Chapter 62
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Release
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Was a sudden downpour coming? At first, I thought it was just thick clouds gathering.
"......W-What the hell is that?"
A slave hauling cargo at the docks pointed blankly toward the sea.
At his dazed voice, gazes one by one turned toward the ocean.
Even the overseer's whip, raised to lash the slave's back, froze in midair.
The merchants' hawking shouts, the drunks' raucous noise.
All the everyday clamor filling the harbor vanished as if swallowed by a lie.
"......"
Everyone stopped what they were doing
and watched as massive shadows slowly rose over the horizon.
Their shapes grew clearer the closer they came.
Unlike the usual crudely planked brown ships,
their hulls gleamed smooth and pitch-black, as if the dawn sky had been scooped up and solidified.
Ku-ku-ku-ku—!
Not slicing through the waves, but crushing them underfoot—a spectacle more fitting of the description.
Every one was a massive galleon built from black ironwood, grown only in the north of the central continent.
Atop the lead ship's towering three masts,
a massive flag bearing a golden eagle fluttered vigorously.
"T-The Empire......!"
"They're really here... The rumors were true!"
Terror spread like a plague.
At this moment, regardless of status high or low,
slaves and commoners alike scrambled to hide themselves.
Merchants overturned stalls without a thought for rolling coins, screaming as they fled,
while shackled slaves yanked at their chains, crawling into rat holes in the corners.
The place turned into pandemonium in an instant,
then just as quickly, everyone held their breath in unison.
Kkiiik—thud!
As the lead galleon—the largest—docked at the pier,
the wooden gangway groaned and shook.
Soon, all twenty warships lined up side by side,
and heavy drawbridges lowered, spilling forth a wave of silver.
Clank, clank.
Perfectly synchronized footsteps.
Humans clad head to toe in gleaming plate armor.
Knights numbering easily over five hundred seized the harbor.
And then,
Clang!
All the knights parted left and right in unison, clearing a path.
Through their midst, an elderly man slowly descended.
His armor was faded and worn compared to the others', his face bare without a helmet.
Deep wrinkles carved by the winds of time, white hair whipping in the sea breeze.
If a stranger saw him, they'd think him a knight nearing retirement,
but the insignia on his left shoulder clearly proved who he was.
A golden eagle perched atop a massive shield, wings spread.
An old man who saw it collapsed to his knees, mumbling.
"Roengrin... Duke......"
Head of one of the Empire's three great families,
the sole man permitted to bear arms at the Emperor's side.
One of only three superhumans who had reached the pinnacle of martial prowess across the continent.
'Galand de Roengrin'.
The Empire's wrath had arrived, alongside the Sword Saint's footsteps.
"This is the place."
He raised his head, staring at the distant, hazy royal castle.
A chill glinted in his eyes as they fixed on the tallest spire.
"Where the Third Imperial Princess... and my worthless son... resided."
His voice was dry, but its weight was a thousand catties.
Galand stepped forward without averting his gaze.
Thud.
The moment he took his first step,
Boom—!
The hundreds of silver knights arrayed behind him advanced in perfect unison.
Thud. Boom—!
Thud. Boom—!
With every step Galand took,
hundreds of clanking metal sounds,
earth-shaking roars engulfed the entire harbor,
proclaiming to the whole kingdom that judgment had begun.
Audience chamber.
The king of Ruben Kingdom, who would normally lord over visitors from his throne,
Leofric himself had come down, seated at a hastily prepared reception table.
Behind him stood the kingdom's strongest, the Guard Captain and royal knights, sweating coldly,
but neither had any confidence they could protect the king.
The being before them wasn't one they could handle.
"......This is the Empire's demand?"
The parchment in King Leofric's hand trembled.
Its contents were less a diplomatic document and more
[Primary compensation for the Third Imperial Princess's disappearance: 333,000 gold]
Practically war reparations demanded of a defeated kingdom.
An astronomical sum that pouring the kingdom's entire ten-year budget might barely cover.
And it was only the 'primary' compensation.
Meaning second and third installments could follow.
"......Duke. Even if the Empire is displeased, this is too harsh."
Leofric moistened his parched lips and barely continued.
"It's beyond what our kingdom can bear.....
Besides, the Third Princess's disappearance wasn't an accident on the high seas. Why place all the blame on us......"
"King of Ruben."
Galand rudely cut off the king and interjected.
Yet no one pointed it out or objected.
The retainers behind Leofric should have drawn swords and shouted,
but their mouths were frozen shut in terror.
"Do you dare calculate Her Imperial Highness's safety with mere money?"
His lip curled faintly.
A strange smile, unclear if sneer or self-mockery.
"Does the Empire truly need money? This is a matter of sincerity. The bare minimum responsibility toward the Empire's noble bloodline."
"......But the impossible is impossible."
Leofric shook his head.
Separate from fear of the Empire,
they couldn't produce that sum even by selling the entire kingdom now.
"Then, there is another way."
At the king's distress, Galand proposed as if he'd been waiting.
"Hand over Nahark. Just that one port city."
"......!!"
Leofric's eyes widened.
