Chapter 116
Chapter 116
"Hmm, that's correct. It says Ruspell Fortress here. Good work."
"Yes, yes. Thank you, sir."
"You may go now."
"Yes! Thank you—"
Sshhk.
"Ghk—"
"Off to the afterlife."
The blade flashed lightly, grazing the throat and drawing forth a fountain of blood.
Logan closed the wide, resentful eyes glaring at him and tossed the bearded man's corpse into the forest.
At the very least, he had let the man live three days longer than his companions—that was mercy enough.
"Trash life. Go fertilize the forest."
Of course, wild animals would tear him apart first.
Without looking back, Logan descended the mountain.
"A merchant from Grandia? What brings a merchant all the way out here?"
"Haha. Well, I took a wrong turn. I was heading to Ruspellheim, but..."
"Ugh. If you ended up here trying to get to Ruspell, you must have a terrible sense of direction. Are you really a merchant?"
"I had a guide, but he suddenly turned into a bandit, so..."
I killed them all.
He swallowed the damning truth and trailed off, but when he showed the soldier his empty, hollowed-out pack, the man nodded sympathetically.
"Tsk, tsk. Well, there's not much in this town, but you can rest here for a while. Prices are cheap, so if you've got some spare change, you could stay a few days."
A kind fellow.
The only good Imperial is a dead one.
Fortunately for him, Logan wasn't here for war this time.
Expressing his gratitude to the soldier who didn't even check his identification, Logan entered the fortress.
Even though it was a rural stronghold he'd never heard of in his past life, it was several times larger than MacLaine's old territory.
This wasn't just a strategically built fortress—it was designed for civilian life, spacious enough to house many people.
The difference between the Empire and the Kingdom was palpable even in this remote outpost, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
After glancing around, Logan entered an inn by the main road.
Creak.
"Welcome!"
"Innkeeper, a beer and a room. I'll be staying for a while."
Ting. He flicked a 10-gold coin, and the innkeeper eagerly caught it.
The soldier from earlier would've frowned at the sight, given the empty pack.
But thankfully, the innkeeper wasn't that soldier.
"You don't sound local. Where are you from?"
"Grandia. A merchant who took a wrong turn."
"Tsk, tsk. Well, we've got everything here, so take your time looking around if you want to buy anything. Doesn't seem like you've got much to sell, though."
"Thank you, innkeeper. Since you mention it, could you tell me a bit about the local situation?"
Another gold coin flew, and the innkeeper, snatching it midair, grinned and began talking.
An hour later...
"A mage? There's a mage here?"
"That's what I said, friend. At first, I thought he was just some weirdo, but the lord treats him with extreme hospitality. They say he's a rare kind of mage."
Somewhere along the way, the innkeeper had dropped formalities, comfortably rattling off details about the target.
Logan had only wanted some information, but the sociable innkeeper, beer in hand, had launched into full-blown gossip mode.
Thanks to that, he'd memorized dozens of names in the territory in one go.
At least his target was among them—that was a relief.
Ahem.
"If there's a mage here, maybe he'll buy my goods. Cheren 'Croune'? Ah—no, wait. Where is he?"
"It's Crow, I said. You're young, but your memory's already this bad? No wonder you're a merchant. Keke. I'll explain it properly, so listen carefully."
Cross-referencing with the information Nox had provided—
Location of Cheren Crow confirmed.
Seems he's not using the name Croune yet.
Without even checking the room the innkeeper had prepared, Logan grabbed his pack and left.
He likely wouldn't be returning to this inn.
"Are you there?"
Bang! Bang!
"Are you home?!"
Bang! Bang!
—What kind of bastard?!
SLAM!
"I told the lord himself to keep the noise down—! Huh? Who the hell are you?"
An old, isolated mansion on the outskirts of the fortress.
The man who kicked the door open had messy brown curls and a beard so thick it obscured his face.
The only hint that he might be a mage was his tattered robe.
There was no trace of the Croune from Logan's past life—the one draped in high-class artifacts, with neatly combed white hair and not a single strand of facial hair.
"Cheren... Crow?"
"Yeah? Who the hell are you?"
At least his unpleasant personality matched.
And the five-layered circular tower (Class) of mana pulsing within that bastard's heart—
It's him.
Logan's fingers twitched with the urge to draw Lux from his back and slit the man's throat right then.
But—
"Ah. Haha. I'm Royan Kairos, come from afar to meet you, Mage. Could you spare me some time?"
He forced a smile and spoke through gritted teeth.
And—
"Ha! Some random bastard. Get lost!"
SLAM!
The door was slammed in his face.
"Ha... I swear..."
Logan exhaled sharply, staring at the sky.
Despite his best efforts to remain patient, one thought kept surfacing:
Should I just kill him?
The irritation of the present layered atop the fury of his past life.
But—
Still, if I can recruit him, there's no better ally. Hold back. Just hold back.
Stewing in his anger, he grabbed the doorknob again.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Mage! I've come all the way from the Kingdom! Could you spare me a moment?"
