Chapter 115
Chapter 115
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: Judgment of Atala (18)
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The Arena King, Yubik, thought he must be seeing things.
It was understandable. He had just endured excruciating pain for the first time in his life and lost far too much blood. There was no way that scene could be real. He hurriedly pulled himself together by gulping down the strong liquor he had brought with him.
But the sight before his eyes remained unchanged.
Clink, clink—gold coins and bars endlessly poured into a bag no bigger than a mouse's head.
'No, what the hell... This can't be real...'
At first, he thought it must have more capacity than it looked. But as he watched, it proved to be far more than that. A mountain of gold coins vanished by a third, then half, and eventually nearly all of it—yet the bag showed no sign of filling up.
"Wh-what...? What did you do? Did you punch a damn hole in the bottom of the bag? Hurry up and lift it!"
Kadim shrugged and hoisted the bag. Naturally, there was no hole underneath. The barbarian and the merchant resumed shoveling in the gold.
It wasn't a hallucination, nor had they drilled a hole. But it was unmistakably a scam. Yubik bellowed until his throat was raw, demanding they stop, asking what trickery this was, whether some gold-devouring ghost had possessed the bag.
Kadim ignored the protests, letting them flow past like water off his back. Only after a long while did he mutter to himself with a grave expression.
"Oh dear, this is a problem."
"What...? What's the problem? Did that cursed bag finally fill up?"
"No, we've barely filled half, but the gold's all gone. We'll have to fill the rest with jewels or whatever else is around."
"...What?!"
Forgetting his own condition, Yubik thrashed about like a lightning-struck boar, foaming at the mouth.
The tantrum didn't last long. Kadim approached with a stern face and gripped his shoulder lightly.
"Didn't we have a deal? To fill that bag with gold. Nothing's gone wrong, so why the fuss?"
"No, ngh... You filthy bastards!! You never said the bag was some freakish monster... Ngh, hng... Ah, no, more than that! We agreed on gold only, so why eye other treasures... Nngh..."
"You're right about that. Should've prepared more gold, huh? If you can't fill the bag, it'll be you breaking the promise..."
"...?"
"Wait here. I'll go up and fetch more."
"...!!!"
The Arena King had no choice but to show flexibility, substituting other valuables for gold.
In the end, the 'Inventory' devoured every last bit of treasure from the warehouse. As Yubik stared at the empty floor, a dazed laugh dribbled from his mouth.
"Kuhaha, haha... Heh, hehe, hehe..."
There was still space left. Kadim glanced around the adjacent storeroom and spotted stacks of slave contracts. He crammed those in too, and only then did the bag finally fill to the brim.
The bag had grown heavy as a boulder, but his heart felt light as a feather. Kadim waved casually, bidding farewell.
"Thanks for keeping your word. Here's a little extra as a tip—use it for drinks sometime."
Something rolled across the floor and clinked against an empty bottle.
Ting-a-ling-ling, tang—!
A single 100-luden silver coin. That was all he had left.
Yubik stared blankly at it before finally snapping, pissing himself right there in his pants.
"Heh, hehehe, hehe... Kuhhehe, kuhhehehehehe..."
Thus, Yubik Agrámendus—the magnate hailed by all as the Arena King—lost his arena, mercenaries, slaves, fortune, and even his blubber in an instant, meeting a hollow end.
On the way out of the underground warehouse.
Kadim was calm, but Duncan was not. He kept glancing back nervously before whispering in a creeping voice.
"M-my lord... I-I know I set this up, but seeing him ruined like that sits uneasy with me... The arena's collapsed too, so no more money coming in... Maybe we should've left him a little gold..."
Kadim's reply was his usual cynicism.
"No need to worry. Didn't I tell you? This was judgment he deserved. Taking everything down to the last coin is what gives it meaning. Besides, didn't you hear? He'd use whatever's left to put bounties on our heads."
"B-but this loot... Do I really deserve to take it? I just flapped my gums— you did all the dirty work..."
"Without that flapping, we wouldn't have even seen the treasure. And didn't I promise you enough gold and silver to last a lifetime? Your wish came true—aren't you happy?"
"N-no, I am happy, but... It's way more than I deserve, and using money squeezed from someone for my own greed feels off..."
A gaze drilled into the top of his head. Duncan clamped his mouth shut, wondering if he'd spoken out of turn. In truth, Kadim was just exasperated by the contradiction of someone reveling in the deed yet feeling guilt.
But that contradiction proved the merchant still had his humanity intact. Kadim had anticipated the reaction and already decided how to handle it.
"You're right—too much for one man. A hassle to carry too."
