Chapter 71
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: No Issues at the Southern Border (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Silence.
An ominous hush settled over the clearing.
Crane, a free mercenary and smuggler working for the Mahalan Kingdom, quickly exchanged glances with his men.
Finally, his eyes settled on the cracked underside of the wagon.
Hidden inside was a box containing the item his employer had commissioned.
A specially modified defensive artifact.
'Did they catch on?'
No, that couldn't be.
The plan had been perfect. They'd disguised everything meticulously, and up until now, it had gone off without a hitch.
'The intel was solid too.'
Before setting off, there was one thing he'd drilled into his subordinates.
- Listen up. The Crossroad Kingdom has freaks with superhuman senses. And those freaks handle immigration checks. Fool them, and this smuggling run is as good as done.
The Five Senses Officers.
Their notorious reputation was well-known among smugglers everywhere.
The Olfactory Officer, a werewolf who'd sniffed out hundreds of contraband items by scent alone.
The Auditory Officer, who could hear the flap of a bird's wings beyond the horizon.
The young Gustatory Officer, said to remember the taste of anything that touched her tongue.
The Tactile Officer, who commanded dozens, hundreds of hands—no, tentacles.
And mercifully for them, the Visual Officer whose slot had been vacant ever since dying in an accident.
Ever since these five took charge of the Crossroad Kingdom's southern border, continental smuggling routes had dried up completely.
Inspectors who couldn't be bought off with compromises or bribes.
'It never had anything to do with me before... but not anymore.'
Crane had originally stuck to smuggling as a side gig within the Mahalan Kingdom.
No need to risk continental traverses when he was making a fine living.
But this time was different.
[I need a powerful artifact to slay a dragon. 3,000 in advance. Triple that when you reach the western active volcano where I am.]
The terms were too good to turn down, coming straight from the client.
'3,000 silver coins—that's more than I've made in all my years doing this.'
And upon success, triple that: 9,000 silver.
Enough to buy out a decent-sized merchant group outright.
Greed was the greatest motivator for a mercenary.
'Just four Senses Officers? I can work with that.'
Crane had put his brain to good use.
To fool the most dangerous one, the Olfactory Officer, he'd loaded the wagon with barrels full of rotten fish on purpose.
- Ugh! Hey, close the window!
As expected, that werewolf couldn't handle the stench.
He'd stuffed the wagon's underside with cotton to muffle sounds, so the Auditory Officer wouldn't pick up on anything. The Gustatory Officer, that nomad girl, would only taste the rotten fish.
The Tactile Officer was the biggest worry, but he'd boldly expose the cracks in the wagon floor to her—planting the fear that tampering might wreck the whole thing.
'No matter how capable they are, they're still bureaucrats. If they accidentally damage an entrant's goods, the blame falls squarely on them.'
What bureaucrats feared most was accidents. Especially ones caused by their own mistakes.
That's why he'd dragged in a wagon on the verge of falling apart.
Borrow the name of a major merchant group, and their identities would check out too.
Even if the forged documents were exposed, they'd be long gone across the border by then.
And as if the heavens were smiling on them, a rush of entrants today meant cargo inspections were handled solely by the nomad girl Gustatory Officer.
'The plan's flawless.'
And it was set to execute perfectly.
If not for the man standing right in front of them now.
"What's hidden under there?"
He was an utterly ordinary man—no standout features, no flair, not even a hint of danger.
A lean, wiry build. A body that looked like it had never seen a fight.
His bare-minimum politeness screamed he had zero interest in doing the inspection himself—like some green rookie.
For a guy like that to pinpoint the exact hiding spot of their contraband.
'What the hell is this guy?'
No amount of luck could explain it.
Crane, who'd only operated in the Mahalan Kingdom, was unaware of one crucial fact.
That the very man who'd selected those Senses Officers—and wiped out every shadowy organization along the Crossroad Kingdom's southern border—was watching him right now.
*****
About two seconds.
I watched the mercenaries exchanging glances.
And got the predictable response.
"What kinda bullshit is this? Hidden what?"
They probably thought I wouldn't know. Or that they could bluff their way through.
