Slave Auction (1)
“Have a safe trip, Cliche. Even if you find a way back home and have to leave, you’ll come see me one last time, right?”
“Of course, Roin. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Roin smiled through the tears welling in her eyes at Cliche’s words. Friends. It was a bit disappointing, but hey, it was something.
“I’ll be waiting. When you come back, this country will be a whole lot different.”
With Roin seeing them off, Cliche and Lieutenant Georges began preparing for the long journey to the great empire of Midland.
It would be a trek of middling length—long if it felt long, short if it felt short—until they reached the capital, Benechior, and completed their enrollment at the academy.
Meanwhile, Hotse, Unicef, AlphaGo, and Diablo also bid farewell to Cliche.
“If ya want, I could... follow along... too~~”
“Ho ho ho. I’ll come visit once I wrap up my business in the demon realm!”
“Beep boop! I’ll follow once my battery’s fully charged.”
“Kekeke! I’d love to go, but I’ve got too many patients waiting for me.”
They seemed to have grown quite fond of freeloading at Rok’s royal castle during their stay.
“We’ll be off, Your Majesty.”
Georges lightly kissed the back of Roin’s hand and bowed her head.
And so, Cliche and Lieutenant Georges set off for Midland.
A few days later, Cliche and Georges reached the vicinity of a rugged mountain gorge.
This massive range, called Midgard, split into two forks: the left led to the sea, while the right descended into a basin connecting to the central continent.
Shwaaak—
Georges deftly unfurled the map with nimble fingers.
The spine of the range was the direct route to the central continent, but it was so treacherous with monsters everywhere that hardly anyone passed through.
Tracing the map, Georges began briefing Cliche on the path ahead.
“Going straight this way would take about five years. It’s crawling with ogre villages, wyvern nests, goblin towns—all sorts of side quest fodder. I’m worried it’d just drag on with the same old stories.”
“Side quests. Pass.”
“Yes, time is precious for you, Sir Cliche. Instead, there’s a slightly longer but gentler route through the flatter plains off the spine. It should progress faster…”
“Then we’ll loop around the right side of the mountains.”
“From here, we need to head left, Sir Cliche.”
Cliche tilted his head at Georges’s words.
“Left is the sea, isn’t it? Right should lead to the central continent.”
It was a question anyone with eyes could ask. But Georges shook her head.
She wasn’t a top elite from Rok’s knight officer academy—full marks in geography for four straight years—for nothing. She could spot the fine details others missed.
“The right path is currently blocked by a thieves’ fortress.”
“Thieves?”
“Yes. Villains from all over the world flock there. It’s not Rok territory or any other nation’s—it’s extraterritorial, so it’s extremely dangerous to pass.”
“Sounds annoying all around.”
Georges tilted her head briefly at Cliche’s response. Thieves who terrorized the entire continent, and he called them just ‘annoying’? Well, whatever. The captain of the 1st Knight Order must have that kind of confidence, she thought vaguely.
“Anyway, the right path looks tough, so taking the left to the sea route seems best. Her Majesty allocated plenty of travel funds, so we can afford a good ship. Midland’s waterways are well-developed, reaching right to the heart…”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
Cliche nodded. Decision made. From here on, it was a sea voyage.
“We’ll run into krakens, mermaid swarms, shipwrecks—the works.”
Georges shook her head at Cliche’s words.
“It’s a busy shipping lane packed with people, and it’s so short that won’t happen. Just a few days. Plus, the waters are shallow—no real monster threats. No room for those classic Cliche-style quests…”
Just as Cliche and Georges turned toward the left mountain path—
“Aigoo! You young folks there! Hold up a sec!”
An old man called out to them. He was sweating buckets while dragging a hefty handcart.
Georges’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“What is it?”
The old man grinned apologetically and pointed to his cart.
“Aigoo, sorry, but could you give this cart a push from behind? Too heavy for an old timer like me.”
“……What’s in the cart?”
“Oh, just the usual stuff.”
“Usual what?”
“Argh, come on! Scrap paper, briquettes, herbs, that sorta thing! Why nitpick, young’uns!”
Cliche ambled over to the cart without a second thought, but Georges grabbed his shoulder.
“Hold on, Sir Cliche. Something’s off.”
“……? What?”
“Scrap paper, briquettes, and herbs in one cart? They don’t mix. And why’s an old man on this steep mountain path? It’s blatantly suspicious.”
She had a point. Cliche and Georges eyed the old man warily as they climbed the path.
A few minutes later—
“Hey, you two look like travelers, eh?”
Now a hiker ahead struck up a conversation.
“We’re all friends on the mountain. You folks on a trip?”
“No.”
Georges replied curtly, but the hiker pressed on amiably.
“Young folks gotta travel plenty. Stay at guesthouses, make friends, hit the bars—you see more, learn more…”
“Traveling just costs me money, time, and stamina with nothing learned. I’d rather stay home alone.”
Georges shut it down cold, and the hiker tsked and walked off.
As Cliche and Georges crested the slope—
“Waaah! Mommy!”
A little girl sat wailing on a rock.
