Before I officially hired the Black Claw Mercenaries, I wanted them to scout the area first.
The morning after I made that decision, Raisa Vangrit arrived at the manor slightly ahead of schedule. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back just as it had been at the tavern the previous day, and she wore the same scarred leather armor. Today, however, she didn't carry the rough, rowdy air of the tavern. Her sword was belted in a position that wouldn't hinder her movement, and a short blade and length of rope were tucked away beneath her cloak. Her saddlebags were packed with water skins, old rags, small wooden stakes, and coils of thin twine. This wasn't the kit of someone planning a frontal assault; it was the gear of a scout—meant for watching, searching, and making it back alive.
I watched her from the front of the manor, feeling a faint sense of admiration.
"That looks less like a kit for killing bandits and more like a kit for making them miserable."
Raisa laughed as she lightly patted her horse's neck.
"Music to my ears. I’ve seen far too many nobles who love to don polished armor, raise their banners, and shout for the bandits to come out and fight. When they do that, the bandits run, the villagers panic, and the knights are the only ones left standing tall. Nothing is actually accomplished."
"Standing tall sounds like it would at least be cheap."
"Hardly. Silver-trimmed cloaks just so they can puff out their chests, horses, attendants, lodging, and 'gratitude' fees—every copper of it comes out of your purse."
"The absolute worst."
Raisa laughed out loud. Her wariness toward me was a little thinner than it had been yesterday, though she hadn't let her guard down completely. She was likely still gauging how serious I was as an employer.
Clarice stood beside me, clutching her notes. Since dawn, she had been busy compiling every detail: the locations of the attacks, the stolen cargo, the number of attackers remembered by the survivors, whether they were mounted, and which way they had fled. Mylene stood just inside the entrance, handing wrapped bundles of dried meat and hard bread to Raisa and her mercenaries. Only a day ago, she probably would have been trembling at the sight of mercenaries. But now she was different. Even if she was still nervous, she performed her duties as a member of this household without hesitation.
Raisa took the bundle and gave it a small, deliberate toss in the air.
"This is a big help, white-haired girl. When people get hungry out there, they start wanting to steal things they don't need."
Mylene looked a bit troubled by the remark, but she still bowed politely.
"It was my master's instruction. If this is not enough for the journey, I will prepare more next time."
"This is a fine manor. There aren't many nobles who would bother feeding mercenaries."
"It's more of a hassle if hungry mercenaries start 'liberating' food from my domain. It’s cheaper to provide for them beforehand."
"…You really have a way of ruining a moment."
Raisa was grinning, but she didn't handle the bundle roughly. She tucked it carefully into her horse's pack and gave a sharp signal to her two subordinates. It seemed she was only taking two men with her. She didn't intend to use force; she wanted a group small enough to see without being seen.
"We'll be back by evening. If we're late, assume we either got caught by bandits, caught the bandits ourselves, or found a new hole in the road."
"Try to avoid all of those. I want a report, not a reason to go looking for your corpse."
"Factoring in the effort of searching for my body… you're a kind employer."
"I just hate extra work."
Raisa laughed again and spurred her horse forward.
As I watched her ride off, I considered her for a moment. Raisa was rough around the edges and foul-mouthed. Like a woman who had been purged from the Knights, she had little deference for nobility. However, the gear of her subordinates, the condition of the horses, the food for the journey, and the return time—none of it was sloppy. People like that are useful. At the very least, she was far more reliable than a knight who was all bluster.
◇
The manor remained restless even after noon.
The man who had come from South Village had seen his fever break; he had eaten the thin porridge Mylene served and was now sleeping soundly. In the office, Clarice was re-sorting the records of bandit attacks by village. I sat in my chair, staring at the same papers over and over. The number of stolen wheat sacks. The salt loaded on the wagons. The spots where the guards had been cut down. The loss was bad enough on its own, but calling the Knights would cost even more. Hiring mercenaries cost money, too. And if I did nothing, the highway would die.
Whichever path I took, my wallet was going to suffer.
"Master, I've brought your tea."
Mylene entered quietly. Her white hair looked a little softer as it caught the afternoon light from the window. When I had first hired her, her hands would tremble just from carrying a tray. Not anymore. The hands placing the tray were still slender, but they held onto their duty as firmly as they held the keys to the pantry.
"How is the man from the south?"
"His fever has subsided, and the wound isn't too inflamed. However, he was moaning in his sleep during the night. He apparently saw one of the wagon guards being cut down right in front of him."
"I see."
I took a sip of the tea. It was bitter, but it did its job of chasing away my drowsiness.
"Master… is it truly wise to rely on mercenaries instead of the knights?"
Mylene didn't ask it reproachfully. She was simply anxious. It was understandable. She was a girl who had been treated horribly at her previous post, saddled with malicious rumors at the employment agency, and had finally found a place to belong in this manor. The idea of rough men with swords coming and going would naturally make her uneasy.
"Whether it’s wise or not remains to be seen. That's why I sent them to scout. Whether you're dealing with the Knights or mercenaries, if you leave things to them without doing your own due diligence, you're bound to fail."
"Do you trust Raisa, Master?"
"I don't trust her. However, from what I saw at the tavern yesterday, she doesn't treat her blade or her men carelessly. A sloppy person doesn't maintain their horse’s tack like that, nor do they secure the windows and entrance of a room the moment they walk into a tavern. I can put stock in that."
Mylene nodded slightly.
