Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Alhena (1)
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As I had told Rubia, the Ban on Foreign Exchange had been lifted, but the grassland tribes were still not Imperial citizens. Non-citizens couldn't live normal lives within the Empire.
Height, appearance, clothing—everything about barbarians stood out. They might blend in up north, but in a well-policed area, they'd end up in a cell the moment they were spotted.
Passing all the inspections was just as tricky. With so many eyes around, even Rubia couldn't escort me back to her family estate.
There was a simple way to overcome all these obstacles at once. Just like any other barbarian, I would become a slave.
Paron territory, home to Papna's descendants, happened to be a key hub for the Schmidt caravan's trade routes. As before, they dropped to their knees the instant they saw me.
"Return safely after a long separation..."
"No need."
"R-Right. Oh! We have a tribute for the Great Warlord. It's a dessert that's all the rage in the capital lately..."
"Not interested."
I swept aside the Dubai chewy cookies—another romance-fantasy staple that had seamlessly woven itself into this world despite the place not existing—and got straight to business. I asked them to sneak me onto a slave transport wagon and take me to Paron.
"You handle slave trading too?"
"Ahem, well, that's our specialty, actually. We've got dozens of wagons ready."
"W-We never traffic grassland tribe members, of course! This route is strictly for transporting pyroxenite and other trade goods."
Of course. No sane person would dream of selling off our warriors. Even without minority tribes, slaves came from all walks—war captives, impoverished Imperial citizens who'd lost their freedom to debt. Their origins were quite diverse.
I inspected the barred wagon interior. Straw bedding kept it warm despite the chill.
—Brother, you sure about this?
—About what?
—Doesn't this remind you of that ancient tome we got as contraband? The one about the man sold into slavery who returns as a king...
—You fool! I told you to burn that book! What if the Ministry of Justice catches wind of it!
The merchants bickered behind me as I eyed the wagon. Looked like the brothers got along well.
This setup would get me to the Empire just fine. I stashed two axes under the straw and told them,
"From now on, call me Raggedfoot."
"Um... Great Warlord."
"What?"
"Isn't using that name a bit risky?"
The Schmidt caravan was run by twins. The older one, Algup, cautiously mentioned rumors of a barbarian named Raggedfoot stirring up the north.
Adventurers and knights described him as an incredibly strong warrior galloping across the grasslands on a black-and-white horse. It was an alias I'd used since clashing with Celestial Shield Guild, and word had finally spread.
"From what we know, there's a separate tribesman named Raggedfoot..."
"Any reason for borrowing—er, using a pseudonym?"
"Hm..."
Because it's fun? No deeper motive. I was just curious how the real Raggedfoot Brothers would react someday when they ventured beyond the grasslands and saw Imperials cower at their name. Pure curiosity.
My real name, Ivar, had spread among nobles due to the Prince Consort Candidate business. After mulling it over, I shrugged.
"Then I'm Raggedfoot's little brother. If anyone asks, say I'm the younger one."
"Understood."
"And once we cross into the Empire, I'd like to meet one of Papna's descendants."
"Got it. We'll contact the guild and set it up."
Since most were enslaved, hiding my identity for an initial contact made sense. Algup readily agreed.
Of course, nothing came free. I reassured Algup as he broached the topic gingerly.
"Gr-Great Warlord..."
"Don't worry. I'll make it worth your while."
"Thank you!"
"I'll grant you the rights to sell offspring from Satchpi and Uni's mating."
"Pardon?"
It wouldn't be long before karangal-pure horn hybrids roamed beyond the grasslands. With preparations made for my absence, I boarded the Schmidt wagon and slowly left the plains behind.
The journey was peaceful. Since my duel with Bigo, Frost Scale Gorge had become a hunting ground for young warriors—no magic beasts in sight.
The roads were well-maintained, thanks to Meb's hard work. The Schmidt caravan and others paid her guild tolls. After handling paperwork at a checkpoint, Algup dismounted and approached me.
"We'll load the slaves at the next trading post."
"Fine."
"From here on, we can't call Raggedfoot Junior the Great Warlord anymore. So..."
"Doesn't matter. Do what feels natural."
"Thank you."
After Algup left with a bow, slaves from the trading post were loaded one by one. No one joined my compartment. They'd arranged it so I'd be alone with a Papna descendant.
Moments later, in came the one I'd been waiting for—hands bound. His build and height screamed non-Imperial. Unlike grassland tribesmen, he had vertically slit pupils and scale tattoos on his shoulders.
Our eyes met. We sized each other up from head to toe—features, runes, everything.
Then he yelled,
"Eek! A barbarian!"
His face twisted in utter terror as he rattled the bars.
"How can you put me in the same cage as a barbarian? You heartless slave traders!"
*
Roughly a century had passed since Papna's descendants in Paron lost their homes to the Empire's invasion and became wanderers.
A few hid in the mountains, continuing their resistance. But most had long lost their culture and identity. No wonder he freaked out calling me a barbarian—it was natural from his perspective.
