The Lazy Boy Is, In Fact, the Strongest and Most Brutal Assassin. - Chapter 28: The Worst Boy, Part 2

The Worst Boy, Part 2

“Hey, Il! What the hell are you dragging me all the way out here for? Quit beating around the bush!”

“Now, now, old man. Trying to explain this stuff with words is tough for an uneducated guy like me. It’s faster if I just show you.”

Bodoin, openly showing his irritation, followed Il, who wore a shallow, flippant grin. Without any hesitation or regard for decorum, the two men marched into the workshop without bothering to wipe the dirt from their boots.

“So, where’s this ‘Dark Green Steel’ production method?”

“Well, let me explain step by step.”

“Step by step?”

Bodoin frowned in confusion.

“Yes, step by step. This whole mess involving Dark Green Steel started with the murder of the master of Ward’s workshop. That’s how it began, right, old man?”

“Yeah, that’s right. When we got the call and arrived, the guy was lying just about… here.”

As he spoke, Bodoin traced an oval on the stone floor with his finger.

“…Face down,” he said.

Il nodded slightly, clasping his hands behind his head, and continued in a casual tone.

“Yeah, Toruk’s the one who killed him, though.”

“What? Toruk? Who the hell is that?”

“Don’t know? He was an apprentice who lived at Ward’s workshop…”

“Oh, that useless guy Ward always complained about whenever he came to deliver goods to us?”

“Yeah, well, he was lying dead in an alley earlier.”

At that statement, Bodoin’s eyes widened in shock.

“W-wait a second! You mean that corpse from earlier?”

“That’s the one.”

“That’s the one? Damn it, Il!”

“Now, now, calm down, old man. Let me explain everything step by step… And you’re getting a bit too close.”

As Bodoin’s heated face loomed over him, Il took a step back, trying to placate him.

“Toruk was coaxed by Hiluluk to kill the master,” Il continued.

“Hiluluk?”

Bodoin’s brow shot up.

“Yeah. Hiluluk apparently wanted to use Toruk to get the formula for Dark Green Steel. Toruk, being the guy everyone kept calling useless, must have built up a lot of resentment. So, he easily went through with killing the master.”

“How did he do it? Ward’s body was found in a locked room. The only window was a small skylight near the ceiling!”

Il let out a smug snort through his nose.

“It’s a simple story, really. The old man was notoriously obsessive, you see. According to his daughter, he followed the exact same routine every single day without fail.”

“Yeah, I remember. Even when he delivered goods to us, it was always at the same time. Never once late.”

“Exactly.”

Il pointed a finger at Bodoin’s face, grinning.

“I don’t know much about smithing, but there’s bound to be some downtime in the process, like when you’re waiting for the materials in the forge, right?”

“I wouldn’t know either, but yeah, that sounds about right.”

“And what do you think the old man did during that downtime?”

“Huh? What are you getting at? Probably took it easy, didn’t he?”

“Exactly. Probably leaned against the wall, puffing on a cigarette or something.”

Not following Il’s line of thought, Bodoin frowned deeply.

“So, what’s your point?”

“My point, old man, is this: if you know the exact time the old man leans against the wall every day to smoke, all you need to do is drill a small hole into the plaster—right where his neck would be—and jab a thin spike through it. Killing him is simple as that.”

Bodoin’s eyes widened. He whipped his head around, staring intently at the wall Il had pointed to.

Sure enough, if the victim had fallen from that spot, he would’ve landed face down in the exact position Bodoin had outlined earlier.

“If you examine the plaster on that wall, I bet you’ll find traces of a small hole that’s been patched over,” Il said confidently.

“But… but that doesn’t prove Toruk did it!”

“It does, though,” Il replied, grinning wider. “Only someone who worked alongside the old man every day—someone like Toruk—would know his habits that well. And on the day the old man died, Toruk was thrown out of the workshop for some trivial reason. The old man got mad at him for something like arranging shoes the wrong way and made him pull weeds in the garden. Convenient, huh?”

“Thrown out?”

“Exactly. And where’s the garden? Right on the other side of that wall. So, if Toruk isn’t the killer, that means someone else stabbed the old man right in front of Toruk’s eyes.”

Bodoin was struck speechless. Il, on the other hand, seemed energized by his own deductions and continued, undeterred.

“But here’s the twist, old man! After killing the master, Toruk searched high and low for the formula for Dark Green Steel. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find it. The master was too meticulous not to write it down somewhere, but still, nothing. Meanwhile, Hiluluk—the guy pulling the strings—was growing impatient. Day after day, he pressured Toruk for results. Constant, relentless pressure!”

Il’s tone rose dramatically, a stark contrast to his usual laid-back demeanor. Bodoin could only stare, dumbfounded.

“So, Hiluluk changed his target. When Toruk failed, he turned to the master’s daughter and son, squeezing them for information. How? By fabricating debts and cornering them. Remember the day we stumbled onto this mess? Toruk had secretly mortgaged this estate in advance, leaving the daughter with no way to repay the ‘debt’ and cutting off all escape routes.”

Here, Il’s voice dropped to a chillingly calm tone as he locked eyes with Bodoin.

“Now, old man, why do you think Hiluluk wanted the formula for Dark Green Steel?”

“Why? Well, for money, obviously.”

