Chapter 75
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: Social Life
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Noon, beneath the red rock.
Dry dust carried on the wind pelted the hem of Kain's tattered cloak.
He leaned against his sword, propped up on his one good arm, staring out at the horizon.
Du-du-du—!
Soon, a cloud of choking dust rolled in, accompanied by the rattling clamor of wagons pounding against his eardrums.
"Whoa there!"
The caravan master yanked the reins, bringing them to a halt.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and flashed Kain a broad, easy grin.
"Heh heh, right on time, I see."
"Your timing's impeccable, as always."
"To a merchant, time is life itself. Late means lost credit, and lost credit means lost coin."
The caravan master glanced at the wagon beds, then scanned the surroundings.
"That said... where are the rest of your group? That scruffy slave boy, the Eastern girl, and the little one."
"Well..."
Kain opened his mouth cautiously.
.....
After listening for a while, the caravan master's brow furrowed deeply.
"Hey now, you're not pulling my leg, are you?"
He kicked the wagon wheel.
The cargo was already piled mountain-high, making the axles creak perilously.
The other two wagons were in the same sorry state.
"As you can see, we're packed to the gills. Overloaded, even. You want to cram more people in here?
Not just one or two, but nearly ten more? Think these wagons can handle that weight?"
"We'll pay handsomely. Premium rates, no skimping."
"It's not about the money!"
The caravan master waved him off, refusing flat-out.
"We're on a tight schedule. If a wheel gives out midway, we're done for.
And there's no space left, even if we squeeze. Sorry, but you'll have to leave the extras behind."
His tone was firm. The merchant's eyes were purely calculating.
No matter the bonus, the risks outweighed the gains.
Kain let out a deep sigh.
Then he stepped closer to the caravan master, lowering his voice.
"Listen well. This is an opportunity for you too."
The caravan master tilted his head, listening intently.
Kain glanced around once more, then whispered slyly, like an old serpent.
"Among the ones we're saving... one's an imperial knight."
"......What? The Empire?"
"Not some nameless grunt... House Roengrin."
The caravan master's eyes bulged.
He swallowed dryly, like he'd gulped air, and asked again.
"Is... is that for real?"
"You know how the kingdom's in turmoil over the Third Princess's disappearance.
He's the witness the Empire's desperately hunting for right now."
Kain stared straight into the merchant's wavering eyes, driving the point home.
"Get him back safe, and think of the reward. You can calculate that much, can't you, merchant?"
"......!!"
The caravan master's eyes darted frantically.
Abacus beads seemed to clatter in his head, loud enough to hear outside.
The Empire. And House Roengrin.
This wasn't just pocketing a few extra gold coins...
Play it right, and a small outfit like his could forge ties with the Empire's colossal backing—a once-in-a-lifetime leap.
Of course, the risks were huge. One misstep, and it could mean annihilation.
But the old knight before him brimmed with conviction.
After a moment's silence, reluctance faded from the caravan master's face, replaced by steely greed.
"......Fine. Lead me to where your group's waiting in the woods."
He nodded decisively.
"Then, about the extra fee..."
"No need."
The caravan master strode to the back of the wagons and pointed at several crates, bellowing like thunder.
"Hey! Dump those iron bars in the cargo hold! And all the spearhead bundles too—right now!"
The laborers' eyes went wide at his shout.
"...Pardon? Those... we paid a premium for them when iron prices spiked..."
"Dump everything? We'll barely break even!"
They protested, faces crumpling.
On this trade route crisscrossing the western continent,
iron and weapons were steady money-makers, always in demand.
Ditching them on the roadside was like carving flesh from their own bodies, as company men.
But the caravan master was unyielding.
"Quiet! Toss our food too—everything but the jerky and dried stuff! No perishables!"
"Oh no... why..."
"Think of it as emptying one wagon completely! We need space for VIPs!"
Crash! Bang!
Heavy iron crates and weapon bundles tumbled onto the red dirt.
Dust billowed, the wagons lightened, and the creaking quieted.
The caravan master thumped his chest a couple times, soothing his aching gut, then returned to Kain.
His expression was far graver than before.
"See that?"
He jerked his chin at the discarded pile.
"That's not junk. Those were pre-arranged for immediate delivery."
"......I see."
"Losing the value is one thing, but breaking contracts means I'm on the hook for damages.
For a small merchant like me, it's like yanking out my foundation."
He sighed dramatically, gauging Kain's reaction.
A merchant's ploy to inflate his sacrifice and indebtedness.
Then he leaned in close to Kain.
