Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: Secrets of the Relic City
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Arsen wondered for a moment if the sky looked yellow due to an optical illusion or if it had truly turned that color.
A few seconds later, he realized he was lost in foolish thoughts and tried to stand.
Had his knees not buckled, sending him tumbling back down, he might have succeeded.
“Urgh...”
Kren asked flatly as he watched Arsen fail to rise properly and drop to his knees again.
“Not rested enough yet?”
“Let’s call it here. Any more and he’ll really drop dead.”
Another knight watching from the side chimed in.
The sparring hadn’t lasted long, but the nonstop explosive movements had completely drained Arsen’s stamina.
To the point where he could no longer fight properly.
Kren shook his head regretfully.
“What a shame.”
With a *shing*, the sound of a weapon being sheathed rang out.
At that moment, someone clapped from behind Arsen.
“You’ve really worked hard, Sir Arsen.”
“...I’m fine, Sir Rasur. It’s nothing.”
Arsen forced the words out as Rasur approached, but the man’s devilish grin made it take considerable effort to manage a polite bow.
Catching on, Rasur grinned wider.
“You could’ve just been honest. Wasn’t it tough? You look beat.”
“To be honest, I’ve been in wars, but this feels harder than those.”
“That’s rough.”
Arsen wanted to snap back at Rasur’s gleeful laughter, but he knew dragging it out would just make him sound whiny.
Instead, he struggled to rise again and changed the subject.
“By the way, why go to such lengths to instruct me?”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
To Arsen’s surprise, Rasur’s response carried genuine confusion, as if he had no idea what was being asked.
“I mean, I don’t feel like I’m quite at the level to stimulate Sir Kren yet. Isn’t this guidance for a junior knight?”
“Kren had no such intentions. He’s a simple man at heart—probably just wanted to savor an opponent who wouldn’t crumple after a few clashes. Even for him, chances to spar with someone of your caliber are rare. Folks at that level all have their positions to hold.”
Rasur kindly helped the staggering Arsen to his feet, adding that Kren hadn’t thought of this as instruction at all.
He’d simply craved a satisfying bout.
Whatever Arsen gained from it was his own doing.
“Want to wash up and grab some food first?”
* * *
After sending word to their base at the eastern inn that he’d be late, Arsen used the local facilities to clean himself up.
Now, he sat across from Kren and Rasur, devouring his meal with abandon.
No exaggeration—each swallow felt like his body greedily sucking in nutrients from within.
Rasur marveled at the relentless rhythm, food vanishing every few seconds.
“You sure pack it away. ...Well, same for this guy.”
As he said, Kren across from him was inhaling his food with equal ferocity, not falling behind Arsen one bit.
Arsen suspected this was what happened when essence-attuned knights pushed their bodies beyond limits.
Knights ate more than common folk anyway, but this was abnormal even by knightly standards.
Only after the servers had brought out dish after dish did the two finally pause. Rasur instructed the server.
“Good to see you satisfied. That’s enough now. Some tea, please.”
“Understood.”
As the server bowed and left, Arsen finally caught his breath enough to speak.
“Now that I think about it, it’s amazing how abundant the food is here. I get the meat—plenty of hunters for magic beasts—but grain? The land’s too cramped for that, isn’t it? In this city.”
No place fit the word “cramped” less than this relic city, but its population density was unnaturally high when you considered much of its area lay outside purified zones, unfit for growing edible crops.
Even Belluan, boasting massive grain yields from great-horned rhino horns, couldn’t supply all nearby fortresses abundantly.
Transport limits played a role, sure, but even accounting for that, it defied explanation how so many knights and warriors here didn’t starve en masse.
“It’s the ‘Merchant House’ that monopolizes grain production in the inner districts. Heard their tales?”
Arsen recalled the relic merchant from that small estate earlier, who’d come from the relic city to sell artifacts eastward.
“Met a merchant once. A relic trader heading east to sell.”
“That one was probably with the House too. All merchants here are. Anyway, it’s a hush-hush secret, but they’ve got powerful relics specialized for crop cultivation—plenty of them. How else could a city this size hold together? Everyone would’ve starved and fled.”
Arsen nodded—makes sense—then asked.
“Why does Satien settle for this with such power? They could crush all nearby estates combined. I hear they’ve had some recent blunders, but the central lord’s house is still intact.”
Hundreds of knights, maybe thousands of warriors.
United, they’d have no rivals among estates.
Every domain Arsen had seen on his journey might barely match them combined.
Even the Mountain Lord would scrape scales fleeing if they fielded hundreds of knights.
But Rasur laughed, denying it.
“Because Satien isn’t one unified force.”
He elaborated.
“The relic city’s strongest faction isn’t the lord’s house, or the venerable martial groups like the Black Lion, or even the Merchant House. It’s the relic diggers—drifters from nearby estates or farther fortresses. They’ve got no attachment to the city, so they respect its laws but don’t revere or obey them. Expect them to fight a war under the city’s banner? Not likely.”
That jogged Arsen’s memory of Rasur’s self-introduction.
