley, blocking his path. One held a sword, the other an axe. They were clearly waiting for him.
"Tch. I guess it’s a blessing in disguise that the arrow hit my left shoulder!"
He barked a laugh, gripping his halberd firmly in his right hand as he closed the distance.
Because Mult was right-handed and used his left only to guide the weapon's weight, the injury was an annoyance rather than a handicap.
"Get out of the way, you bastards!"
The moment he entered range, he uncorked a massive swing. He utilized the full reach of his weapon—a tool that combined the utility of an axe with the piercing power of a spear. Because the back street was narrow compared to the main thoroughfares, his horizontal slash spanned the entire width of the alley. There was nowhere for them to run.
"Waaaah!"
"Tch!"
The adventurer with the sword tried to parry, but the halberd's momentum shattered his blade mid-way through the steel. The sword was torn from his grip. The second man slammed his axe against the halberd, which had lost some of its velocity after the first impact, and managed to halt the blade.
Halberd and axe locked together, sending a shower of sparks into the night.
"Hyaaah!"
Mult didn't waste time struggling for leverage. The instant the weapons met, he released his grip on the halberd and threw his entire weight into a shoulder tackle directed at the man with the axe.
"Gah!"
"Guoh!"
The axe-wielder let out a strangled cry as he was sent reeling. He collided with the swordsman behind him, and the two collapsed into a tangled heap on the ground. Mult spared them only a glance to confirm they were unconscious before retrieving his halberd and sprinting past.
Whish!
The sound of the night air being torn apart returned as soon as he resumed his flight.
"Tch, Boruntar’s goons certainly are persistent!"
He wove through the narrow alley in an irregular pattern, making it impossible for the archer to lead his shots.
The pursuers had likely held back while their allies were in the way, fearing friendly fire in the dark, but now that the path was clear, they were firing without reservation.
(Dammit, he’s right there... but at this rate, I’ll lead the pursuers straight to him.)
Frustration boiled in his chest, followed by a sudden realization.
(Wait. Given how monstrously strong that guy is, these guys shouldn't even be a warm-up for him. In fact, he's exactly the kind of combat support I need right now. Which means...)
He felt a twinge of guilt for dumping his problems on someone else, but considering his own state, he decided it was his only option. He pushed his legs harder as the target building finally came into view.
"This is as far as you go!"
Three figures leaped from the rooftops, kicking off the tiles and landing in the alley ahead.
"Tch. Thieves?"
"Bullseye. These back alleys are a maze, perfect for hiding... unless you’re up against us."
They were armed with daggers and longswords, and one held a short spear. Their light movements and predatory stances told Mult everything he needed to know; they were professional thieves.
The thief class was rare, yet the Azoth Firm—which dominated the weapon trade in Gilm—apparently had at least three on the payroll.
As the thieves' lips curled into confident smirks, Mult realized that, under normal circumstances, he would have been dead.
...Yes. Under normal circumstances.
The thieves had made a single miscalculation. But that one error was fatal.
"Guruuuuuu."
A low growl vibrated through the air as a massive monster emerged from the shadows. It had the lower body of a lion and the upper body of an eagle. It was a creature that should never have been seen in a place like Gilm, even on the frontier.
"A... a Gryphon!?"
One of the thieves, the one wielding a dagger, let out a panicked shriek and hurled his weapon. Faced with one of the most terrifying predators in existence, he had been seized by panic and acted on pure reflex.
The throw was technically perfect, a testament to his training. The blade had been treated to a matte black finish, making it nearly invisible as it sliced through the night.
"Guruuu!"
But "perfect" only worked against humans. For Set, an A-Rank monster, the projectile was a joke. A casual horizontal swipe of its claws swatted the dagger out of the air like a bothersome insect.
"Tch, a Gryphon!? That means he's here... that adventurer Rei is close! Stay sharp!"
The thief leader, clutching a longsword, barked orders. The man with the short spear tensed, and the panicking dagger-thrower managed to regain some composure, drawing a fresh jet-black dagger from his belt.
The crunch of gravel signaled the arrival of a new figure behind Mult. He was a man with a quiver on his back and a bow in his hand—the sniper who had been stalking him from the start.
"Tch. Pincer movement."
Despite the words, Mult’s eyes didn't betray a hint of despair. Behind the thieves stood Set, the Gryphon. It was growling with open hostility at those who had attacked it, settling into a combat stance. More importantly, Mult was now only a few yards away from his goal: the workshop of the blacksmith Pamidor.
(The only question is... does that Gryphon, Set, recognize me as an ally? We’ve met before, so surely it remembers my face. No, it has to. ...Probably. I hope it does...)
For a fleeting second, doubt flickered in his heart, but as he looked at Set, he felt his anxiety wash away.
There was no logical reason for it, but he felt a sudden, inexplicable certainty that he would make it. Whether it was the delusion of a cornered man or a genuine intuition, he didn't know. But Mult staked his life on that feeling and took a step forward.
One step, two, three... His pace accelerated from a walk to a jog, and then into a full sprint.
"Don't let him get away!"
On the thief leader's command, the man behind Mult drew his bow.
"You think I'm that stupid!?"
Hearing the creak of the bowstring, Mult intentionally swerved his path toward the thieves. If the archer missed him, the arrow would fly straight into the thieves' backs.
A truly elite adventurer—the kind that reached B-Rank or A-Rank—would have fired anyway. One didn't reach those heights without the skill to make such a shot. By the same token, if you weren't that skilled, you had to worry about the consequences of a miss.
And the only B-Rank adventurer the Azoth Firm had ever managed to recruit was Galahat.
(He didn't fire earlier while I was fighting the others because he was afraid of hitting his own men. Which means...)
Mult had gambled on the archer’s lack of confidence and his common sense, and the gamble paid off. No arrow whistled toward his back.
The thief leader realized the predicament. He raised his longsword to meet Mult's charge—and in the next instant, he was hurled sideways as if by an invisible giant.
"Gugah!"
A sickening crunch—the sound of raw meat being hurled against a wall with devastating force—echoed through the alley. The leader let out a single, strangled groan before his world went black. In a way, it was a mercy. The impact had shattered his right arm, his ribs, and his pelvis. Had he remained conscious, he would have been in agony.
"Guruuuuuu."
The architect of the blow was, of course, the strongest creature present: the Gryphon, Set.
Having swatted the man aside, Set turned its gaze toward the others. Its eyes, usually round and endearing, were now sharp with predatory intent.
(There! The opening!)
Mult poured every ounce of strength into his legs, aiming for the gap created by the falling leader.
Running through that space meant passing inches away from Set, but Mult’s resolve was set in stone.
"Set! I'm leaving the rest to you!"
He roared the words as he charged past the thieves and skirted around the Gryphon. Set, who indeed remembered the man, made no move to stop him. It simply kept its gaze fixed on the remaining thieves and the archer, keeping them pinned by its mere presence.
Mult cheered inwardly as he reached the door and burst into the workshop.
"Rei! Are you in here!?"
His voice rang out, desperate and loud.