Thud—!
Setting down the 'Inventory' made the ground rumble. Only a barbarian with superhuman strength could tote it; anyone else would've been crushed.
Duncan paled at the thought of carrying it himself when Kadim rolled his stiff shoulders and commanded.
"Bring all the slaves from the estate. Grab every bag and bundle you can find."
"...Pardon?"
"Let's put what we looted to good use."
Flutter, flutter—a thick stack of slave contracts waved from Kadim's large hand.
A wind that parched mouths and soaked backs.
The wasteland outside Agon had no buildings or earthen walls to block the dust storms. Yet among the three hundred Atalans lined up in formation, not one blinked.
"I have something to tell you all now..."
Goltaran confessed everything to the 'Indomitable Legion'.
I am not Atala's Great Warrior... Not Agon's Furious Horn, nor the hero who saved the alliance... Not a legendary champion—in fact, the destroyer who razed the arena... I can no longer stay in that city, receive patronage from its council or magnates, or share elixirs and divine artifacts...
I am a nobody.
"...So anyone who wishes to leave may go freely."
"...""
A solemn silence fell at first.
Then, like raindrops rippling a still pond, murmurs arose here and there. They merged into a storm of buzzing voices. Goltaran closed his eyes calmly, ready to bear his karma.
But unexpectedly, before his men's recriminations came a child's piping voice.
"N-no! Gasp, gasp—L-Lord Goltaran! Lord Goltaran is not a nobody at all!"
"...?"
"L-Lord Goltaran is a hero! The hero who saved my life... If not for you... If not for Lord Goltaran, I would've been... Already... Gasp, huff..."
A small child came running up, breathless and choking with emotion, unable to continue. Goltaran could scarcely believe his eyes.
"You...? How did you...?"
It was the slave child he had once rescued from whipping and bloodshed.
The child hadn't come alone. Far off, a crowd numbering in the hundreds approached. All were Atalan slaves under Yubik whom Goltaran had fought to free.
And at the procession's head stood a familiar figure.
The Demon Slayer, Kadim.
Kadim strode naturally through the stunned, suspicious warriors to stand before their chieftain. Goltaran wore much the same expression as his men. Questions boiled up his throat.
But before he could ask, Kadim struck first.
"Here to lighten your load."
"...Pardon?"
"Can't lead a host like this against demons. Take responsibility and handle them. With that many, it shouldn't be hard."
An explanation with far too much omitted.
Goltaran stammered, unsure where to start. He finally managed to ask how he'd brought them. The reply: prize for becoming champion, and the contracts were already burned.
Goltaran let out a hollow laugh. Ironically, Yubik had handed the slaves to Kadim just as the lie dictated—though the outcome was worlds apart.
Freeing the slaves was Goltaran's long-cherished wish. He could thank him a thousand prostrations and still feel short.
But he couldn't take responsibility for them now.
"I'm sorry, but I can't take that duty. I can no longer stay in Agon—I'm a fugitive with nowhere else to go."
"Take this to Delutana. Find Enrico Turis there."
Kadim handed over a paper as if he'd been waiting. Goltaran tilted his head.
"...What is it?"
"Pass for the Golden Highway. Show it, and he'll know I sent you. He's an envoy for the council there—we're acquainted, so he'll likely help. He already spoke highly of you as warriors worth a hundred each..."
"... ."
Thus, destination and lodging were settled, at least temporarily. But the issues remained: his warriors might not follow him anymore, and he had no funds to feed them all.
Those problems resolved themselves just as magically, one after another.
"He's right. Great Warrior—no, Lord Goltaran... Even if not the Great Warrior, you're still our hero. Didn't you give us, who faced a lifetime behind arena bars, meaningful struggle and a better future?"
"Exactly! Without Lord Goltaran, we'd still be dismissed as savage barbarians!"
A few warriors left in disappointment, but the majority stood firm. Their hearts still recognized Goltaran alone as their legion's sole chieftain.
Soon, one warrior raised a cheer, and the others echoed it.
"Glory to Atala! And to our chieftain who still leads the legion despite it all!"
"Glory to Atala! And to our chieftain who still leads the legion despite it all!"
The warriors' roars thundered across the plain like war drums. They pounded their chests in rhythm. Goltaran bit his lip, bowed his head, and quietly swallowed the surging emotion.
Kadim, watching indifferently, called over the porters with their packs.
"Don't worry about feeding your men and kin. Gotta pay handling fees for lightening the load, right?"
As the porters unpacked, Goltaran's fierce eyes widened like fists.
