Chapter 129

Translator: Willia

Ricardt crossed mountains and rivers to reach the southern part of the Empire. Even though he had been riding a horse, it took him a day longer than expected to get there, and it was now the fourth day since he had left Adelivari.

Among the various coastal cities in the south, he arrived at a city called Renova, one of the cities that had formed through maritime trade since ancient times.

Renova was filled with exotic architectural styles and foreign customs, unfamiliar tastes and smells of water, and although the sun was quite strong, it wasn’t too hot. This was because the sea breeze blew constantly without rest.

White seagulls flew through the air, and massive galleons, larger than any he had seen even in Harlen, were anchored in the port with their sails furled.

Ricardt first went to the horse market and sold his horse. Though it was possible to load a horse onto a ship, it would cost a great deal in fare and would be difficult to manage.

A haggling session that bordered on a quarrel took place, and Ricardt’s hand itched to grab the hilt of his sword more than once.

“These days, riding horses don’t sell well. Whether it’s knights or not, nobles only look for destriers, and those without money only look for packhorses. No one’s looking for a riding horse,” said the horse merchant, whose hair was black and skin was darkly tanned, speaking with a swaggering attitude as if looking down on him.

It seemed like he was trying to deflate Ricardt’s spirit, but Ricardt was not someone to be discouraged anywhere. He was the type to charge alone into an army of five thousand.

Ricardt responded calmly without getting angry.

“Finding a good buyer is your business, not mine. This horse has well-developed muscles and excellent endurance. You can tell just by looking, its teeth are strong. Look at this coat. I brushed it often.”

“I can see that with my own eyes. I agree it’s a good horse. But if it doesn’t sell well, who’s going to cover the maintenance cost in the meantime?”

“...Hm, I see now. Your ability as a merchant must not be that great, so you’re not someone who deals in good horses. Then go on selling packhorses. I’ll find someone else.”

“Hoho, this guy.”

As Ricardt pretended to question the merchant’s ability and provoked him, the man burst into hearty laughter and grabbed Ricardt’s sleeve.

“All right, all right. I’ll give you two gold coins. But if I pay the full price, how am I supposed to make any profit?”

“That’s your job to figure out. Just give me the money already.”

The merchant took out two pouches of coins from his coat and handed them over. Each pouch contained 20 silver coins.

Ricardt held the pouches in his hand and kneaded them a couple of times to count them accurately. It was indeed 40 coins in total.

Bargaining was truly a tiresome task. Though he understood the difference in perspective, he didn’t feel inclined to associate with merchants.

Still, he felt a bit of attachment to the horse he had ridden so far.

“Find a good owner.”

Ricardt stroked the horse’s mane and neck.

The merchant watched the scene with a pleased expression. He knew that those who cared for animals were decent people.

“Are you a traveler?”

Now that the deal was done and there was no more need for a power struggle, the merchant asked in a much more relaxed tone.

“Something like that.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Sinatria.”

“Where in Sinatria? That’s a pretty large place.”

“The headquarters of the Order of the Flame Knights.”

“I heard that place doesn’t have a good reputation lately. They say they worship demons.”

"Those are false rumors. They are noble people."

“Well, that could be. I’ve seen a few witch hunts myself, but in my eyes, there wasn’t a single real witch. It was all just venting or ulterior motives.”

Everyone knew. That they were just blaming and killing people.

But they all treated it as someone else’s problem and didn’t seem too concerned.

“Is there a ship going to Sinatria?”

Ricardt asked.

“There are plenty of ships. Ships always sail. The question is where they’re going.”

“So is there one or not? A ship going there.”

“Hmm… I’m not too familiar with maritime matters, but if it’s Sinatria, ships probably won’t head that way until summer. For now, why don’t you stay here for a while with that money? If you get bored, I can introduce you to a good place. Southern beauties are famously killer in bed, you know.”

The merchant snickered with a mischievous grin. However, what troubled Ricardt was the part about having to wait a whole month for a ship to depart in that direction.

“Or you could avoid going directly and take a roundabout route. You could get off at Tagonia and go all the way around, or otherwise try hiring someone privately.”

“If I hire privately, how much would it cost?”

“That, I don’t know. You’d probably have to pay at least five silver coins per crew member. As for the cost of renting a ship, I can’t really estimate that. Why don’t you go to the Benicio Trading Company? They know the most about sailing.”

At the same time, the horse merchant showed him where the building of the Benicio Trading Company was located.

