The Prince Doesn’t Cry From Mere Onions

as his companions.”

“Next.”

“He seemed to be on knowing terms with the patrol guards.”

“Elaborate more.”

“I heard the patrol guards say ‘that huge guy with the weird way of talking managed to do something.’ As if they’d talked to him before.”

Franz and the soldiers looked at each other simultaneously and nodded.

A huge guy with horrible communication.

That was Bertram, for sure.

“…..But that doesn’t mean you soldiers should be nodding with me.”

“We stand corrected!”

There was no more information to be gained from the human traffickers.
It was now certain that Bertram was in this city, so from now on, they’d have to do the legwork themselves.

One by one, the soldiers headed outside.

However, the human traffickers’ sighs of relief only went so far.

When the fourth soldier, who looked particularly meek—perhaps because of his glasses—laid his hand on the door handle, Franz spoke.

“Erich.”

“Yessir!”

“Go outside and close the door behind you.”

The soldier called Erich closed the door as he had been ordered.
And that was not all: they could hear the sound of him leaning against the door, as if he was standing watch.

An ominous feeling slithered down the human traffickers’ backs.

Franz remained in the interrogation room.
With a bright smile, he lifted a foot.

“It’s true that ‘that b*st*rd’ is a big guy who’s freakin’ bad at communicating.”

“Sir?”

“But you folks shouldn’t dare to talk about ‘his honor’ like that, too.”

And so Franz’s boots slammed down onto their mouths.

***

The village chief drank alcohol throughout dinner that night, to the point that it seemed he would spend all the money they’d earned selling the wolf pelt on alcohol alone.

Anna slipped hard liquor into his cup from time to time.
Thanks to her, he had to visit the bathroom countless times, supported by Bertram.

In the meantime, some random soldiers came and looked around the restaurant as if they were searching for someone, but that wasn’t Anna’s business.

Not long after, the village chief was down for the count.
Bertram piggy-backed the village chief and threw him on the bed in the men’s room at the inn.

Covering him with a blanket and grumbling at him was Anna’s job.

“I’m telling you, Chief is always enjoying life all by himself.
Mark my words, he’s definitely going to go to sleep right now and wake up at dawn tomorrow and nag at us, saying ‘Youngsters these days are just so lazy!’ If Chief orders you to do this and that tomorrow, just ignore him completely, Mr.
Bertram.”

“Is he like this every market day?”

“No.
He lets himself go as far as he thinks is plausible.
He only does this when I come along.”

“In other words, he trusted you, Miss Anna.”

Anna narrowed her eyes.

“No positive interpretations for the village chief allowed.”

“…… I apologize.”

“Well, I might become the next chief, though.
But still, this isn’t it.”

“Hm? Is the position of chief not succeeded by the eldest son?”

 “As if there’s anything good about a high position in a countryside village like ours.
It’s just a role people who like doing annoying things take up in turns.
It feels like only the men get to do it, but just think of how much I’m doing for this village.
In about twenty years or so, I’m sure I could become one, too.”

Pride could be felt from the straightforward way Anna spoke.
It was a feeling that Bertram could understand.