Gold bars, silver ingots, dazzling jewels—far too lavish for mere "fees." Before he could question the source, came the explanation: looted from Yubik's warehouse—followed by a firm warning.
"Not giving it all for free, of course. Use half freely, but keep the other half untouched and safe. That's for the owner's share."
Goltaran's gaze followed his thick finger.
To a familiar face: the merchant who had clashed with him fiercely, showing astonishing grit.
Goltaran's face hardened gravely as he strode forward.
Duncan froze solid. Wild thoughts raced: Would he kill me now and claim the loot? Revenge for the backstab in Soltana? Discovered the dagger to the throat and singed beard yesterday?
None of it. Goltaran knelt solemnly and declared.
"By Atala's sacred name, I swear. I'll stake my life to guard your treasures. Any who covet them, I'll gouge out both eyes without exception. Any who touch them, I'll sever both hands."
"Uh... Pardon?"
Duncan, pale as a ghost, trailed off with "N-no need to go that far...", but Goltaran ignored him.
"And I sincerely apologize for before. On reflection, you were right. I was a false Great Warrior, and he alone is the true Gre—Mmgh."
Rough hands suddenly clamped his mouth. Twisting his head, he met cold, stern eyes.
Kadim nodded toward the assembled warriors. Meaning: if they learned, it could fracture the group—keep his identity secret.
Fair enough—even loyal to Goltaran, their zeal for the Great Warrior's cause burned bright. Come to think of it, the 'Judgment of Atala' was already hidden away. Goltaran chided his own carelessness and obeyed without protest.
Even without the Great Warrior title, Kadim was the benefactor who freed his enslaved kin and provided massive war funds.
Following their chieftain's lead, every warrior knelt and thumped their chests. The freed slaves prostrated themselves in the dirt without hesitation. The vast wasteland seemed crowded as the throng paid homage to one man alone.
"Glory immense to the Demon Slayer!"
"May Atala's grit be with our great brother's path!"
"Father of the wilds! Bless and grace the holy liberator's path!"
"... ."
Kadim turned away without a word. Duncan, flustered and burdened, hurried after. Even as their silhouettes faded into the haze of the vast wasteland, not one kneeling soul rose.
The Atalan way: to engrave a benefactor's grace into their bones, never to be forgotten, even if cast from his sight.
Only when even the dark specks vanished did they stand. But mid-rise, Goltaran noticed something amiss.
"What's wrong, child? Some problem?"
"... ."
The slave child he had saved. No dirt on her clothes—she hadn't knelt or prostrated. Fidgeting with a dark expression, she soon confessed.
"Lord Goltaran, it's a secret, but... I saw him... with that black axe. What if he... stole your weapon...?"
Goltaran met her worried eyes and burst into hearty laughter. Then he gently ruffled her hair with his rough hand.
"You shared a secret, so I'll share one too. Truth is... the opposite. That axe was originally his, not mine. I used it unjustly while the owner was away, but now the rightful master has come—it's only right to return it."
Her eyes rounded. She knew who the owner meant.
"But Lord Goltaran... He's... so cruel. At the master's estate, he killed the mercenaries—even those begging for mercy... Horribly. Of course, I'm grateful he freed us, but... It's hard to believe such a scary, cruel man is the Great Warrior..."
Goltaran gazed quietly at the sky.
The sun rolling across the heavens hadn't strayed far from midday. Yet eventually, sunset and night would come. A brutal, vicious night whose end was hard to fathom.
"...Someone's peaceful night is usually forged from another's sweat and blood. Staying awake through endless nights of struggle, purging evil and facing foes—that is his mission. If he hadn't slain those mercenaries, wouldn't they have hunted us down?"
"... ."
"So we must respect, not fear him. His cruel battles will save us in the end. The blood pooling in his footsteps will surely fertilize the sprouts of a new world."
The child bowed her head solemnly. Yet doubt lingered plainly. Goltaran puzzled over how to convince her now.
Then a strange color caught his eye.
A hue never seen in these parts.
"Look there. The traces of a new world are already sprouting, aren't they?"
"...!"
The child saw it too. Her voice trembled with excitement.
"Are those really... growing because of him?"
"Yes. A witch who cursed this land with misguided will... He judged her."
"... ."
A bitter smile tugged Goltaran's lips. The child's innocent eyes sparkled like fish scales.
Scorching, acrid sunlight poured onto the wasteland, as if to uproot all will to grow. But the sprouts—those that had pierced the barren soil and unfurled their first leaves—swayed without breaking, gently weathering the heated blaze and gusts.
One summer, when the blood of countless fell like monsoon rains.
Fresh green was returning to Agon's forgotten earth.