Chapter 309
Chapter 309
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Can One Who Has Seen the End of the World Plant an Apple Tree? (14)
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‘For now, things are proceeding according to plan.’
The Professor let out a sigh of relief as he watched Ottoman being escorted without any restraints, unlike himself, Notum, and Yggdrasil, who were bound like salted mackerel in a string.
Causing a commotion had been a good idea, but Ottoman’s overly aggressive reaction in his tension had become a slight problem.
Touching the oasis water was a grave crime in any desert city, regardless.
The warrior band, already on edge preparing for war, charged in like arrows at the sight of the churning oasis and surrounded the ‘slave mage party’ before they could even finish their prepared lines.
The fortunate part was that the name of the ruler Kauladi held far more authority here than they had anticipated.
“The seeker of the great truths of water, the one who gazes upon the extremes of mind and consciousness! I, Autman Valiar, have come here to seek the favor of the great ruler of the desert!”
Ottoman’s desperate shout lodged itself in the ears of the charging warriors, who had been ready to sever tendons first and think later. The scimitars slicing through the hot air halted precariously, and the warriors immediately volunteered as escorts, leading Ottoman away.
[Of course. Kauladi’s name is absolute here. Regardless of authenticity, you can’t treat roughly someone who claims to have come to see him until Kauladi himself confirms it. Of course, if it turns out some nobody has dared to use Kauladi’s name in vain, an even heavier crime gets added—one incomparable to mere oasis disturbances.]
Ottoman, leading the way ahead of the relayed message from Rakshasha, glanced back slightly but reverted to his arrogant, rude mage face upon seeing the bound Professor grimace.
The warrior band dragged the group and Ottoman not to Kauladi’s residence, but into a tent filled with a bizarre smell.
“Water mage... You’ve honored us with your presence. If not for this incident, we would have treated you as a distinguished guest...”
“This incident? If you mean teaching those worms—who lack the eyes to recognize nobility or the brains to comprehend my level—then no thanks are needed. I merely bestowed a small kindness while coming to pay respects to the ruler of the great desert.”
“That incident... where you caused a disturbance in our peaceful city and cast spells on our precious water... Doesn’t using the word ‘kindness’ there feel a bit off?”
“Not a single inch off. You can gauge the superior’s level from the inferiors. For servants of Kauladi, whose prestige reaches the sun in the sky, they were far too stupid and incompetent. Ending it with a small commotion before they could blunder was kindness—what else could it be? I believe fools only start thinking once they begin screaming.”
“How impressive... such a splendid... philosophy you hold.”
In a tent too narrow for receiving guests yet too ornate for an interrogation room. Even with brawny warriors surrounding them, swords drawn, pressing in without room to breathe.
Ottoman sat on the raised floor padded with cushions—not chairs or a table—and performed his role flawlessly without flinching.
[The mage is better at acting than expected? For an untrained person to handle this pressure and play out the scenario we scripted isn’t ordinary.]
‘...That’s because he’s been through a lot of this before.’
No message magic due to curse risk. The reason Ottoman pulled off his role so well with only Rakshasha’s one-way advice through curses was likely because his liver and heart had been overworked so much that crises like this no longer fazed him.
He’d spent too much time with a man like the Professor to be shaken by threats from burly warriors.
“Spare me explanations for brain-dried fools. It’s noisy, pointless, and unpleasant.”
“...Don’t you think you’re being too rude right now, captured as a criminal?”
“Rude? Rudeness suits those guard scum who displayed such ugly ignorance and sullied their master’s name, doesn’t it? Kauladi’s fame reaches the sun, yet his underlings still crawl on the ground. If anything’s rude, it’s that. Spare me the useless opinions.”
Unwittingly becoming a specialist in a strange direction, Ottoman—compared to [Tower Collapse, Storm Hill Destruction, Omen of Ill Stars]—found this pressure merely a ‘pleasant tension’ and began delivering a divinely inspired performance with vigor.
“I came to the desert for research and spared no effort crossing it, enduring the infernal heat and thirst to earn the favor of its greatest ruler. I bring gifts he will value. He offers this mage a minor courtesy and lodging. If you’re too dull to grasp this simple exchange, I have no desire to waste breath opening my mouth further.”
Performing the typical mage filled with chosen-one arrogance, he glossed over backstory and cut straight to the point.
The shaman pondered briefly, then dismissed the warriors, leaving only a few attendants, signaling progress in their exchange.
“If you already understand, I’ll keep it short... Then. First, may I see those gifts...?”
“...Saladin. Come here.”
‘My turn.’
Snap, plop!
As soon as Ottoman’s command fell, the Professor snapped the binding ropes with brute force and strode forward with disciplined steps, prostrating before the dais where the two sat.
“Oh ho. This is...”
“I heard he collects warrior slaves. What do you think? My proud masterpiece?”
“Such a gift... Not bad at all. You must truly have heard of Kauladi’s prestige. You know well how to earn his favor...”
Intrigued, the shaman descended the dais and began inspecting him. For minutes, he professionally lifted eyelids, probed gums to check teeth, pressed joints, muscles, bones here and there, expressing admiration.
Wiping his hands on a cloth brought by a slave, his eyes held several times more awe than before.
“As a shaman who’s inspected warrior slaves for over a decade... Impressive. Truly a fine specimen. It won’t disgrace Kauladi’s honor. Physically, it’s near perfection... however.”
Shing—
“I’m curious about his mindset as a slave. No traces of enchantment... Can you assure us this slave with a perfect body won’t suddenly turn assassin?”
“Loyalty... I’ve already demonstrated my magical control through those two. Not enough?”
Ottoman pointed to the elf Yggdrasil devouring freshly grilled meat on command and the troll meticulously copying Kauladi chronicles while calculating complex figures, but the shaman shook his head.
