Chapter 76
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: Etiquette
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Kain the old man returned with three wagons in tow about three hours after the knight woke up.
The cleanup went smoother and faster than expected.
I had no idea how this geezer had sweet-talked that rude bastard into cooperating...
But the caravan master came out being as cooperative as if he were preparing a funeral spread for his parents or relocating a long-lost ancestor's grave.
"Careful there, load 'em up easy!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Hey! Watch that sack—don't let it burst!"
Under the caravan master's bellows, the laborers and slaves moved like a well-oiled machine.
Me, Baekrin, Kain, and the day laborers added up to nearly ten people.
With that many swarming the cave like ants, the pace was brutal—faster than a Gam-ba tackle.
We hauled out the prisoners from the iron cages one by one.
Scooped up the unidentified junk and stacks of documents from the lab into crates.
Even loaded up those sacks of red powder piled everywhere.
It was a full-on operation, stripping the lair bare and carting it all away.
"...Damn, there's a ton of this stuff."
The sheer volume was insane as we kept going.
Especially once we loaded all those brainwashed humans—the wagons were packed tight.
"Caravan master! Can't fit any more! No room left!"
"We'll need another wagon just to haul all this!"
At the laborers' shouts, the caravan master eyed the cargo holds for a moment.
Then he squeezed his eyes shut and yelled.
"Argh... Just dump it all!"
"Dump what, sir?"
"The stuff that was originally loaded! Leave it all here!"
The caravan master waved his hand dismissively, no regrets.
"Skins, hides, whatever—who needs 'em? What we're loading now is way more valuable!"
Thanks to his absurd decision, pristine trade goods piled up like trash at the forest entrance.
In exchange, the emptied wagon beds filled neatly with our looted evidence and human livestock.
About an hour later.
The cave was empty except for sprawled corpses and furniture too big to carry.
Perfectly swept clean.
I wondered what reactions those bandit pals would have when they came back later.
Seeing their stripped lair and dead buddies—would they suspect hidden cameras?
It had been tough work, but imagining their dumbstruck faces made my lips twitch upward.
"Hoo... Fuck, my back's killing me."
I slumped against a wagon wheel, drenched in sweat.
Those tattooed slaves under the caravan master had busted their asses hard.
Same slave status or not, slacking off in front of them felt awkward, so I'd gritted my teeth and spun like a top too.
Meanwhile,
In that fancy wagon the caravan master had stepped out of first, the footless knight lay like royalty on plush blankets.
Fucking hell. That's why status sucks.
Anyway, Kain and the caravan master were deep in serious talk in front of it.
Looked like introductions...
Couldn't hear the knight's soft mumbles, but the caravan master's reaction was crystal clear.
He nodded politely at first,
Then his eyes bulged and his jaw dropped.
"I-Is that true?"
The caravan master's booming voice echoed through the forest entrance.
"You're saying... you're the son of Sword Saint Duke Loengrin?"
...Huh?
What? Did I mishear? What'd he just spout?
Sword Saint? Duke? ...Son?
"...Yes."
The knight confirmed it softly, head bowed in shame and humiliation.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than
Thud!
The caravan master dropped to his knees in the dirt.
Prostrating flat out like he was about to kowtow, he cried out in awe and terror.
"Heavens... Sir Gawain!"
His voice trembled.
"The one and only across the continent! The youngest ever to reach Sword Expert..."
"This lowly merchant dares to behold your noble self!!"
Like a fanatic witnessing a miracle turning blood to wine, he slammed his forehead into the ground repeatedly.
"......"
Normally, I'd scoff at such a clown show—"Damn, what acting chops."
But right now, my own jaw was on the floor.
Sword? Expert?
That near-corpse?
The pathetic fucker with his ankle sliced to bone?
'...Bullshit?'
From afar, I stared holes into his sunken eyes.
No matter how I looked, he screamed local idiot or malnutrition victim.
And this wreck was a Sword Saint's son, an Expert?
"...What the hell."
I let out a hollow laugh.
Turned out it wasn't an unscratchable lottery ticket.
It was a jackpot lotto stub buried in that trash den.
A big fish like that would fetch a hefty ransom.
Good news.
But...
'An Expert, though...'
No clue how he'd ended up captured by those losers.
That remained a mystery.
......
Rumble, rumble.
The wagons rolled out.
Out of the dense forest, back onto the barren red wasteland.
As the sun dipped fully west and dusk fell, the caravan master called for camp.
