"Kampaaaai!"
"Hey, miss! These meat skewers are delicious. Ten more!"
"Ahahahahahaha! Aha, ahahahaha!"
"Shut that guy up! He's loud as hell!"
"More ale over here! Bring us ale!"
Evening. The tavern was packed with people letting off steam after a hard day's work.
Thanks to the influx of workers for the expansion project, the crowd was far larger than in previous years.
The weather had grown quite warm—it was the season one could call early summer—and the revelry only thrived in the pleasant air.
"Did you see how amazing my stonework is?! How many years do you think it took to master that technique?!"
"Hah! My carving work doesn't lose to yours!"
Just as the craftsmen were showing off their skills...
"I carried that lumber all by myself!"
"...Well, even though it was already cut, carrying that lumber alone is honestly impressive. But there are quite a few people stronger than you, don't you think?"
"Ugh! ...E-Even so, this strength is what I take pride in!"
Those tasked with hauling materials—lumber included—were flexing their muscles...
"Hey, hey. Did you see that adventurer? He was so cool, wasn't he? I'd love to get to know him if I could."
"Ah, you're as much of a sucker for a pretty face as ever. But you should be careful—guys like that tend to be real skirt-chasers, you know?"
"Right, right. That Ragna guy already had a lover, didn't he?"
"Ugh, w-well, that's..."
Women—adventurers, craftsmen, merchants, and the like—had gathered in their own clusters, exchanging gossip.
The tavern buzzed with energy, but the handful of customers seated in a corner out of the way were a different story entirely.
"How'd it go?"
"No good. Security's tight."
"Obviously. A town expansion doesn't happen every day. Plenty of people are thinking the same thing we are."
"But with orders from above—"
"You idiot, who says that out loud in a place like this?"
One man started to say something, but the others quickly shushed him.
If their secret got out, it would be absolutely disastrous.
That was the thought behind their reaction.
"Relax. How many people like us do you think are in here right now?"
The man who had let the words slip tried to reassure the others with a confident tone.
In fairness, the tavern was full of customers drinking, eating, and making merry at that very moment.
It was simply inconceivable that a quiet conversation in the corner could be overheard by anyone.
"You fool, don't underestimate them. Gilm was never weak in that area to begin with... but for the past few years, their intelligence network has gotten uncannily good."
The reason Gilm's intelligence capabilities had grown so remarkably sharp could be traced back to Rei's covert actions, which had brought the bandits known as the Prairie Wolves under Daskar's control.
Naturally, something like that was never made public. To the outside world, it simply appeared that Gilm's intelligence operations had mysteriously improved for no apparent reason.
And men like these—who had come to Gilm with ulterior motives—were by no means few in number.
Gilm had always drawn attention from the Noble's Faction and the King's Faction, given that it was governed by Daskar, who unified the Neutral Faction.
In recent years, an adventurer named Rei had emerged from out of nowhere. He had achieved tremendous results in the war against the Bestia Empire and become an Alias Holder in the blink of an eye.
Furthermore, the gryphon Rei traveled with had been confirmed as a Rare Species, a monster equivalent to S-Rank.
Rei was an individual, yes, but the very fact that a person of such caliber resided in Gilm was already a threat to the other factions—a circumstance that warranted close attention.
What's more, the fact that Rei possessed various Magic Items—particularly an Item Box—was significant in its own right.
It could store as much cargo as desired, and since time was stopped inside, food and other perishables would never spoil.
Such an Item Box could well be called a Magic Item of strategic importance.
With someone like that in Gilm, and cooperating with Daskar to boot, it was only natural that all eyes were on the town.
Furthermore, with the massive influx of people arriving for the expansion, those with shady backgrounds could slip in easily.
"The expansion work hasn't started in earnest yet, has it? So why's the security already this tight?"
"Yeah, I was wondering about that too. I get that the full-scale construction is about to begin and they want to protect the materials from theft... but this is overkill."
The man spat the words out in an irritated tone and took a swig of ale from his cup.
Honestly, the men couldn't fathom why such extreme security was being placed on mere construction materials.
"It's gotta be that forest... The Treant Forest, right? That forest has to be connected to all this somehow."
"That's the only explanation I can think of. If so, should we head to the forest and grab some wood ourselves?"
"The Knight Order's guarding it, isn't it?"
"Even so, it's a forest that size. There's no way they can keep watch over every inch of it. We might be able to slip in and—"
"Don't be ridiculous. We've had some combat training, sure, but we're not professionals."
"That's why I'm not saying we fight them head-on! Just... figure something out..."
The man racked his brain for a way to get his hands on wood from the Treant Forest, but no good ideas came to mind.
Since they were in a tavern, not drinking would have drawn suspicion, so the men had been nursing their drinks—though only lightly.
But even a small amount, given enough time, was nothing to scoff at.
And their frustration at the lack of progress on their mission certainly hadn't helped.
They had drunk, vented their grievances, and before long, all but one of the men at the table had passed out.
"Hic... Huh? What's wrong with you guys? Passing out on this much booze... hic."
Still drunk, the man surveyed his slumped companions.
Seeing them all face-down on the table, he grumpily took another swig of ale.
