(Fast on their feet.)
Maomao honestly thought so.
But it wasn't that they were fast in a straight line. Through the narrow back alleys, weaving past obstacles like discarded barrels, they showed no loss of speed whatsoever.
(Hey, come on, cut it out.)
Maomao set down the container she had been carrying and gave chase.
The route twisted and turned, but it was basically a single road, so that helped. Even Maomao, who had lived in the capital since birth, didn't have every street memorized.
(I really didn't want to come this way.)
Where few people passed through, rat-like vermin had made their nests. They didn't hold down proper jobs, or couldn't, yet their sense of territorial claim was second to none.
Was the noise Basen had heard a territorial squabble among those types?
(No need to get mixed up in this.)
She thought he was being rather rash.
Just then, she heard the clatter of metal clashing — sparks flying — followed by a scream.
Maomao looked at where the path split. Glancing left and right, she turned toward the sound — left — and hurried on.
(!?)
Around the bend was an open square. At the far end stood a warehouse, and in front of it she could make out several figures.
One, two, three...
(Seven of them?)
Vagrants.
They were attacking two men. It was supposed to be two against four, but Basen was mixed in.
The two men looked like well-dressed merchants, caught in the middle of a robbery.
Yet the blades they held were a touch too crude for mere self-defense. They were facing down the vagrants as if shielding something.
And the four vagrants, though shabby in appearance, bore well-worn weapons. Not a single nick marred the blades.
Having seemingly gauged all of this in an instant, Basen appeared to have decided on his next move.
(Come on...)
Even though he was empty-handed—both in mind and in palm—what did he intend to do?
Maomao thought, hiding in the shadow of the wall.
However—
The first to fall were the ruffians.
(!?)
Basen was gone. No sooner did she notice his absence than his shadow appeared right behind the ruffians.
She couldn't tell what he had done—before she knew it, another ruffian was on the ground.
Though she couldn't quite follow it, both of the fallen men must have been Basen's doing.
One had his eyes rolled back, and the other was clutching his knee and trembling.
(Broken?)
Their legs were bent at strange angles. Not snapped—shattered. For something done in the span of a single heartbeat, the technique was far too clean.
And while Maomao was busy observing that, the remaining two seemed to have been dealt with as well.
She didn't know how he managed it, but the rest of the ruffians were suspended in midair. At that precise moment, Basen's hands twisted their arms with exquisite precision, and a sickening crack echoed through the air.
(Won't they be permanently crippled?)
All four ruffians sprawled on the ground had their joints destroyed.
Granted, there was no need to show mercy to armed robbers—but for a spur-of-the-moment rescue, this seemed to go too far.
Yet the pair who had been saved did not thank Basen. They simply dropped to their knees.
(Huh?)
"Sloppy work."
"My sincerest apologies."
At Basen's words, one of the men bowed his head. The other produced a cord from inside his robe and began binding the fallen ruffians.
They appeared to be acquaintances of his.
"Basen."
Maomao emerged, tilting her head in puzzlement.
Basen ignored her and headed toward the storage room at the back.
"The back?"
"Y-yes."
The man visibly clamped a hand over his mouth. Basen strode forward with an expression that practically screamed this was the most incompetent thing he had ever seen.
"......"
Maomao quickened her pace to catch up with Basen.
Basen wrenched open the storehouse door with a rough hand, and inside they could see a figure huddled on the ground.
"......"
"......"
There was a charming young town girl. No — calling her a town girl didn't do her justice. She was far too beautiful for that. The sort of girl a procuress would push hardest to sell didn't even come close.
Of course, there was no way she was an ordinary girl.
Come to think of it, she really is remarkably pretty.
It was easy to forget while living in the rear palace. It was a magnificent garden of splendid flowers, and no matter how beautiful a bloom was, it was bound to pale somewhat when surrounded by even larger ones.
The person crouching there was Consort Risu.
It all made sense now. The men outside must have been her guards — military officers or something of the sort. Basen was surely acquainted with them.
