Chapter 119
Chapter 119
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: Realm of Savagery: Priella Atria (1)
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—Eight Swords Society.
This storied mercenary group, renowned across the continent, had been founded by 'Sword Ghost Raparia', one of the Seven Corners.
Eight mercenaries whose skills were acknowledged far and wide.
A mercenary group formed by gathering countless personnel to support those mercenaries.
That was the true nature of the Eight Swords Society.
The mercenaries of the Eight Swords Society directly intervened in countless conflicts across the continent, and moving them required paying an enormous fee.
Yet, the number of nobles seeking out the Eight Swords Society grew every year.
It was because their skills were as reliable as their exorbitant price tag.
"Blackie, we're in big trouble."
—Caw?
"We're starting to run low on money."
And now, one of those Eight Swords Society mercenaries—Priella Atria—was wandering the northern reaches of the Empire, stroking her lightening pouch.
Swish, swish.
Priella's quiet footsteps crunched through the frozen northern plains.
She stared expressionlessly at the distant city and spoke.
"What should I do..."
A puff of white breath escaped her lips.
Facing the cold northern wind, she pulled up the muffler that symbolized the Eight Swords Society.
Hoo.
Amid the spreading breath, Priella sank into deep thought.
It was about her pouch growing lighter by the day.
"..."
The reason Priella's pouch was lightening every day.
Naturally, there was only one cause.
Over the past few months, she had been carrying out requests without pay, for free.
Celestia Secret Society.
She was running errands for the secret organization based in the library to pay off the debt from buying her demon sword.
—Caw, caw!
"Sell the demon sword and it'll all be solved?"
Having heard the crow spirit's words, Priella's gaze naturally drifted to the demon sword at her waist.
Swish.
The elegantly designed demon sword had recently become Priella's partner.
Demon Sword Regulus.
A sword among swords that Priella had bought from the secret society's mage, even going into debt.
By now, it was her most precious treasure.
"No, I can't do that."
Though the demon sword had saddled her with debt, Priella never regretted buying it.
The demon sword at her waist was her pride.
To a swordswoman, a sword was like her very life.
She flatly rejected the crow spirit's advice to sell it.
"Selling off my number one treasure is impossible."
—Caw?
"To a swordswoman, a sword is as good as her life."
Nod, nod.
Having clearly expressed her resolve, Priella nodded to herself, reaffirming the meaning.
How could a swordswoman sell off a sword that was like her life?
Even if it meant starving, she had to take care of her sword.
Even if it made her poor, she could never give up 'Regulus'.
She was confident she could even hand over the crow spirit in front of her to a demon if it meant protecting her demon sword.
—Caaaaw?
The crow spirit spread its wings wide, chattering something at her.
Priella pressed on through the whipping snowstorm.
Her ears red from the northern cold, she looked at the spirit and spoke.
"If Regulus is treasure number one, what number are you?"
—Caw.
"You're not treasure number two, at least. You're probably around number 1703, Blackie."
—Caaaaaw!
The crow spirit, apparently displeased, bristled its feathers and tugged at Priella's hair.
Her shadow trembled faintly over the white snowfield.
Priella faced the spirit's anger calmly, sniffed, and walked on.
The northern winter was brutally harsh.
It looked like she'd have to spend the winter in the city for now.
"Want some jerky?"
—Caw!
By the end of this winter, her pouch might be completely empty.
The life of a sword-for-hire was a harsh one.
* * * * * *
Creighton Lukbart, the lead mage of the Magic Corps, had been on the wagon lately.
Not, of course, because he suddenly hated alcohol or was tired of the north's harsh brews—absurd notions.
For Creighton, who had roamed battlefields for years, booze was inseparable from life.
Just a month ago, he'd even kept a 'companion flask' at his waist.
Instead of a magic tome on his staff, he'd hung a flask filled with strong liquor there.
The reason Creighton was now abstaining was, naturally, the recent directive from the Magic Corps command.
The headquarters in the capital had declared a dry winter for the entire corps.
"I'm beat. Better turn in early tonight."
That said, just because Creighton followed the no-drink order didn't mean he abstained in the library.
Every midnight when he entered, he poured all sorts of liquor down his throat.
Occasionally, drinking buddies would join his benders—one or two at a time.
Like the inscrutable Doctor or Sir Austin, who grumbled about hating it but always left plastered.
Especially Austin, with his innocent nature, was fun to tease.
The naive Austin seemed to struggle with Creighton's sly, mischievous jabs.
"Got to check on that girl Mary on the way back, too."
Still, remembering and fulfilling a drinking buddy's small request was the role of an adult.
Especially if it involved a young friend's lover.
Swish.
Creighton bit down on a cheroot, thinking of Mary, the bakery girl he'd grown familiar with from frequent visits.
"..."
Fwoosh.
A bright flame bloomed at the tip of Creighton's cheroot.
Boldly smoking in his office was a perk of the lead mage's authority.
Acrid tobacco smoke began filling the lead mage's office.
Thud, thud!
As he eyed documents with the cheroot in his mouth, a knock soon echoed in Creighton's ears.
