Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: The Slums (1)
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“War, you say...? Hmm...”
Nikia's words sent Elena into a brief moment of contemplation.
Her younger sister had indeed been selected as the overall commander for the ongoing war against the Chaos Tribe.
'Putting Number 17 into the war...'
Elena and her sister were currently locked in a fierce competition for the position of next elder.
That was why Elena was combing through every labyrinth so meticulously.
And Nikia was well aware of that fact.
“There, if you secretly sabotage the unit he's in? You could undermine your sister's record and deal with that mongrel at the same time. Oh my? Two birds with one stone~!”
“......Are you telling me to stab my own people in the back?”
“Who said anything about your own people~? You think a mongrel would be placed in an elf unit? Mongrels belong in mongrel units.”
“......”
Elena's interest was piqued by Nikia's suggestion.
It sounded all too plausible.
Catching Elena's reaction, Nikia flashed a sly grin and pressed on.
“No one will suspect a thing. Who could possibly imagine that the noble pureblood lady Elena would strike at her own sister's subordinate unit from behind?”
“......”
“Well~, unless someone who overheard this lets it slip.”
Her words carried the weight of a veiled threat.
She'd keep silent if Elena went through with it—but in exchange, Elena had to hand over that mongrel's axe without fail.
“...I'll expect payment for this. Nikia. And you'll need to pull some weight too.”
“Perfect, perfect. We're not about to receive the great Morduin's blessing for free, after all.”
With their interests aligned once more, the two women resumed their partnership.
One issue remained, however.
“Hmm~, the problem is how to drag that mongrel onto the battlefield~.”
Elena let out a scoffing laugh in response to Nikia's question.
“Don't worry about that.”
“Oh? You've got a plan? Lady Taira won't entertain our nonsense anymore. She seems to have taken a liking to that mongrel.”
“Lady Taira's opinion is irrelevant.”
Elena wore a venomous smile, and Ireila, standing behind her, glanced uneasily at her mistress's back.
'No way...'
Just before heading out to meet Number 17 earlier, she had reported to Elena.
That she was going to the slums.
And she'd even explained what Number 17 was doing there.
It was Ireila's duty, after all.
“He might not take the bait, but ...this time, I'll make that mongrel join in directly.”
And just as Ireila suspected.
Elena had been mulling over the slums—and Number 17.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Two days had passed since the fight with Ireila.
The days in between had been the picture of tranquility.
Of course, there was still the nagging worry about who his next opponent might be.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ [Ancestor 'Eternal Teacher of the Fairies' admires your handiwork!] [Ancestor 'The Creating Mortal' nods their head proudly.] The ancestors weren't showing any unusual reactions either, which suggested no major events were on the horizon.
If something big was brewing, they'd probably have sent a prophecy through Astril like last time.
“Roof's all fixed. How's it look?”
“Looks solid. This'll hold up for years. Here, take a break and have some of this.”
The slums' eldest resident—the man who essentially acted as the village head—handed him a roasted sweet potato.
It was a rare treat even in the slums.
A sign of his deep gratitude.
“Thanks for the meal. Oh, this is good.”
“Heh heh. Food always tastes better when you've earned it.”
His morning volunteer work in the slums had become part of his daily routine.
He'd wondered why.
Probably because they were fellow mongrels.
He might be a soul from another world, but this body was pure mongrel.
And some primal instinct drew him to his own kind.
Being around them stirred a sense of familial warmth.
The other races probably felt the same.
That was why they formed tight-knit groups, relying on their own.
'Mongrels..., it's a shame they're mongrels.'
The more he realized this, the more pity he felt for the slums' residents.
Every other race had glorious ancestors to boast about.
Their pureblood descendants commanded respect across races.
Not so for mongrels.
Because they were mongrels.
They had no ancestors worth claiming.
“Gladiator sir, your clothes are mended.”
“Oh, thanks, Anna. Nice work.”
“Hee hee. It's nothing compared to what you do, Gladiator sir.”
To be honest.
He felt a twinge of responsibility for the way mongrels were shunned.
After all, every other ancestor out there was one he'd nurtured himself.
'Being a jumble of bloodlines makes it inevitable, but...'
He often wondered if there had been some way, during his playthroughs, to create something that protected mongrels.
Thoughts like that crossed his mind whenever he saw them.
“Gladiator sir, meal service is done. Repairs finished?”
“Yeah, wrapping up here too.”
In the end, all he could do was offer what small help he could.
So he gave it his all.
It was around then—after finishing meal service with Tiriel and preparing to head back to the Colosseum—that heavy footsteps echoed through the slums.
Several soldiers had arrived unannounced.