Il smirked.

“Sure, money is part of it. But don’t you find it odd?”

“What’s odd about that?”

“Hiluluk said this, old man: ‘Sell the formula for Dark Green Steel to the guild.'”

“Smithing techniques sold to the smithing guild? Nothing odd there. They’d pay a fair price for it, wouldn’t they?”

“Fair price, huh?” Il scoffed, his grin deepening.

Il twisted his lips into a mocking smile and shrugged in response to Bodoin’s remark.

“Old man, do you even realize the situation we’re in right now?”

“Huh? What situation?”

“The area surrounding this country is a battlefield. War is raging, you know? Right now, every nation is scrambling to boost its military power, and no one’s sparing any expense to do it. Wherever you sell weapons, the price is incomparable to what a single guild could pay. And as for Hiluluk, he’s the type who could negotiate with multiple nations and drive the price sky-high. The fact that he’s offering to sell it to the guild instead? That’s practically charity.”

“But he’s a resident of Saint Togan. He must have some sense of responsibility.”

“Responsibility?”

Il let out a derisive snort.

“Old man, humans are miserable creatures. Every action they take is dictated by self-interest. That’s just how we are—sad but true. Responsibility? Don’t make me laugh. People uphold so-called responsibilities only because failing to do so makes them feel uneasy. When faced with overwhelming profit, there’s no reason for that snake to hold onto his ‘responsibility.’ Hiluluk selling to the guild? That’s bizarre. There must be some benefit for him to act that way, or some cost to not acting that way.”

This time, Bodoin shrugged in exasperation.

“Looking at the world through such a jaded lens is a sickness of youth. Sure, there are people out there who devote themselves to the greater good without a thought for themselves, who get hailed as saints. But, well, Hiluluk isn’t one of them.”

“Even those people follow the same basic rules,” Il countered. “Maybe they can’t stand leaving someone pitiful behind. Maybe they just don’t want to face something unpleasant. That’s a form of self-interest too. Wanting to see someone smile is one of the more admirable motivations, I’ll admit, but there are others out there doing it for the smug satisfaction of thinking, ‘I’m better than everyone else.’ They might not even realize it themselves.”

“You idiot! You’re too cynical. Don’t you have any pride as a guardsman?”

Bodoin’s voice rose in anger, but Il merely grinned, watching him with cold, amused eyes.

“Pride? Now that’s something I find revolting. Strip away the flowery words, and underneath it, you’ll always find raw, naked desire. I don’t know who or what drove Hiluluk to act that way, but someone did. Someone presented him with a profit worth pursuing or threatened him with a loss too great to ignore.”

“So what you’re saying is there’s some mastermind behind Hiluluk?” Bodoin asked.

“Exactly. Someone who knew about dark green steel and could profit from the guild obtaining its manufacturing method. And when I say profit, I don’t mean money. It’s not that simple. This would also have to be someone in a position to pitch such a proposal to Hiluluk. That narrows it down quite a bit, doesn’t it?”

Bodoin stared at the increasingly animated Il, his face a strange mix of amusement and quiet sorrow.

“Old man, if this country gets dragged into war, we’ll be on the front lines. We’ll be the first to hear Death’s footsteps. You want your men to have weapons made of dark green steel. You say it’s for their sake, and maybe you even believe that. But that’s not it. You just don’t want to face it. You don’t want to see your men die. You don’t want to face their grieving families, to be blamed by the wife who lost her husband or the child who lost their parent. And you know what? I don’t blame you. Everyone lives by making excuses like that.”

Bodoin held Il’s gaze without flinching.

“…But this time, I can’t just let it go. I won’t. I can’t stand seeing Shia cry. And I can’t forgive the one who drove Peter to his death. Acting like an adult, pretending not to see—it’s unbearable for me!”

In the dusty workshop, an oppressive silence descended.

“…So, what do you want to do about it?” Bodoin asked, his voice low. “Grow up, Il. Since Gaspar died, I’ve been like a father to you. I pulled you out of the gutters, shoved you into the guards, and gave you a way to earn your keep. That’s what a parent does. Are you going to defy your father now?”

Il dragged his foot through the dust-covered floor, drawing a single line between himself and Bodoin.

“Sorry to say, but you’ve already crossed to the other side of the line,” he said quietly. Then, with his head still bowed, he muttered, “But don’t worry, old man. This will be the third time I’ve killed my father.”

Bodoin’s eyes sharpened in an instant.

“I don’t remember much about my birth father,” Il continued. “But I killed him. My foster father, Gaspar—I killed him too. Yes, I killed him.”

“Ha! That’s the most ridiculous bluff I’ve ever heard,” Bodoin scoffed. “You? Kill Gaspar? That’s impossible! Gaspar was one of the best fighters among the guards in this country. Nobody could match him—not even me, and I could only beat him half the time. And you? You’re a useless brat. Are you claiming you’ve been hiding some incredible skill all this time? Impossible. Anyone who looks at your scrawny, untrained arms can see it. You couldn’t even kill a bug!”

Il, still looking down, murmured something under his breath.

“The Nocturnal…”

“What was that?” Bodoin asked, his voice cautious.

“The person you’ve been wanting to meet,” Il said, his tone eerily calm. “One of the problems this country faces… is standing right in front of you.”