"That's it for today! Everyone, prep for rest!"
Fires crackled to life, dinner prep began.
The higher-ups rested.
The lower ones prepped the rest.
I was one of the lowers.
Coming in, I'd been a proper passenger, right?
Lazing in the cargo hold all day, occasionally enjoying Noy's antics like some immortal sage.
But heading back, things changed.
Nearly ten free-loading human cattle joined without paying a dime.
So,
"Hey! More firewood over here!"
"Coming right up!"
Suddenly I was thrown into the fray, feeding all those mouths.
Fucking miserable.
Guys bond quick over sweat and grime, they say.
Thanks to that, I'd gotten chummy with the caravan master's underlings from the cave grind.
Especially the slave uncles—solid rapport.
Shared slave status helped, sure.
"Ugh, my bones ache."
A burly slave rubbed his shoulders, grumbling.
"All this work's got me... suddenly craving pussy."
"Oh yeah, me too. Kneading some perky tits would melt the fatigue away."
"Heh, you maniacs. Eat your damn food."
Crude jokes over dinner spoons.
Oddly, these uncles differed from Nahark's usual slaves.
Same tattooed backs, but smooth skin—no whip scars.
Oily, ripped muscles.
Eyes weary of life, but no suicidal despair.
"That young kid... what's your name?"
"Ah, Baekrang. The Eastern lady in that wagon's my master."
The bearded slave uncle eyed my face intently.
"Hmm... by any chance..."
"...?"
"Pretty face, slim build... you a sex slave or something?"
"Eh... close enough, I guess?"
My vague affirmative hushed the campfire circle instantly.
"...Damn."
"No wonder... tsk tsk."
The laughing bunch now pitied me like the world's saddest soul.
"Hey... from tomorrow, we'll handle the work. Rest up, kid."
"...Huh?"
"Yeah. We're pretty well-off slaves... but a 'special' one like you? Your body's your asset."
"Don't worry, rest easy. No need to hold back."
What's with them?
I'm treated decent for a slave.
Good food.
Well, tasteless, so I skip most.
Good sleep.
Unless all-nighters banging.
Doesn't fit well...
No, it does. Beatings are routine.
Anyway, to these lucky uncles, I looked like a tragic pretty boy drained by a perverted Eastern mistress day and night.
Whatever,
Listening to their lively chit-chat,
They really seemed well-off, like they said.
Three square meals standard.
Some even had wives from slave hookups.
One worked as a nanny in the caravan master's house.
Most surprising:
They joked crudely but never badmouthed their master.
Not out of fear, but genuine gratitude—like he was a benefactor.
Seen it during work:
Polite to common laborers, but not groveling.
Even traded light banter within bounds—shocking.
And the clincher.
"Hang in there a bit. Boss said bonus pay when we get back."
"Right. I'll grab some clothes for the wife, but you guys?"
"What're you asking? Brothel to blow off steam, obviously!"
"Heh, same!"
What the fuck? Whore money?
Bonus cash for slaves to hit the brothels?
My master threatens to crush my balls at the drop of a hat,
These fuckers have corporate welfare levels.
Not sure if corps give pussy cash, though.
Never worked at a big one in my past life—hell, not even small.
Had job interview experience? Nah. Cumshot experience? Plenty. Heh.
Anyway, as I admired these uncles' smart slave life,
"...Baekrang, was it?"
A hulking muscle uncle who'd been eyeing me sidled up, brushing my back.
"How'd you end up a slave?"
"Eh? Why ask?"
"Your face... looks like some noble young master.
Just curious if there's a story."
Noble young master? Bullshit—my mom's a slum whore.
I snorted inwardly but saw no need to spill my origins.
Slave backstory too?
Too long to tell fully,
And these guys were passing fancies—no point droning about escapes.
So I opened my mouth to brush it off as bad debt guarantee.
"...Ubong!"
A garbled sound from behind, tiny shadow popping out.
Noy yanked the stick from his mouth,
"Appang!"
Thrusting tiny hands at me.
"This, fo you!"
In Noy's hand: a stick candy that common brat kids drool over.
Cheap mass-produced junk, of course.
Don't expect past life's glossy Chupa Chups.
Those would be for rich bitches' kids.
Fruits, flavors, desserts—luxuries for noble tables.
This was just mystery-sweet scraps molded on a twig.
Probably charmed it off caravan folk or laborers in the wagon.
"......"
I stared at the proffered candy stick.
