Helping with Adventurer Party Management - Chapter 410

“Sorry, could you go notify the Sword Fangs Legion? I’ll be taking these three with me.” I asked one of the craftsmen to run the errand.

The Sword Fangs Legion had a room suited for making people talk.

There were women and children in the factory—I didn’t want them seeing what was about to happen.

“W-Why us?”

“L-Let us go!” the other two craftsmen cried out in fear.

But just because they weren’t the ones caught stealing didn’t mean they were innocent. There was no evidence to prove they weren’t accomplices.

“Tough luck.” I said simply.

Then they suddenly started resisting.

“N-No! This is too much!”

“Help me! Damn it, he’s pinning everything on me!”

But the Sword Fangs Guards quickly pinned them down.

“Shut up! If you’re innocent, you’ll be let go. Just stay quiet!” Kiriku barked.

That was enough to shut them up.

Kiriku was large, muscular, and experienced. His presence alone was intimidating.

When he first came here, the women and children were so scared they wouldn’t go near him.

This was exactly the image of artisans cowed by a battle-hardened mercenary.

Now, seeing him intimidate these craftsmen like some mobster shaking down honest townsfolk was… not a good look.

And yet, I couldn’t show leniency.

As a Governor, a factory owner, and the client of the Sword Fangs Legion. Each of those positions demanded that I set an example and enforce punishment.

Damn it. Why did he have to do something so stupid?

I cursed silently as the craftsman paled further, on the verge of collapse.

◇　◇　◇　◇　◇

On the way to the Sword Fangs Legion’ office, the craftsmen stayed quiet.

Surrounded by towering armed mercenaries, they didn’t even try to run.

Jilboa was waiting, which was unusual.

“Huh, don’t look like much for an assassin.” he joked, noticing my face.

“Assassins are easier. Easier to deal with. At least then, I can eliminate the problem,” I replied bluntly.

It was the truth.

We brought them into a special interrogation room in the back. The thief was made to sit in the center, the other two against the wall.

The floor was paved with stone tiles and had a drain—for easy cleanup.

The Legion had someone especially skilled at “encouraging confessions.” He stood silently across from Kiriku, holding a gruesome tool: a wooden stick lined with iron spikes.

“Hey, there’s blood on that. Wipe it off before you use it.”

“Oops. My bad. Just used it the other day. Thought I cleaned it.”

With a smirk, he slowly wiped the tool with a cloth, revealing dried blood.

The artisans, unfamiliar with such violence, turned deathly pale.

Naturally, this entire performance was staged.

But they were too shaken to realize.

I was secretly relieved there probably wouldn’t be any actual blood.

“Alright,” I began coldly, “let’s start from the top. What’s your real name? What workshop are you from? What’s your master’s name?”

Even if it disgusted me, I had to sound detached.

Because the anger I felt was still very, very real.