What was Nahark?
The sole port on the western continent, the lifeline connecting to the central continent.
Mana stones exported and food imported there were the kingdom's economic heart.
Handing it over meant surrendering the kingdom's lifeline.
"Absurd! That's tantamount to relinquishing sovereignty...!"
"Ah, don't misunderstand."
Galand raised a hand to calm the king.
"We don't intend to make it Imperial territory permanently.
What we want isn't money or land. Only one thing: Her Imperial Highness's safe return."
He slowly lifted the teacup from the table.
Steam rose gently, the tea's aroma spreading through the stifling air.
"I brought the knight order not for invasion, but for search.
Once we find Her Highness, we'll withdraw without lingering.
Nahark and reparations will be as if they never happened."
Fuu. Galand blew lightly to cool his tea.
At his utterly serene demeanor and somewhat lenient terms,
Leofric's expression across the table softened slightly.
'Find her. If we just find her, we can escape this nightmare.'
"......Understood. The kingdom will cooperate fully."
"A wise choice."
Galand brought the cup to his lips in satisfaction.
Clink.
The clear sound of the cup meeting its saucer echoed through the audience chamber.
"However......"
Leofric asked cautiously,
but as a king of one nation, a question he must pose.
"How long do you and your knights plan to stay... even roughly......"
With Imperial knights ransacking an entire city for the Third Princess,
harbor and commercial facilities couldn't operate normally.
The kingdom's citizens' unease was inevitable.
The negative impact on economy and daily life was obvious.
He swallowed dryly.
"If...... we ultimately fail to find the Third Princess...... or if she's already met with misfortune......"
That instant.
Tap.
Galand's finger flicked the teacup handle lightly.
That tiny sound froze the air in an instant.
"......Misfortune?"
His gaze slowly rose, piercing Leofric's eyes.
A chilling killing intent rippled in his blue irises.
"Are you saying Her Imperial Highness might be dead?"
N-No, not that...... just the possibility......"
"Possibility."
Shring.
A faint metallic ring.
The moment I thought his hand had gone to his waist under the table.
Slash—!
"......?"
Red lines simultaneously traced the necks of the two men standing behind Leofric.
The kingdom's Guard Captain and First Royal Knight.
Both Sword Experts, among the scant fifty across the continent.
He'd brought them for this very reason, yet...
Thud. Roll.
They became mere severed heads tumbling pathetically to the floor.
H-Hiiik......!
Leofric gulped hard, hunching in his chair.
Invisible. Neither drawing nor swinging the sword.
Just setting down the teacup and lowering his hand,
and the kingdom's top forces were gone.
"I'll take it as a slip of the tongue."
Galand sheathed his sword, untouched by a drop of blood.
"And I told you clearly. We'll stay until we find her."
He gazed at the terror-pale king calmly, like a mentor disciplining a student, and pronounced.
"However, if months pass without finding Her Highness's whereabouts......"
Without finishing, he rose, pouring the remaining tea onto the floor.
Clear liquid mixed into the pool of the two knights' blood.
"Then we'll formally demand custody of all of Nahark.
To hold this incompetent kingdom accountable for failing to protect her."
"......Is that truly the Empire's will?"
Leofric asked in a trembling voice.
Hoping it was just the Sword Saint Duke Roengrin's whim.
But,
"My proper place is the imperial palace, at His Majesty's side."
He pointed to the golden eagle insignia on his shoulder.
"His Majesty sent me here himself."
Galand's eyes grew icier.
"My words now are no different from His Majesty's will."
"Ah......"
A sigh escaped Leofric's lips.
Despair.
The central continent's hegemon had come with bared fangs.
No room to evade or flee.
The kingdom was already on the western continent; where else to retreat?
"Thus, I expect Ruben Kingdom's full cooperation."
Galand drove the wedge home.
"Ideally, not just within the kingdom but beyond,
search every inch of this continent. We're already combing the central continent entirely."
"Y-Yes! We will... we will find her!"
Leofric nodded frantically.
As king, this was all he could do now.
"Thank you."
Galand bowed politely.
Then glanced down at the two beheaded corpses sprawled on the floor.
"Their lives are regrettable. However, having heard irreverent words against Her Highness...
As a knight of the Empire, it was my duty......"
His wrinkled gaze shifted slowly from the bodies to the king.
"Of course, I couldn't dare behead a sovereign king."
He shrugged as if helpless.
"So consider it a substitute, and understand."
With that, he stepped over the blood pool without hesitation,
leaving bloody footprints as he strolled out of the audience chamber.
"......"
The vast chamber held only two corpses, the king with a dazed face,
and the stench of blood.
"What a shame."
Ellen propped her chin, staring piercingly at me.
Her eyes brimmed with reluctance.
Like a kid whose favorite cookies were snatched whole by her parents.
No wonder, to this psycho healer's eyes,
my freakish body must've looked like the perfect toy.
"It's been almost a month already."
"Already my ass. It was a fucking dogshit month, utter bullshit time."
I leaned deep into the chair back, stretching.
Crack. Bones popping crisply felt refreshing.
The past week.
