Chapter 148: Treasure Hunt (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 148: Treasure Hunt (2)
Rooooar!
In the great crystal cave of Eisengar.
The master of the cave, enraged by the intruders, let out a roar.
When it opened its maw wide, what lay beyond its throat was pure light. Countless sparkling crystals covered not just its surface, but its insides as well.
A strange beast from within a glacier that had swallowed a treasure.
The demonic beast holding the second treasure, the Crystal Serpent.
It was a two-headed snake with a colossal body.
The boss of the area.
In the game, a boss monster.
One head had a ridiculous passive that nullified magic, while the other nullified physical attacks. To defeat it, you had to build a party with a proper mix of magic and physical damage dealers.
But Azyeth was half-magic, half-physical.
A magic swordswoman who wielded both.
In other words, Azyeth alone was enough.
The Crystal Serpent was a monster tailor-made to maximize Azyeth’s strengths as a magic swordswoman.
“The blue-eyed snake is immune to magic, and the red-eyed one is only vulnerable to magic. Well then, good luck.”
“Go get ‘em, sis.”
“…”
Karami and Perka sat cozily in the ice bunker Azyeth had made, peeling and eating steaming potatoes. Azyeth stared blankly at them.
Azyeth couldn't think deeply.
Nor could she feel clear emotions.
But recently, even she had become able to feel fragmented slivers of emotion. What she was feeling now was annoyance.
If this was Karami's plan to awaken her emotions, it was a great success. The problem was, it wasn't a plan.
The dragon's curse activated, preventing Azyeth from feeling the emotion. The annoyance froze in an instant and vanished to the back of her consciousness.
Azyeth closed her eyes.
She felt at ease.
For this moment, she was glad for the curse.
Having found her peace, Azyeth drew her sword.
A steel sword, not one made of magic ice.
In the game, an ice sword had counted as a physical attack, but it might not be the case here, so Karami had prepared this just in case.
Sword in hand, Azyeth leaped lightly toward the Crystal Serpent.
*
Shunk.
Kuaaargh…
Azyeth plunged her sword into the space between the serpent's eyes.
The creature's skin, which had no resistance to physical attacks, was pierced smoothly even by an ordinary steel sword. The other head, the one with resistance, had been turned into a block of ice from the start of the fight.
The serpent, which had been struggling to escape, stopped moving. The lifeless crystal couldn't maintain its form and crumbled.
The crystals faded, becoming no different from pebbles.
A small glint of light shone from within the pile.
It was clearly the kingdom's treasure that the Crystal Serpent had swallowed.
Azyeth cleared away the pile of stones, bent down, and picked up the treasure. It was a music box, a harmonious blend of blue, white, and gold.
Looking at the music box, it felt incredibly familiar, giving her a sense of déjà vu, just like with the tiara.
Once the battle was over, the two who had been hiding in a safe place approached the scene.
“Good work, Miss Azyeth. That was a clean fight.”
“Watching you fight is beautiful, no matter how many times I see it! Even if my father made an ornament, it wouldn't hold a candle to you, sis.”
Azyeth's combat was close to an art form.
It wasn't just her appearance; her fluid movements, the colors of her magic, and her skillful application of it all blended together to mesmerize people.
Perka was already thoroughly captivated.
“Rami… this…”
“A music box. It must be the treasure the tribal chief mentioned. It seems it was in the serpent's stomach.”
“Music box…?”
“When you operate it, a certain melody plays. Would you like to try?”
Azyeth nodded, wound the music box's spring, and then let it go.
…
But no beautiful song came out. Only a grating cacophony of grinding metal could be heard.
“Hmm, I think it’s broken. Could you let me see it for a moment?”
Azyeth handed the music box to Perka.
Perka exuded a serious air, different from her usual self—the air of a blacksmith. She fiddled with the music box, examining it closely.
“Looks like there's a problem with the internal parts. Well, if this thing is really hundreds of years old, it'd be strange if it were in perfect condition. It was in a monster's stomach, after all, with no maintenance whatsoever.”
“Then… can't… listen…?”
“Well, I'm not sure. It's surprisingly intricate. The more intricate something is, the harder it is to fix. I can't give you a definite answer.”
“…”
Azyeth's head drooped slightly.
