Chapter 84
Chapter 84
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 84
Chapter Title: Prior Information
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[Chapter 83 - Prior Information]
The estate proxy, Bardan, watched from behind as Arsen's group departed following their guides.
Toward Bardan, one of the squires cautiously raised an objection.
"Isn't it dangerous? Letting that many soldiers inside."
"I know. It is dangerous."
"But why...?"
"Look at how many knights and mages they have. Even if they turned hostile, we'd lose fighting them even from behind the palisade. And if they're not hostile, letting them in does no harm. No reason to earn their enmity needlessly."
After leaving that simple explanation, Bardan ordered the palisade gates closed and night watch doubled.
He added one more order.
"Inform all the soldiers and residents: no matter what mischief those people cause, do not resist or fight back. I'll compensate for any damages incurred."
The squire bowed his head politely in obedience.
"Understood, my lord!"
"I told you not to call me lord—I'm just the estate proxy!"
* * *
Surprisingly, in Ormu territory, they vacated one of the few houses that wasn't rundown and was elegantly built.
Seeing the household items left unpacked, Arsen sternly instructed the soldiers not to mess up the house or damage anything.
Two houses were assigned to the soldiers, split by gender; the other two to the mages, likewise; and the smallest one to the knights.
As the leader and finest knight, and as the noble-born and greatest mage, Arsen and Eloise were allotted a house to themselves.
"Then I'll go check on the merchants. Need anything?"
"Huh? Oh, no, I'll stay here."
"Got it. Be careful. Contact me if anything comes up."
Arsen tapped his earring, then stepped out of the house.
His destination was the knights' shelter.
Bazkal, Anun, and Marun were staying there.
"Bazkal! Sir Anun!"
No sooner had he called out in front of the house than the two emerged. Bazkal had already shed his armor and was shaking out his wet hair with just a cloth draped over him.
"Already bathed?"
"Of course. I'm pretty particular about cleanliness, you know. They even had water drawn inside."
Arsen nodded at Bazkal, but his gaze involuntarily drifted upward to the man's face.
Seeing this, Bazkal grinned sheepishly.
"You noticed?"
"Yeah."
At the crown of his head, the spot that hadn't recovered after being scorched by fire now showed faint stubble sprouting, rough to the touch.
Thanks to that, Bazkal's mood had been sky-high lately.
To the point where he kept trying to hug Jisharan every time he saw her, making her run away.
"Not much longer now. I'll be handsome again soon."
Arsen swallowed the retort rising in his throat: 'Hair doesn't make the man handsome.'
Instead, he tossed out a soulless encouragement.
"Yeah, hope so."
Just then, Anun chimed in innocently from the side.
"Don't you think features matter more for handsomeness?"
After stopping the hair guardian and the war god's apostle from clashing, Arsen dragged the two off toward the merchants.
The merchants, unlike Arsen's group, hadn't been given houses and had pitched tents along one side of the palisade for lodging.
Thanks to the soldier the estate proxy had assigned as a guide, finding them was easy.
In front of the merchants' tents, the soldier bellowed.
"Come out here! Someone's looking for you!"
"What's this about?"
Some merchants poked their heads out and flinched upon seeing the three knights standing right there, quickly bowing their heads.
Moments later, an elderly merchant who looked at least sixty stepped forward.
His sturdy build, belying his age, was impressive—like a wandering trader who roamed the wilds.
"Name's Moro. I lead this caravan."
"Knight Arsen."
Moro removed his hat and placed it over his heart, bowing politely.
Arsen noted the etiquette.
Given that Moro hailed from the ruins city, such minutiae might be norms there.
"You're heading from the ruins city to Manar, right?"
"Yes, that's correct."
Arsen gave a slight nod backward.
That gesture alone sufficed as instruction; one of the soldiers who'd come along handed a basket to a nearby merchant.
It contained freshly caught magic beast meat, cheese, and hardtack.
Items worth as much as their weight in gold outside.
"Provisions."
"Ah... thank you. But why are you giving us this?"
"Came to learn about the ruins city. That's our destination. The atmosphere there lately, that sort of thing."
Moro bowed his head.
"That much... Understood. Please, come inside. Tea, if you'd like."
"I'll pass on tea. Not to my taste."
"Very well," Moro replied flatly, leading Arsen and the two knights into their shelter.
The camp held scarred, rough-looking mercenaries and merchants indistinguishable in appearance.
Around a dozen or so, all grim-faced with swords at their hips—ordinary folk might wet themselves passing through.
But it was the merchants and mercenaries whose mouths were dry with tension.
Seasoned as they were, they knew full well how lethal a knight was in war.
Amateurs without proper plate could fall to a few skilled warriors catching them off guard.
But a veteran in solid metal armor could slaughter dozens alone.
Arsen, Bazkal, and Anun were all well-armored in metal plate, their bearing and aura exceptional.
"That glare's murderous. Got a problem?"
When Bazkal locked eyes with a nearby mercenary and growled casually, the scarred veterans dropped their gazes like kids robbed by thugs.
Following Moro, Arsen entered the largest tent.
