Chapter 70
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: No Issues at the Southern Border (3)
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The reply came immediately.
"Crane Mackenzie. The guys behind me are all my subordinates, and we're escorts from the Halas Merchant Group. What's inside is salted fish. We've got twelve barrels total, headed for the active volcano region in the western continent. That good enough?"
Halas Merchant Group.
I quickly rummaged through my memories.
'Not one of our kingdom's merchant groups.'
But I had heard of them.
The Halas Merchant Group was one of the major players dominating the southern coastal regions.
I glanced at the tent covering the wagon. A large anchor emblem caught my eye.
The attendant nodded.
"Emblem matches. They mainly operate in the south, but they do export specialties from time to time."
"I see."
Crane smirked dismissively at our exchange.
"Damn, you're suspicious. Worried we'll lie or something?"
"As immigration officers, we have to suspect everything. Sorry if it's inconvenient."
But there was still one thing he hadn't answered.
His origin.
I extended my hand toward Crane and said,
"By the way, which mercenary group are you with? Coming from the south, I figured you'd be from the Philipa Mercenaries, but no group mark."
"..."
Crane glanced down at my hand for a moment, then scowled and gave a curt reply.
"Not with any."
I narrowed my eyes at that.
"...A free mercenary, then."
Free mercenary.
At the border, there were exactly two types you had to suspect most.
Merchants and mercenaries.
Merchants were creatures driven purely by money.
So every now and then, 'accidentally,' banned goods would slip into their wagons while crossing borders.
'Still, they at least cooperate with entry rules, so the risk isn't that high.'
Sure, some tried slipping bribes to look the other way, but toss them in a cell and done.
But there was a group even greedier, treating rules like dog food.
Free mercenaries.
'Those in mercenary groups are at least managed.'
Their group's image tied directly to contracts, so they kept their members on a tight leash.
Free mercenaries were different.
If they had the strength, morals and rules were secondary.
'Get away with it, and you're good.' That was baked into them.
I'd caught dozens, hundreds over time.
Hard not to form prejudices based on facts.
'Not all are like that, but they're always high-risk.'
No room for rash suspicion, but no complacency either.
"Me being a free merc a problem?"
Sensing my gaze, Crane spoke irritably.
"Not at all. We don't restrict entry based on status."
I smoothly brushed it off.
Now for the cargo.
I withdrew my hand and turned to the wagon.
"Fish, of all things."
Delivering fish to an active volcano with not a drop of water.
Quite the unique destination.
'Even salted, freshness would drop a lot.'
The west was harsh in a different way from the north.
North had monster dangers; west had deserts and volcanoes.
First time I'd heard of fish deliveries there since becoming an officer.
"They sell fish in the west? Some folks there might not even know what fish is."
"Hell if I know. I'm just the delivery guy."
Gruff response.
But fair enough.
Only the client and the fishermen would know.
I calmly sorted the info.
'Coastal merchant group. Vibrating fish stench. Free merc as escort.'
If he's just the escort, not a merchant, his rough look fits. Just doing his job.
For cargo delivery, a tough face helps.
Fewer idiots picking fights.
And as a merc, bandits wouldn't dare.
'Identity confirmed, group matches, cargo legal.'
One step left.
Wagon interior and cargo inspection.
"Alright. Time to inspect the wagon."
Crane's eyes flashed wary, then turned snappish.
"Hurry it up. Told you, we're on a clock. Fish spoils, that's on you?"
"Won't take long. But..."
Problem was the nose-numbing stench.
Even steps away, it triggered dry heaves.
Outside this bad? Inside would be hell.
"Ugh... Do we really have to check?"
I muttered, clearly reluctant, but the attendant replied firmly.
"You do, Central Officer. Mandatory inspection."
You're holding your breath too.
"Want to swap? Could be good prep for when you're an officer."
"That's your role, sir. A mere attendant can't step in. Follow procedure."
He continued softly.
"No exceptions."
Principles only when it's me.
"I have a fish phobia, actually."
"I faint at the sight."
One shot.
"Didn't you say you and the wife were having eel?"
"...Me? When?"
I remember.
You bragging about prepping eel and wine for baby number two.
