"Kuhahaha! We're Rich Now!"
“Kuhahaha! Look at this!”
“Now we're rich!”
Ian distributed the amber stones he'd found in the hidden warehouse to the mercenaries.
Rich... maybe?
The mercenaries fondled the gem fragments with delight. But to Ian's eyes, it wasn't that exciting.
Amber was certainly a gem, but its value was ambiguous. These were raw stones, unpolished, just dug up from the river and piled haphazardly. Honestly, some of them didn't look much better than river rocks. And besides—they'd mined these themselves, only for them to cycle back into the mercenaries' hands.
“I'm buying a cow with mine!”
“Gotta get pigs and chickens too! Hahaha!”
“...”
Medieval folk, when they got money, always thought first of livestock. Animals were like unbeatable stocks—raise 'em right, and profit was guaranteed. They were grinning ear to ear, dreaming of buying chickens and pigs and yelling “to the moon~~”.
Well, as long as the livestock didn't die, they'd definitely get richer. Solid choice.
...Assuming they could sell those raw amber stones for decent coin, anyway.
Ian didn't bluntly tell them, You can't get rich off that crap. Only cold-blooded types with a T-gene could pull that off. Ian was an INFP straight out of the gutter, after all.
“I'm taking this as my share. No complaints, right?”
“Of course not! Hehe...”
Ian pocketed his and his companions' shares of the raw amber. Not a huge haul—just about half a basket. He hadn't hired porters, so luggage space was limited. Travel's biggest space hog was food, obviously. Stocking enough for three people already made for a tiresome pile. The monastery had loaned them a donkey to use as a pack animal, but they didn't have the luxury to lug heavy rocks around.
Sell it to the mercenaries? These guys looked like dirt-poor sellswords clinking around with cheap weapons like the Persian knockoffs they carried. Doubtful they'd even have proper change.
Better to head to Vincent Baron's territory first and decide there.
“Um... Mage?”
As Ian divided the stones, a quick-witted mercenary sidled up.
“That cloth thing... we hadn't seen it before...”
“...”
He meant the golden tapestry. The guy probably thought he was sharp, but it was actually a disastrously tone-deaf move.
“Oh. This?”
Ian's voice dropped, laced with irritation. The truly sharp mercenaries around him fidgeted anxiously. No! The mage liked it, so he grabbed it first! Why point it out, you idiot?!
Ian was a mage who could incinerate people barehanded. He'd roasted a demon mage yesterday—today, he might torch an annoying merc!
If Ian heard that, he'd ask, Who the hell is that psycho? But the mercenaries didn't know his personality.
Mages in the Empire had a rep for being eccentric. Ian had flambéed a demon mage with a spear of flame. Anyone thinking, Wow, he's toasting that guy so gently~ What a sweetheart~ had screws loose.
Naturally, they figured Ian harbored some cranky monster inside. So they scrambled to damage control.
“Whoa~ Looks awesome on you, sir!”
“Whatever it is, it suits you perfect! Hahaha!”
Perfect match for the mage! Just take it and go!
Ian got uneasy as the flattery kicked in. These guys... they want a cut since I snagged the good stuff?
Fair point, honestly. Raw amber was heavy for its value, but the golden tapestry? Light, expensive, rare.
Ian had indeed hogged the best loot. And instead of threats like “Hand over the cash!”, they went with beggar mode: “Hehe, you took the big bite... mind sharing crumbs...?”
He could've tossed them some pocket change out of pity. But first, excuses.
“It was left by the demon mage, so I took it. Feels like it has some evil power imbued.”
“E-Evil power?!”
“Whoa! Stayin' way back!”
The mercenaries retreated in perfect sync. Didn't matter if it was truly cursed—they had an excuse to steer clear now!
Any sane guy wouldn't covet the mage's stuff anymore...
“But I'm dying to know what it is. Mind if I touch—?”
“Hey, you... you a demon minion or what?”
“Drag that bastard out!”
One greedy fool wouldn't let go of the tapestry. But the properly clued-in mercs shut him down fast.
“Mage, please keep that demon mage's stuff safe!”
“Uh... yeah. Sure.”
Ian tilted his head, puzzled. He'd figured someone might covet the pricey thing.
Surprisingly chill, though? Guess everyone hates demon mages!
“Demon mages must really scare 'em,” Ian muttered.
Belenca chimed in from beside him. “Seems more like they're scared of you.”
“Nah, what? They gotta fear demons more than me!”
“...Sure, let's go with that.”
Still looks like they're afraid of you, Belenca thought, but just shrugged.
With loot distribution done, Ian prepped to depart immediately. In hindsight, he'd murdered a shady demon mage. His buddies might notice and track them. Better bounce before trouble hit.
