Chapter 58
Chapter 58
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: The Highest Bid
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Rubo seemed to mull it over for a moment before speaking.
"Very well."
"You've grasped my intent, then?"
"Of course. If it rebuilds the trust between us, that is. In the end, Great One, you'll see me pay the steepest price of all."
Tatar didn't particularly care whether it was Rubo or someone else, but he kept that to himself.
Rubo took one of Tatar's warrior subordinates and paraded around the central isle to announce the arrival of the lizardmen. The next day, the Astasidian tribal chiefs appeared on Rubo's island.
The chiefs, along with the attendants who'd come to assist them, buzzed with murmurs at the sight of Tatar and his warriors.
"Those the descendants of the dragon?"
"They look tough as nails. Check out those gleaming black scales."
"I'm eyeing that silk robe, though."
"Look at the swords they're carrying. Totally different color from our metalwork."
"When do we get to see the lightning?"
"Better if we don't."
"Why's that?"
"No one's ever survived to tell the tale..."
Tatar wanted to ask who had spread the story if that were true, but he let it drop—pursuing it would only unravel too many threads.
Once everyone had gathered, Rubo spoke up.
"Tribal chiefs, step forward. Let's discuss who will pay the highest price for Tatar the Great's silk."
The four Astasidians excluding Rubo stepped forward, Marang among them—a face Tatar recognized.
Marang looked like he wanted to say something to Tatar atop the rock, but with Tatar staring right back, he averted his gaze.
At first, the chiefs proposed modest sums.
Some even showed up hauling bundles, convinced that would suffice to claim the silk.
But when the four chiefs offered what they thought fair, Rubo interjected.
"Is that all? My tribe can offer Tatar the Great ten ships."
The chiefs faltered, their antennae twitching in shock.
As Rubo shot Tatar a smug glance, Marang spoke up.
"...My tribe can offer ten ships, plus two bundles of pearls."
The crowd stirred again.
Pearls served as currency on the isles.
They held greater value on the mainland, but even here, they were no trinket.
Thanks to Rubo's opening salvo, the bidding heated up as the chiefs vied fiercely.
Some chiefs dropped out, unable to compete, leaving it to a showdown between Rubo and Marang.
"My tribe will give Tatar the Great five ships right away, and ten more with each changing of the seasons—until the day I die!"
"Then I'll add half the ore from my island's open-pit mine!"
Rubo had the final word. Marang raised his claw, trembling, then let it drop.
"...My island has no open-pit mine."
Rubo thrust both claws high.
The other Astasidians clacked theirs together in applause—a gesture even Tatar could easily interpret.
Rubo turned to Tatar.
"My victory."
"...Congratulations."
Tatar pulled the silk stamped with Rakrak's seal from his robes, privately wondering if this scrap of cloth was truly worth so much. But if Rubo was satisfied, that was all that mattered. At the very least, Rakrak's lessons in trade had proven their worth.
Tatar transcribed the agreement onto the silk and had Rubo confirm the terms again. It seemed an exorbitant price, but with the other chiefs as witnesses—and Rubo exuding confidence that his tribe could pay—it felt solid.
As Tatar moved to hand over the stamped silk, Marang shuddered and shouted.
"Hold it!"
Rubo turned.
"What is it, Marang? You aren't about to bid higher now, are you?"
"Hah! This contest was never fair from the start."
Marang drew his bronze sword, and Rubo and the nearby chiefs backed away.
That was only the beginning.
As if on signal, blue-shelled Astasidians hidden along the shore lumbered forward.
There were more of them than the chiefs and their guards combined.
Rubo drew his own sword and bellowed.
"Marang, you bastard—you never intended to honor this!"
"Right. I couldn't outbid your tribe with wealth alone. I hoped I might win, but no such luck. Time for Plan B. With all the chiefs gathered in one spot like this—how could I pass up the opportunity?"
Rubo faltered.
"The 'Bag of Tricks Marang' after all, huh."
"That's right, 'Merchant Rubo.' This fight is mine!"
Tatar noted how fond these folk were of nicknames.
Rubo shuddered.
"Fool."
"Don't you get it, Marang? My 'contract' with the Great One is already sealed."
"So what? I know the dragon descendant talk and lightning boasts are all bluster anyway."
"Heh, is that what you think?"
Tatar let out a soft groan from atop the rock.
