Chapter 65
Chapter 65
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: Normalizing the South with Supply Cheats (4)
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All eyes on the ramparts turned to me.
Rak Jin suppressed his rage as he asked me,
"Saint? That one's an obvious enemy. Cut his head off right—"
"Rak Jin."
I jerked my chin toward the grand banquet hall still set up behind me.
"That soldier is a starving man before he's our enemy."
I looked at the scrawny troll who'd just been captured.
"...Sit down first. Get a plate for that soldier too."
Rak Jin was stunned, as was the spy troll kneeling on the dirt.
"Saint! He's an enemy spy! Execute him now as an example..."
"A starving man."
I cut Rak Jin off gently and gestured to the quartermaster.
"The best cut. Steamed red swamp catfish, smothered in aioli."
The quartermaster looked shocked but followed orders.
With trembling hands, he plated the thickest piece of steamed red swamp catfish and poured aioli generously over it.
The perfect dish, steam rising, was placed before the starving spy, dragged to a table and sat in a camp chair.
He couldn't even look up at the plate in front of him, head bowed.
I approached him with a grin.
"Worried it's poisoned?"
I took a spare fork from the quartermaster and cut a large chunk of catfish from his plate.
Dipped it thick in aioli, and popped it straight into my mouth without hesitation.
"Mmm, as delicious as ever."
I shrugged at the spy.
"Satisfied? Dig in."
He didn't hesitate anymore. He yanked the plate toward him like a beast and grabbed the catfish with his hands.
Shoved it greedily into his mouth.
Crunch, crunch. He chewed bones and all.
The plate was empty in under a minute.
He licked up the last drop of aioli with his fingers, then panted heavily.
"Feeling better now?"
He looked up at me with eyes mixed with wariness and awe, utterly confused.
"...Why... not kill?"
His Imperial tongue was rough. But we'd communicate fine.
"No reason to. I didn't come here to fight you."
I had the quartermaster bring clean water.
He took the glass but hesitated. Probably suspected poison there too.
"Purified through a magic filter. Safe."
Only then did he gulp it down.
His breathing steadied, and he asked,
"You... chieftain...?"
"No. I'm the commander of this expeditionary force. Jonathan Valerius. Or Jonathan of Valantia."
"Me... Malik. They call me... the Handyman."
I scanned his appearance.
Small stature, ragged leather scraps instead of armor. A cheap handaxe unfit for a warrior. Looked starved for ages.
"Why take such a dangerous job? You don't look like a warrior."
He bowed his head.
"...Wood. Good climber. Chieftain... ordered."
"Even starving?"
"...Everyone starves. Forest... no food."
His shoulders trembled pathetically.
I nodded at him.
Malik stared blankly at the empty plate, lingering regret in his eyes.
"More."
I ordered the quartermaster again.
Soon, a new plate arrived: steaming soup, sliced meats, and sausages.
"...Why. Why so nice?"
Malik asked, still guarded.
I met his gaze squarely.
"I'll tell you my goal, Malik."
"!"
His eyes widened as he stared.
"I have no grudge against your chieftain, Juk Sun or Agdra. We didn't come to fight."
Doubt filled Malik's eyes.
"Then what was that thunder earlier?"
"Defense."
I stated firmly.
"We didn't attack first. Your chieftain charged us. We came here for one reason."
I pointed to the garrison inside the walls: Rak Talri trolls, refugees, and Imperial merchants gathered.
"To protect the Rak Talri tribe—our trade partners—and the Imperial merchants and engineers here. We won't starve you or take your land."
"Gua... guarantee?"
"See for yourself."
"!"
I pointed to the garrison square.
No need to go far: fresh, abundant ingredients piled high.
Malik gaped in shock.
I continued, adding weight.
"We won't attack if Imperial citizens are safe. But."
I nodded at the soldiers lined on the walls, hand cannons ready, munching bread and sausage.
"Attack these walls again, and the next thunder won't hit rocks—it'll hit your heads."
Malik's shoulders stiffened in fear.
He scanned me and the soldiers with dread and reverence.
I gestured to the quartermaster again.
"Give that soldier booze and meat. Packed to take back."
The quartermaster looked dubious but obeyed, fetching smoked sausages, bread, and a skin of wine from the fresh wagon.
"...Why this...?"
"Won't go hungry on the way. Take it."
Malik clutched the food pouch blankly. He still couldn't comprehend.
"This is yours. Take it home, fill your belly, and relay the message. Fight on or retreat and save your people from starvation. Your chieftain's choice."
He stared blankly a long while, then asked,
"...Really let me go?"
At his suspicious gaze, I nodded to Rak Jin.
"Rak Jin. Escort that soldier outside the walls to safety."
Rak Jin looked displeased but nodded silently.
Malik gripped the pouch, glanced back at me once, then followed Rak Jin into the dark.
I smirked at the shadows where he vanished.
Then a military priest approached.
"Saint. Really let him go? What if he reports our weaknesses..."
I smiled at the worried priest.
"No worries, priest."
"Everything's going to plan."
"Go. By the saint's command."
Malik stumbled out the walls, clutching the food pouch tight.
He still couldn't believe he was alive.
He'd tried to steal sacred food. Jungle law demanded his head.
Worse, he was a spy in enemy camp.
Yet the Imperial commander hadn't killed him.
He'd given him warm food and drink.
His arms bore the weight of meat, bread, and wine from those he'd thought enemies.
His heart shook with unfamiliar turmoil.