After listening to his explanation, Ricardt thought he would roughly head in that direction and, if he got lost, ask for directions again from there.

“I’ll be going now. Find a good owner for him.”

“May good fortune follow your every path.”

Since the horse market was in the outskirts, Ricardt began to walk properly into the city.

However, at a coastal area where black stones were split into several paths and flattened, Salaman people were sitting in place and offering prayers.

“Sala- hman! Sala- hman!”

A clear voice rang out as they bowed in the southeast direction. Ricardt wondered if these heretics could really perform their worship so openly, but no one seemed to care.

In fact, they were paying a religious tax to the city to hold their ceremonies, so it was legal.

Though people disliked and hated the heretics, they also seemed to understand them in their own way and lived alongside them. The south was that kind of place. Truly alien, and fascinating.

As he passed through the alleys inside the city walls, he saw every kind of person imaginable. Mercenaries, travelers, soldiers with no identifiable affiliation, pilgrims, priests, knights, nobles, commoners, even slaves.

There were so many people brushing past each other as they walked that Ricardt, feeling burdened by the sword on his hip, untied his sword belt and slung the sword over his shoulder for the first time in a while.

After passing through what seemed like a gate within the city, the crowd thankfully became thinner. He felt as if he could finally breathe again.

The roadside restaurants had outdoor tables. There, people were eating grilled or steamed seafood with their hands. He saw large crab dishes, fish, shrimp, conch, and other varieties.

Ricardt, being an inland man, found the seafood fascinating, as it was the first time he had ever seen some of it. A bit gross, too. Isn’t that a bug? Can you eat that?

Anyway, after passing through the noisy area, things quieted down a bit once he reached a district filled with various artisans and tradesmen.

Ricardt was about to ask again where the Benicio Trading Company was, when something caught his eye. It was the slave market.

People were gathered, though most seemed to be watching rather than actually intending to buy slaves. They were selling Imperials, Salaman people, men, women, adults, and children alike.

Although slavery was illegal under Imperial law, nobody here seemed to care about such things.

Those who wore nothing and whose fates were mortgaged to the hands of others stood on a platform. Slave merchants introduced them with overflowing confidence, emphasizing the quality of the “products”, and people called out their prices.

“Look at this one, look! This guy used to serve Amir, who enjoys the company of boys! Isn’t he as beautiful as any woman? Once he turned fifteen, he was discarded, and I bought him at a high price! He works well during the day! Works well at night too...!”

The dark-skinned boy turned his head away pitifully, and as the slave merchant said, he was indeed very beautiful.

But Ricardt had no interest in such things. He assigned no value to any of it and simply observed the entire scene calmly.

Then, a little away from the place where slaves were being sold, he noticed an iron cage. There wasn’t a single person near it, so wondering why, Ricardt walked over.

In a deeply shaded spot, a man sat quietly inside the cage, a gag strapped across his mouth.

His hands were bound, and whether by nature or from lack of water, his skin and lips were cracked and parched.

Sunken eyes, a high nose, unkempt hair, a messy beard, and dark skin, anyone could see he was a Salaman. Strangely enough, his eyes were not vacant but sharp.

Rather than a person being imprisoned, it felt more like a beast trapped in a cage. Yet, a familiar scent came from him. The smell of agarwood.

Ricardt crouched down and quietly looked at him face-to-face. He, too, did not avert his gaze and stared straight at Ricardt.

Ricardt found it curious. Because in the heretic’s eyes, he saw no fear, no resentment, no hatred.

After staring at the caged man for a while, Ricardt unfastened the water pouch from his waist, opened the cap, and reached his hand into the cage to offer it.

But the man did not take the water pouch. He simply continued looking at Ricardt.

“It’s not out of pity. It’s just that... death doesn’t always have to be painful, does it?”

Then, after seeming to consider it for a moment, he took the water pouch, poured water into his gagged mouth, and drank. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“You don’t believe in superstitions, do you?”

Beside Ricardt, a stranger spoke to him. When he turned his head, he saw a young southern man with black curly hair. He wore expensive silk clothes, had a cutlass at his waist, and was holding something like a command baton in his hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Bad luck or curses, I mean. Still, you'd better be careful. That one’s a real mage. Ever heard of a wasteland mages?”

Ricardt looked back at the cage. The man who had quenched his thirst was now quietly looking up at the newly arrived man.

