Chapter 41
Chapter: 41
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>Translator: penny
>Chapter: 41
>Chapter Title: Predator (5)
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Enrique—no, the man who called himself No. 21—had already finished preparing for the group to cross the Carthage checkpoint.
He had hidden a small baggage cart in the bushes a short distance from the rendezvous point. Inside were various trade goods and foodstuffs that merchants typically carried, along with clothes for the group to change into and official identity plaques issued by Asain.
And in one corner of the cart sat a coffin, chillingly out of place.
While Aslan and Old Man Max were fumbling to change their clothes, No. 21 silently pointed to the coffin and gestured toward Bart, who stood there dazed.
“…Is that my spot?”
“Did you think you could pass through a checkpoint normally with the mark of a devil worshiper on you, Your Majesty?”
If you have complaints, just say it outright. Why is everyone acting like this lately, Justin or you?
Aren’t you good at playing dead? Just hold your breath for a few hours.
The two bickered for a moment, but Bart eventually surrendered to No. 21, who was grinding his teeth and muttering that they should have been given more time to prepare.
Clop-clop. Before long, No. 21—sporting a stylish fake mustache and the distinctive flat cap of Asain merchants—started driving the baggage cart.
Aslan and Old Man Max sat comfortably in the cart’s cargo area, pulling out dried fruits and seasoned jerky from sacks to eat, easing the fatigue from their long forced march.
Only Bart, silently crouched in the open coffin, seemed gloomy, but the journey remained peaceful for a while.
The trouble started when they were almost at the Carthage checkpoint.
“…Something’s wrong, Enrique.”
Bart, who had been sitting quietly for a while, suddenly spoke up.
He was still staring blankly into space with his chin on his knees, and Aslan tensed, rising from his seat upon seeing that familiar eerie glow in his eyes.
Sensing something off as well, No. 21 stopped the cart without his usual “It’s No. 21 speaking” preamble.
“Turn the cart around.”
No. 21’s eyebrow twitched slightly.
“We’ll run into the pursuit squad.”
“There’s little chance they’ll suspect us heading in the opposite direction. It’d be best to loop back and slip onto the road leading to the Asain checkpoint.”
“…….”
The group fell silent at his words. It meant following the road all the way back near the mountain village—a full day’s travel.
They were just one hill away from the Carthage checkpoint. How could they turn back now after coming this far…?
“The destination is right in front of us, Your Majesty.”
But Bart dismissed his opinion with a single phrase.
“My instincts are bad.”
“…….”
No. 21 chewed his lip for a moment before obediently steering the horse off the main road into the forest path. The road was too narrow to turn around immediately, so he was taking a detour.
“No, what the hell is….”
Old Man Max started to say something, baffled, but Aslan quickly stopped him. Based on their experiences so far, he trusted Bart wouldn’t act without reason.
They soon emerged from the bumpy forest path and returned to the main road, retracing their steps exactly.
Not long after, the group encountered a band of men hurriedly galloping toward them from afar—the pursuit squad from the mountain village.
They had considered the possibility of the squad riding through the night, but not that they’d catch up this quickly. Aslan’s heart sank.
Aslan and Old Man Max quickly pretended to sleep, pulling their hats low over their faces. Their throats went dry in an instant.
There were seven in the pursuit squad, all looking rushed. As they passed the baggage cart, the leader glanced back at it.
But they couldn’t imagine the group was riding in a merchant cart driven by an unfamiliar coachman, loaded with foodstuffs and coming from the opposite direction. They soon turned their eyes away and spurred their horses toward the checkpoint.
Clop-clop. The pursuit squad vanished in moments.
Whew. Aslan exhaled only after they were completely out of sight. The blood-curdling tension slowly ebbed.
Old Man Max whispered.
“That was Rodrigo just now, right?”
Aslan nodded. It could be coincidence, but it nagged at him that the man spreading rumors about the Asain subjugation force might be leading the pursuit squad.
“Enrique.”
Assuming the squad wouldn’t inspect the cart closely, Bart hadn’t even hidden in the coffin. Still staring into the distance, he ordered No. 21.
“Hide the cart and scout the pursuit squad’s movements.”
No. 21 silently turned the cart into the roadside bushes. Once they were far enough from the road, he stopped and vanished from the driver’s seat in a flash.
His movements were as ghostly in disappearance as in appearance.
“Um, Bart… Your Majesty?”
Aslan hesitated, glancing around before calling out to him. It was the first time he’d addressed him directly since No. 21 appeared, making him tense. Ignorance was one thing, but now knowing the man’s status, caution was natural.
Bart turned to him quietly, his usual impassive face showing no displeasure. Aslan relaxed a bit and asked.
“I’ve wanted to ask since yesterday, but things were too hectic. Is Asain really sending a subjugation force? How did you know?”
From his talks with No. 21, Bart seemed to have come here with purpose, but not as if he’d known the village’s situation from the start and infiltrated. Bart nodded and answered straightforwardly.
“I occasionally felt watchful eyes from inside the mountains. Professional trackers who leave no traces—the village search parties probably didn’t notice. Yesterday, several military messenger birds flew up from the base of the mountains. It was impossible not to realize military action was imminent. That area isn’t a combat zone with Carthage to begin with, so if they’re mustering troops, there’s only one target.”
“Military messenger birds…….”
Aslan hadn’t noticed at all. When had he even seen such things?
“If it hadn’t been as chaotic as yesterday with all sorts of disturbances, someone in the village would have spotted it right away.”
