Heavy Metal

"..."

"What do you mean they are all dead? What about Kalar?"

"It seems Kalar has escaped."

"That mutt would not dare. There has to be another reason."

In a stylish office sat Varkas, leader of the Hounds. His fingertips were pressed together as he leaned back in his chair. News of his men's betrayal had just reached him, yet he was not convinced that one of his sub-leaders would simply take some money and run.

"What should we do?"

"What else? Find him."

Varkas slammed his fist onto the desk, and the group in the room flinched. Without another word, they nodded and filed out of the mercenary leader's office. The door shut with a muted click, leaving Varkas alone. Lavish hardly began to describe the space.

The building stood far from the slums where his men had died and close to the noble district. It was built of polished stone, reinforced with steel not out of necessity but for display. Inside, thick colorful carpets stretched from wall to wall, their deep crimson threads embroidered with golden patterns of hunting hounds tearing into stags.

His desk was carved from darkheart oak, a rare timber imported at absurd cost by a merchant who had presented it to him for free. Off to the side sat a red armchair, with a small table beside it holding a glass of red wine. He lowered himself into the chair and studied the liquid, slowly swirling it as if imitating highborn nobility. Yet when he caught his reflection in the glass, his fingers began to tremble. His grip tightened, and the delicate stem snapped, shattering the round glass.

"Those bastards will not take this opportunity from me. I have worked too long to get here."

He strode to the large window and tossed the shattered glass from his gloved hand. From there, he had a clear view of the city. On one side lay the slums. On the other stood the noble district. His gaze lingered on the finer buildings and the wall that kept him from entering them. A strange longing crossed his face, but the expression faltered as an uneasy sensation crept over him.

"Was it my imagination just now?"

Varkas leaned slightly out of the window and looked toward a smaller nearby building, fixing his gaze on the chimney. For a moment, he felt a presence there, but that was impossible. No one stood there, and there was not enough space for anyone to hide behind it.

As he continued to stare, the strange feeling lingered. The street below bustled as usual. Merchants pushed carts. Two children ran past laughing. A carriage rolled by, escorted by hired guards. Nothing unusual. No hostile mana signatures brushed against his senses. No archers perched on the rooftops. No assassins lurked in the alley since it was far too bright outside.

"Am I getting paranoid?"

He shook his head and stepped back into his office. He closed the window behind him and drew the expensive drapes, concealing the room's interior from view. Unbeknownst to him, a small monster emerged from behind the chimney. It was a silvery ant.

"(ᵕ—ᴗ—)"

Gleam wiggled her antennae in relief before crouching and springing upward. Her wings unfolded, and she shot into the air. She made no sound, and though the streets below were filled with people, no one noticed the small monster moving.

The small ant landed on the roof of the Black Hound mercenary and waited. Inside, Varkas muttered to himself as he read through a stack of papers. After about twenty minutes, the door opened, and the man stepped out. Only then did the small monster move.

While the window was closed and protected with some magic, it posed no threat to this smart ant. After wiggling her antennae for a few minutes, the spell took shape, and the window pushed open as if an invisible hand was guiding it.

"( •̀ ᴗ •́ )"

Gleam slipped inside and skittered along the wall, making sure the owner would not return. Once she was certain no one was coming back, she set to work at once. She leapt onto the desk where a stack of papers lay.

"...That I, the great demon lord Aburdo,n would be used in such a way…"

A wisp of dark light floated forward, absorbing the knowledge contained in the papers while Gleam shifted them so he could scan their contents. She possessed considerable intelligence and could already read the humanoid language, but it was more efficient for Aburdon, who needed only a single glance to understand everything. Once the task was complete, she quickly scurried away as distant footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Fortunately, they were not headed for this room. Another door opened somewhere down the hall. Gleam used the distraction to slip out and hide behind a large crystal chandelier that hung there for some reason. Once outside, she closed the window and restored the protective magic that had sealed it, a task she had become quite adept at. Then she took off once more.