"So... when you hand him over, make sure to mention it properly."
"......?"
"Not just your group—say it was impossible without our 'Gold Wind Trading Company'...
He patted his chest.
"That we bled for this chance to save the imperial knight and the evidence!
Make sure those high-and-mighties know it crystal clear. Got it?"
Classic merchant talk, but not an easy choice.
Eating the immediate loss for a shot at greater power and future gains.
Such boldness was beyond those content with scraping by,
a grand ambition only for those craving to rise from the mud.
What impressed Kain most was the condition he set.
Not claiming personal glory, but crediting "us" and the company name.
Not hogging praise, but protecting his loyal crew and banner.
No wonder the laborers and slaves followed him truly, as Kain had observed before.
A man with real caliber.
And beyond that, refusing the bonus and agreeing to his request.
Kain chuckled, nodding in satisfaction.
"Deal. You have my word."
I looked up at the sky.
The sun hung directly overhead. Noon.
"Hm. Hope they've met up."
If the old man Kain, who left first yesterday, arrived on time, they should've crossed paths with that caravan by now.
He's got the savvy for it—no issues there.
Whether he slaps the boss's cheeks with gold or cracks shins for physical therapy on the stubborn ones.
He'll drag those wagons here somehow. No worries.
The real headache comes after.
"Haa... fuck."
I glared into the forest depths.
Wagons could reach the entrance, sure.
But those dense-packed trees inside? No way the wheels roll through.
Which means...
Once the wagons arrive, me and Byakrin have to crawl back into that hole...
Haul out every trapped soul one by one.
The bandits are all dead by us, so no issue there.
But the livestock in the iron cages. Adults zoned out on powder, kids munching friend-corpses.
Nearly ten souls, give or take.
Thinking of the back-and-forth trips already made my knees ache.
Why not move them bit by bit beforehand?
Simple: no control.
Brains melted. Dragging out those ticking bombs?
They could seize up and bolt everywhere,
or flip out and attack us—no guarantee otherwise.
Healthy-limbed bandits? I'd beat and drag 'em.
But these are corpse-balloons ready to pop at a touch—can't even smack 'em properly.
So for now, the cages are safest.
Keep 'em locked till wagons arrive for direct loading.
Of course, that dumps the grunt work on me later.
"Fucking hell. What did I sign up for?"
I plopped down on the ground.
At least the heaviest, most crucial cargo was dragged here ahead.
"......"
By my side, in the tree shade.
A dented scrap-metal knight from the Empire sprawled like a corpse.
The others? One croaks, oh well—wasted potion, but not my loss.
This one? Must save the precious VIP.
Why? Expectations overflow.
That's why I lugged him here like a lord, nursing day and night.
Dunno his rank in House Roengrin,
but worst case: imperial knight with that brand name.
Plus, among the livestock, only he seemed sane.
Not fully confirmed sane, mind.
Since hauling him here, he's slept round the clock—no chats.
But he begged "help me" himself.
His eyes, dying yet sharp...
"Kuh! Hack, kuhuk!"
A dry cough erupted beside me.
Speak of the tiger, and he scratches his balls.
His eyelids fluttered, sunken eyes slowly opening.
Shit.
I lunged forward swiftly.
"Oh, sir knight! Coming around?"
Snatched the leather waterskin nearby, uncapped it, pressed to his lips.
Grinned ear-to-ear, the sleaziest salesman smile imaginable.
Gulp, gulp.
"Easy, easy. Don't choke. Plenty more water!"
Even I cringed at how slimy I sounded.
.....
"......Thanks."
The knight wiped dribble with his hand, mumbling awkwardly.
I whipped out a rag from my belt (dirty as hell, but whatever) and dabbed for him.
"No trouble at all! Hungry, by chance?"
Before he could reply,
I pulled warmed dried rations from my pouch, offering politely under his nose.
"Here, pre-charred over fire—softer. Chew slow!"
"Ah... then, gratefully..."
"Nonsense!"
I flailed my hands in mock horror.
"I'm just a lowly slave! Your honor using honorifics? Feels like my lifespan's ticking down!"
"......"
"Please, treat me casual! Makes me comfy!"
At my fuss, he stared blankly, then gave a weak smile.
"I... see? Alright then. Thanks."
"Heh heh, yes sir! Holler if you need more!"
Happy to grovel my ass off.
Finally, he chewed the jerky.
I inwardly cheered.
'Heh heh heh...'
No system bars, but I swear I heard affinity points skyrocketing.
Truth is, this guy's a big shot somewhere.
