Death March to the Parallel World Rhapsody

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2016.1.1　Hiro Aina

Typo corrected on 2016/1/2.

This is Satou. Back when anime about galactic wars were popular, it was a trend among my friends to add brandy to tea. Though, we soon ended up drinking brandy straight.

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“Do you always wear such a tasteless hood?”

“Please forgive me. There are many nobles in this country who find our beastly faces disagreeable.”

While moving outside the ballroom with a merchant from the weasel tribe, I asked about the deep hood he wore, and received this reply.

His unusually clear pronunciation caught my attention, and upon closer observation, it seemed to be thanks to the Translation Ring he was wearing.

It must be the same kind of item the Japanese summoned to Rumork had.

Unlike the warm ballroom, the stone corridor was chilling to the bone—a place where even healthy people would catch a cold within half an hour.

From beyond the corridor, suspicious movements could be seen.

An assassin waiting here must have a tough time.

“Look over there.”

The weasel tribe merchant stopped midway and pointed outside a small glass window.

Beyond the window lay a snowy scene.

The Kiwalk Royal Capital buried in snow and a lake covered with ice could be seen.

In the center of the lake was a rock resembling amethyst—no, more like a tower—emanating a faint light.

Thanks to my “Zoom” skill, I could see it clearly, but an ordinary person would probably only notice a faint purple glow.

A faint sound came from behind one of the stone pillars in the corridor.

The obvious attackers were about to strike.

“Is that the purple light you want us to see?”

“Yes, that tower emitting that light is—”

Midway through the merchant’s explanation, I shoved him aside and deflected a poisonous dagger aimed at us with a slash of my magic-infused scarf.

“Impossible!”

“To deflect all seven!”

From behind the pillar, the attackers revealed themselves as if to show off.

Their lisping words were hard to understand, but I mentally corrected them as usual.

Five attackers wielded dripping poisonous daggers.

Their deep-hooded appearance resembled the weasel tribe, but AR display revealed they were rat tribe men.

Their affiliation was—

“Is Sir Pendragon safe! Men! Don’t let a single bandit escape!”

From the opposite side of the corridor, General Ganunu, with striking red hair, appeared leading his soldiers with impeccable timing.

Realizing they were at a disadvantage, the attackers tried to escape through a hole in the pillar of the corridor they had used to sneak in.

Since they were marked, it didn’t matter where they ran, but to avoid the hassle of chasing them, I threw a pebble and incapacitated one attacker.

“Put this one in the dungeon and interrogate him.”

One of General Ganunu’s soldiers tied up the incapacitated attacker to take him away.

Oops, this won’t do.

“Sir Pendragon, are you unharmed?”

“Yes, I am fine.”

I nodded at the red-haired general who gave me a fake smile, apparently trying to hide the attackers from my gaze.

“Wait, I need that man for a moment.”

“Sir Pendragon, please refrain from approaching the bandits.”

As I stepped forward to stop the soldiers from taking the attacker away, the red-haired general blocked me.

“Assassins like these use concealed weapons. You are our country’s honored guest and might be harmed.”

“I see, that makes sense—”

I flicked a Kiwalk half-copper coin in my hand and exposed the attacker’s hood.

“—I thought you were weasel people, but it seems you’re actually from the rat tribe.”

When I said this with a refreshing smile, the red-haired general grimaced and muttered, “That seems to be the case,” before withdrawing.

Now, about these mysterious attacks—

The rat tribe attackers belong to an underhanded demi-human unit specializing in dirty work for the Kiwalk Kingdom. However, standard identification shows them as affiliated with the criminal guild.