Olpasbet, the Prison City
Olpasbet, the Prison City
It was no great secret that Aslan had fought at Nechagni.
Count Warpol and Count Sholukund knew, at the very least—they were well aware that their lands had swelled and shrunk. Scouts, mercenaries who had observed the battle, and the farmers living in the nearby villages would also know. The number of people who knew was not exactly small.
But the distance between Nechagni and Olpasbet was considerable. That was what puzzled Aslan. No matter how fast news traveled, there was no reason for anyone this far away to know about something that had happened there, let alone something so unremarkable.
Still, he saw no way to learn how the baron knew. So he opened his mouth to draw out information.
"What happened at Nechagni is over. I was searching for a suitable city to resupply."
"A suitable city, you say?"
"I had an interest in the white iron armaments of Olpasbet."
At those words, the baron let out an "oh-ho" and rested his chin on his hand.
White iron was a metal produced only in Olpasbet.
True to its name, this metal emitted a white sheen. Once worked into weapons or armor, it made for gear that was both light and sturdy.
It was, of course, difficult to mine, which made it expensive. But the lord apparently found the explanation plausible—he nodded along.
"So you have no other business here, and... you have no plans to go elsewhere. Is that what you're telling me?"
"That's correct."
"That is what you say."
The Baron of Olpasbet smiled an oily smile and sank back into his chair. The chair, which looked as though it had been upholstered with some animal's hide, creaked. The baron's eyes moved restlessly.
"I have a little something to keep you occupied."
Aslan nodded.
"I'm listening."
At this receptive response, the baron leaned forward, still wearing that oily smile. He planted his two large hands on the desk.
"How much do you know of Olpasbet's legend?"
It was a question tossed out without warning.
But Aslan knew all about the legend of Olpasbet.
In truth, there was very little knowledge in this world that he did not possess.
Even so, wanting to draw out more information, he shook his head.
"Nothing."
"They say Olpasbet did not exist in the distant past. When the Ancient Gods were still hale and strong, this place was nothing but an empty plain."
Aslan barely managed to stop himself from frowning.
"But when the great gods descended upon this land, and those foolish Ancient Gods dared to resist them, one of the Cosmic Inevitability—the Poison-spitting Dragon—bit an Ancient God to death right on this very spot."
"I'd never heard that."
"You wouldn't have. Neither had I. Yet that is not the important part. The Ancient God that the Poison-spitting Dragon bit—its body, exposed to that monstrous poison, decayed and bloated on the spot. And so the god's body became soil and mountain range, its head a peak."
The baron's expression seemed to say, A rather outlandish tale, is it not? Aslan could only nod.
It was certainly an outlandish tale. But he could not afford to dismiss it, either.
Because this was information no ordinary person could possibly know.
"The amusing part is this: that preposterous story is true, and there is a hidden story within it. The Ancient God that died was a powerful one, and its mighty divine armament slumbers somewhere beneath the floor of Olpasbet."
A hidden weapon.
Hearing that, Aslan guessed who must have whispered this story into the baron's ear.
The monstrous god who watched every battle fought across the world, who drooled and lusted after every armament in existence.
The God of War.
And so, Aslan knew what the baron was about to say.
"Don't tell me the little task you want to entrust to me is..."
"Yes. I wish for you to retrieve that armament."
It was not a little task.
As far as Aslan knew, that item could only be obtained by fully exploring the poison swamp underneath the mine tunnel complex at Jina.
And since there was currently no way to cross a venom so potent it could dissolve even gods, setting out to explore that place right now was a terrible idea.
Not unless one's level had risen enough to expand their options.
But Aslan did not refuse the offer.
He saw it as an opportunity instead.
A chance to escape.
A chance to secure some supplies while working on a quest, and to delay the pursuing Warrior Monk for a while.
"Very well."
"Oh, as expected of the Master of Combat. You decide things so readily."
A subtle flicker of exultation ran through the baron's feigned surprise. From that expression, Aslan could tell exactly what the Baron of Olpasbet was aiming for.
The baron had already summoned the Warrior Monk, or was about to.
What would happen next was obvious. Once Aslan explored and made sense of the tunnels—either finding the divine weapon or the path leading to it—the baron would mobilize troops and the Warrior Monk together to eliminate Aslan. Then he would offer up the divine armament and receive the god's favor, along with the glory of having captured a Master.
The plan was as clear as if it were already playing out in front of him.
"But before that..."
"Hm?"
Of course, a plan was only a problem if you let yourself fall victim to it.
Calmly, Aslan opened his mouth, intending to fleece the lord and extract every possible advantage before anything else.
"Whatever else I may be, I am still fundamentally a human. I am no priest."
"...True."
"It is difficult to conquer a mine tunnel alone with a single prisoner girl. Wouldn't you agree?"
The Baron of Olpasbet's sullen gaze shifted toward the girl. She had been standing with her arms crossed, an uncomfortable expression on her face ever since entering the office.
The girl, standing with an insolent slouch just behind Aslan, frowned at the lord's stare.
Her limbs were gaunt, and the rags wrapped around her body looked as though they offered little protection.
Even if she were properly armed, there was no telling if she could fight well. And a lord whose primary business had been leasing out prisoners concluded that Aslan must have bought her for other purposes.