True, with the spy commotion and Marta’s death, the whole village had been in disarray yesterday.
But from the base of the mountains?
“No way—it’s Flandor’s subjugation force?”
Weren’t Jerome and Flandor’s guards in cahoots? Why would they attack the mountain village from there?
If so, why the sudden rumors about Asain’s subjugation force and spies?
But Bart tilted his head slightly and replied indifferently.
“No other place seems likely to organize a subjugation force besides Flandor.”
“Most of the raided merchant groups have been Asain’s, so why would Flandor…?”
“Simple. If you know the character of that vile old Duke of Asain, it’s easy to guess.”
His explanation went like this: The Duke of Asain had let merchant groups get robbed for so long to build up enough damages to demand a hefty compensation. Unable to cut trade with Asain, Flandor would wait until the expected future compensations outweighed the cost of forming a subjugation force.
Take most of the compensation instead of the merchants, let someone else handle the costly bandit purge, then package it as diplomatic success to squeeze more money from the merchants.
What is that? Total banditry.
“…….”
Aslan barely stopped himself from shouting it out loud.
He had more questions but couldn’t ask rashly.
Why did you come to this mountain village? What were those cryptic words to Kaien yesterday? Why bother dragging me and Old Man Max around?
He was gradually piecing together the identity of this suspicious Majesty.
Innate nobility and casual command. Someone who could bluntly call the Duke of Asain a vile old man. A possessor of immense holy power unlike any he’d seen.
Above all, only one person on the continent could be called “Your Majesty.”
No. 21 returned to the baggage cart after quite some time. His already stern face had grown gravely serious, making Aslan sense something ominous had happened.
“The bandits were in league with Carthage.”
Bart just listened calmly to the report without a hint of agitation. Aslan and Old Man Max were the ones stunned, eyes wide. No. 21 continued gravely as they stared.
“I couldn’t confirm if the whole bandit group was involved or just some. But the leader of the pursuit squad seems to have been in contact with them for quite a while. It looked like he’d already sent info on Your Majesty’s group via messenger bird long ago.”
Rodrigo.
Aslan suddenly felt chills creeping up his spine.
Old Man Max muttered hoarsely from the side.
“Then if we’d gone straight to the checkpoint….”
He trailed off, but everyone could guess the outcome.
Most likely, summary execution on the spot. Like the mountain folk family killed in Flandor last year.
No. 21 quickly knelt before the coffin and bowed his head.
“Our investigation was inadequate. This is the guild’s failure. My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“There simply wasn’t time to investigate. I know well the guild’s usual efforts. If not for that child’s matter, the guild wouldn’t have come to the western mountains.”
“But….”
“I already suspected Carthage spies behind it to some extent. Don’t take it to heart.”
Bart displayed tremendous dignity and generosity, nodding dismissively at what could have been a fatal oversight.
Of course, he was still crouched in the coffin.
After that, they hurried the cart along. They’d passed once unscathed, but if the group didn’t show at the Carthage checkpoint, the pursuit squad would eventually suspect the cart they’d passed.
They took minimal rests to spare the horse, aiming to widen the gap with the pursuit squad until they reached the main road.
“Um… I can’t hold back my curiosity anymore. Who the hell is that guy?”
Old Man Max, now taking a turn driving, asked quietly. No. 21 glanced at Bart, who had his head half-buried in his knees, eyes closed.
After hesitating, No. 21 shrugged and spoke.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now. You two are already under the guild’s close watch for getting so involved in His Majesty’s affairs. I trust you won’t blab carelessly anywhere.”
Aslan and Old Man Max perked up their ears, focusing on his voice.
“He is the Sovereign of Delcros, the continent’s greatest monarch, His Holiness the Holy Emperor Nathaniel. From now on, you must show him nothing but the utmost respect.”
The old man’s jaw dropped.
Holy… what? That collared guy branded as a devil worshiper?
“No, then that brand….”
Even Aslan, who’d half-guessed his identity, wondered about it. How could the continent’s noblest cleric, the Holy Emperor, bear the cursed mark of a devil worshiper?
“That… His Holiness is of course no devil worshiper. Circumstances required disguising as a prisoner, so….”
“Even so, carving a damned brand right onto his body? What kind of insane thing is that!”
Old Man Max flew into a tirade.
“Of course it’s not branded on His Holiness’s true body!”
“Then what do you mean? If not his real body, what the hell is he?”
Tch. No. 21 frowned. Explaining only seemed to leak more info.
He glanced at Bart and sighed softly.
“His Holiness’s true self rarely leaves the capital. This body is an artificial vessel that his soul inhabits when it must move far—otherwise known as a homunculus.”
Aslan and Old Man Max’s faces went pale in an instant.
Homunculus.
Even ignorant mountain folk like them had heard rumors a few years back about Delcros’s devil worshipers who rocked the continent. A heretical group denying the gods’ authority and seeking worldly truths had borrowed demonic power to create cursed life themselves—that was the homunculus.
Fortunately, it was discovered by inquisitors before completion, leading to a massive purge with all involved burned at the stake.
But that cursed life still existed? And to transfer a soul into a god-forsaken artificial body—what devil worshipers would do such an atrocity.
Old Man Max muttered in a trembling voice.
“So, you’re saying… the Holy Emperor, proxy of the Lord God, is actually a devil….”
“…Not a devil worshiper.”
No. 21 wearily rubbed his face with one hand.