“Wh-what's going on...?”
“Elves...?”
“Why are elves here...?”
The sudden appearance of elf soldiers put everyone on edge, holding their breath.
He shot them a wary glare.
He'd never had a positive encounter with elves.
“Who's in charge here!”
Among the helmeted elf soldiers, one without a helmet stepped forward and bellowed.
In response, the grandfather whose roof he'd just repaired cautiously raised his hand and shuffled ahead.
“Th-that would be me...”
“How many able-bodied young men are in these slums?”
“...Nineteen or so.”
“Looks like more. Including married men.”
“Then around thirty-two.”
“Good. Gather them here.”
“Pardon? Wh-why...?”
“We'll explain once they're assembled.”
“Understood...”
The elf was haughty; the old man, intimidated.
It couldn't be helped.
In this world, purity of blood equaled nobility—no matter the races involved.
Even a half-elf among elves commanded bows from mongrels.
“They're all here.”
At the elf's command, the slum men gathered in one spot.
After scanning them, the elf soldier began his explanation with a shout.
“We elves have come to hire you!”
“H-hire...?”
“Us?”
“Aren't you descendants of Parion's mongrel mercenaries!”
“Well, yes, but...”
Hiring meant being dragged off to some fight.
'What the hell is this?'
The abrupt hiring of slum mongrels.
By elves, no less.
A bad feeling began to creep in.
“The reward will be more than the likes of you deserve!”
Thud!
At that moment, the elf soldier hurled a massive sack to the ground.
It brimmed with an enormous pile of gold coins.
At the sight, the men's fearful eyes hardened with resolve.
“If every last one of you joins, this reward goes straight to the slums right now!”
It was an explosive offer.
'That's enough to keep the entire slums fed and warm without meal service for quite a while...?'
Even to him, not long in this world, it was an insane sum.
Which only made it stranger.
'Why dump that much on hiring slum mongrels...?'
Elves having overflowing coffers was one thing.
Using it to hire slum mongrels was another entirely.
And then.
A young mongrel man raised his hand with a question.
“Wh-what if... some don't join?”
The answer was straightforward.
“No reward like this. Only merit-based pay for those who do, later.”
“Merit-based pay meaning...?”
“Depends on what you lot accomplish.”
The elf soldier indifferently nudged the sack with his boot.
“It won't come close to this, probably.”
The entire slums erupted in murmurs.
“With that money... Mom could live easy for ages.”
“You fool! Don't talk crazy...!! Why go to war for an old bag like me!!”
“We go! Only an idiot would pass this up! Honey!”
“Daddy... Can't you just stay?”
“......I don't know... What should we do?”
Reactions varied wildly.
Most of the men were eager to join.
Their families were vehemently opposed.
After taking it all in, the elf soldier bellowed again after a pause.
“One day! We'll return at this time tomorrow—have your decisions ready!”
With that arrogant proclamation, the soldiers turned and began to depart.
“Wait! Hold up!”
He chased after them.
The helmetless elf turned with an impassive expression.
“What? You want in on the mercenaries too?”
“No, that's not—”
“Then what?”
“......”
No matter how he sliced it, this was off.
This wasn't normal.
Which meant this was probably some kind of message—from Elena Silbaren.
“Let me ask you instead.”
“......”
“No message for me?”
“......”
At his question, the elf soldier fell silent for a moment.
Then, turning away, he said:
“Follow.”
“......”
Where to?
Elena's location?
Or was someone lying in ambush?
...No, an ambush or attack was unlikely.
After this much commotion, if he followed the elves and ended up dead, the culprit would be obvious.
Taira wouldn't let it slide.
“G-gladiator sir...!”
Just then, Tiriel hurried after him, voice laced with worry.
He flashed her a reassuring smile.
“Tell Karga I'll be a bit late. I'll be back.”
“......”
And so he trailed the elves to their destination.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ They arrived at a mansion.
'An elf noble's place.'
He recognized it from his nighttime sweeps during the previous slum disappearances.
He followed the elf soldier inside.
They reached a certain room.
Knock knock knock.
“Lady Elena, I've brought him.”
After the soldier's report, her familiar voice echoed from within.
[Let him in.]
Creeeak...
The door swung open.
There sat Elena in a chair, with Ireila standing behind her.
“......”
“You've arrived. Mongrel Gladiator Number 17.”
She greeted him with a sinister smile that hid none of her scheming.
“......What do you want with me?”
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ [Ancestor 'Eternal Teacher of the Fairies' glares at their own descendant.] Buoyed by the sturdy backing of an elven hero ancestor, he met her gaze with a glare of his own.