The only humane time in this hellish camp life.
Except when she went down to join the other slaves' routines,
every day I was summoned to this white room for tea, meals, even naps.
She even wiped me down thoroughly with clean wet cloths each visit,
luxuries the chicken coop bastards below could only dream of.
Of course, in exchange, I let her slice my arm repeatedly for blood samples.
Like donating blood and getting a ham gift certificate.
Besides that,
[I wanna see how far your self-healing goes, White Wolf! Find its limits!]
[......So you're gonna slice and dice again? That's just torture, you crazy bitch.]
[Ahaha... then moderately, just moderately......]
I obliged her requests with moderate self-harm.
Snapping a finger bone,
or slicing off a pinky toe whole.
All by my own hand. Hurt like hell, felt like shit.
Not as bad as the butcher boys' spicy tortures,
but self-mutilation felt even shittier mentally.
Both healed fully in a day anyway.
Without her heals, pure body recovery.
"So, conclusions?"
I rubbed the fading knife scars on my arm.
"Hmm...... Fifty-fifty?"
Ellen ambiguously tilted her head.
She tapped the thick stack of parchments on the table.
Her research log from observing my blood and flesh.
"Definite is, your body's 'mana circuits' are unusual."
"Unusual how?"
"Yeah. Normal aura users or mages feel like mana flows through veins?
But you, White Wolf...... it's like mana clings thickly to every tiny capillary."
She mimed stretching sticky liquid between fingers.
Looked like mocking East Asian guys' average dong length,
but she wouldn't know those degenerate communities,
and this body's a clear monster anyway.
Snap!
"Ow! Why'd you flick me?!"
"Felt dirty suddenly."
"Hah...?"
Innocent, so just a knuckle rap.
Be glad no gut punch.
Anyway, key point:
"Ugh... Anyway...... When your body wounds, that mana acts like glue.
Forcibly yanking torn flesh bits together for natural healing."
"Hm, neat freak body."
"Right? And it consumes mana in the process... but the real mystery's next."
She leaned forward hugely,
poking below my navel, the dantian.
"Mana vanishing from veins refills instantly.
From right here, endlessly surging."
"......"
"Get it? White Wolf?"
"......Yeah, roughly."
Her explanation messy,
but modern terms simplify: separate reserve and main fuel tanks.
When flesh tears and blood spurts,
first, burn mana stuck to whole-body vein reserves to quench the fire.
Healing done?
Main tank dantian pumps furiously,
refilling empty reserves tight.
Pretty fast too.
Even without aura use,
steady accumulation grew the dantian mass,
yielding this unreal regen.
Plus one more.
Per Ellen,
three weeks of daily shred-and-mend hell
densified my bones and muscles insanely.
Bonus: mana-stuck capillary reserves exploded in number.
Nonstop tear-down rebuilds toughened the structure,
veins fucked like rabbits breeding hordes.
Butcher boys' torture days in Three Weeks
accidentally modded me into superhuman zombie tank.
Shitty, but helpful unexpectedly.
'......Won't self-harm for more tanking though.'
Pain's my ultimate nope.
♥Pain's my ultimate nope↗ha♪♥
"But that's it. Know the how, not the why."
Ellen shrugged, sipping tea primly.
"Others have mana too, right? Even superhumans with vaster heart energy.
But none regen auto like you."
"......"
"So ultimately, that thing...... below your navel is special.
Don't know exactly what. Mana, but not normal kind."
Fifty-fifty makes sense.
Phenomenon grasped, root cause unknown.
If I'd told her dantian feel or old Kain's training,
maybe cracked it, but
I never mentioned dantian 'd' word.
Nor no-aura fact.
Cool guys keep secrets.
Don't care anyway.
Whatever cause, real gains made.
Her explanation revealed not all yet.
"Got it. Useful for a fanatic perv."
I stood.
No reason to linger.
Finally escaping this hellhole.
"Gonna go. Keep that ideal sex life."
Turned decisively for the door handle.
Grab.
Ellen clutched my hem.
"......?"
Looking back, odd expression, head bowed.
No usual screw-loose brightness, no blood-excited madness.
Calm, slightly lonely face.
"Hey, White Wolf."
"What. One more blood draw? Or lend the real body?"
"No, not that......"
She hesitated, then spoke slowly.
"Truth is, I know."
"Know what?"
"That me...... being here doesn't make slaves happy."
Surprising.
Thought pure psycho, but self-aware.
"Rather, like you said... wrecking minds,
prolonging suffering. I know."
She looked straight up.
Cloudy pupils through half-lidded eyes shone steady.
"Still, I want them alive."
Her selfish wish again.
"Even miserably alive, chance comes someday.
Dead...... nothing."
"......"
"Just...... wanted to say this last."
Finally, Ellen released my hem slowly.
I blankly gazed down awhile.
What'd she want? Understanding?
Or confessor role-reversal with this slave?
Dunno, so
"Yeah."
Chuckled.
Turned, waved lazily.
"Keep spinning then. Bishop."
"......Yeah. Bye, White Wolf."
Kkiiik, bang.
Door shut,
I stepped out.
Released.