Floor 23: The Road of Ascension (2)

Beneath the blazing sun, the desert sand glittered gold. And all across it, the blood of scorpions, of men, of Great Worms had soaked into the sand, staining it dark red in patchwork blotches.

The first ambush was over. As I sorted through the belongings of the fallen—the defenders and the attackers alike—a group of mercenaries drifted over to my side. They'd clearly noticed how much I'd contributed during the raid. Or more likely, they weren't coming to offer thanks so much as to get friendly with someone strong.

Well, that was mercenary life for you. No reason to show my displeasure.

"Hey there, friend, you've got some real skills!"

"Haha..."

"First time I've ever seen a mercenary kill a Great Worm in a single blow, I swear."

"Oi, come off it. One look at the man and you can tell he's a top-tier merc who fought the northern front. He'd never cross paths with third-rate riffraff like you!"

All I'd done was offer an awkward laugh, and they were carrying on the conversation among themselves. Typical mercenaries, I supposed. They faced strangers all the time, so the sociable ones had it down to an art. Though I suppose the unsociable ones simply never approached me in the first place.

I'd kept my silence when they asked which region I hailed from—and in that lull, a guard attached to the caravan master, not a mercenary, came up to me.

"Oi, mercenary! The caravan master wants a word with you."

For all his gruff appearance, he was surprisingly cordial. At first the man hadn't seemed to spare me a second glance... Turns out it pays to be strong, after all.

After a brief nod of apology to the other mercenaries, I followed the guard. The caravan master spread both arms wide to greet me.

"Oho! Our top-tier mercenary has graced us with his presence!"

I'd caught a glimpse of him earlier—tall, broad-shouldered, and on closer inspection, reasonably well put together. You shouldn't judge people by their looks, of course, but his face was a far cry from a slave trader's.

Hmm. Best to just play along for now.

"You asked for me, so here I am. What can I do for you...?"

"Heh heh, what do you think? We hired a bunch of low-tier grunts to fill out our numbers, and here's a top-tier mercenary mixed in among them. Figured we should talk."

The caravan master studied me with a sly smile. Apparently I'd been registered as one of the low-tier hires. He met my eyes, then turned to the guard.

"Hey, Culsen. What was his name again?"

"Kwon Suhyeok. Low-tier mercenary out of Demia Castle."

"Suhyeok, is it. Smells like an alias to me—stinks of it, if you ask me."

Another sly smile crossed the caravan master's face.

"Let's see... a top-tier mercenary who hides his rank to get in? That'd mean smuggling, wouldn't it?"

"Haha."

The absurdity of it pulled a hollow laugh out of me. Smuggling? I hadn't said a single word, and this man was writing his own novel. Although... from his perspective, was it such an unreasonable deduction?

Back during my conversation with Komet, I'd learned that mercenaries in this world were managed on a national level. National mercenaries, essentially. Tax rates on mercenaries differed from country to country, so plenty of them slipped across borders illegally—hence strict border controls, entry and exit registries, the whole apparatus.

There was no need to correct the misunderstanding, so I kept quiet. The caravan master grinned broadly.

"Eh, smuggler, whatever. We're in the slave trade ourselves—hardly room to judge. But..."

He trailed off, glancing at my face for a moment before continuing.

"Truth is, I'm working for pay like anyone else. Even knowing you're a top-tier merc, I can't exactly top up your wages. You signed on as low-tier, so you understand, yeah?"

"Of course. Think nothing of it."

"But! Mercenary work should pay what it's worth—I know that better than most. Did a stint as a merc ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠myself, long ago."

The caravan master turned his head, ever so casually, toward the slaves. Filthy, exhausted faces huddled together. When my gaze followed his, the sly voice came creeping after it.

"In lieu of wages, I could let you handle the slaves as much as you like... Men? Women? Or maybe one of the other races? Just say the word."

The moment the filthy words left his mouth, my brow furrowed hard. I caught myself—careless—but then I figured I didn't owe this man a hidden face. Apparently he noticed my expression, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because his own stiffened slightly. The air turned sour. The caravan master's guard was glaring at me, his stare pricking like needles.

"I'll pass. Just pay me the agreed wage and we're square."

"Ah... hm, right. A stiff one, aren't you... Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

I gave a small nod and turned away. Honestly, I'd wanted to keep observing the situation a while longer—but watching these people carry on made the urge to pick up my axe and get to work swell up right there and then. I took a quiet, deep breath, and the caravan master's grumbling drifted over.

"Damn it all. I was told there were no bandit gangs around here... Culsen. Did you find out who they were?"

"We searched them down to their underclothes, sir. No way to tell whose banner they fight under."

"And after all the hush money I paid the margrave. Wasted coin."

About two hours after the first ambush, the second one came. Attackers riding scorpions, and Great Worms. Aside from the increased numbers, they were nothing particularly dangerous.

The real problem was that even between ambushes, the road kept spitting up traps. Quicksand pits, magic bombs. After the vanguard got hit twice, the caravan master shifted the low-tier mercenaries to the head of the column.

Not that he neglected me in the process—my position ended up in the middle of the line. Well, perhaps that wasn't consideration so much as self-interest, keeping his assets protected in case of another attack.

"...Lord Suhyeok. Thank you."

"For what?"

Komet's words snapped me out of my thoughts. I'd asked reflexively, mid-reverie, but the reason came to me quickly. When the low-tier mercenaries were pulled to the front, I'd called Komet over to stand beside me—away from the head of the column. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠That, apparently, was worth his gratitude.