Some mountain folk’s kid? Georges sensed something fishy but couldn’t ignore a child crying alone—it reminded her of her own childhood.
“Hey, kid, why are you crying there?”
When Cliche and Georges asked, the girl sniffled that she was lost.
In the end, they helped her down and escorted her to a cabin deep in the mountains.
“Just a mountain kid after all. Aren’t we being too paranoid?”
“Guess so. That old guy and hiker were probably just a scrap collector and a nosy uncle.”
Cliche and Georges descended the mountain feeling refreshed.
Soon, the path to the sea came into view. Below, at the docks, countless ships lined up, merchants camping out as they prepped for long voyages.
Cliche and Georges sought out the largest vessel at the pier.
“Tickets to Midland? Pricey. Gotta be about five million gold.”
The burly captain puffed on his pipe.
“That’s plenty.”
Georges nodded and opened Cliche’s backpack.
But—
“Huh!?”
Georges’s eyes went wide.
“S-Sir Cliche! Did you stash the money somewhere else?”
“Huh? No? It’s not in the bag?”
Cliche’s innocent reply left Georges deflated.
“We’ve been robbed.”
“When’d that happen?”
Instantly, Georges recalled that mountain girl. The captain chuckled, blowing smoke.
“Heh heh heh, mountain bandits gotcha. Thieves’ fortress nearby—happens all the time.”
“Grr!”
Georges bit her lip. Her own bag was fine, but the money had been in Cliche’s. Worse, even the dragon sword Zenkaeno was gone!
Cliche hadn’t noticed until the bag was picked clean.
I failed to assist him properly.
Georges pressed her brow and shook her head.
Meanwhile, Cliche, looking thoroughly annoyed, haggled with the captain.
“Ugh, going back’s a hassle. No ship to Midland?”
“There is, but there isn’t.”
“What’s that mean?”
The captain eyed Cliche seriously.
“Listen, pink buddy. Ships? They’re there when you’ve got money, gone when you don’t. Get it?”
“No.”
“Means they exist for the rich, not the poor.”
Cliche groaned. Even the mightiest dragon bowed to the logic of capital.
“Got no ship?”
The captain shrugged, puffing smoke. “How much you got?”
“250 gold.”
Cliche rummaged his pockets and offered a handful of coins.
“……Sir Cliche, that won’t get us on any ship.”
Georges cautioned gently, but—
“There is one.”
The captain nodded, pocketed the coins, and jerked his chin for them to follow.
Georges’s eyes bulged. A ship for a measly 250 gold?
At the pier’s end, the captain dug out a notepad.
Riiip—
He tore a sheet, folded it in half, then half again.
And soon—
“Ta-da!”
He floated a tiny paper boat on the sea.
“Fair winds.”
“Bwahaha!”
“That guy’s a genius at screwing the poor!”
Laughter erupted from other captains and passengers everywhere.
The captain patted Cliche’s head, chuckling.
“Midland ship sails in five minutes. Won’t be back for two months. Go fetch your stolen cash by then, paupers.”
“……”
Georges bit her lip. Such humiliation after all this time.
“Sir Cliche, sorry. We should head back for now…?”
She couldn’t finish.
Crunch—
A vein bulged on Cliche’s forehead.
Boom—crash!
Cliche swung his left hand at the sea.
Crack—craaaack!
The sea froze white in an instant, turning into a vast icy plain.
A several-kilometer radius iced over solid—not thin skim ice, but meters-thick real deal.
The coastline’s climate and scenery flipped entirely.
Whiiiish…
The biting cold wind dropped the mockers to their knees, faces blue.
They’d seen it clear as day.
“Ah… aaa…”
The captain collapsed at the dock, trembling.
He realized what he’d done. This being before him could slaughter everyone here in seconds.
“M-Mercy!”
The jeering captains flung themselves prostrate.
But Cliche did nothing more after freezing the sea. He just stood expressionless, staring at the trapped Midland-bound ship.
“I’ll wait till we get the money back.”
The captains and passengers could only nod. Better ships delayed than lives ended.
“Damn it!”
Georges rolled on the ground in frustration. The mountain girl’s cabin was empty. Even the old man’s abandoned cart sat in the back yard. Hiker’s booze bottles littered the ground.
All in cahoots. They lulled travelers with friendly mountain vibes, then struck.
I’ve been too much of a bookworm.
Georges sighed. Though Cliche was robbed, she blamed her poor support.
Outraged, she declared, “We’re getting back the dragon sword! And the funds!”
“Good idea.”
Cliche nodded calmly.
But Georges, having heard from the captains about the thieves’ fortress, was cautious.
“Word is, their slave auction’s the biggest ever. Security’ll be tight. Getting in won’t be easy.”
“Why worry? Smash the gate and stroll in.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Did it at Singmulgur’s holy kingdom once.”
“……”
Georges fell silent. Recalling Cliche’s earlier display, he might actually topple walls.
“But the sly thieves would scatter. You said you’re no good at running, right?”
“True.”
Cliche agreed.
“……How about this?”
Soon, Cliche pitched another idea to Georges.
“……Do that, and……it’d……”
Georges broke into a cold sweat, face baffled.
“……Pardon?”