If he hadn't been so intoxicated, he might have noticed something was wrong.
Under normal circumstances, there was no way they would pass out from so little alcohol.
But for the man teetering on the edge of consciousness, it was already too late.
"Oh my, what's the matter? You all seem to be having quite the good time, aren't you?"
"Huh?"
The man, who had been drunkenly trying to figure out what to do with his companions, looked up at the unexpected voice.
Standing there was a female clerk from the tavern.
She wasn't a striking beauty by any means, but she had an amiable smile and a warm presence.
The woman wore a look of gentle concern—just enough to put him at ease—and asked the question.
The man threw his arms open in an exaggerated gesture and slurred his reply.
"Thaaat's right! Honestly, I had no idea they were such lightweights... hic."
"Oh my, my. Well then, what would you like to do? We do have a room for customers who've had a bit too much. Shall we bring your friends there?"
"Oh... oh, oh, yeah. Do that for meee."
The alcohol had clearly taken hold.
The clerk nodded at his words, which trailed off lazily.
"Understood. I'll go get someone, so wait right here, okay?"
"Okaaay, yeaaah."
The man called out after her... and as if that final shout was the last straw, he slumped forward onto the table just like the rest.
"...Sir? Oh my, this is trouble. I need to get someone right away."
She gave the last man a light shake. When he didn't respond, she glanced at him once and headed for the kitchen to get help.
It was a lively tavern full of revelers, so patrons who had drunk themselves unconscious were far from rare.
Because of that, an entire table passing out wasn't particularly unusual.
The woman reached the kitchen and spoke to the Hobbyist Shop Owner.
"The customers have passed out. I'd like to use the sobering room."
"Ah, it's all set. The Prairie Wolves should be ready too, so take them right in."
"Yes."
The Hobbyist Shop Owner replied while stir-frying meat on the stove.
The clerk nodded and left the kitchen to get things ready.
As the Hobbyist Shop Owner transferred the finished dish to a plate...
"Sorry for the trouble."
A man who had been preparing a salad nearby spoke up.
"Not at all. Thanks to everyone here, security in this area hasn't been a problem for a while now."
A few years back, ex-adventurers had been running rampant in this part of town.
They would eat and drink without paying. Worse, they'd claim they were providing protection and demand bodyguard fees—extorting the very shops they harassed.
The clerks had been subjected to senseless violence more than once or twice.
The female clerk who had come to report earlier had also suffered terribly as a woman, on more occasions than she cared to count.
If anyone tried to notify the Guards, the ex-adventurers would vanish before help arrived, using whatever means necessary.
And once the Guards left, they'd come right back and behave even worse than before.
The ones who had finally put an end to all that were the man making salads beside the Hobbyist Shop Owner... or more precisely, the organization he belonged to—the Prairie Wolves.
He was making a salad, but he didn't actually work at the tavern.
In truth, for this particular operation—capturing the infiltrators who had slipped into Gilm with ulterior motives—it had taken longer than expected for the targets to pass out. With time to kill, he had simply started helping out in the kitchen.
They had even used a drug to accelerate intoxication, but even so, the men had held out longer than anticipated.
"I see. Let me know if any new information comes up. We'll handle it on our end right away. Same goes for anyone causing trouble. Especially now, with all sorts pouring into Gilm. ...How's this?"
While replying to the Hobbyist Shop Owner, the man held up the finished salad for inspection.
"Thank you, I appreciate it. ...But really, this is excellent. How about it? Want to work here?"
"Don't be stupid. No need for flattery. I'll make sure to patrol the area properly."
"I'm not flattering you at all..."
The Hobbyist Shop Owner stared at the plate of salad and said it with a straight face.
Plating a salad wasn't a particularly difficult task.
It was something anyone could do.
...And that was exactly why the man from the Prairie Wolves had been helping in the first place.
But precisely because it was something anyone could do, the man's plating stood out as unmistakably superior.
Rather than tossing vegetables together and dumping them on a plate, he arranged each component with visual appeal in mind.
Of course, this wasn't a high-end restaurant. It was a gathering place for people of modest means.
But that was exactly why the beauty of his salad plating was all the more striking.
The man seemed to sense that the Hobbyist Shop Owner was being genuine.
After a moment, he spoke, not looking entirely displeased.
"Tell you what. If I ever have to leave this line of work... and you're still willing to hire me then, I'd gladly take you up on it. ...Well, I'd better go handle my duties first."
The man had a shady past, but he had no complaints about his current life—serving under Egg's orders and protecting Gilm.
It wasn't as though he had zero complaints... but all things considered, he genuinely liked where he was.
That was why, after cleaning up from his kitchen work, he headed to the room where the tavern staff had carried the unconscious men.
The Hobbyist Shop Owner watched him go with a regretful look, then immediately turned back to the next dish.
It was an incredibly busy time—the peak rush of the day.
There was nothing for it but to keep cooking.
No matter how many people were pouring into Gilm, if the food was bad, the ale was watered down, or the service was poor... a tavern like that would inevitably lose business to its competitors.
To keep that from happening, the Hobbyist Shop Owner kept his head down and cooked, relentless and focused.
...Silently hoping, just a little, that the men they had drugged would spill their secrets sooner rather than later.