The Bird That Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (6)

There are various restaurants in the capital.

Among them, there were certainly places that only hung the name “restaurant” but were actually for pleasure. The hero, knowing nothing, walked through the red-light district where red lights flickered, following Banyan’s lead. Women who scanned the hero’s handsome appearance licked their lips, but even here, there were manners of sorts.

Seeing Banyan holding the hero’s hand tightly, the women just giggled among themselves without approaching the hero.

The restaurant Banyan was heading to was a place she often used as a work location during her time in the capital. It was a so-called “room restaurant”, which disguised itself as a restaurant on the sign, but inside was a depraved establishment with a bed and shower facilities for each table.

The building owners in the red-light district made money by renting these rooms to prostitutes or using such buildings disguised as restaurants for prostitution. While taxes on prostitution were high, restaurants weren’t taxed heavily.

Using the excuse that it couldn’t be helped if a restaurant employee and customer hit it off and had sex, this long-standing tax evasion business had continued even before prostitution was legalized. And today, Banyan rented a room in this illegal commercial district, paying the usage fee.

“The atmosphere is unique.”

He had heard that country people mistook this place for where nobles lived. Because of the brilliant lights and beautiful women walking around, and actual old-fashioned nobles occasionally appearing. Banyan had actually seen a few such country bumpkins.

When they arrived at this flashy street, they showed fear and anxiety rather than awe or enjoyment, looking for an exit.

“Do we order here?”

The hero looked around with a relaxed expression and sat in a chair. Banyan smiled and fidgeted with her fingers, but suspicion arose at the ease she felt from his appearance. Even if a country noble pretends to be innocent, there’s still a difference from truly innocent people.

That ease of adapting to the suggestive atmosphere in this room without a care was a composure only those who had embraced and pounced on women many times could show. Banyan liked such people too.

Those who think they’re good at handling women and put on a pathetic act.

Banyan liked to unmask these hypocrites.

How good it felt to squeeze the life out of a man who begged for his life with a haggard face after being wrung dry to the core.

But it was too natural.

The hero was accepting this whole situation far too easily now. Banyan reconsidered the setting she had created and the hero’s actions.

A woman from the countryside suggests eating at this brothel in the middle of the red-light district, and he doesn’t suspect anything? If he didn’t know what the red-light district was, he should have shown some rejection when entering, and even if he knew, shouldn’t he have shown some hesitation at least once?

She had prepared various excuses in case the hero tried to back out. The hero was accepting every situation so naturally that those excuses were useless.

So naturally. As if he was matching her pace.

“Hero… Do you know where this is?”

Banyan instinctively asked. Originally, rather than asking such questions, she should have been creating a lewd atmosphere, but something was off.

The hero was right in front of her, looking around as if he had come to an interesting tourist attraction. He was full of openings, but she didn’t dare to rush in recklessly. Banyan’s hand, smiling as if nothing was wrong, was reaching for the aphrodisiac in her bag. The hero, seemingly unaware of anything, looked out the window and said:

“It’s a brothel, isn’t it? A place where prostitutes roam.”

The brightly shining red lanterns in the window were dyeing the hero’s face and this room bright red. The hero stroked his chin and let one hand dangle under the table. Banyan took out a small glass bottle from her bag and continued the conversation.

“Yes, that’s right. Um… Actually, I wanted to connect with you while having a meal… I asked the capital people for restaurant recommendations, and they said this place was the best.”

Banyan nodded, admiring her own tone. It was an excuse that a hero obsessed with women might understand. The hero nodded at those words and then turned his gaze again. The hero’s hand was reaching for his sword hilt.

“I just wanted to come and see once. I had never been to this pleasure district, the busiest in the kingdom.”

Banyan’s hand gripped the glass bottle tightly. But she didn’t show any sign of surprise in her expression. Rather, she made a startled expression and said:

“Ah, was this that kind of place?”

Both the hero and Banyan knew it was nonsense. The wind blew outside, shaking the red lanterns. The appearance of the two, alternately receiving backlighting and red light, showed extreme contrasts of light and shadow like a scene from a shadow puppet play.

Outside, a drunkard was making a fuss, and prostitutes were dancing to seduce men. Amidst the noise full of realism, the two stared at each other for a long time.

Dozens of round lanterns reminiscent of a festival hung between the buildings. Seen from the window, these red lanterns lined up like barley grains swayed precariously in different directions with the wind.

As a strong wind blew through the narrow alleys of the pleasure district, one of them snapped off, and the lantern bounced by the wind knocked on the window of the hero’s room like a traveler.

Thud.

