Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: Slave Merchant
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“Ian? Done?”
Berik, who had been told to stand guard outside, couldn’t wait any longer and stepped inside. He was clearly trying to follow orders, dragging the fainted boss along by the ankle.
He blinked at the mangled corpse of Hasha.
“What happened to him?”
“For future peace of mind, Hasha wanted the body disposed of.”
“I see. That guy’s got more guts than he looks.”
Thud!
Berik tossed the bandit’s body aside carelessly and approached Hasha. The grief of a dog mourning a human. An emotion no one could possibly fathom. Berik sniffled and wiped away the dripping blood.
“Think positive. Do this a few more times, and you’ll live a long, long life.”
-You call that comfort...?
Hasha made a face at the utterly ridiculous consolation. Still, it seemed to jolt him out of his pity party. He rubbed at his eyes and muzzle with his short front paws, pulling himself together.
-You didn’t kill the boss, did you?
“The master said to keep him alive, so I just severed his ankles to stop him running. But this place is bigger than I thought?”
Berik looked around, flinging doors open. Ian did the same. They needed to check the stolen goods, but also in case any kidnap victims were hidden away.
Creak!
“Look at this!”
“Looks like their trophy room.”
“Wow, these guys were loaded!”
“Indeed. They were more capable than expected.”
Piles of gold coins, jewels, and valuables testified to their crimes. Ian clicked his tongue lightly and stepped inside. The area was all small towns, yet there were surprisingly many gold coins scattered about.
Berik, rummaging through things, pulled something out and called to Ian.
“Ian, check out this weird sword.”
It was a sword with a pitch-black blade. So dull it looked soot-covered, like ash might flake off. Berik ran his finger along the edge, then muttered in surprise.
“It’s not coated in anything.”
“Quite the unique blade.”
“You don’t know what it is either?”
“…Do you think I know everything? Could be a smith’s unique mark, or maybe it’s ornamental. Not all swords are for cutting. Ah, sometimes blades infused with mana stones take on a color.”
Ian had rarely examined a swordsman’s blade up close. During imperial audiences, they had to leave weapons behind for dignity and safety. He’d only glimpsed sword-mages’ prowess in training spars.
“You know plenty.”
Berik chuckled and swung it experimentally. It was lighter and nimbler than expected, perfectly balanced for his arm length—surprisingly comfortable.
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong?”
Swoosh!
He liked the black afterimages trailing each swing. The edge was dull, but a smith could sharpen it.
“Ian! I want this!”
“That one?”
“Yeah! Can I?”
He poked and swung it wildly. Ian pondered, eyeing the sword in Berik’s hands. The edge was chipped from rough use, the cloth-wrapped leather hilt stained with unknown blood.
“As my guard, you should have a sword you like. We’ll pay for it when we get back to the village.”
“Score! How much?”
“No idea. I’ll deduct a bit from your meals, so keep that in mind.”
“Wait! From my food?”
The bandits’ loot would return to Karenna and other small towns to find owners or fund the cities. Berik, shocked at the meal cuts, kept glancing between Ian and the sword.
“Argh...”
But he couldn’t bring himself to give it up. That’s how much he liked it.
How could his thoughts show so plainly? Ian smirked and moved to inspect the rest of the loot. Berik, unusually serious-faced, trailed after him with constant sighs.
‘Those who wield weapons sometimes feel fated encounters. Looks like he’s hooked.’
“You like it that much?”
“Blood won’t show on it. Perfect.”
“To get what you want, there’s always a price. Think of it as training for a while.”
Ian had no real intention of skimping his food, but Berik seemed to need various tensions to keep his impulses in check.
Ian finished checking the back rooms, confirming no prisoners.
“All clear here. Berik, go fetch Lord Romandro and the villagers. Tell them we found the carriage.”
Creak.
As they stepped out, Hasha huddled against the wall, growling lowly. The now-awake boss was crawling on his elbows. With Achilles tendons properly severed, his legs below the knees were useless.
“Up early?”
“Gasp!”
Berik strode over, and the bandit boss paled, sucking in breath. He’d been leader among toughs, but never faced someone overwhelmingly stronger like Berik.
And it wasn’t just raw strength?
“Get lost! You maniac, stay back!”
Thoroughly broken, with deep trauma to boot. The bandit flailed and yelled at Berik, who ignored him and grabbed his hair.
Crunch.
“Now, now. Save your strength. Let’s chat.”
“T-that’s my sword...”
Berik pressed the newly found black sword to his nape. A faint cut formed along the blade, beads of blood welling up. Thought it was dull from missing teeth, but sharp as hell. A fine blade indeed.
“From now on, answer every question truthfully. Or your head rolls to the afterlife unrecognizable to your men.”