From the relic city’s northern Janash estate, he’d said.
“You mentioned you’re not from here, Sir Rasur.”
“Ah, that was a lie.”
Rasur said it so casually that Arsen wondered if he’d misheard.
Delighting in Arsen’s flustered look, Rasur grinned.
“I tell outsiders I’m from Janash, but I’m a native born and bred here. Funny thing—most of these outlander diggers call locals who work digs thieves.”
Locals discriminated against in relic excavation, of all things. Absurd.
But from the earlier talk, Arsen could infer why.
“The city’s natives aren’t really its masters anymore.”
“Spot on.”
The inner districts where Satien natives lived were about Belluan-sized, maybe a bit smaller.
Parts even served as high-end inns or trade zones for diggers, so actual resident space was less.
In contrast, the outer districts housed nothing but knights and warriors—outlanders numbering equal to or more than all inner residents combined.
If those two clashed in war, the outcome was obvious.
“Diggers are all from everywhere, so no usual camaraderie. But against locals? They band together. Tradition from ages past.”
Arsen caught a faint irritation in Rasur’s expression.
“We provide them food and shelter; they give us relics in return. Us trading relics directly? Taboo. That’s why Kren’s status is officially secret. Those in the know get it.”
“You can tell me all this?”
“You strike me as wise, Sir Arsen. You’d know spreading rumors would just backfire on you.”
From Rasur’s sly smile, Arsen pieced together how these digger bands operated.
Kren: leader of prowess and charisma.
Rasur: the real power behind, steering with包容, sociability, and schemes.
A fine pair.
“I see.”
As they discussed the city, the server brought their tea.
Deep pink brew, so strong the cup’s bottom vanished; one sip brought bitter, intense aroma.
Like black tea mixed with cosmetics.
Not to his taste, Arsen pretended to sip then set it down.
“Speaking of, didn’t you have questions for Kren? He’d answer anything now. Haven’t seen him this pleased in years.”
Contrary to Rasur’s words, Kren showed no satisfaction.
Just a solemn knight’s face.
But Kren gulped his tea and nodded, affirming Rasur.
“You’ll make a fine knight.”
“That means ask away.”
Grateful for Rasur’s translation, Arsen did.
“You’ve been south, right? Ever visit the ‘kingdom’ there?”
In this world where nations were vague, the southern giant king who’d built his realm on relic power.
Arsen sought intel.
Kren nodded flatly and dropped a bombshell.
“Of course. Met the king too.”
Throat parched, Arsen lifted the distasteful tea for a sip.
“What kind of man was the king?”
“Big.”
Kren answered curtly, sipping again. Rasur nudged him.
“More detail. I might get it, but others’d get annoyed.”
“Fine.”
Kren sighed irritably.
“About ten feet tall, with strength overwhelming even magic beasts his size. Yet surprisingly agile. Techniques simple but precise—not shallow skill.”
As Kren spoke, a figure formed in Arsen’s mind.
The giant king, once a mere shadow, took solid shape.
“Ten years back, just over thirty. So now, mid-forties maybe.”
“Was the king essence-attuned too?”
“Yeah.”
Kren nodded plainly.
“That’s why I could take essence. I joined a hunt as guest general. Huge magic beast down, king couldn’t take the essence himself, so he ordered the next biggest contributor to claim it. That was me.”
“The king allowed that? Even though you weren’t his subject?”
Normally, strategic assets like essence went to your own knights.
Hard to believe the king permitted it when Kren hadn’t stolen it.
But Kren nodded.
“Can’t know his intent. Anyway, I got the essence and this power.”
From Kren’s words, Arsen formed two hypotheses.
The giant king: rigidly principled, or petty schemer diverting essence to an outsider to avoid empowering threats.
As a king, the latter seemed likelier.
Uncertain, though.
“Fought him a few times after. Lost every one. Our skills were even-ish, but his natural physical edge was too much. I wasn’t used to my new body then either.”
Kren, under six feet, versus a three-meter giant—not easy.
Not just strength; reach advantages alone overwhelming.
“Two axes whirling like windmills, momentum like a typhoon. Green knights by the dozens wouldn’t last longer than regular soldiers against him.”
“How about now?”
“Now? Hmm.”
Kren pondered, then shook his head.
“No idea. I could match him then’s version now, but he hasn’t idled. Plus, his kingdom’s thick with mighty relics—he used only the absolute best.”
A foe even Kren, who’d crushed Arsen easily, couldn’t confidently beat.
Just imagining his might made Arsen shiver.
Then Kren spoke.
“If you wanna fight the king, train twenty more years first.”
Arsen stared; Kren added awkwardly.
“By then he’ll be old and weak. Snap him like a kid’s wrist.”
Only then did Arsen realize it was a joke.
Uncharacteristic humor, he thought—until Rasur burst out laughing beside him.
“No way—that was meant as a joke?”
“Adorable,” Rasur roared, while Kren silently closed his eyes.
“Mm.”
It didn’t show, but he was probably embarrassed.