'Faints at fish now?'
Lie better if you want me to buy it.
He avoided my death glare.
"Uh... Delay the inspection any longer, sir."
"..."
No choice.
Can't balk in front of the subject.
I turned and called a name.
"...Elaine."
- Flinch.
She, standing far back fighting the stench, startled.
"Join me?"
Good experience for her.
'Princess life—no fish handling.'
Rare border-only trial.
Perfect to broaden her horizons.
Not 'cause I hate going alone.
Nope.
"I'll show you the full cargo procedure."
Full course, come on.
- Shake shake shake shake shake.
Head whipping side to side like wind.
Her robe-framed face screamed absolute no.
Ever refused me that hard?
"What? Not inspecting?"
Even the merc prods now.
I sighed deeply.
Dignity as officer ends here.
"Haa, let's go."
- Clunk, clunk. Flutter.
Stepped onto the platform into stench hell.
Pulled the tent—dark space revealed twelve wooden barrels.
Well-used wagon; big crack in the floor center.
- Creak.
Ominous sound on step.
"Hm."
I scowled, staring at the crack long.
"Crossing the continent in this thing."
But not the issue.
"Eww. Damn."
Breathing through mouth, stench pierced lungs.
"Urk! Close the windows!"
From the office, Olfactory Officer's retch echoed over.
Werewolf nose—smells like it's in his face.
For him, wrap it quick.
Then Crane yelled.
"Don't leave it open long! It'll spoil!"
"Ah, yes! Got it!"
Why so rushed?
Attendant, at limit with merc rudeness, muttered.
"Hate passing guys like that."
"World's not all polite folk. Some are like him."
Exposure to sun and air drops value, whatever.
- Clunk.
Opened innermost sealed barrel—briny scent, salt-packed fish heads emerged.
"Ughhh, hate this..."
Hide in the grossest spot—that's standard.
Officers dig there hardest.
Meaning?
"Huuu, here goes."
I check the bottom myself.
Rolled sleeves, plunged hand into fish and salt.
- Squelch, squelch.
"Uwaaa..."
"Urghhh..."
Soggy, wet, sticky slime.
Chills up arm and spine.
Even attendant grimaced like death.
You that bad? Imagine me.
Finally touched bottom, withdrew, nodded.
"No anomalies. Clean."
"Yep."
Turned to eleven more barrels awaiting.
Eleven left.
"All... of them?"
"Procedure. Thorough cargo check."
Damn it.
"Twelfth, clear."
My right arm was now salt and fish.
Stoic-faced, I exited the wagon.
"Towel."
"Here."
Attendant with clean cloth rushed over.
"Good work, Central Officer."
Our eyes met; I subtly nodded up.
To the wall top.
"Need the statue."
"...!"
He got it—glance up, statue.
Paused, then nodded.
"Preparing now."
Rushed past to the wall.
Crane asked.
"What? Where's he going? Statue what?"
"Nothing. One towel won't cut it."
Shook off horrific goo casually.
- Wipe, wipe.
Scrubbed hard; stench lingered.
'Damn, uniform stinks now.'
Sure enough, Elaine—who'd been ten steps away—now twenty, frozen.
"Elaine?"
"..."
No reply.
- Step.
One step toward her.
- Whoosh.
Exactly one back.
Invisible wall; no closer.
Stench barrier too thick.
"...Stay there. Don't come near."
- Nod nod nod.
Visible relief.
This sad feeling?
Crane tsked irritably.
"Done now? Took forever. Why so picky?"
"Almost."
Harvest: just fish.
"Good. No issues with goods, destination clear. You're set."
Attitude aside, rules clear.
He gave nearly all info requested.
Cargo plain food, no restrictions.
Rude folks happen; no big deal.
I smiled faintly.
"Enter the office for entry permit."
"Finally. Talk sense now."
Crane looked relieved, end in sight.
I shifted gaze up slow.
Attendant on distant wall, waving.
Beside him: three-meter statue with sword, still.
Ready signal.
Stopped Crane heading in.
"Ah, one last thing."
"Persistent. What?"
Stared, pointed to wagon's cracked floor.
"What's hidden under there?"
Merc's face hardened.