Ian stood before him, gazing down calmly. The bandit tried lifting his head at the commanding tone, but Berik stomped it down.
“How did you wield necromancy with a necromancer’s corpse?”
“What? What do you...”
“Denying it?”
Sshhk.
At Ian’s words, Berik pressed the blade tighter. Pain digging into his nape made the bandit yelp.
“Argh! Fuck, mercy, please!”
“No mercy twice. I ask again. How did you wield necromancy with a necromancer’s corpse?”
The bandit squeezed his eyes shut and stammered his confession.
“We didn’t steal it—it followed us!”
“So, why?”
“T-that’s...”
The boss grimaced at the black sword. Awkward to explain, he tried brushing it off vaguely.
“I don’t know exactly. At first, it wouldn’t die no matter what, so I thought it was valuable. Took the corpse to the slave traders to sell...”
Slave traders. Ian frowned at the term. He dimly grasped the case’s thread. Bandits who pillaged and kidnapped naturally had slave traders handling the goods.
“Did they help you?”
“Yes! The slave traders said if we used the kid’s corpse right, we could make more like him. But it needed lots of corpses, and killing people is our, uh, job...”
“You made a deal. They taught you the ritual, and you sold the undead.”
“I don’t know what they did with the bodies. I swear! We just planned to sell one corpse, but they said bring more to Karenna and get gold each time. Why refuse?”
Slave traders didn’t operate only in Bariel. Their business required collecting ‘goods’ of all races and species. Unlike Bariel’s infrequent markets, neighbors had thriving underground economies.
“Caravan name?”
“Pakenus Slave Traders.”
Pakenus. Familiar to Ian’s ears from a century later. If even he knew, it meant substantial scale and roots.
Then Berik smacked the boss’s face repeatedly with the sword’s flat.
Smack! Crack!
“Speak properly?”
“Ugh! Pakenus Slave Traders!”
“Good boy.”
Berik seemed to see this as paying for his sword, proudly showing it to Ian. Ian smirked and asked again.
“So, some gold came from the caravan?”
“Yes, sir! Yes!”
“How’d you use the ritual?”
“Ten intact corpses barely made one good one. N-needed hair, so bald guys useless.”
Hasha perked his ears at that.
-The ritual matches mine. Necromancers have unique styles; mine requires hair.
The bandit’s eyes bulged. A talking dog. Sound-based, likely the boy’s soul inside.
“Bald guys lucky, huh? No ritual on them.”
Using Hasha’s exact ritual. Ignoring Berik’s quip, Ian glanced at Hasha, wondering the same.
“Want to hear more?”
-Of course. It’s my body’s owner.
“Good. Speak. How did you perform the ritual?”
The bandit bit his lip, going mad. Evil deeds he’d done without qualms. But confessing aloud like this made him realize: unforgivable.
“…They handled it when we brought bodies. But normally uncontrollable, so we tied them up off-duty.”
Hasha listened intently. As the testimony dragged, Ian signaled Berik to hurry to the village.
“Clean the corpse, then scent it with plucked flowers...”
Clop clop!
Even as Berik rode off, the bandit continued. Hasha soon realized the corpse’s ritual perfectly matched his own.
* * *
“Lord Romand~ro~!”
“Gasp! Berik! Berik! Where’s Ian?”
“I’m covered in blood, and that’s not your first question?”
“No way! You’ll live. So, Ian?”
“Everyone, follow me. Found the carriage. Bring guards too. Need to clean up.”
Romandro and the group beamed at Berik’s words. They summoned the guard captain for backup and followed Berik on horseback. Dawn broke, moon nearly gone, sky purpling.
Clop clop!
Horses thundered toward the bandit lair. They took in the village’s annihilation at a glance.
“Ian!”
“You’re here.”
Ian greeted Romandro with Hasha. He rushed to the carriage, checked documents and mana stones intact, then knelt.
“Hic. Thank you. Gods above.”
“No, Lord Romandro. Thank me, right?”
“Yes. Berik, come here, you pretty thing!”
“Ewww! Gross!”
Berik recoiled as Romandro tried to hug him encouragingly. The guard captain, entering, gaped and ordered his men.
“My god, all this...”
“All dead. Corpses.”
“Ahh. One alive. The head guy.”
“Collect bodies first! Check for hiders inside! Tear down every tent!”
“Yes, sir!”
With the moon set, the bandits’ fate ended. Ian watched the guards tidy up, holding Hasha.
‘From what the boss said, he knew the ritual in detail, but claims ignorance on why the undead followed initially?’
Doesn’t add up. Ian crossed arms, eyeing the boss as guards hauled him. Meeting his terrified gaze, Ian smiled sweetly, signaling ‘see you in the village.’