And Komet answered exactly as I'd expected.

"I'm a low-tier mercenary myself. I would've been marched straight to the vanguard, no way around it. You saved my life, Lord Suhyeok."

"Oh, come on. I just prefer standing next to someone I actually know."

"Haha..."

Komet scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. Then, suddenly, his eyes went wide, as if he'd just remembered something. He glanced around, then leaned in close and lowered his voice.

"My lord... have you heard the legend of the Dumie Desert?"

A legend of the Dumie Desert? Where on earth was this coming from? The abrupt change of topic earned him a puzzled look from me. Judging by context, I gathered this desert was the Dumie Desert itself...

Komet flashed a sly grin and pressed on.

"You wouldn't be expected to know it. Even the people who live around the Dumie Desert have mostly never heard the tale."

"Really? Now I'm curious."

I almost asked how he knew a story the locals themselves didn't, but I decided to simply play along. Komet looked around one more time and dropped his voice even lower than before.

"They say that after the Goddess vanished, the trail of her last Great Paladin ended here. In this very desert."

"Her last Great Paladin?"

"Yes. Even as her priests lost their powers one by one, he was the last to keep wielding the Goddess's strength. And it's said that Great Paladin carried her holy relic."

Oh... this?

I felt it in my gut. Another hidden quest—one beyond the one I'd already imagined. I'd just picked up its trail. Sensing my interest kindle, Komet grew animated in turn.

"Which means the Goddess's final holy relic still lies somewhere in the Dumie Desert. Anyone who finds it would earn a great reward from the Order."

"I see... But Komet, how do you know all this?"

"Haha... my grandfather told me. He said he once served as a guide for the Great Paladin."

Hm. Didn't that just tank the credibility of the whole story?

It felt strongly like something a grandfather made up to entertain his grandchild. Or maybe a bored Komet had simply invented it on the spot.

"Do you happen to know where it is, then?"

"No, I never heard that part. When I asked him where, all my grandfather did was smile and sing 'The Sword That Never Returns'—an old mercenary song from the west."

"That song you started to sing earlier."

An old mercenary ballad, popular in the west for generations. If Komet's story were true, could the lyrics hold the hint?

"Yes. I memorized that song word for word as a child. I've worked this desert a long time now, but it's never been the slightest use to me."

Komet laughed, hollow and resigned. Even he didn't seem to truly believe the tale anymore. It was probably just a fun story he'd thought of to pass the time with me.

"Could you sing it for me again? Now, I mean?"

"If you'd like?"

There was nothing else to do anyway, and I'd only caught half of it earlier—no harm in hearing it once more. And who knew? Hearing it fresh, from an outsider's perspective, I might catch something in the lyrics that others had missed.

Komet cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and began to sing.

Barely two lines in, other voices joined Komet's. The people trudging along nearby had apparently decided a little amusement was just what the moment called for, and they started singing along too.

After turning back three more ambushes, night fell, and the caravan made camp between the dunes. They lit a great bonfire in the center, and everyone huddled around it to drive off the cold.

At first I wondered whether it was wise to keep a fire blazing with ambushes still coming... But even with my cold resistance, the chill was bone-deep, as if it were seeping into my flesh. However well the enemy could burrow through the earth, I reasoned they couldn't approach a fire like that unseen. Anyone carrying a flame would be spotted by the sentries long before they arrived. That was why the fire burned so brazenly in the open.

I lay stretched out on the sand at the edge of the firelight, watching the night sky.

There are so many stars.

I searched for the constellations I knew, the familiar ones from the shelter—but none of them existed here. This was another world. In the stillness, I traced lines between the bright, blazing stars and made constellations of my own. The Dog. The Cat. The Dinosaur...

"Uwaaagh!"

As I went about naming my stars at random, a single sharp scream tore from the cluster where the slaves were gathered. I scrambled to my feet, but the others barely seemed to notice.

When I turned toward the scream, I saw a hard-bitten female mercenary gripping a male slave by the nape and dragging him off. When the slave resisted, she swung her fist. Beside them, another male mercenary was already hauling away a female slave who'd been knocked unconscious.

Noticing me watching, a mercenary nearby struck up a conversation.

"What's the matter, friend? Interested yourself?"

"What the hell is that supposed to be?"

"The caravan master said he'd rent out the slaves for coin. I reckon this is the start of it. Me, I've got no interest, so I'm sitting this out—but those high-tier boys pulling the fat pay? Every last one of them's wandered off over there."

Haha... Right. So this was what they'd always been.

A bitter laugh escaped me. When I'd first witnessed the caravan master's assault on that male slave, I'd held back—I hadn't known the rules of this floor yet. But after weathering several ambushes, I knew now. That the enemy's raids were no real threat to me. And that I could carry more than thirty slaves to the destination alive.

This was my own fault. I should never have held back in the first place.

Anger was surging up from deep in my chest. I had no desire to keep breathing life into people who didn't see people as people. I adjusted my grip on the axe and started walking, and the mercenary who'd been chatting me up spoke with utter indifference.

"Ah, hey. Killing the slaves isn't allowed, you know."

"Don't worry."

Because I'm not going to kill the slaves.

I swallowed the rest of the sentence. Just then Komet, who'd gone off to relieve himself, came walking back my way.

"Lord Suhyeok? Where are you going all of a sudden?"

I answered him in a quiet whisper.

"Starting right now, I'm going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kill every last one of these slave traders. So if you'd rather not die, get down and don't move."