"Whenever you judge someone, Master, you always look at how they work."
"I look at their faces, too."
"…Even faces, sir?"
"If someone is easy on the eyes and can actually do their job, I consider it a double bargain. You’re a prime example."
Mylene's cheeks flushed a soft red, and she immediately dropped her gaze to the tray. She was easy to read. But now wasn't the time for teasing.
"But I don’t hire people for their looks alone. If I wanted something just to look at, I’d buy a statue. At least decorations are cheap enough not to eat."
"That sounds just like you, Master."
Seeing Mylene smile slightly, I set down my tea. The manor had changed. I had a maid who guarded the keys, a brilliant aide who managed the ledgers, and a mercenary captain out scouting for bandits. I felt like the number of people around me was increasing in a way that was quite different from the life of idle luxury I’d envisioned.
Well, as long as they were working, it was fine.
◇
Raisa returned shortly before the sun began to set.
The horses were lathered in sweat, but they weren't spent. The two men with her were uninjured, though all of them had grass seeds clinging to their cloaks and black mud caked onto their boots. They must have veered off the Southern Highway and ventured into the sodden marshes of the woods.
As soon as Raisa entered the office, she placed a small cloth bundle on the desk. Inside were broken arrowheads, wood chips shaved from a wagon wheel, a bloody leather strap, and a small, snapped branch.
"I'm back, Mr. Villainous Noble. Those guys who stole your wheat? They aren't just some hungry bandits."
Clarice's pen stopped moving.
I looked at the contents of the cloth bundle.
"Explain."
"First, they picked their ambush spot well. The road narrows there, with a forest on the right and a shallow ditch on the left. It's hard for a wagon to maneuver. They used fallen trees to block the path and bring the caravan to a halt. When the panicked guards climbed down, they picked them off with arrows from the treeline. They didn't surround the wagons; they stopped them, drew them out, and shot them."
Raisa rolled a broken arrowhead with her finger.
"Then there’s this. This isn't an arrowhead a village hunter would use. The shapes are too uniform. They’re crude, but they’re from a forge that knows how to mass-produce. There are too many of the same type for them to be something bandits just scavenged."
"Are you saying there's someone among the bandits with military or smithing ties?"
"Definitely. At the very least, it's not just a bunch of farmers who fled to the mountains. Their sentry placements aren't bad either. They're using an old charcoal burner's hut, but they’ve intentionally kept the front path clear to spot anyone approaching. There are two escape routes along the stream, and they were hiding their tracks on one of them. They know what they’re doing."
Clarice immediately began writing, transcribing Raisa's findings and cross-referencing them with the village names and highway locations. Beside her, Mylene caught her breath. The concept of 'bandits,' which had been a distant threat, had suddenly taken on a terrifying reality.
Raisa continued her report.
"Also, there's one strange thing. They didn't take all the wheat. They dumped several heavy sacks and prioritized the salt and dried meat instead. If they were starving, they’d take as much wheat as they could carry. But these guys chose mobility. Either they don't plan on staying long, or they have another stash elsewhere."
I crossed my arms.
They weren't just bandits. They had someone who knew military tactics or how to coordinate men. They were selective about their loot. They had escape routes prepared. If I called in the Knights and they raised their banners, the bandits would naturally vanish. Then, they would just attack somewhere else later. I would have spent a fortune and still have no wheat and a dead highway.
The absolute worst.
"Raisa. What would you do?"
"I wouldn't charge in. I'd capture one of their sentries first and see if he's the talking type. If not, I'll check his gear. Then, I'd station men along the escape routes by the stream. If we make enough noise from the front, they’ll run—and we'll be waiting for them. Night is our best bet. They’re used to keeping watch, but they aren't looking for trouble inside their own perimeter."
"Can you win?"
"If we follow the plan. If we just charge the front, some of my people will die. If you want to line up mercenaries who are fine to die, we can go right now."
"I told you, if they die, it gets expensive with medicine and condolence money. Don't do that."
Raisa blinked in surprise for a moment, then clutched her stomach and laughed.
"You really say the most sensible things for the absolute worst reasons, don't you?"
"If it’s sensible, then it’s fine. The report was useful. I'll pay for the scouting."
Raisa's laughter stopped.
She had looked surprised yesterday, but the expression on her face now was much deeper. To be told she would be paid for a report, and then to actually receive it—it was likely one of the things she hadn't been able to find in the Knights. She might have been praised after swinging her sword, but the work of reducing casualties before the fighting even started had probably rarely been recognized.
Clarice took several silver coins from a small box and placed them on the desk.
Raisa didn't take them immediately.
"…I haven't actually crushed the bandits yet."
"There is value in the work done before the battle. I hate wasteful deaths. If your scouting reduces the waste, that's reason enough to pay."
Raisa looked at the silver coins for a long moment before slowly reaching out to take them. It wasn't her usual rough smirk; she looked as if she were savoring the moment.
"…Fine. Black Claw takes the job. Your wheat and your peace—we'll get them back for you."
"Keep the price low, I'm counting on you."
"You really don't budge on that until the very end, do you?"
"Of course not."
Clarice looked exasperated, Mylene laughed softly, and Raisa's shoulders shook as she gripped the silver coins. These bandits weren't just wild dogs. In that case, rather than calling the collared knights, I was better off with the Black Claw, who knew the mud of the roads. My desk would likely be buried under even more tedious paperwork soon. But for once, the reports actually meant something.