Otherwise, blatant highborn knight odds are low.
Looks late twenties? Early thirties tops? Young pup.
And his state? Ankle hacked off, starved skeletal. Ragged mess.
Our missus sliced ankles like butter,
got nabbed by those small-fry losers...
Imperial knight? Brand's one of the three great houses, sure—but mid or low-tier lackey obvious.
Bet if he dies, I'm fucked?
So why the bootlicking, guts and all?
Reasons aplenty.
Me?
[Thank you for your grace last time!]
To brat foes.
[You called, Your Grace?]
To dog foes.
[Good morning, Mistress.]
Even recent ownership setup.
Before worthwhile folks, I polish manners max.
Sharl? Kain? Byakrin?
All said speak casual. I did.
Think I'm some tic-ridden retard who can't honorifics?
Sure, base nature's trashy fact.
So no bowing to slum trash or easy plebs.
Anyway, "worthwhile folks."
Criterion? Those "reasons" above.
Reasons vary: status gap heaven-earth,
matching skills, or gains ahead. Plenty.
Like now, clear motive to impress?
I'll kowtow, lick soles gladly. That's me.
Ever-ready dignified servant act.
20-year slum dog, mutt, slave specialty.
Kain knows, so dumped knight-care on me,
went solo for wagons.
Uncivilized missus, concussed Byakrin—no social game.
ONLY I can schmooze like this.
So fulfill this grave duty,
I vowed inwardly—
"......Hey."
"Ah, yes! Speak freely!"
The knight ventured cautiously.
"Mind a chat?"
"Of course! Ask away!"
"Your master, by chance..."
His gaze drifted past me,
to Byakrin idly polishing her curved blade, slouched bored.
Master? Nominally, actually—her, yeah.
"Ah... yes, this lady here's my mistress."
I shot Byakrin a quick glance.
[Shut it. Stay quiet, please?]
Puh-lease. Shut your trap.
Whether she read my desperate eyes,
or just lazy, Byakrin stared blankly our way, expressionless.
"S-see, our mistress hails from that far Eastern continent."
"......East?"
"Yup, so she's rough with imperial tongue. Still learning."
"Ah, got it."
"So if sir knight has words for her, relay through me! Casual's fine!"
I laid the groundwork smooth.
Me slaving over bootlick-service,
her bantering rude as usual? Tower crumbles.
The knight nodded,
"First off... thanks to my lifesaver.
Can't stand for proper bow in this state... forgive me."
Sitting, he straightened painfully, bowing deep to Byakrin.
"Gawain de Roengrin, of the Arkan Empire. Heartfelt thanks for your aid."
......'De'? Middle name?
Rings a vague bell somewhere... anyway, table that.
Byakrin barely nodded curt at his greeting.
Arrogant as expected, but
knight took it fine—foreigner language barrier, seems.
"Haha! She's just shy speaking, but hears all!"
Before awkwardness thickened, I hyped the mood extra.
Then Byakrin crooked a finger at me.
"......?"
I scurried over, ear to her.
"......What're you playing at?"
She whispered tiny, annoyed.
I whispered back, smiling.
"Just shut up like I said, bitch. Fuck, don't cockblock my networking."
"......Wanna die?"
"Quiet! Unless you want this fucked!"
Tiny as possible, teeth gritted bark, no leaks.
Whipped back to knight.
"Hahaha! Mistress says... just did what anyone would! ...Right! Haha!"
Oh mom.
Not just ass-kissing solo,
now interpreter and errand bug too?
'Fucking ankle-crippled shithead wakes now.'
Behind beaming grin, rage boiled.
Sleep on, fool.
Just breathe till wagons, wake smooth then—perfect.
No chit-chat hassle.
Maintaining dual face,
"......Aba."
Sleeping Noy rubbed eyes, toddled over.
"Pee, pee..."
"Haha... y-yeah? So, uh..."
Glanced at Byakrin. Please, take her.
I step for kid-pee, you two alone? No.
I gotta stay. So... nuh?
But she,
"......Hmph."
'Your kid' face, ignoring.
Haa, fuck real.
Turned to Noy, max gentle,
"Sorry, sweetie... Daddy's chatting with this super cool knight over there... hold it a bit?"
"Nng... pee's coming..."
Noy twisted legs, teary. About to burst.
Going mad.
Front: needy VIP knight.
Side: mute-tempered missus.
Below: piss-balloon kid.
In this clusterfuck, I gazed heavenward, screaming inside.
'Hurry up, you dog-ass old fart Kain.'
I'm fucking dying.