At the mention of a wasteland mages, Ricardt thought the man seemed a little different now, or maybe not. He wasn’t sure if it held any particular meaning, but Salaman mages were commonly referred to as wasteland mages.

Come to think of it, it was the wasteland mages who had manufactured the poison that the Rubens Guild used when they ambushed Ricardt before.

They had simply sold the goods, so Ricardt held no particular grudge against the wasteland mages.

“If he’s so unsettling, why not just kill him already? Must you starve him like this?”

“What if he casts a curse? Everyone’s too afraid to touch him. They won’t even go near. And we’re not trying to kill him. We’re just weakening him.”

Ricardt let out a faint laugh. The southern man looked at him as if to ask what was so funny, and Ricardt replied.

“It’s laughable that you kill innocent people by accusing them of being witches, but when it comes to a real mage, you can’t even touch him.”

“Now that you say it, that is funny. I’m Barbara. A merchant of the Benicio Trading Company. And you?”

“Ricardt. A traveler.”

“Where are you headed? The Holy Land?”

“To the headquarters of the Order of the Flame Knights.”

“The Order of the Flame Knights… It'll be about a month before a ship goes there. Unless you take a roundabout route.”

“Is there a ship available?”

“Before that, are you any good with a sword?”

Barbara gestured with his chin toward the sword Ricardt had slung over his shoulder. Ricardt replied calmly.

“I’ve never lost a fight.”

“If an inland man made it here alone, then you must be above average. There’s a ship heading to the island of Armosa. If you take another ship from there, it’s just a short hop to the knights' headquarters. What do you say? Want to take it?”

“Doesn’t seem like I have much choice. I’ll take it. What’s the fare?”

At the mention of fare, Barbara grinned and tapped the cage with the baton he was holding.

“Keep watch over this guy during the trip. That’s your fare.”

With that, he told Ricardt to look for a ship called the ‘Blue Marlin’ at the harbor before sunrise the next morning, and then turned around and walked away.

It seemed he was planning to sell this so-called wasteland mage. Since there were no buyers around here, he must be taking him all the way to this island called Armosa to make the sale.

Though unsettling and dangerous, such a rare being would surely fetch a high price.

Ricardt looked at the mage again. Their eyes met. After observing for a moment, Ricardt asked.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

In response, the mage tapped the gag in his mouth with his bound hands.

It seemed the gag was meant to prevent him from casting spells, but Ricardt wondered whether they wouldn’t be able to sell him if he starved to death like this.

Still, it was common to starve slaves from time to time. It drained their strength so they couldn't resist properly. Though this case had a different reason.

“See you tomorrow.”

Leaving those words, Ricardt walked away without taking back the water pouch.

The mage, now left alone, simply sat quietly, passing the time. One hour, two hours, three hours, he sat completely still, even after the sun had set.

By night, like any other city, people began to party, spending money freely in a drunken revel.

Then a drunk staggered over to the mage under the moonlight.

“Hey, you Salaman bastard. Do you even believe in God? You don't? You fucking son of a bitch.”

Muttering nonsense to himself, the drunk man suddenly pulled down his trousers and tried to urinate toward the mage. But at that moment, the mage’s pupils vanished, leaving only glaring whites in his eyes.

Then, suddenly, something like a whip flew out of nowhere and tightly coiled around the drunkard’s groin.

Whish! Snap!

“Argh...!”

The drunk squeezed his eyes shut and tried to scream, but this time a thick whip flying in from another direction sealed his mouth shut.

And in an instant, dozens of tendrils stretched out from beyond the darkness. But they weren’t whips, they were tentacles. Something alive, like giant octopus limbs.

The tentacles wrapped tightly around the drunkard’s entire body. They coiled around him so densely that his original form became unrecognizable. And they kept tightening.

Crack! Crunch! Snap. Thud!

He was definitely dead. It was impossible to survive. But strangely, no blood or fluids burst out. Though he was clearly dead, the tentacles didn’t stop constricting.

Then, as the mage’s eyes, which had been full of white, returned to reveal his black pupils, the tentacles quickly recoiled, as if being sucked back into the darkness.

And whatever they had wrapped around had completely vanished, only something that looked like a wrung-out, dried-up rag dropped to the ground with a thud.

A still silence. From afar, and from within the buildings, the noisy voices of people chatting and drinking once again drifted across the nighttime street.

The mage remained motionless, still sitting in place. In his hand was the water pouch Ricardt had given him.

In any case, the gag in his mouth didn’t seem to be very effective.

****

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