These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

If Voltus had been emotionally unsettled by Gerhardt's strike, he certainly didn't show it.

Bea almost wouldn't be able to tell that he'd been hit at all, if it weren't for the splotches of blood on the handkerchief which Voltus had used to wipe his face.

In fact, no one in the room seemed to have been affected much at all.

A few winced at the wall Gerhardt just destroyed. But they seemed used to it. If anything, it seemed as if Gerhardt had been broken down by his own withering assault. His breathing only kept getting heavier.

"That was surely a terrifying sight for one so tender of age," Voltus said, picking Bea up with a smile. "Yes, yes, your Uncle Gerhardt has quite the temper. He's prone to fits of passion, upheavals of the spirit most grievous. Why, back in my hometown, we used to say such was the mark of a man born under a colicky star—"

"If you're not gonna hold her hostage, then what are we gonna do with her?" Emily cut in flatly. "Don't tell me one of us is supposed to deliver her back to your little harlot of a cousin."

Hearing her mother called a word that she knew wasn't kind, Bea hid her face in Voltus's chest.

He was a liar. And he was a kidnapper. But in this room, it was clear he was the closest thing to a safe presence she had.

"...The girl is not our concern," Gerhardt said. "I have no reason to spare a single man on her." His hands still clutching his face, he glared through his fingers. "Not that I could trust a single one of you vile tramps. You least of all."

Emily didn't respond—not even with a smirk.

"If she wishes to go home, she can find her way on her own," Gerhardt said. "She managed to find her way here after all." One hand dropping limply to his lap, he turned toward Bea with half his face exposed. "If she's clever, she'll make do."

Voltus raised a hand as if asking for permission to speak. Gerhardt merely faced him with a scowl.

"Well, I hardly see how leaving her to die in the mountains is any kinder," Voltus said, frowning. "Perhaps after our current business with her father, something can be arranged."

"...As long as she doesn't meet with Sigurd, we'll be fine," Gerhardt said. "We know she exists. There are intelligent ways to use that information."

Then Gerhardt met Emily's gaze. "...If she's harmed by any of your hands, I'll know. I'll find out who. And I'll kill you." His aura flickered to life, its light pulsing erratically, surging and dimming in uneven bursts. "In your last moments… you'll remember what it's like to be a frightened child."

"Clearly, you never forgot," Emily snorted, crossing her arms.

"Why should he?" a boy asked quietly, entering the room. "She laughs at scars because she's never felt a wound—"

His gaze fell to her three fingers. "...Is what I'd say. But it looks like your pain's never made you an ounce more compassionate."

He looked a little younger than Bea's babysitter Iain, so maybe he was about eleven?

…But Emily didn't talk back to him.

She stayed painfully silent, her lips tight and her eyes angry—her three fingers clenching the whole while.

The boy gave Bea a curious look as he passed by.

"I was wondering what you were up to, father," the boy said, walking up to Gerhardt.

"...Robin," Gerhardt said. "I told you not to enter here."

"I got tired of playing with the toy horse," Robin said, with an embarrassed smile. He held up a stick with a hobby horse. "Don't you think I'm a little too old for this?...Ah."

Robin's gaze fell to Gerhardt's hands, which were still bleeding at the knuckles. "You hurt yourself."

His warmth and sadness sounded genuine. But the room suddenly felt very cold.

Ailn trusted Camille's capabilities. She'd catch up soon. Probably. Hopefully.

As he ran along the curving ramp though, he realized there were no streets or alleys. Nowhere to turn or hide. If he ran into a guard here—

He spotted the glow of a lantern coming from up ahead. He'd already run into one.

Turning around, he started back down the ramp. Ailn felt he could probably take the lone guard, but there was no reason to engage before he reunited with Camille.

"How the hell did Sigurd already get through here?" Ailn muttered. The city was tougher to sneak through than he expected.

Uh oh.

Light flickered from the bottom of the ramp.

Ailn made a split second decision, and began sprinting toward it. He turned the curve, drawing his sword and catching the guard by surprise as he did so.

"What the—"

Squinting through the glare of the lantern's light, Ailn thrust his sword downward—one hand bracing the pommel—aiming for the seam beneath the guard's arm.

At the last moment, the guard twisted away, flinching as he took a shallow cut. Ailn attempted to press the advantage, but the guard slashed back faster than he expected.

He gritted his teeth. His geomisil suit and trench coat were as strong as mythril—or so he was told. But there was one thing he hadn't accounted for.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He didn't have gauntlets. He couldn't grip his blade. And without the ability to properly half-sword, it was hard to produce the force necessary to deal with platemail.

There was a guard behind him, who'd surely heard the sounds of battle by now. He'd probably arrive in ten seconds.

An image formed in Ailn's mind. Something that couldn't quite be called a plan. His blade was still angled downward from the failed thrust.

He let his weight drift back slightly, as if faltering.

Just as Ailn hoped, the guard stepped forward, convinced he was staggered.

Ailn met his blade before it reached full extension, circling right with footwork he hadn't used since his duel with Sigurd. He guided its momentum, deflecting rather than clashing, almost as if he were brushing it away.

It was all one fluid motion.

He disengaged, slipping his offhand into his coat pocket to grip the blade's center as it slid free. Then, he let gravity and momentum do the work—driving the point into the seam just below the gorget.

The guard couldn't even gasp. And despite the pang of pity which ran through Ailn, he didn't have time to pay his respects.

A lantern flew toward his face. The other guard, who was swiftly descending the ramp, had thrown it.