The flying ant traveled through the air, looking down at the settlement during the day. Everyone seemed too preoccupied with their life to notice it flying around through the air. Soon it headed to the edges of the slums, where smoke puffed from one of the chimneys and clinking of hammers was heard.

*****

"Gleam, is that you?"

Rusty called out as he stood in front of the shop. His friend landed on his shoulder and folded her wings as she prepared to give her report.

"( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و"

"Oh, you think he is starting to notice you? Maybe we should stop for now."

"( •̀ - •́ )"

"I see. Then what did you find out about Varkas? Did he suspect it was me?"

"(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)"

With Gleam perched on his shoulder, Rusty stepped into the shop. Rolo was already behind the counter. Thanks to the health potions of this world, most of his wounds had healed. One injury remained. His arm had been broken by one of the mercenaries, and even with the potions, it would take another day to recover fully.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The other children were gathered inside, tense as though they expected an attack at any moment. They had heard about the recent nightly deaths. Guard activity had increased, and even now, people were patrolling outside. Still, no one seemed any the wiser. For the moment, he had not been discovered.

The sound of clinking metal echoed from the smithy below. He used his blacksmith puppet to create the noise, keeping up the illusion that work was being done. It served as a cover while he stood watch and paced the shop. As he did, Gleam briefed him on the situation in the city.

Gleam had been keeping an eye on the mercenary leader. He was not handling the situation well, and word had already reached his superiors among the nobles. The paperwork Gleam had examined revealed several new locations they could target, much like the unfinished gambling den. Luckily, Varkas did not seem overly cautious yet, which allowed them to gather this information, but Rusty was not sure how long that would last.

"For now, Gleam, keep your distance."

"( ╹ -╹)?"

"I know you've been doing well, but sooner or later, they will realize how we're getting this information."

"( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و"

Gleam nodded, and they retreated deeper into the shop to think things through. One of the sub leaders was gone, but three remained. Thanks to the information they had gathered, there were several ways to approach the situation. One option might allow them to avoid fighting all of them and instead turn them against each other.

"So, with Gleam's help, we have the next location. We'll follow Aburdon's plan."

"Of course. No reason to dirty our hands when we can make those lowly creatures destroy each other."

Aburdon cackled in his helmet as Rusty made the preparations. Night fell over the settlement quickly, prompting Rusty to move again even though his trail was still fresh. At the previous scene, several mercenaries lingered. They were acting as trackers and guards across various locations, which suited his purposes. He intended to make them fight one another using a simple trick.

The chosen target was Derrik One Eye, another of the Hounds' sub leaders. He was brutal, suspicious, and vocally resentful over Kalar's supposed betrayal. Beneath his modest townhouse near the market district, he kept a private basement that few people knew about or cared to notice. It was where he stored emergency funds. Only Varkas knew of it, which made it perfect for the current scheme.

Rusty crouched on the rooftop opposite Derrik's house, watching through a narrow attic window. The building was dark, its master out searching for Kalar, the man who had escaped. Because Derrik was out with the other Hounds that night, the trail led everyone somewhere no one expected: his own house.

"Wait… this has to be a mistake."

"Is it? Are you hiding something from me? Open it."

Varkas stood with a large group of his men. The trail of blood and coins Rusty had taken from the former sub leader led straight to this place. Amid the chaos of the earlier attack, a chest had been left behind, and now the mercenaries stood around it, staring.

"Care to explain this?"

"I have no idea how that got there. You have to believe me!"

The one eyed man shouted as Varkas lifted a severed head, the beastman Rusty had dealt with the previous night. It had been placed inside the chest along with the coins taken from the den and other stolen loot. Rusty had planted the head, but the man truly had been stealing from his superior, which was why the ruse worked.

"Oh, they are going at it."