Drool-slick and gleaming from vigorous sucking—quite the sight.
This greedy kid only cared for his mouth before.
Sharing it now? Touching, but...
'Handing over your slobber-soaked trash—what the hell.'
Sweet gesture, queasy reality.
But those sparkling puppy eyes? Couldn't refuse.
"...Thanks."
I took his hand, popped the slimy candy in my mouth.
Slurp, slurp.
Sticky sweet. And Noy drool.
Sucked it a few times pretending yum, then handed back.
"I'm full. You eat it all."
"Hehe... Ung!"
Noy beamed, sucking happily as he leaned on my knee.
I chuckled, looked up.
"......"
"......"
The middle-aged slave uncles watched breathlessly, like drama fans awaiting the climax.
Oh, right. The question.
"...Eh, whatever."
I stroked Noy's head casually.
"Me and my little girl crossed to this western continent by ship somehow."
"...Ooh."
"Status ain't cheap. But money was short."
I shrugged.
"Bought hers... and that's how I ended up like this."
Lots omitted, but no lies.
Just vague for transients.
"...Sniff."
The muscle uncle's eyes reddened.
"...Father at that age."
"Ahh... what a story..."
The mood turned solemn, sniffles echoing.
Some dabbed tears, overly sensitive.
Fuck. Why this vibe?
I rolled my eyes, flustered.
Like that earlier misunderstanding—these uncles overreact like bleeding hearts.
Super awkward.
Pitying stares prickled like needles.
"Ah... fuck, uncomfortable."
I poked the fire idly.
Please, just eat and...
Go to bed.
......
Deep night.
I rose quietly at the summons.
Inside the tent amid circled wagons: odd group.
Head: footless Gawain on plush blankets.
Beside: stern Kain, bored Baekrin fiddling kunai.
Kneeling tense: caravan master.
"...May I stay?"
I asked meekly, implying a lowly slave unfit among nobles—like the Sword Saint's son.
Kain replied sternly.
"You and your master pulled Gawain from that place, didn't you?"
"......"
"Key witness. Sit quiet, speak only when asked."
His eyes flashed at me.
'Act slave-like, no lip.'
Got it, you one-armed geezer wreck.
His stiffness made sense.
Me bantering like usual with Baekrin or him? Bad optics.
"Yes, sir."
I bowed politely, crouched in the corner.
"Ahem..."
Gawain cleared his throat, struggling upright.
Bowed deeply to us all.
"First, thanks again... for rescuing me and the prisoners,
and securing all the evidence."
Polite voice, sincere demeanor.
Fine, Expert or whatever—plausible.
But this humble? Surprising.
Empire's top three houses, duke's son, youngest Expert?
Usually arrogance incarnate:
'You lowly fucks! Late rescue made this noble body a cripple!'
Power-tripping expected.
Not overkill.
In Bellua Kingdom I knew,
That tone was default to inferiors.
[Even eye contact's provocation to them.]
[Remember, nobles kill for bad vibes...]
Especially rightless slums—behead on whim.
But this guy... overly courteous.
Even tried honorifics on obvious slave me at first.
Polite to commoner Kain, caravan master too.
Well-raised, fantasy hero style.
Amid thanks and humility between odd noble-commoner mix.
"Then... a proposal first."
The geezer cut to chase.
"First time all together properly...
With Ruben Kingdom's situation as we head there, best to brief first."
Kain asked Gawain politely.
"Then you share what happened? Sound good?"
"...Yes, perfect."
Gawain nodded.
"So I can plan ahead."
With agreement, Kain briefed calmly.
Caravan master chimed in details.
Long talk, numbered neatly:
1. Empire knights seized Nahark port with dozens of warships.
2. Sword Saint visited royals, demanded huge compensation for missing third princess.
3. Cooperate on search or forfeit a city, they threatened.
4. Knights scour Nahark streets furiously.
5. Kingdom mobilizes full forces combing surroundings.
One-line summary:
'Your dad's raging, about to topple a kingdom.'
"Ah, Father..."
Gawain sighed.
"Duke Garand... came himself..."
His face: complex—regretful, fearful?
Scared of dad?
Makes sense maybe.
Tent fell heavy silent.
Then Gawain lifted his head slowly.
"...So now, I'll explain."
His gaze swept us.
"How I ended up captured there..."
Yeah. Let's hear it.
How a hotshot Expert got nabbed by losers,
Nearly croaked.
Spill it.