Most mercenaries chose to scatter. Top brass was dead anyway. Dumb ol' Juabil couldn't run the band solo. Become officers themselves? No talent for it. Most had bolted from farm life—they sure as hell couldn't manage a merc company.
“Hehe, Mage? Need any laborers...?”
“Nope.”
For useless mercs, absorbing Juabil's band as private troops would've been ideal. But Ian had no reason to raise an army. What, a mage dangling sellswords for village raids? He even had Gerard's teleport scroll. Bail via warp, and the mercs were left high and dry.
“Juabil. What about you? Plans?”
After most left, only Juabil and a handful remained.
“I...”
Juabil scratched his massive jaw.
“Wanna go with the boss.”
“Hm...”
Juabil was a fine warrior, but a fool. No self-sufficiency.
“Mage's too busy!”
“Yeah, boss! Come with us! One more score!”
“...”
Juabil eyed them sadly. Clearly didn't wanna tag along.
“Ugh, fuck... Juabil bro! Snap out of it!”
Juabil flinched at the yell.
“Who'd take a guy like you, feed and house ya? We do it 'cause you're us! Where else you gettin' warm meals?!”
“...”
“You're a killer anyway! Temples won't take ya!”
“I... I wanna... go to heaven...”
“Heaven? What the fuck heaven?! Think mercs like us get in?!”
The mercs were dead sure Ian wouldn't take him. Juabil was a useless idiot to them. Fighting was all he had—where would a mage use that? So they wanted him back as combat slave.
Ian hadn't planned to take him. Until their yapping.
“You lot.”
Ian spoke up, fed up.
“Ain't you too rough on your captain? Name only or not, he's still the boss.”
“Ahaha... just 'cause we're close. Real close.”
“Close enough to curse a guy doomed to hell?”
“...”
Ian's skin crawled at their talk. And he wasn't alone.
“Warriors can reach heaven too.”
Belenca crossed her arms, voice low.
“If they protect the weak and fight for justice. Honor guides a warrior's soul there.”
“...Priests don't say that.”
“Ours did.”
“???”
The merc didn't know she was foreign. Empire and Baek Nation heavenly faiths had doctrinal nuances. Winz Baekdom, harsh and poor, taught even killer warriors could ascend.
Sensing Ian and Belenca's vibe shift, mercs rushed in, whispering.
“Naw... we're helping Juabil!”
“How?”
“Sigh... Mage, sir. Folks like us at the bottom don't get it—life's war down here!”
Ian snorted. Son of a serf. He'd grubbed bugs off mountains till 10. Bad harvest? Starvation lottery.
The merc, hyped, raised his voice before Ian.
“To survive, ya stomp lower scum! Easiest to crush? Idiots, beggars, clowns!”
“...”
“Powerless get trampled! If boss met us on the road, think he'd get this treatment? Hell no—we'd rob him blind! Fools got no protectors!”
Ian twitched. Heat rising behind him.
...Kira stepped forward, eyes blazing. She spat slowly, chewing the words.
“By your logic... us 'bottom-feeders'... shouldn't we weaklings stick together and protect each other?”
“More naive bullshit...”
“Say it. If you road-rats met a wandering clown...”
“Ha! Kill 'im! Take his coin!”
Might've been his truth. Beggars, fools, clowns—society's unprotected weak. Killing and robbing profited.
But it poked Kira's dark memories.
“...Then when I met vermin like you...”
“M-Mage...?”
“It'd be fine to burn you all to ash?!”
Kira's eyes flashed like ignited coals.
That instant—explosive flames erupted at the merc's feet!
Yes! Burn! Burn them all!
“G-Gyaaahhh!”
The merc screamed horrifically. Panicked comrades rushed, but mage-born fire wouldn't snuff easy.
Ian spotted the flame mystery coiling around Kira.
“Haa... haa...”
Kira clenched her fists, shoulders trembling.
Ian drove off the flame mystery, calming her.
“You okay?”
“Ian...”
Kira pressed her forehead to his chest, ragged breaths slowing.
“I... suddenly wanna cry.”
“Calm first. Go wait over there.”
Ian sent her off, stepped forward. Flames gone, but the merc's legs were boiled red. Horrific burn by modern standards—medieval? Crippling.
“M-My legs...! My legs...!”
“Be grateful you're breathing.”
Ian said coldly.
“That mage's father—a wandering clown, murdered by bandits.”
“...!”
The merc gaped, speechless. A clown's daughter... a mage?!
“Lookin' at you lot, can't trust you with Juabil.”
“W-What?”
“Used him free forever? Gaslit him into starving without the band.”
“Gas... what?”
“Somethin' like that, you ignorant fucks.”
Ian called Juabil.
“Follow me for now. Find you a decent village to settle.”
“Yes sir! Thank you, master!”
“Drop the master bit.”
No complaints, even with Juabil snatched before their eyes. This time it might be their necks, not legs.