The music box's song.
She thought she might remember something if she heard it.
The mood sank a little.
“How can a blacksmith answer like that? Can't you see Miss Azyeth is sad?”
“Huh? Gasp! N-no! I can fix it! I'll definitely fix it! But I don't have the right equipment here, so I'll have to go back to Doomheim to do it.”
“You heard her, right? She says she can fix it, so don't be too disheartened. You trust Miss Perka, don't you?”
“…Yes. Perka… is a great blacksmith…”
“I'm grateful for the trust, but it's a lot of pressure…”
Though it was broken, it was undoubtedly a treasure.
They returned to the village with the music box and, as always, presented it to Darka. Darka tried to operate the music box, but as expected, it only made a grinding sound; no song came out.
“What a shame! It would have been wonderful if it wasn't broken! Still, it's a relief that its original form is preserved!”
“You must know the story behind this music box, then.”
“Of course I do! This music box is… I can't seem to remember.”
Darka, who had been about to confidently tell the story, stroked the tip of her chin. Perhaps because of her age, she couldn't remember no matter how hard she wracked her brain.
A thin shadow of disappointment fell over Azyeth's face.
“Well! What's important is that the music box has returned to us. Good work! I'll keep this safe.”
“Ah, about that. May I take the music box?”
“What?”
“I know a blacksmith with exceptional skill. If I ask him, he'll fix the music box.”
Darka clutched the music box to her chest and turned away.
“No! This is a duty entrusted to me by my ancestors. I must be the one to manage it!”
“Haven't you forgotten what the music box is? If we fix it and listen to the song, your memory might return as well, Chief.”
“Still no. I can't hand it over to anyone! Get lost, you thief!”
The elderly, especially those with dementia, develop a habit of hiding things away, fearing a thief might break in and steal their belongings.
This habit had merged with the duty bestowed upon Darka as the tribal chief. She radiated a will to not hand it over, no matter who it was.
“Hmm, this is problematic.”
Karami let out a low hum, looking as if he were pondering. Soon, he feigned a smile as if a good idea had come to him.
“How about this? I will bring Pascal.”
“Pascal…?”
“That's right. My friend and your son, Pascal. I'll bring him here, so please give us the music box in return.”
“Umm…”
“Don't you miss Pascal, Chief?”
Darka shouted.
“Who says I miss that boy who wouldn't even listen to his own mother? I don't need him!”
“Is that so? You might never see him again. Will you not regret it?”
“That's…”
While Darka hesitated, Karami stood up.
“You should be aware that there isn't much time left. For me, or for you, Chief. I'll be waiting for you to make a good choice.”
*
As they were leaving the tent after the confrontation with Darka, Jorn grabbed Karami's arm with a grim expression.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm talking about bringing Pascal back. Pascal is already dead. The shock of it dealt a great blow to the chief's mind. And yet you dare to not only lie, but to try and make a deal with her. You must have a death wish.”
Crack.
Ice rose from beneath Jorn, encasing his feet. Jorn leaped back. Azyeth had her arm extended toward him.
Her face was expressionless, but the magic was a clear threat: don't touch Karami. If Azyeth had been serious, Jorn would have become an ice statue before he could even react.
Karami began to smooth out his wrinkled clothes.
“Why are you acting so surprised now? It's not like you didn't know who I was.”
“What?”
“I am a slave trader. If there's a profit to be made, I'd even make a deal with the dead.”
“You bastard…”
“I don't know what you expected of me, but my slave comes first. Since my slave wants the music box, I have no choice but to get it for her.”
Having finished straightening his clothes, Karami walked with Azyeth toward their tent.
“We'll be bringing back the last treasure soon. Please take good care of the chief until we return.”
Jorn could only watch them walk away.
He returned to the tent they had left.
A strange sound repeated from within.
“This… I can't give this to anyone. This is mine.”
She clutched the music box, muttering to herself as if possessed by a demon, as if chanting a spell.
Darka's dementia worsened by the day.
As did her health.
The frigid continent of Eisengar shows no mercy to the weak. Darka, old and sick, had the look of someone on death's door.
The Reaper had brought death to Lake Fortress.
I never should have let Karami in.
It was too late for regrets.