Chapter 109
Chapter 109
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: Second Weapon
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“I see. So you're the one who's been sending me intelligence...”
“Yes, yes. Balus, at your service.”
Balus bowed his head. He couldn't comprehend why this was happening. Baren, who had been scrutinizing him in silence, finally spoke.
“I'm surprised you're far younger than I expected. The reports were so detailed and meticulous, I figured they came from someone far more seasoned.”
“Haha... hahaha...”
Balus let out an awkward laugh. It was the afternoon of the final day of the Hundred Beasts Festival, and he was alone in the office of Tower 13 with Baren Phanasir, Caribolo's sworn enemy.
‘He said he'd spare me...! How the hell is this sparing me...!’
The one who had sent Balus here was none other than Ronan. With threats of being diced up and fed to dogs if he refused, he had no choice. Ronan's words that this was his only path to survival kept echoing in his mind.
‘I'm dead for sure.’
Ragged breaths escaped his pale lips. He'd never regretted dipping into poaching more than he did right now.
He knew what Baren had done to Caribolo in the past. It was Baren who had wiped out the Tetra branch once managed by Arondale.
The tale of the devil's messenger was still whispered among the organization's older members to this day. Balus was lost in thoughts of what dish he'd end up as.
“For starters... this won't do.”
Suddenly, Baren rose to his feet. Balus's eyes locked onto the hand that could crush his skull with just thumb and forefinger. He screamed and scrambled onto the sofa.
“Eek! N-no!”
“You startled me. What's with the sudden outburst?”
“W-were you about to kill me...?”
“Huh? Why would I do that? Just have a seat for a moment, will you?”
Balus sank back into his seat. Baren rummaged around briefly before setting a large silver tray on the table.
Tea sets worthy of a noble's gathering adorned the tray. Steam rose gently from cups filled with black tea, and the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted temptingly. Baren said,
“Please, help yourself. It loses its flavor when it cools. Took a bit since you were an unexpected guest.”
“Th-thank you.”
Crunch. Balus bit into a cookie. He had no time to suspect poison. Soon, his eyes went wide.
“This is...”
It was good enough to pass for a master baker's work. Baren smiled softly.
“Glad it suits you.”
“It's really, really delicious. How does food like this...”
“Eat slowly. First off, allow me to thank you. I hear you played a big part in Rakota's safe return.”
“H-how did you...?”
“Ronan told me.”
Baren continued. The night before, Ronan had laid out everything about Balus—his exploits, his potential, even that he was innocent. Recalling his talk with Ronan, Baren chuckled softly.
‘Say what you will, he's a good guy.’
Ronan had left after mentioning Balus was mulling over his fate. The intent was obvious. Baren swept back his mane and spoke.
“To the point, then. How about becoming my assistant?”
“Huh?”
“I've been short-handed lately with all the work piling up. Staying in Phileon keeps you off the organization's radar. Not a bad deal, right?”
Plop. A cookie slipped from Balus's fingers.
****
Fortunately, the Hundred Beasts Festival wrapped up peacefully. No vengeful poachers stormed in, no doppelganger broke free—nothing untoward. Ronan, Adeshan, and the Special Adventure Club members enjoyed it at leisure.
‘Festivals aren't half bad.’
Ronan exhaled, a plume of white smoke billowing out. All the running around had left him sore. On the final night of the festival, a grinning half-moon hung in the cloudless sky.
‘Wonder if that idiot got hired by now.’
Ronan chuckled at the thought of Balus. Introducing him to Baren was his way of offering a fresh start.
Beyond mere utility, he hoped the rotten classmate could live decently. And with his skills, he'd prove useful down the line too.
‘Make it work this time, Balus.’
Finishing his cigarette, Ronan headed back into the club building. Marya was still tallying up. The gold and silver coins lined across the bar table drew a hollow laugh from him—the pile had doubled since earlier.
“So... you made all this just from the festival? Bootleg booze on the side?”
“Booze? Nine stalls oughta pull this much at least.”
“In...credible...”
Marya hummed a tune as she stacked coins. Asel, mid-sip of milk, gawked in awe.
She'd turned her investment into over tenfold profit this time. All of it, she said, would go back into the students to strengthen the Karabel Merchant Group's foothold.
“Impressive as ever.”
“Hehe, you knew that already? This is what running a merchant group takes.”
“Fair. So, you two kiss or anything?”
“Pfft!”
Asel spat milk everywhere. Marya hurled the coin in her hand. Thwack! It grazed Ronan's ear and buried halfway into the wooden pillar behind him. Ronan whistled at the sight.
“Brutal.”
“You're dead meat! Know how awkward it's been with my cutie these past days 'cause of you?!”
“M-Marya! Calm down...!”
Marya fumed like she might flip the table any second. Asel pried her back with telekinesis. Ronan just cackled without a word. At least their bond seemed stronger.
“Hoo... fine. Good ol' me will endure.”
“Smart choice.”
“You... whatever. Everyone grab their bounties okay?”
Ronan and Asel nodded. Every poacher captured had been wanted, so the members—including Ronan—pocketed a tidy sum.
Arondale's reward especially exceeded expectations. Beyond the bounty, his gear included pricey items: an enchanted ring, ogre-leather boots. Marya turned to Ronan.
“Ronan, weren't you keeping that mask?”
“Yeah. Pretty handy.”
Ronan flipped the bear mask from his belt over his face. Arondale's old gear, with near-perfect anti-poison and dust-proofing. A keeper for sure.
Balus had said it was issued only to Caribolo's top brass too, which tickled him. Removing it, Ronan's lips curled coldly.