“I can’t help but admire control surpassing species instincts and innate limits—as a fellow practitioner of domination arts. But shouldn’t we see something more essential? For a gift to become Kauladi’s limb.”
“Hmm...”
The shaman, eyes unnaturally wide, handed a long scimitar to a female slave and tapped his chest. Ottoman nodded, grasping the intent, and the Professor approached the slave.
“Saladin.”
“Yes.”
“Command. From now on, do not move a muscle while that woman carves out your heart.”
“Yes.”
The Professor halted before the slave at Ottoman’s command.
“Elia. Test him.”
“Yes, shaman.”
The slave opposite received the sword at the shaman’s order and began to move.
“Hngh, grrr—!”
Whether a mere attendant or not, the frail woman struggled mightily just to lift the scimitar. The wavering blade tip pointed at the Professor’s exposed heart—
Splatter—
Spurt!
Her slender leg struck the ground like a bolt, and the scimitar flashed toward Ottoman’s neck like lightning.
If the Professor had been even a moment slower, her blade would have severed Ottoman’s throat.
“Oh ho.”
The shaman spoke with heightened interest, watching the Professor catch the guard slave Elia’s ambush despite defying orders.
“Outsiders bring obedient puppets as slaves, which worried me... But you’ve made one who knows to disobey?”
“Don’t compare to such rabble. It’s not brainwashing—it’s altering memories. Grasping the flow of the mind, delicately manipulating the pooled memories to craft a human rooted in servitude from birth to now. Protecting me is inherent—no need to command it.”
“Excellent. Truly excellent. I’m delighted we’ll have much to learn from each other while you stay in our Twelve Steps domain.”
“...Good to see you have an eye for quality. So, you’ll accept?”
“Of course. But before presenting to Kauladi, some procedures... Transfer the slave’s ownership?”
“Very well. It might dizzy you briefly—don’t panic...”
As Ottoman swung his fake staff to prepare the spell, disguising the transfer of domination magic to infiltrate before the shaman could react, the shaman—who liked him more the longer he looked—grinned while examining the unmoving Professor.
“Born a great warrior, suggesting him as a seed slave might be good. Truly great honor. I have many fine females—perhaps breed many usable next generations before presenting to Kauladi—”
“Hmm... No need for that. [Brain Storm]!”
“What’s tha—ack!”
Magic seeped in under guise of domination transfer, preventing reaction. The shaman’s brain fluid shook faintly—from mana not even reaching 1st rank, pathetically weak. He collapsed, nose bleeding.
The shaman’s guard slave’s throat was crushed in the Professor’s vise grip, and the falling body was gently laid by a hand from the ground.
In one instant, the shaman’s tent fell fully into the Professor’s group’s hands.
The Professor hurled the suffocated slave aside, freed the bindings on Yggdrasil and Notum’s ankles, while Moonshadow members emerged from the ground to clean traces, along with Rakshasha.
Ottoman, coldly overlooking it all, slowly reached into his robe, coldly uncorked a vial—
Gulp gulp gulp gulp!
“Khaa! Haa! Whew! Can I talk now? Right?”
And poured an entire large bottle of sedative down his throat.
“Yeees~ Shamans usually enjoy their~ intimate hobbies in their tents, so various spells block internal presences? Especially this one—he tampered with slaves heading to my master... breeding superior slave offspring, it seems. If Kauladi noticed, he’d be in trouble. The warriors outside might even block anyone trying to enter.”
“Hoo, haa! Th-this... Isn’t this tension too much for an old heart?!”
“You handled it fine for someone saying that. Looked just like a real obnoxious noble mage. Reference model?”
“Hoo, haa! After years watching that bastard Isaac, I can mimic him!”
“Isaac... Yeah, he fits that image. Anyway, well done. We’ve made it this far per plan.”
“Right... Now I just get led by warriors to guest quarters?”
“Yes. From here, it’s just us. Rakshasha, ready?”
“One sec? Changing clothes—turn around, pretty please?”
Rakshasha expertly stripped the shaman’s clothes, winking as she parted the outer robe. The Professor hurriedly turned.
Rustle—swish swish—
Briefly, sounds stimulating imagination just from hearing.
Crack, crunch! Snap, pop—crack!
Then sounds stimulating unwanted imagination.
“Ta-da! How do I look?”
Turning at Rakshasha’s finished announcement: the voluptuous, healthy beauty gone, replaced by a eugenics-mad shaman grinning crescent-like, arms spread.
One side: Rakshasha’s shed black outfit. The other: the real shaman’s legs dragged slyly into a Moonshadow hole, and quite eerie bloodstains... Bloodstains?
“Oh my! Staring like that... will burn my skin?”
“Skin, you say...”
“Professor, these shamans are filthier and more terrifying than you think? Especially slave mages—they treat people like objects, so peeling off one layer won’t hinder daily life?”
Rakshasha tidied bloodstains on the nape while saying so.
“Now, I—as your slave Saladin’s owner—will proceed with the op alone. Mage party, enjoy the desert’s finest hospitality?”
“G-got it. Um... Professor. Take care.”
“Yes... Uh...”
[Ottoman, I-I'm scared...]
[Don't drag me into it. Your woman, you handle it!]
“Now, Saladin? Shall we escort your master to the next op site~? Hehehehe!”
Rakshasha, in the bald tattooed shaman’s body, purred kittenishly with coquettish voice.
Flutter—
“Shaman. How’d the negotiations?”
“Treat the mage party with utmost hospitality. We head to Kauladi’s residence for slave processing.”
“Yes.”
Exiting the tent, perfectly mimicking the shaman’s voice, Rakshasha proceeded with the Professor under warrior escort to Kauladi’s residence.
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