C127: A deal between two braggarts

“Anon Marion?” Danz repeated the name. ‘What a strange name,’ he thought. It felt more like an alias than an actual name.

“What do you want?” Danz straightened his posture and stepped back, dragging another crate closer before sitting down on it. His single brown eye flared red as his intent sharpened. “Do not be so foolish as to attempt any further sleight of hand.”

The men around him took the cue and began to move. They spread out, forming a circle around Anon. Donquery moved quietly to the barn door, blocking the exit.

The remaining thugs reached for their weapons: rusted knives, sickles, crude clubs,... They gripped them tightly, their eyes fixed on the bandage lad with caution. The earlier laughter had completely vanished, replaced by a tense, watchful silence.

The lad, now calling himself Anon, glanced around the circle of armed men. He gave a casual shrug, as if the situation didn’t particularly concern him, then turned his attention back to Danz. His gaze remained calm and steady.

“I want to hire you and your men, Boss Danz.”

“Elaborate.”

Anon paused briefly, his expression turning thoughtful, as if weighing his words carefully before speaking.

“I want you, and everyone currently standing in this barn, to kill Father Victor.”

“W-what?!”

The barn exploded into noise. Gasps, curses, and shocked murmurs filled the air as the men reacted instinctively.

“He wants us to—?!”

Before the uproar could spiral further, Danz raised a single arm. The silence that followed was instantaneous, the thugs freezing in place, closing their mouths, awaiting their boss’s verdict.

“You seek the death of a priest of the White Church?” Danz leaned forward slightly, a smirk creeping across his face as he stroked his stubbled chin. “The audacity!” he barked, the force of his voice booming through the barn like a cannon blast, stirring dust and loose straw into the air.

An oppressive heat emanated from Danz’s body. The temperature in the barn rose drastically that Anon began to sweat profusely.

“You better have a good justification for such a request,” Danz growled, though the grin never left his lips.

Truthfully, Danz didn’t need to react this aggressively. Only the devout cared about priests and their Monarchs. The White Church, Victor, none of it mattered much to him. To Danz, the priest was just another extension of the village. If he died, so be it.

But the feeling changed when the request came from this particular lad. Danz presumed that Anon was likely a Stagefarer at a level equal to his own, or perhaps even higher.

He knew it was madness to threaten someone who might outclass him. But his men were watching. He couldn't appear weak.

Besides, if this lad was truly capable, why hire a band of thugs to do it? Why not handle Victor himself? It didn't make sense.

He did not know this lad or where he came from. There might be an ulterior motive beneath this proposal.

Danz’s mind sharpened, suspicion well upon him.

However, despite the suspicions, he still had a nagging feeling about something else.

His pulse quickened, his muscles tensed subtly. His heart hammered with a familiar thrill. He clenched his thighs, trying not to let his emotions show. Letting emotions override reason was dangerous; it could endanger his men. Yet the Violence Faction was renowned for its pursuit of strength.

Dangerous, yet also exhilarating. It made his Warrior’s instincts scream.

The promise of a major conflict, of something “exciting,” made his blood boil.

Finally, the lad—Anon—opened his mouth. But instead of offering an explanation or justification, he simply asked casually, “Have you ever heard of vampires?”

Danz raised an eyebrow at that, the question catching him slightly off guard. He stroked his chin as he considered it.

“You speak of the Vampire Path, belonging to the Moon Faction?”

Anon’s eyes widened for a heartbeat before they settled back into their usual calmness.

“That’s… right. So you do know, sir.” he said, a smile touching his lips. “I have evidence which suggests Father Victor has some connection to vampires.”

“If such thing really true, why have you not sought the White Church to deal with it?” Danz asked, his scarred eye narrowing with skepticism.

Anon’s smile deepened. “I doubt they would listen to me, sir. After all… we are not what one might call… familiar acquaintances.”

‘That’s a fair point,’ Danz thought.

The relationship between the Harmony Faction and the Moon Faction was well-known in the Stagefarer world. Although there was not much animosity, their essences, the Harmony Yan and the Cold Yi, were as opposites as sun and shadow; they were two opposing forces that naturally weakened one another.

Therefore, it's not impossible that a Stagefarer following the Spy path would want to hide from the White church's eyes.

Moreover, Victor himself had long been a thorn in Danz’s side. Although the Tear Drop ostensibly collected "taxes" for the protection of the village folk, a significant portion of that coin had to be funneled into the church. It was a bribe, paid to ensure the White Church remained blind to the Tear Drop’s more illicit activities.

Danz leaned forward, his brown eye locking onto Anon’s.

“One hundred Alan coins”

Anon narrowed his eyes, then raised two fingers.

“Two Alan.”

‘Heh.’ A surge of anger flared in Danz’s chest. That was barely ten percent of his demand. Did this little toff truly hold him in such low regard?

Danz rose to his towering height, his muscles bunching beneath his stained shirt. The heat emanating from his body intensified. His men stepped back instinctively.

“You dare to bargain with me?” he roared and stepped forward. Each footfall heavy against the wooden floor, until he stood directly over Anon, looking down at his smaller frame.

“Do you even understand your position? Do you think that striking down a priest of the White Church is a trifle to be settled for a handful of coins?”

Anon looked up, his eyes as still and undisturbed. There was not a single tremor in his voice, not a hint of fear in his posture.