That sound moved the two like a starting gun in a race. The hero drew his sword at the same time Banyan smashed the glass bottle on the floor. The hero stepped back, seeing something he thought would fly at him spreading on the floor, but the window was too narrow for the hero to go outside, and to open the door, he would have to turn his back on Banyan.

“Ugh…!”

Banyan breathed heavily, sweating profusely. Pink smoke filled the room, and the hero ducked, holding his breath. Even trying not to inhale the smoke, it swirled around quickly inside.

Banyan laughed in the smoke and said:

“How stupid… Did you think I’d use clumsy poison? This is, you know, an aphrodisiac that can make even elephants go into heat. If a human eats it, they can’t control their excitement… How is it? Huh? You can’t even control your body properly, right?”

As Banyan said, the hero’s face turned bright red and he breathed roughly. Banyan, still frozen in the posture of throwing the bottle, looked at the hero’s appearance with a triumphant expression. The hero forcibly raised his staggering legs that kept trying to collapse and grabbed the sword hilt. Every time the fabric touched bare skin, it felt itchy, and moans leaked from his mouth.

“Hnngh…! Nng…!”

“The hero whimpers like a girl, just as he looks…”

Banyan brought her hand to her waist. She was confident she could win against a human full of openings suffering from sexual desire, even if it was the hero. After all, she was a professional assassin.

“Haa…! Haa…!”

The hero glared fiercely at Banyan while moaning and began to put the sword he was holding in a precarious posture back into its scabbard. A harsh sound rang out as the blade engaged with the scabbard. As if flesh and flesh were grinding against each other, rubbing rough surfaces, a thin, savage sound continued, tickling the hero’s lower abdomen with a lewd and thrilling sensation.

“Ah, uh… Ugh…!”

“What, why are you putting it away? Do you want to die?”

Banyan said. Her hand was still reaching for her waist.

“Phew…”

The hero, having barely managed to sheathe his sword, shook his head and breathed heavily. Then he said to Banyan, who was still frozen:

“…I’ll admit I let my guard down. The drug is certainly strong… Haa…”

“Isn’t it?”

Banyan felt proud to receive the hero’s acknowledgment.

And she thought even more that she had to kill the hero.

She was curious what expression Lena would make if she killed him, cut off his head, and threw it at the inn where Lena was. She wanted to see that woman who betrayed and ran away from the Black Society face the complete shattering of her life’s hope.

“Then die.”

Banyan drew her dagger and leaped forward towards the hero. The hero, without even taking a defensive stance, sat down on the floor and said:

“…But you can’t kill me.”

Banyan’s field of vision, about to swing the dagger, tilted in an odd direction. Her view kept rising involuntarily, looking at the ceiling, and then suddenly she was looking at the bag she had left behind beyond the ceiling.

Huh?

Banyan tried to open her mouth to say that, but no voice came out. Her mouth just gaped, and her gaze that had been looking at the bag plummeted to the floor.

Then it rolled weakly and looked back at the hero.

In front of the kneeling hero, Banyan’s headless body flailed and then knelt on the floor.

Why?

Banyan couldn’t even feel pain. Like a fountain, Banyan’s body gushed blood, and her vision darkened as if a theater projector was slowly stopping.

She had such a thought at the end.

In the end, she couldn’t win against Lena.

The blood that reached the ceiling dripped to the floor as if she was crying.

The hero moved to one side to avoid his clothes getting soaked in blood.

His chest was burning, and his lower body was throbbing. The hero muttered while taking deep breaths:

“I certainly underestimated it too much… I should go back when the drug’s effect calms down a bit…”

---

A depraved establishment found after quite a long search.

It was a brothel disguised as a restaurant, but in reality, its main business was prostitution with employees and room rentals. Having obtained information that a blonde woman-like man and a plain-looking country girl with big breasts had entered here, I…

Was standing in front of the door in a tense posture.

After an employee passed by me with a suspicious look, I reached for my waist and took a deep breath. I didn’t think the hero would be in trouble, but he might have been severely injured.

When someone is injured, you shouldn’t panic.

The later the treatment, the more easily life is chipped away.

I checked the bandages and herbs stored at my waist once again, ready to take out at any time. Then I knocked on the door and asked in a small voice:

“Hero. Are you there?”

“Haa…! Ungh…! Ah, old man…”

Instead of an answer, what came back was a moan. A high-pitched voice that had reached a steep point, breathing heavily as if life was hanging by a thread.

That voice was calling for me.

It’s a serious injury.

Without thinking further, I opened the door wide and shouted:

“Hero!”

“Haahngh…! Ngh…! Ah, old maaan…! Aah…!”

And there, the hero was calling my name.

The hero with his clothes slightly undressed.