—"First Mage Marty here! I have urgent news for the lead mage!"
"Hmm."
Creighton scowled at the office door as a voice boomed from beyond the thick wood.
One of his subordinates had come rushing with a report.
So much for some alone time.
Hoo.
Creighton exhaled thick smoke and called to the mage outside.
"Marty. Come in."
Creak.
The office door opened, and in strode a mage draped in a ornate cloak.
First Mage Marty.
Among Creighton's subordinates, he showed real promise.
He needed more experience, but given time, he'd make a fine battle mage.
"Cough, cough...!"
No sooner had Marty entered than he started hacking from the tobacco stench.
But he quickly composed himself, saluted Creighton, and spoke.
"I have urgent news for the lead mage!"
"Just how urgent is it that you're rushing in like this? I'm curious."
"One of the corps' third mages... was attacked by barbarians inside the city!"
Creighton had to frown at Marty's report.
One of the Magic Corps battle mages attacked by barbarians.
And not in the barbarian-infested borderlands, but in the heart of the frontier city.
"A corps mage attacked...!"
Ha.
A sigh escaped Creighton's lips.
Cursing under his breath, he glared at the mage before him and demanded details.
"Marty. What's the status of that third mage?"
"He... had his heart ripped out and died. Six corps mages are currently tracking the culprit with the guard."
Marty's face was etched with complex emotions as he spoke.
Hoo.
Through the thick haze of smoke, Creighton's eyes bored into Marty.
"Barbarians got inside the city walls. And one of our battle mages died by their hand."
"..."
"I'm not sure this is even plausible."
Marty could only bow his head under Creighton's gaze.
Tap, tap.
Creighton's fingers drummed the desk briefly, steeped in troubled thoughts.
Soon, he stood and addressed Marty.
"Lead the way. I'll check the scene myself."
It looked like early bedtime was off the table tonight.
* * * * * *
In a back alley of the city where fresh snow began to fall.
In the deserted slums' alley, devoid of human presence, Korkia gazed at an object with a bright smile.
A brilliantly shining blue crystal orb.
It captivated the gaze of Korkia, grand shaman of the Erbar Alliance, with its vivid beauty.
Swish, swish.
Korkia's palm caressed the smooth surface of the crystal orb.
Woki, watching her, asked with an incredulous expression.
"Korkia. You like that thing that much?"
After slaying the Empire mage in his fancy robe, the two had claimed two trophies.
The mage's heart, needed for the ritual.
And the mysterious crystal orb Korkia now held.
Woki didn't even know its purpose, but Korkia had been grinning ear to ear since discovering the magic tool.
What could make her so happy?
It was a scene utterly baffling to Woki.
"Looks like she's bewitched by some freakish trinket."
Heh heh heh.
Korkia let out an eerie cackle, lifted her head to meet Woki's eyes.
She thrust the crystal orb toward him, pulling a bizarre face as she spoke.
"Inexperienced warrior, take a good look. Do you grasp how valuable this is?"
"What are you even talking about?"
Tch.
Woki clicked his tongue briefly at her words.
Korkia continued her explanation, tenderly stroking the orb.
"They say it's a treasure the Empire's nobles can't get enough of. One of the prizes those greedy nobles go mad chasing."
"Isn't it common knowledge that the Empire's nobles indulge in pointless luxuries? Lusting after a crystal orb isn't exactly surprising."
A treasure the Empire's nobles desperately sought.
That was Korkia's explanation of the orb.
But her story didn't end there.
Grip.
Clutching the orb tightly, Korkia thrust her face close to Woki's and added.
"Fool. This orb lets anyone hear the voice of the wind."
"What...?"
"It means even tribal warriors who aren't shamans can chat with this old crone from afar."
A treasure that let one hear the wind's voice.
Only then did Woki look at Korkia in shock.
Hearing the wind's voice was possible only for a rare few shamans dwelling on Mother Earth.
"Such an absurd treasure exists?"
But even a warrior unable to wield shamanism could perform such a miracle with just this—.
At last, Woki began to understand the value of what Korkia described.
"They call it Polaris No. 1, from what I hear. If we grab plenty, the Alliance warriors could put it to good use."
"Polaris No. 1...!"
"So, while we're here, we should gather as many hearts and orbs as possible."
Moreover, Korkia planned to snag a few more before returning to the mountains.
Polaris No. 1.
To think she knew such valuable lore unknown to warriors.
Truly the wisdom of the Alliance's grand shaman.
"..."
Rustle.
After Korkia pocketed the orb.
Woki regarded her with a softer gaze than before.
Ahem.
Clearing his throat lightly, he addressed the old woman still wearing her bizarre grin.
"...Korkia."
"Yes?"
"Better set aside separate shares for the grand chieftain and me."
"Heh heh heh. You want a piece of this treasure too, eh? Don't worry—I've already planned to save some spoils for you."
—Polaris No. 1.
The warrior and shaman, discussing the treasure, each smiled with different thoughts in mind.
That was the moment the two greed-filled barbarians plotted to rampage through the city.