Hostile Gates of the Exile City
“A village, you said? Hey... Bron. Didn't you say there was definitely a village here?”
“That's right.”
“But there's a major city right in front of us?”
“A lot of time has passed. It's a record from about 63 years ago...”
No phones or internet, so we can't track real-time development in this world. Can't be helped.
Bron, the current representative of the Romaani tribe traveling with us. It was great that the old man guided us to a spot where a village should be. But even accounting for 63 years, I never expected a metropolis on the scale of the Colorado County!
The roads weren't properly paved—just dirt paths cleared of weeds—but wide enough for two carriages side by side. The climate was mild, with stone walls about 5 meters high, not too tall, and several wooden watchtowers atop them.
Unlike the meticulously carved stone walls of the Colorado barony, these were crude. Roughly rectangular stones stacked up, gaps filled with smaller rocks, clay, or hardened mud. The central continent feels like an absolute monarchy era now... around the 15th century, say. This gives off 9th to 12th century vibes.
A continent where civilization once got wiped out, turned into an exile dump for criminals and outcasts. No proper architects among them, probably.
But over time, they'd picked up skills on their own and built a city this size. Guess there are more people here than I thought.
“Boss. Sis is probably hiding in the carriage by now. Can't have her showing up.”
“Boss. Me too—horns and wings mean I gotta stay inside.”
“Sorry, but yeah. Estelle, Allen. It'll suck, but bear with it for a bit.”
“Got it. Call if something happens.”
Her massive spider lower body or Allen's demonic form would cause headaches if spotted, so they ducked into the carriage. Rina's ten, but twice the size and muscle of her peers—looks like a burly adult woman or big guy from afar. Aside from that, she's got a normal human build. Mary just needs to keep her basilisk eyes covered; with her eyepatch, she's just a blind girl. Jean and Pablo only flame up or frost over when using power—otherwise, just red and frosty hair.
That left...
“Actor-nim. At least wear a mask...”
“Sigh~ I'll shapeshift into that mage for a bit.”
“Pardon? But then...”
“It's fine. Dantalian gave me more power. I won't lose control now. Plus, a mage means no one picks fights, right?”
“Well... true.”
“Then, Actor-nim. How about we say we're a wandering caravan? We've got Colorado knights' and soldiers' gear in the cargo. Call us arms traders...”
“Oh! Perfect. Make Malcolm the caravan leader. I'm the hired mage.”
“Understood.”
Disguises and roles set for sneaking into the metropolis. Ready to head in?
“Hah! Central continent scum, huh? On a trade run? To this forsaken dump? Kwak! Ptoo!—Hilarious!”
Look at this guy? Gate guard acting like a total thug!
Seven soldiers blocking the city gate. The one with a green epaulet on his shoulder eyed us suspiciously, asking our purpose. We answered politely, but he spat phlegm on the ground right in front of us, acting all pissy.
An abandoned continent used as an exile penal colony. Folks born and raised here know central continent people see them as criminal spawn and despise them. With the mage face-skin on, I get it...
But this blatant and rude?!
“Malcolm's caravan? Ha! Trading here in this shithole? Through that Death Forest crawling with beasts?”
Hm? Beasts? Oh—the massive forest near our warp point.
“Y-yes.”
“Think we're idiots? Huh? You central prudes?”
... Crack!
Real talk: claiming we crossed a beast-infested forest for trade? I wouldn't buy it either. But this attitude—does it have to be this dickish?!
Our rushed disguises left us no choice, but I didn't know that forest was that dangerous. Should've sent Allen to scout on arrival.
“B-but we're seeking new trade routes! We heard the rumors about how you view central folk, but this is our last run!”
“Heh~ Had to cross hell for coin? Ptoo!—Fine, whatever. Armor, spears, shields, swords—76 total, you say?”
“Hm~ Weapons, eh? Hey. Time for inspection. Step aside.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Please... Estelle. Allen. Don't get caught...
They approached the carriages with sour faces, peering into the cargo. Two wagons: one with food, bedrolls, camping gear—and our hidden duo in the gaps. The other loaded with gear, as Malcolm said. Luckily, they skimmed the food wagon and focused on the weapons.
Even rude soldiers are soldiers. Seeing Colorado's knight and soldier gear, their eyes lit up like kids with new toys.
One asked to swing a sword. Malcolm flashed his merchant smile and said go ahead. He swung—whoosh, whoosh—drawing steel, grunting loud enough to echo at the gate.
Behavior aside, his skill outclassed Colorado soldiers. Not just a grunt? Not a knight either... squire level, central continent terms.
Whoosh—whoosh—shing! Clank!
“Ho? Better quality than expected. Sharp edge, well-maintained. Central continent's full of softies, huh? Gear's solid.”
“Boss. Let 'em through?”
“Hm~ Approved! Pass! You prudes—don't stir shit. Keep quiet about coming from central. Might get hassled in town.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks for the advice.”
“Open the gate! Caravan incoming!”
Rumble-rumble—the drawbridge lowered.
Asshole sergeant, but just local grudge. Good he kept personal beef out of duty.
“Whew~ Felt ten years younger.”
“Indeed. Close call with those two.”
“True, but we are here to sell weapons. Market first?”
“Yes, Actor-nim.”
Getting in was good. Posing as a Romaani caravan selling arms worked fine... but
“Why the fuck are these central continent bastards here?! Huh?! Suicidal?!”
“Get lost, shitheads! Kak! Ptoo!”
“The scum who treated us like trash now slumming it in exile for coin?!”
This regional hate is way worse than imagined!
Earth had regional beefs and development gaps, sure. But not this—open taunts just passing by? Not like we're enemy nations at war. Spitting, cursing, grabbing collars, even swinging fists first.
Malcolm, Tucker and family, young Romaani kids—some crying in terror. Need I say more?
And those assholes got
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“Gweeeek~!”
Thud! Crunch!
“Aaaagh!”
“You wanna die?! Kids are crying, you bastards!!—"
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Our caring Rina, pissed, pounding them with her hulking frame. Bones snapping in limbs echoed down the street.
She's holding back max—we know that. If serious, they'd explode like bombs...
Later, reading the grimoire, I understood her strength. Lich Pladeus fused her with one of mid-world's top monsters: the king of ogres, an ogre chimera.