I chuckled at the lame denial.
"You'd know better than I would."
"Know what?"
Denying it to the bitter end.
"Since you're pretending not to know, allow me to explain my suspicions."
I stepped forward, draping the fish-juice rag over my arm after wiping it clean.
"Called it fresh fish, but it reeks."
No ice, no cooling magic—just salted for a continental trek? Doesn't add up.
"Claiming to be from the Hallas Merchant Group, one of the southern caravans, yet only one wagon."
Merchant groups never travel alone.
Trade roads offer no safety guarantees.
You can't protect yourself solo, so they always band together in fleets of ten or more wagons.
That's why they're called 'groups'—but these guys rolled up with just one.
"Your escort doesn't even know if there's a letter of authorization."
For continental crossings, merchant groups always submit entry paperwork and declare their purpose.
To avoid even the slightest misunderstanding.
It's the most basic procedure taught in merchant academies, the first step every group takes.
When I'd first extended my hand to Crane, it was a signal for the documents.
But he hadn't produced a letter of authorization. As if he had no clue about the process.
"Hauling cargo near overload capacity in a wagon with cracks in the floor, liable to break apart any moment."
On a long journey, your transport is your lifeline.
Horse health and wagon maintenance come before everything.
Even the Magic Academy slathered excavation wagons with brutal protective spells.
Yet these idiots dragged in a busted one.
And planned to cross the continent with it.
I let out a hollow laugh, glaring at Crane.
"I'm not an idiot."
Their expressions shifted.
From stiffness to fluster.
From fluster to hostility.
An ominous silence blanketed the area.
"Hey. Even for you, this is stretching it."
Crane slowly walked toward me again.
He spoke in a low voice.
"Don't nitpick. Judging it smuggling without evidence—is that your job?"
"Suspecting everything is an inspector's duty. And I never once said 'smuggling'... but it certainly looks suspicious now."
"Taking the long way around to ask for a bribe, huh."
The word that grated worst on any inspector's ears, spat from a mercenary's mouth.
Bribe.
He saw me as a corrupt official.
"Hah."
Tension ratcheted up in the clearing.
"Criminals always say that. 'Got proof?'"
I tossed out casually.
"We'll find out if we check. So let's take a look."
"And if there's nothing? Who's liable for wrecking our wagon?"
A sharp point.
A bureaucrat's greatest fear is a blunder.
Especially from unilateral judgment—the fallout wouldn't be small.
"Fine. If there's no contraband, I'll personally compensate you with the finest southern wagon as reparation for the damage."
But when you're certain, you stake it all.
And I'm dead sure you're smugglers.
All the signs point to it.
"You little...!"
The mercenary's rough hand twitched near his waist.
"Ah...!"
Elaine noticed and hurried toward me, but then—
- Grriiind.
The sound of something massive—a boulder—shifting.
"Huh?"
High atop the distant wall, the Border Guard responded to the attendant's signal, slowly lowering its head.
Then,
The statue-still Border Guard Captain golem leaped from the wall, landing between me and Crane.
- BOOM!!!
A deafening roar and a ferocious blast of wind.
"...W-what the!?"
"Wha—what? That's no statue—it's a golem!?"
The mercenaries' shocked cries got a response from the Border Guard Captain.
[Smuggling suspect detected within border. Complying with Immigration Control Office request.]
Crane slowly raised his gaze toward the voice's source.
His head tilted back farther and farther.
"My god..."
A blue power core pulsed threateningly in the Border Guard's faceplate.
Its hands gripped a blunt, massive sword like an ancient ruin pillar.
As if the slightest misstep would prompt it to sweep them all away.
[Entrants strongly advised to comply with inspection request. Non-compliance may be deemed border disturbance.]
"What? A golem?"
"Whoa, it's the Border Guard!"
The Guard Captain's sudden activation drew eyes from the surrounding entrants.
"Tch...!"
Intimidated, Crane hurriedly addressed me.
"H-hey, Inspector sir. Seems like there's been some misunderstanding—"
"One last time."
I cut off Crane's attempt to defuse things.
I spat it out.
"What's hidden under the wagon floor?"