Rusty, in his smaller form, remained in the shadows outside with Gleam. He could tell a fight had broken out inside the man's home, one between the mercenary leader and one of his own. The clash revealed the fractures within the unit. Some of the men sided with Derrik. A few were loyal to Varkas, while others simply followed whoever seemed stronger. Those who could no longer be trusted were struck down or subdued by the larger faction, which continued to dwindle as the fighting went on.

Steel rang against steel inside the townhouse, followed by the crash of furniture and the splintering of doors. Shouts shifted from sharp accusations to full battle cries, loud enough for Rusty to hear from outside. A ring of men formed around the building, some of them city guards, while residents peered out from their homes. This was no longer the slums, and the disturbance did not go unnoticed.

"You dare raise your blade against me?"

"I've bled for you for years! And this is how you repay me?"

The two men shouted, but the fight was brief. The mercenary leader still stood a cut above his subcommanders, and after only a few exchanges, silence fell. At last, Varkas stepped out of the room, blood spattered across his face. With this, two of his strongest men had been dealt with, and just two remained.

"We tighten ranks. No one moves alone. Double the patrols. Anyone who acts suspiciously dies."

Varkas had truly lost his composure as he barked orders at the remaining men. The bodies were dragged out of the house while Rusty slipped back into the shadows.

"That complicates things."

Alexander said.

"No, it makes things more interesting."

Aburdon replied, clearly amused. Rusty stayed silent until he and Gleam had put several rooftops between themselves and the scene.

"That complicates things. It's going to get harder if they start moving in groups."

Alexander added when they paused to talk. For some, this would have been the moment to stop and wait. The mercenaries had taken losses, but they could still recover. If Rusty stopped hunting them now, they would likely replenish their ranks within weeks and recruit a few D-rank adventurers. They had recovered their funds, and the house taken from the sub leader alone would be enough to draw plenty of men to their banner.

"If they patrol together, that just makes them easier to hunt."

"That's my Rusty."

Aburdon cackled, delighted by the bloodlust in his voice. They had been targeting the mercenaries for days and had already killed many of them. Still, Rusty knew he could not afford to be careless. He needed to remain subtle and continue relying on hidden tactics.

So the hunt went on. Night after night, even as the mercenaries grew more alert, more of them disappeared. As the days passed, their numbers steadily dwindled.

"Did you hear?"

"Yeah. Someone's targeting the Hounds. I think half of them are already gone."

"Hah. Serves those bastards right. One of them knocked out my tooth after he bumped into me."

"I think some had also fled, thinking they were being cursed by something."

"What about the lord?"

"I heard he's disappointed in them, too. Doesn't seem like he's going to help."

Two drunkards discussed the events of the past week as people continued to vanish without a trace. No bodies were ever found, and no clues pointed to who was responsible. Yet the townsfolk felt little fear. The missing men belonged to the Hounds, a mercenary band despised for abusing their authority since arriving in the settlement.

It also seemed the lord had chosen to leave the mercenaries to their fate. Some believed he had hired assassins to remove them, since they demanded too much for their upkeep and could easily be replaced by another company willing to work for less. Others thought it was a test, a chance for the Hounds to prove they could handle their own mess.

Many believed all of this had been done by a previous victim or someone connected to one. They had crossed so many people that it was impossible to know who might be responsible. Still, the time the culprit was taking suggested a lack of confidence in their own power, choosing a dishonorable approach instead.

"So, who do you think will win?"

"Who will win? Probably the Hounds. Whoever this is may be crafty, but they cannot stand against overwhelming numbers and strength. And from what I heard, the Hounds are planning a counterattack."

The drunken man smiled devilishly while his friend simply nodded. Their tones turned to whispers as he shared some rumors that he heard.

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

"Because a little birdy told me. I bet they will have whoever this is in chains and put them to the gallows before the next Orc attack."

"Hah, want to bet on it?"

"You're on."

The two men laughed. Not far away, a commotion was breaking out. A large group was heading out. The mercenaries, though weakened, were making their move. Torches in hand, and dozens of warhorses assembled in the square with their leader at their head.