“Kinda got the collector bug now.”
The doppelganger mess had sealed it. He wouldn't share air with Caribolo scum. Recalling weekend plans, he turned to Asel.
“Oh, Asel. How's that black book coming?”
“Eh? Getting there... just two pages fully decoded.”
“Not bad. Gimme a sec.”
Ronan drew his sword out of nowhere. Asel froze mid-handover of Vajra.
“R-Ronan. Why the blade all sudden?”
“Got my reasons. Quick job, hand it over.”
Ronan snatched Vajra. What followed widened Asel's eyes.
“Wh-why cut it?”
“You're curious too, huh. Doesn't mess with reading anyway.”
“W-well, true...”
Asel grumbled, utterly baffled. Thus ended the long Hundred Beasts Festival. Summer break was just over ten days away.
****
Saturday morning broke. Crisp birdsong filled the campus.
Ronan dragged Adeshan straight to the new Gran Cappadocia. The underground city's entrance hid in a fabric shop northwest of the capital.
In a shop corner, Ronan fiddled with a wall button. Rumble... the building shook as the floor sank beneath them.
“Kyaa!”
“Just ride it down. It's fine, no panic.”
“Th-the floor's moving?!”
Like before, an elevator carried them underground. Pre-notified, no one stopped them.
Clang...!
Clang...!
Descent through darkness dragged on. Hammer echoes soon rang out, and their view burst open to an awe-inspiring sight.
“Woooow...”
“Damn, huge changes.”
Adeshan gaped, forgetting to cover her mouth. Ronan snorted at the five- or sixfold expansion. The new Gran Cappadocia stood where he'd once nabbed Ciryla and Eduon.
A thriving ecosystem contrasted the old barren rock. Bizarre subterranean flora rooted everywhere.
Glowing moss cloaked walls and ceiling like a starry night sky. An inexplicable lava lake steamed in the cavern's heart.
Nearby sat a natural underground lake. Smithies lined between them, forming a village.
Stocky dwarves hustled between buildings—more numerous than pre-disaster, even.
The elevator halted. Screech—the doors parted, and a massive shadow lunged at Ronan.
“Uahaha! Ronan!”
“Didikan.”
The werewolf smith Didikan. His tawny tail whipped wildly. He hoisted and dropped Ronan five times before a satisfied handshake.
“How long's it been? You good?”
“Yeah. You look even fluffier.”
Didikan greeted with gusto. The werewolf smith brimmed with his old cheer.
“Haha, shedding time soon. Whaddya think? New digs.”
“Leagues better than before.”
Ronan nodded, eyeing the vastly improved facilities and quarters. Didikan boomed a laugh.
“Prime spot helps. Grancia footed the rebuild bill anyway. Some geezers say it was a blessing it fell.”
“My bad. Shoulda left 'em for the cave giants.”
“Haha, could've happened. Anyway, the lady?”
Adeshan was still shell-shocked by the underground marvel. Prodded by Ronan's pokes, she turned and bowed politely.
“Ah...! H-hello. I'm Adeshan.”
“Didikan. Ronan's pal is mine—relax. You here for a commission too?”
“Huh? N-no, just came 'cause Ronan said he'd show me something. Can't afford smithing here...”
“Hmm? Payment's paid. Letter specified two weapons...”
“Didikan. Time's short, lead on.”
Ronan cut him off. Adeshan blinked bewilderedly between them. Didikan elbowed Ronan's ribs.
“Hah, gotcha. Smooth move.”
“Still got that invisible armor? Test if it blocks?”
“Eek, go easy. This way.”
Didikan led them deep into the forges. Lava lake bubbled left, clear underground lake lapped right.
All smithies nestled between. Didikan said,
“Nobody'd turn down your request. You're Gran Cappadocia's hero. But you picked a smith already?”
“Yup. In the letter.”
“Fair, nobody beats old Doron. Here.”
They stopped at a building. A flawless white stone cube, thick chimney piercing the cavern ceiling. Doubled in size, otherwise identical.
“Remade in under a month. Monster gramps.”
Didikan shoved the door open. Ronan yanked Adeshan's shoulder, spinning them both away.
“R-Ronan?!”
As she yelped in shock, whoosh! Blazing light and heat blasted out.
“Kyaa?!”
Their napes scorched. Shadows stretched long. Light dimmed; Ronan turned back.
“Fool me once.”
Hard-learned caution. He strode inside.
Cleaner than before—scraps sold off to Marya's caravan. Center: pristine white anvil, furnace big enough for an elephant.
A rice-ball-shaped dwarf with a mop of curly white beard stood at the furnace. Sensing them, he turned. Ronan waved cheerily.
“Doron. Long time.”
“Ooh, Ronan. Indeed. Doing well?”
“Mostly. You?”
“Same as ever.”
Peerless smith Doron looked unchanged, hale and hearty. They swapped brief greetings. Stroking his beard with a smile, Doron spoke.
“Saw the letter. Here for your second weapon?”
“Yes. But before forging, got a consult.”
“Consult...?”
“Can you work this into the materials?”
Ronan rummaged his pouch, pulling out scraps. Small black triangular paper bits.
“This... paper, no?”
“Right. Not ordinary paper, though. Figured it might work.”
“Not ordinary... yeah, feels special. Let me see.”
The scraps were corners trimmed from Vajra last night. Doron inspected them meticulously, like the Citta eggshell before.
“...Good lord.”
His face grew graver by the minute. Long minutes later, he returned, brow furrowed deep, looking up at Ronan.
“Where the hell did you get this...?”