“You must understand, sir. I, by my own hand, am quite capable of ending his life without assistance.”

Danz’s expression twitched slightly. The lad’s confidence was like a knife to his pride.

“I simply have no desire to be burdened with the aftermath of such a deed,” Anon added calmly. That calmness only made Danz more irritated.

‘The aftermath… must be the Inspectors,’ Danz reasoned internally. If the lad was truly from the Spy path, it made sense. Those poltroons preferred to remain hidden, avoiding unnecessary exposure.

Danz fell silent for a moment, thinking. The heat of his anger slowly cooled.

Then he spoke again.

“Ten Alan.”

“Three.”

Danz’s lips curled. “Three? You treat us as though we were your common hounds. Do you believe my men would risk their necks for such a sum?”

Anon nodded, his gaze unwavering as he looked directly into Danz’s scarred face. “Of course you will. Three is already a generous amount, is it not?”

The lad paused, a smile playing on his lips. “Besides, did I not just give you a very good justification?”

“...”

Danz went quiet.

‘This toff understood.’

The "justification" Danz had demanded was not for Anon’s sake—it was for them. A reason, or an excuse, something to legitimize killing Victor.

Danz weighed it carefully.

It was true that three Alan coins were a significant amount in Winterin; few things in this backwater village cost more than that. Perhaps only the ingredients for advancement were worth more, and Danz already had what he needed for his own path.

Furthermore, if Victor truly was entangled with the vampires, the Church would likely disown him once the truth was revealed, sparing the Tear Drop their retribution.

And if the lad was lying? Then the blame would fall squarely on this lad, not theirs.

The Inspectors possessed lie detection abilities. Combined with Davis, who walked the Deceiver Path, they could manipulate the situation if needed. As long as they were careful, the Church wouldn’t be a problem.

Danz’s eyes narrowed as he came to a decision. He turned away without another word, walking back. The wooden crate creaked as he sat down again, one leg propped up, posture loose.

Around him, the barn had fallen into silence. Every man within the barn watched the exchange between their boss and the bandaged lad with bated breath. No one dared to speak. Even the usual background noise of murmurs and clinking cups had died completely.

Danz cast a brief glance toward Davis. The thin man, with his sunken eyes and perpetually tired expression, remained quiet, offering no input. Seeing that even Davis chose not to intervene, Danz finally spoke.

“Six.”

“Four.”

A smirk crept onto Danz’s face, his single visible eye flashing red for just a split second, a subtle flare of irritation and amusement mixed together.

‘This little wretch...’

“You really have no intention to back down, do you?” he growled, his voice low but carrying across the barn.

Anon returned the smile without hesitation.

“The same goes for you, Boss Danz.”

Danz’s fingers dug into the edge of the crate, the wood groaning slightly under the pressure of his grip.

“Five. That is my final offer. Take it or leave it.”

The boy fell silent for a moment. The pause stretched just long enough to make the surrounding men hold their breath.

After that brief pause, Anon clapped his gloved hands together lightly and offered a bright smile.

“Very well. It’s a deal, Boss Danz.”

Danz winced, his gaze shifting again toward Davis, seeking some sign of the Deceiver’s thoughts.

The thin man only sighed and gave a small shrug, as if to say, ‘Not my doing. I know nothing about this.’

‘Ha.’ Danz stroked his chin, licking his lips as his interest deepened. ‘This lad proves to be far more entertaining than I had presumed.’

Davis was the brains of the Tear Drop, a calculated bastard who usually handled the negotiations and complicated matters. As a Stagefarer of the Warrior Path, Danz was well aware of his own limitations when it came to strategy and intellectual games. To a certain extent, Danz knew he was a poser who relied on his intimidating outer appearance.

Yet, Davis hadn’t said a word. That meant Davis was skeptical and also saw no downside to this exchange, despite the obvious psychological trick this lad had used.

That alone earned the boy a measure of Danz’s respect.

“So, Boss Danz,” Anon’s voice cut back in, pulling Danz from his thoughts, “Does our agreement require a contract?”

Danz’s expression tightened. His fist clenched, veins visible beneath the skin. Around them, the barn slowly stired again, murmurs creeping back in. Even Davis’s face showed a flicker of tension.

Danz stared at the lad’s curious expression. He paused, considering, then answered bluntly.

“No need for such trifles.”

“Hm?”

“I hate contracts.”

Danz’s gaze shifted toward Donquery, and the tanned young man’s eyes suddenly lit up with a mischievous spark.

Without hesitation, Donquery dashed toward one of the rough tables, grabbed a tankard filled to the brim and hurried back, thrusting it into the bandaged lad’s hands.

“?” Anon tilted his head slightly, clearly not understanding the gesture.

Danz smirked, leaning forward with one elbow resting on his thigh, his head supported lazily by his hand.

“You ask why? Drink all of it, and the deal shall be set in stone.” His grin widened, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or perhaps you are frightened of a little fermented grain, little lord?”

“Heh.” A few snickers and muffled laughs followed his words from the corners of the barn.

Anon raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the tankard, at the pale liquid for a brief moment. The liquid inside sloshed, releasing a pungent scent.

The lad looked back at Danz with a confident smile.

“This easy? Very well.”

He lifted the tankard and took a deep gulp of the spirit—

—and immediately threw up.

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