His knocking grew heavier, his tone dripping with forced politeness.
But once again, his patience went unrewarded.
No—not just unrewarded.
Bzzzt!
—Get lost, you damn peddler!
A threatening burst of magic erupted from the doorknob.
The jolt ran through Logan's hand, sending a tingling shock up his arm.
His face stiffened.
This level of lightning could kill an ordinary person.
This damn bastard—
Memories of Croune's temperament from his past life resurfaced—stories he'd heard or experienced secondhand.
Strong to the weak, weak to the strong. A classic bully.
The problem was, apart from a few high-ranking Imperial officials, most people were weak compared to him.
There were so many horror stories about him that listing them all would be pointless.
And now, experiencing it firsthand, Logan didn't even need to dredge up past rage—his fury boiled up fresh from his core.
Moreover, he couldn't just walk away.
He needed to resolve this quickly and return.
If he won't talk willingly, I'll force him.
The moment that thought crossed his mind—
CRASH!
Logan's foot shattered the door, sending it flying into the house.
Bzzzt!
True to its owner's nature, the remnants of magic clinging to the broken door surged into Logan's body.
But it was only 2nd-Circle level—enough to stun a low-ranking knight at best. To Logan, it meant nothing.
"CHEREN CROW! WE NEED TO TALK!!"
His roar echoed through the house, followed by the sound of thudding footsteps as the shaggy-haired man tumbled down from the second floor.
"Y-You—! You're no ordinary guy!"
Zzzziiing!
Three bluish steel orbs floated around the man's dramatically raised hands.
The moment Logan saw them, he instinctively flinched.
Orbs of Slaughter?!
What made Archmage Croune most famous wasn't his mass production of low-grade artifacts—it was these damned steel spheres in combat.
Artifacts that constantly orbited him, automatically attacking enemies.
Though the Mage of Slaughter was considered weaker than other Transcendents in direct combat, no one could match his firepower when it came to slaughtering weaker opponents.
As far as Logan remembered, Croune had never sold these artifacts to anyone.
No, no way. He can't be at that level yet.
Suppressing his momentary alarm, Logan forced a smile.
"Isn't this a bit rude to a guest who's come so far, Mage?"
"Guest? What kind of guest smashes down the door?!"
"Well, the host refused to meet me. What else was I supposed to do? Here—this should cover the door. My apologies."
Clink.
He tossed a pouch heavy with gold coins. The wary mage cautiously opened it, then stiffened upon seeing the pile inside.
"...Hmm. You've got some money, don't you, guest?"
"Enough."
"Then maybe we can talk."
The ill-tempered mage led Logan to his study.
Drip, drip.
"Here, here. Guests are rare, so the tea's to my taste, but it's drinkable. So, why'd you come looking for me?"
Do you not know honorifics?
It's basic common tongue.
Irritation flared again, but compared to earlier, this was nothing.
Logan sublimated his anger into a smile.
Grins.
"I heard rumors of your skill and came to make a recruitment offer."
The mage paused.
"Rumors? What rumors?"
More concerned about the rumors than the recruitment offer.
His stiffening expression suggested he had plenty to hide.
This bastard definitely has a lot of sins.
No—no, that's just bias from past-life rage.
Logan tried to think positively.
"I heard you're a master of artifacts. Just seeing those things confirms it."
"Ohhh? Where'd you hear that? I came from quite far away."
More like fled from far away.
Keeping his twitching lips in check, Logan replied smoothly.
"I was searching for skilled mages when an information guild pointed me to you. Can't say which one, though."
The partial truth made the man's face tighten further.
"Information guild? Which one?"
His eyes darkened with killing intent.
Hard to dismiss as a misunderstanding now.
"Hmm. I came to recruit you, but it seems you've got quite the list of sins?"
"What nonsense! I-I've lived cleanly!"
That sounded like the opposite.
"But you don't seem interested in recruitment. What would you do if you knew which guild?"
"Ah, that's... Of course I'd be curious if someone's buying and selling my information."
"All I heard was that an artifact-making mage had appeared in Ruspell Territory. Hmm. Is that not your real name? If you've got shady connections, this complicates things for me."
Nox had given the current name as Cheren Crow.
But in his past life, he was known as Croune Lanfield.
Which was his real name? Or were both aliases?
"Don't make me laugh! I've lived with nothing to hide!"
The more defensive he got, the more it sounded like he had plenty to hide.
Is that bias, or just fact?
Regardless of his skills, if his personality's this rotten and he might stab me in the back later, I should just deal with him here.
The floating steel orbs—the Orbs of Slaughter he'd feared—were, upon closer inspection, only around 3rd-Class level. Artifacts a 5th-Class mage could make, nothing a Transcendent would fear.
Eliminating him wouldn't be hard.
A cold glint flashed in Logan's eyes as he made his decision.
Time to confirm.
"Then... do you know the name Croune?"
The next instant—
Without warning, crimson beams shot from the floating orbs.