"Very well, then I will attach some soldiers to you. Five guardsmen, and..."
"No."
The baron's expression soured when Aslan cut him off, but Aslan paid it no mind. The baron would care more about the glory of capturing Aslan than about venting his irritation right now.
"Soldiers will not be necessary. If guardsmen who labor for the city were to be wounded or killed during the tunnel expedition, my conscience would be troubled."
This was, in part, sincere. Not every guard in a city of sin was necessarily a sinner or a villain.
Aslan did not want people getting hurt indiscriminately, and having guards around would also complicate the escape.
It was less about fearing guardsmen would get hurt in the tunnels and more about the possibility that he might have to kill them during the breakout. That thought bothered him.
"Hm, I see."
The baron seemed utterly indifferent to the lives of his guards, but Aslan's proposal intrigued him.
"I wish to lease a few prisoners under Your Lordship's authority."
"Oh-ho."
It wasn't that he was completely at ease with prisoners dying, but at least when it came to the question of escaping, prisoners were far less burdensome.
The lord, unaware of this reasoning, gave the proposal genuine thought. After pondering for a while, he nodded.
"That is a fine idea. I shall permit it."
More than that—the lord did not even suspect a thing.
The reason was simple.
The escape route itself had never once been discovered, and no prisoner had ever succeeded in breaking out of Olpasbet.
Even if one scoured all of Geladrion, the route was known to Aslan alone.
Because of that, the lord was not merely unsuspecting; he was practically giddy with thoughts of his future plans.
"Is there any prisoner in particular you want? No, no. Take this with you."
Exhilaration made the lord easy to sway. Grinning broadly, he produced something and set it on the desk as though dispensing a generous favor.
The object, which landed with a tap, was a kind of seal ring.
Holding out the ring, the baron wore an arrogant smile.
"Lease as many prisoners as you wish. There is no benefit in wasting the time you could spend on the investigation by having you report every detail to me. Show that ring and all facilities, equipment, and supplies within the city will be taken care of."
The baron went a step further and promised full, sweeping support.
Aslan found the sight somewhat ridiculous, but at the same time, he could understand it.
If things went well, the baron could become a priest. A human above other humans. A messenger of the gods.
Compared to that, material wealth was a trivial expense.
Even though this was exactly what Aslan had aimed for, the ease with which the support was granted left him slightly dazed.
"Thank you. I swear I shall repay this with good results."
He could not promise the results would be good for the baron, but at Aslan's firm reply, the lord's oily smile softened with a faint trace of warmer feeling.
*
The prisoners of Olpasbet were normally held in cells carved shallowly into the mine tunnels.
Unless they were prisoners who had been leased out, they were mostly made to work the mines.
In the bustling tunnels, among the layers of piled metal chunks and raw ore, pickaxes gleamed sharply. Prisoners hurried back and forth, dumping out their loads under the watch of the guards.
Except for the rare female prisoner or those who had found other ways to earn coin, most prisoners could be found right here in the mines.
That was what Aslan knew, and what he saw confirmed it.
Under the eyes of the prisoners rushing about, Aslan examined each of them in turn.
Only the guard beside him, the clerk's assistant, and Angie wore expressions of discomfort, anxiety, and displeasure.
Aslan's eyes, which had been sweeping back and forth for some time, came to a stop when he spotted someone approaching.
A height a little over two meters.
Burly muscles to match a massive frame, and red scales that glittered even under the dim lantern light.
A thick tail swung from side to side as that body moved with purpose.
Anyone would recognize a seasoned warrior at a glance, and he was indeed a seasoned warrior. A Dragon-kin.
Harod Claw.
Harod Claw approached hauling a large sack over each shoulder, then dumped the ore out in front of the guard.
The ore cascaded down with a clatter. Most of the stones were about the size of a fist, and the quantity was enormous—fitting for such large sacks.
It was easily two or three times what the other prisoners had dumped.
But Harod Claw straightened up as if that pile of ore meant nothing. He rolled his head to either side, producing a series of pops from his neck, and turned to head back into the mine.
Yet after taking only a couple of steps toward the tunnel, Harod Claw slowly turned his head and looked back, as if he had spotted something strange.
More precisely, he was looking at Aslan, who had been watching him, and at the girl wearing a look of profound displeasure.
"...Traveler. Angela Tail."
Doubt pooled thickly in those golden, reptilian eyes—pupils slit vertically from top to bottom.
Facing those suspicion-filled eyes turned upon him, Aslan nodded.
"Harod Claw."
The large Dragon-kin approached slowly, a bewildered look on his face. A guard moved to block him, but Aslan extended an arm to stop the man.
Harod Claw halted at a distance where a thrown punch would land, just as he had done back at the inn. He narrowed his eyes.
"What business brings you here? Why were you looking for me?"
Aslan hadn't spoken a word about it, but Harod Claw had sensed he was being sought and stood with his arms crossed as he asked.
Instead of answering, Aslan produced the ring—the seal ring the lord had given him.
He showed the ring to the clerk's assistant and spoke briefly.
"Harod Claw. Come work a job with me."
Before the Dragon-kin warrior could reply, Aslan added:
"I'm leasing you."
The Dragon-kin's expression promptly curdled.