Inside were portable furniture and goods neatly packed in cloth.
After offering small wooden chairs, Moro asked.
"So, what would you like to know?"
"First..."
Arsen glanced at Anun, giving him the opening.
Anun nodded in thanks, then questioned.
"Ever heard of 'Roaring Zanark'?"
The old man's eyes widened slightly.
"Ah, of course. Famous man. One of the top knights in the ruins city..."
"Good, he's still alive, then."
Anun ground his teeth.
Arsen had heard the name during their travels too.
A mighty knight who visited Anun's old Elta territory, humiliated several knights.
Called 'Roaring' for his thunderous voice, apparently.
"So, how's that guy doing?"
"No word of him being gravely injured or dead."
After asking about his whereabouts and activities, Anun nodded, satisfied.
"Good, that'll do. Rest I can find out there."
Anun murmured to Arsen, 'That's all from me,' and stepped back.
Arsen's turn.
"Ruins city means questions about ruins."
"Yes, sir knight. Ask away."
"If I describe a ruin, just say if there's talk of it being recently excavated."
Arsen described the sites Marun had mentioned, ones slated for excavation in the ruins city.
A ruin of walking steel giants, an endless illusion-showing labyrinth, one packed with deadly magical traps.
The merchant shook his head at the locations and descriptions.
"All famous unbreached sites. No success stories. Ah, but..."
"But?"
"Lately, someone was recruiting a special excavation team for one such unbreached ruin. Kren, I think his name was."
Arsen rubbed his temple, a twinge of unease.
Those ruins were rigged with trials only a successor could pass; clashing during an attempt would be a hassle.
"Kren, got it. Next question."
Arsen probed further on the ruins city's social structure, customs, unwritten rules.
Tedious, minute queries, but the old man answered diligently, yielding insider gems only locals could provide.
"...And when parting, if the other's a knight, say 'A memorable meeting.'"
"What a pointless custom."
Bazkal grumbled beside him; Moro chuckled.
"Can't help it. Place draws so many outsiders, they distinguish kin that way. Ignorance marks you as green—easy to fleece."
The old man laughed indulgently, like at a wayward grandchild.
After more talk, deeming his intel sufficient, Arsen stood.
"Thanks for the lessons, Moro."
"Not at all. May you find what you seek there."
As Arsen exited the tent, the waiting merchants and mercenaries startled, trembling.
When Moro emerged moments later, exchanging mild farewells with Arsen, they visibly relaxed.
On the way out of camp, Bazkal spoke, displeased.
"Those bastards, treating us like bandits... But now we're leaving, and their faces split into grins."
To Arsen, it was sheer gall.
They'd growled first to seize initiative—what reaction did he expect?
Though Bazkal's intimidation had secured dominance, Moro had cooperated without it.
"You acted too thuggish. If you're gonna bully on strength, get stronger first."
Still unable to dream of beating Arsen, Bazkal hung his head sullenly.
"Head back and rest. You too, Sir Anun—thanks for your efforts."
"No, I got good answers thanks to you. My thanks."
"I'll head in, bro."
After parting with the two, Arsen returned to his lodging.
Entering his room, Eloise heard and came from the opposite room where she'd been resting.
"Back? How'd it go?"
"Yeah. Learned a ton. Nothing happen?"
"Well, the house here's nice."
At her words, Arsen surveyed the interior.
Indeed, furniture barely worn, spotlessly clean—not like a commoner's home.
Likely belonged to a squire or mid-level administrator.
"Yeah, really nice... Gotta shed this armor first. Feels like it'll fuse to me."
Arsen unfastened his black star-iron breastplate, pauldrons, greaves, stacking them on the table.
Eloise's repairs had patched major holes, but combat scars lingered here and there.
Fierce mementos proving its owner's ceaseless brushes with death.
Eloise gazed at them, sighing.
"Seeing the armor like this... We should melt it down and reforge sometime."
Her meaning was clear.
Not lamenting the armor's state, but Arsen's ordeals that wrecked it.
Arsen replied without showing he'd caught on.
"Don't overdo it—rest. Got a full week's march ahead to the ruins city."
"I'm used to it now. Still early to sleep; let me at least hammer out those dents in the breastplate."
Before Arsen could respond, Eloise snatched the heavy breastplate and headed out.
Just before leaving, she flashed a mischievous grin at him—like a bratty kid—and shut the door.
With the door closed, Arsen flopped onto the bed.
'The ruins city.'
Per the wandering merchant Moro, its society resembled Narvik's, but grander, more fluid, organized.
Unlike closed-off Narvik, lacking neighbors or specialties, Ruins City Satien lived up to its name with ancient ruins aplenty.
Thus, excavation hopefuls flocked from everywhere, fostering vibrant external ties.
Yet the ruling lord's line, after generations of misrule, lost all support; the territory fractured under armed factions.
Three powers divided it: armed groups, outsider bands, and the lord's faded enforcers.
"Hope we can just excavate smoothly."
Doubting it inwardly, Arsen reopened the door and stepped out.
He needed to instruct Lenoc on night watches.