And just as Maomao had worried, this was no coincidence. Either word of the consort's outing had leaked, or she had simply stumbled upon the robbers by chance. It was most likely the former.
Given that they had maintained their weapons and deliberately herded her into a dead-end alley, this didn't look like a crime of opportunity.
Consort Risu had shed her usual splendid garments. Even so, she wore clothes befitting the daughter of a prominent establishment. Perhaps it was because she had been trembling inside the cramped storehouse for so long — when the door opened, a whiff of fragrance wafted out in a burst.
Her eyes, more thinly made up than usual, were brimming with even more tears than normal. Her lips trembled, and her entire body shook in small, rapid shivers.
Her eyes were painted with fear.
Reflected in them was the silhouette of Basen, backlit by the light.
Basen just stood there rooted to the spot when he could have at least said something. At this rate, the timid Consort Risu was going to end up a snotty, incontinent mess from sheer terror.
Exasperated, Maomao poked her head out from behind Basen.
"Are you injured?"
With perfect naturalness, Maomao smiled, trying to ease the consort's tension.
But Consort Risu flinched backward as though every hair on her body had bristled. Without thinking, she let out a small squeak of "Eek!"
Maomao figured she didn't look any worse than when she'd seen Bashen, and crouched down anyway to check herself for injuries. Her clothes were dirty in spots, but she didn't seem to have any open wounds.
Whether Consort Risu was finally calming down or not, the tension in her face gradually began to ease.
But her face was feverish. Now that the tension had drained away, perhaps the exhaustion hit her all at once—she looked slightly dazed.
"Lord Bashen."
Maomao looked at Bashen.
He was backlit, so she couldn't read his expression well, but she could tell he still hadn't relaxed.
"I'll leave things here to you for now. I'm going to help with the situation over there."
Leaving those words in a firm tone, Bashen headed toward the guards.
It seemed Maomao had misjudged Bashen to some degree.
She had thought his position as Jinshi's close aide was simply because he was Gaoshun's son and Jinshi's milk brother. His nature was straightforward and impulsive, but she had always figured that was just something he'd grow out of with age.
(So that wasn't the case at all.)
Honestly, she hadn't thought Bashen was particularly capable. If anything, she'd thought of him as a simple man who was easy to handle.
She needed to revise that assessment.
Admittedly, judging by his literary skills, she'd felt he was somewhat lacking to serve Jinshi. Of course, compared to civil officials of the same generation, she thought he was plenty capable. But that alone wasn't enough.
Unfortunately, it turned out his talents lay in martial pursuits. There was no way you could casually defeat four ruffians with your bare hands. But Bashen had done exactly that, as smoothly as breathing.
Even Maomao, who knew next to nothing about martial arts, could understand that much.
Come to think of it, when they'd gone to subdue the Shi clan, it was Bashen—not Gaoshun—who had accompanied Jinshi. When Jinshi had come back with a cut on his face, Bashen had been struck by Gaoshun and had a swollen face to show for it.
Still, Gaoshun wouldn't have assigned himself to Jinshi's guard detail out of mere fatherly fondness. Perhaps the reason Bashen had been hit was that he'd betrayed that trust.
(I suppose I'll tone down the teasing a bit.)
He didn't seem like the type to lay a hand on women, but at the very least, this was her way of showing she'd reassessed him.
Still, Maomao looked at Consort Risu.
"Are you all right?"
"Wh—oh, y-yes."
The look on Consort Risu's face—the one that said "Hmph, I'm perfectly fine"—was even redder than before.
And with that red face, she was watching Bashen, who stood in the plaza directing the guards.
"......"
A bad feeling washed over me.
And those feelings were almost always right.
"......sama."
The consort was murmuring something in a low voice.
However, I couldn't quite make it out. That last part was
invalid,
but I couldn't just pretend I hadn't heard it.
"So you call him Bashen......"
In her glistening eyes, a thirty-percent-more-appealing version of Bashen was reflected.
(...Maybe I should just give up.)
Consort Risu's face had become that of an exceedingly troublesome maiden.