"Sorry, I had some prejudices. I'd heard barbarians beyond the plains are terrifying. Some warriors even breathe fire, or so they say."
Luckily, despite his looks, he was sensitive. Even after several refusals, he accepted the two chewy cookies from the merchants. As I shared a bowl of porridge and spun my tale, his eyes welled up.
"Evil tyrants stole your beloved magic beasts, forcing you to flee the plains where you were captured. You've suffered terribly too."
"..."
Not a hint of suspicion. Probably thanks to my vivid, high-fidelity retelling. How could I describe it so detailed without prior prep? I decided not to dwell on why.
Instead, I asked about the meeting Rubia mentioned, where Papna descendants' fates would be decided. He nodded calmly.
"The Night of Falling Petals, right?"
"You knew?"
"It's the name they give banquets meant to erase something. Not the first time, either."
The Empire's social season featured parties nearly every day, but ones with clear agendas like this cropped up occasionally. The Night of Falling Petals. The attending nobles would decide Regi's kin's fate.
"It'll be fine. Nobles with more Papna slaves wield greater voting power."
Slaves were labor. Symbols of power. Those owning many wouldn't want them disposed of.
I asked Regi, who was feigning calm,
"Don't you want freedom?"
"Freedom? Ha! Those holdouts in the mountains are probably gnawing roots right now. They couldn't dream of treats like this."
Unlike grassland tribes, they lacked the means to scale walls and raid. The marquis's forces ruling Paron could crush them anytime.
For Regi, resistance meant hastened death. He shoveled the cookies into his mouth, shifted position, and lightened the mood.
"You're getting sold as a slave anyway, so you want a good house, right? Since I shared these goodies, let your senior give you the scoop."
Resettling Papna's descendants on the plains was an option, but my goal was saving them to extend their lifespan. If Empire nobles decided it at the Night of Falling Petals, attaching to the one with the most slaves was quickest.
Regi, with his experience across many houses, knew the best. He mentioned a familiar name.
"There's the Francis count family based near Shratma. Heard of them?"
"Go on."
"Rumor has it their lady was missing for ages but turned up recently."
Kidnapped by thugs at a party, she awoke in frozen tundra. Her family was in uproar—a daughter presumed dead, back alive. Amnesiac but recovering well, she soon started an odd spree.
"She's been buying up barbarian slaves. No clue why, but whispers say she's desperately searching for someone."
"Ho... So, aiming for Francis?"
"Prestigious house, no enemies, treats servants well. Worth hoping for."
Slaves had limited house choices, naturally. So Regi got clever.
The Schmidt stop had a small auction house. Hearing Francis and other nobles would pass through, he'd faked illness to linger at the trading post.
"Lots of bidders for the Night of Falling Petals. Owning Papna slaves lets you schmooze great nobles—maybe even trade."
"I see."
"Prices are soaring because of it, so chances aren't zero. Don't lose heart. I'll make you look like one of us."
"No, I..."
I hadn't planned to go that far. But Imperials couldn't tell anyway, so Regi smeared cocoa dust on my shoulder, crudely drawing scales.
His slit pupils? Cover with cloth, pretend to be blind. Skeptical if it'd work, but if it got us picked, it was a win.
The wagon halted. Time to restock at the auction house. Algup and Sarim had no intention of selling me, but they weren't backed by nobles.
Passing nobles took interest, causing a stir.
—I hear you came from the plains? Selling these curios too?
—No, we're headed to Paron.
—Come on, just a peek. Oh, slaves for sale? They look healthy.
—Ahem, this is troublesome.
Ladies eyed our trade goods and slaves from the plains. Some peeked at our wagon.
As the tussle dragged on, a clear voice cut through.
"One moment, please."
Memories flooded back. I'd never forgotten. My first step on Imperial soil. The woman who shone alone in that lavish party hall.
—Lord Ivar! I'm Flora from the Francis family.
Glad she's safe. Serath's icy glare had made me think I'd never see her again, yet here we were. Fate, perhaps?
"Y-You resemble someone from my memories... May I remove your blindfold?"
Flora approached the bars slowly, voice trembling. She'd recognized me.
A slender arm reached in, gently grasping my face.
The tight knot loosened. My vision cleared from darkness.
I tried to drink in her radiant, sunlit beauty after months—
"Nobody move! Adventurers' Guild!"
"Kyaa! What's happening!?"
"Terror threat to the auction house."
"N-No! Iva...!"
"Time's short. Ladies, please evacuate."
"Seal the perimeter. Not even an ant gets in."
Adventurers swarmed from everywhere, surrounding Flora and the noble ladies, whisking them away. The pace left me reeling.
And before my opened eyes stood an unexpected figure.
"You let your guard down~."
Lazy smirk. Mole under her eye. Her syrupy voice hid ice-cold intent—the Empire's top merchant.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice? We've been watching for you entering Imperial territory~?"
Meb's older sister, Alhena.