Ailn craned his neck away, raising his arm to protect his face. The glass smashed into the wall. His coat caught the shards, but splattering fuel singed his temple.

If he'd been any slower he could've lost an eye.

Thankfully—

He heard a familiar hum from behind. High-pitched, like the tremble of a blade still ringing after a clash, a flash of white lit up the area.

The last thing the guard saw was Camille's radiant fist before it crushed his throat.

And as the light slowly disappeared, the two cousins were left to mull over their situation in the dark.

Ailn let out a ragged sigh. They'd only taken out two guards but he was exhausted.

"You know…" Ailn muttered. "We might actually die before Sigurd does."

He slowly regained his bearings, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could faintly pick up the sound of yelling in the distance. The blast of holy aura had been loud enough to alert the guards.

He couldn't exactly complain since Camille had just saved his life. But he found himself wishing she'd been quieter.

Actually, she was a little too quiet right now.

"You hurt your hand?" Ailn asked, noticing she was staring at it.

"My hand?" Camille stared at him blankly for a moment. Then she shook her head. "Nay. It's perfectly intact."

She clenched her fist for a moment, before letting it fall limply. Her gaze was pensive, but she seemed to have anchored herself. "Forgive me. That was the first time I've killed a man."

Robin's eyes flicked to the mural, lingering for just a moment before coming back to Gerhardt.

"Give me your hands, father," Robin said softly.

Gerhardt didn't respond, keeping them clenched. But Robin softly unclasped one. He pressed the open palm to his cheek, nuzzling into it as a few tears slipped free from his eyes. "You know I don't like seeing you hurt father."

"Leave it." Gerhardt grit his teeth and snatched his hand away. "This is nothing. And I expect you to stay exactly where you were told."

"... I understand," Robin said, sadly. "You're busy right now."

He traipsed over to Voltus and Bea. "But I did hear something interesting. I've got a cousin you never told me about, don't I?"

Bea felt Voltus's arms stiffen. But the knight didn't resist as Robin took Bea into his arms.There was something… off about the boy's appearance. Something was missing.

"What's your name?" Robin asked, eye twinkling. "Well… I already know, but I'd like to hear it myself."

"B…Bea. Like a bzzt," Bea said.

Robin laughed. "I guess a Bea by any other spelling is still sweet as honey."

"Mama… mama calls me a honey Bea sometimes," Bea said.

"Does she now?" Robin asked.

The boy seemed at ease carrying Bea. She was small and light—but he wasn't all that big either. And he felt practiced, as if he were used to carrying children. Alera's admonition of Camille from earlier in the day came to mind:

'You must never have had a younger sibling—making you the babe of your family. So much is suddenly clear.'

Did Robin have a little brother or sister? That seemed possible, but…

Why would Robin handle a child so much better than his father did?

"I heard all of you talking about what you were going to do with Bea…" Robin frowned. His arms shook as he clutched Bea tighter. "If none of you are going to take care of her, then I will."

Gerhardt didn't respond at first. His jaw tightened. His lips pursed. And he stared at his son for a long time. "...Where do you plan to take her, Robin?"

His voice was quiet and cautious.

"To the Playground, of course," Robin said. "Where else would Blanc kids go?"

Robin carried Bea, a lantern in his other hand, as they stepped into a place with yellow pillars. It wasn't quite a building, and the roof was gone, so the wind came straight through.

Bea didn't really understand what kind of Playground this was supposed to be. It sounded sinister to her. The same kind of bad as candy offered by strangers.

She was in Robin's arms, but she didn't snuggle into them. She hugged herself instead.

Just like the palace, the Playground was overgrown with plants. It looked worse, even, and had all sorts of strange sculptures.

One, carved directly into the mountainside, was shaped like an enormous molar. The sculpture itself was green and slimy all over, because it was covered in moss. The mountain face it was carved into was painted a pink which had faded—and looked like swollen gums.

Just looking at it made Bea's teeth hurt. She thought of all the sugar she ate early in the day, and wanted to brush them.

"Are you alright?" Robin asked. "It's cold out here."

Unsure if she was shivering from the cold or fear, Bea bit her lip. "I want to… I want to walk," she said.

She really didn't like being carried by Robin. There was something in the way the boy carried her that reminded her of her mother. He was warm. And he seemed nice. Not the fake-nice like Voltus.

But she didn't like him. She didn't quite understand why not.

"Oh? Okay…" Robin muttered a little sadly. "Kids really do grow up fast nowadays." He scratched his head. "It's gonna take a long time to get over there if we move at a toddle, though."

"Where are we going…?" Bea asked, resisting the urge to flinch when Robin softly grabbed her hand.

"There's a pretty little bell tower that looks down on alllll of the playground, Bea," Robin said. "A favorite spot for Blanc children of generations past. You'll get it when you see it."

As they went on, more and more plants covered the floor. Earlier, they'd barely clung to the stone, fighting against the wind. Now, the ground was starting to look like it belonged in the woods.

It was a tough walk for Bea, and she almost regretted asking Robin to set her down. Little roots kept trying to trip her. "We're going to look at the playground?" Bea asked. "Not… play in it?"

"Watching fun stuff is a form of playing too, isn't it?" Robin responded. "Like watching a play. Why do you think they're called plays?"

It was hard for Bea to argue with that logic. But she still noticed something odd.

"But… it's so dark…" Bea said. "I don't get what we're going to watch…"

"The dark makes it even better, Bea," Robin said. Despite her slow walk, he matched her pace. And he gave her a warm glance as he spoke. "We're gonna watch your papa while he lights up the night. Isn't that neat?"