It was nothing like the vile outsiders or rule-breakers Juk Sun described.
Pondering the grace of that commander Jonathan, a strange gratitude welled in his gut for the first time.
As he took one step into the dark,
Shift change on the walls.
"Damn, why'd I bring these rocks? Knew we didn't need combat rations."
"Toss 'em in the pot. I'll grill leftover sausage."
Something heavy thudded down from the walls. Brown, brick-like lumps hit the dirt.
'Those are...'
Emergency rations: grain flour mixed and hardened.
Dried, crushed egg whites kneaded with water, pressed with grain and honey.
Anyone could see: tasty, nutrient-packed.
Far superior to tough jerky. Yet they discarded even this treasure casually.
The abundance inside those walls surpassed imagination.
'...'
The handyman troll picked up an untouched grain brick from the base.
Brushed off the dirt and cautiously put it in his mouth.
Malik chewed carefully.
'...!'
Honey's sweetness, grain's nuttiness, egg's richness enveloped his tongue.
Nothing like yesterday's rotten jerky scraps.
He stared blankly at more bricks rolling on the dirt.
Discarded as "tasteless" by enemies—more precious than anything he'd known.
He gripped the heavy food pouch again.
Warm meat, soft bread, wine inside.
The commander inside—called saint?—had fed him full and sent him off.
Malik hesitated no more.
Shouldered the pouch and ran into the dark toward the forest.
His belly warm with first true plenty, hands heavy.
The treatment inside those walls was kindness he'd never known.
Enemy camp or not, the commander had treated him as a starving man.
He reached the Raarak camp, reeking of hunger and defeat.
Starving soldiers' eyes gleamed at his pouch in the dark.
He ignored them and headed straight for the chieftain's tent, where Juk Sun and Agdra were.
The tent air hung heavy with hunger and defeat.
"Back, Malik."
Juk Sun growled.
"Got their bluff? Pretending not to starve?"
Malik stood before the chieftain. Terrified, but belly warmth gave courage.
"Chieftain... no bluff. They're abundant."
He opened the pouch Jonathan gave. Smoked sausages, bread, wine spilled out.
"The Imperial commander gave me this."
The tent froze.
Juk Sun and Agdra eyed the feast hungrily.
"Chieftains! Imperials aren't bluffing! They're prosperous! Even sharing food with refugees! Commander Jonathan said no intent to fight. They'll withdraw if citizens safe—no plans to attack us!"
He pulled out the dirt-caked grain brick.
"See this! Their 'tasteless' combat rations tossed over the walls! But sweeter than honey! They're on another level. We can't win!"
He bowed again.
"Please, end the fight. The saint is merciful. He fed me full and released me. Surrender now, and no one starves—chieftains or tribesmen!"
His words ended.
"Shut up!!"
Juk Sun's massive bone club smashed down on the food pouch before Malik.
-Splat!
Soft bread and smoked sausages burst across the dirt.
The wineskin tore, spilling red into mud.
Juk Sun grabbed Malik's collar and hoisted him up.
"You wretch! Sold your liver, gall, warrior's pride for scraps? They saints to you? Invaders defiling the jungle to me!"
"But chieftain! They..."
"Quiet! You fell for enemy lies, broke morale! Treason against jungle law!"
Juk Sun roared outside.
"Guards! Drag him out, sever his head, hang it high! Example of traitor duped by foes!"
Malik paled.
Agdra intervened.
"Juk Sun, calm. He brought intel. Foolish words, but valuable info."
"He's a traitor!"
"Killing him risks unrest. Morale's already rock bottom—you can't deny."
Juk Sun relented, breathing hard, tossing Malik down.
"...Spare his life."
He ordered guards.
"Drag him out. Flog him publicly in the square! Fifty lashes. Show all traitors' fate!"
Malik was hauled away screaming.
Bound to the square pillar, starving troll comrades watched.
Leather whip sliced air behind him.
"Gah!"
First lash tore flesh from his gaunt back.
"Kgh!!"
Second lash drew blood.
Malik gritted his teeth. Pain was bad, but humiliation worse.
He'd told the truth.
Wanted to save comrades from starvation. Got only chieftain's wrath and cold whip.
Whips didn't stop.
Ten. Twenty. His back soaked red.
Vision blurred in agony, but another emotion burned: resentment.
The saint who fed the starving mercifully. The tyrant whipping truth-tellers.
He vowed never to forget this humiliation.
At the fiftieth lash tearing flesh, consciousness faded.
Guards untied and dumped him like trash.
Deep night, moaning in pain and fever.
Bound in stocks on cold swamp ground.
Whip wounds defied troll regeneration, shredded and bleeding.
As hunger and pain clouded his mind, someone approached quietly.
Tribe's old shaman.
"...Fool. Such words before chieftain."
Shaman tsked, pulling a small clay pot.
Black, sticky ointment: swamp poison herbs and toad secretions.
"Th-this...?"
"Shh. Secret from Juk Sun. Can't have you die of infection."
Shaman applied the bitter-smelling salve meticulously to his shredded back.
Burning pain vanished instantly, replaced by numb chill.
"Poison herb... paralytic salve..."
"Don't die." Shaman tsked and vanished into dark.
Malik alone on cold dirt. Back numb. Mind clearer than ever.
Pain gone, humiliation and rage sharper.
He recalled the scattered bread and sausage.
The saint who treated him as starving.
The chieftain who branded him traitor and whipped him.
Malik slowly raised his head from the dust.
In the dark, his eyes gleamed with cold, fierce resolve.