'I've heard enough.'
Tatar charged straight off the rock and booted Marang skyward with all his might.
-Crunch!
Shell cracked as Marang flew a meter up before tumbling across the ground.
He tried to rise, only to flop back and roll again.
Tatar confirmed the deep crack in Marang's abdomen.
Tatar turned to his warriors.
"Tougher than expected. Target the joints."
"Understood."
The ten warriors who'd held back until now advanced on the blue-shelled Astasidian tribe.
The blue shells panicked at the black-scaled lizardmen.
Marang staggered to his feet with his subordinates' aid.
"What are you waiting for? Kill them! Then we rule the isles!"
The battle erupted.
Tatar tucked Marang's head under his arm and squeezed hard.
Having already lost both large claws, Marang put up no real fight.
-Crack!
Marang's head crumpled, his body going limp.
Tatar shook off the fluids and chunks.
"Nothing impressive."
Tatar surveyed his warriors.
It hadn't been an easy win.
Astasidians were physically formidable; even unarmed, their natural claws made deadly weapons. And the warriors were outnumbered to boot.
But Tatar hadn't spent his time with the Astasidians idly spectating.
Anticipating a clash, he'd studied their weaknesses and shared the intel with his warriors. Blessed by divine power, he'd concluded targeting joints to shatter or snap them would work—and it had. Despite the odds, his warriors claimed victory with only light wounds.
Rubo, who'd watched it all, shouted.
"True descendants of the dragon! You all saw that? Let's celebrate this triumph!"
The Astasidians raised a pair of massive claws each and roared in unison. The clacking echoed across the beach.
Tatar had to admit, hearing it now, the dragon descendant bit wasn't all bad.
Rakrak sat on a tree stump before a tent overlooking Orzan, listening to the messenger Tatar had sent.
"Glad it worked out."
Tatar had extracted tribute from the Astasidians while assuring that trade with Maganen merchants would continue unabated.
He called it the central isle, but Tatar hadn't circled it fully even after days at sea—it was vast. Undiscovered mines or ancient ruins might lurk there still.
Tatar promised to scout the isles in his spare time, seeking treasures for the king or resources to bolster the national treasury.
Rakrak appointed Tatar as foreign affairs officer and Rubo as isle lord.
Isle lord was an honorary title Rakrak had improvised while scratching his nose, but foreign affairs officer held real power: the authority to summon warrior captains, even if not a warrior himself. It suited Tatar well.
"Good. Where's the next messenger from?"
An attendant beside Rakrak replied.
"From distant Jarin."
"The elves, hm."
Jarin was a village at the northern coast's end, home to green-eyed elves.
Sure enough, the messenger was a young elf.
"An honor to meet you, Rakrak."
"What brings Jarin calling on me?"
The elf said,
"Our scouting party spotted black-scale intruders."
Seong-un had recently taken an interest in the Astasidians. To keep them from unifying too quickly, he'd played some light pranks. When a strong tribe set sail, he'd shunt them far off course with the Subdomain: Ocean Currents, or bog them down in mud with the Subdomain: Marshes to handicap fights. Until Tatar descended with Rakrak's stamped silk, he'd toyed just enough to maintain balance. Once he realized the isles were untapped land, Seong-un knew he had to secure resources somehow. 'Terrain in Lost World isn't random. The isles are rich in silver mines. Not major currency yet, but with world trade booming like this, gold and silver will dominate within a generation.' Snagging those silver mines could let the Black Scales dominate the third continent's economy down the line. 'Sure, it'll take some maneuvering, but it's doable. Currency scams or whatever. Not scams, really—no laws against it yet.' Seong-un got his slice of the isles' mines as planned—a future windfall neither the Astasidians nor Tatar and Rakrak fully grasped. Still, he'd had to admit skimping elsewhere to pull it off. Checking his usual spots—Black Scale hubs, Orzan, Jodokseong, and Jarin—via the status window, Seong-un spotted the issue. '...The numbers are down.' This was the 'Miracle' window. Specifically, the control panel for miracles from the Subdomain: Bugs—the locust swarms. One of his creations was urgently hailing him. Hongo, leader of the diminished swarm. -My creator... can you hear me?
"Speak."
Hongo operated in the continent's heart, guiding the swarm to devour settlers' crops and nomads' grazing pastures. So far inland from the peninsula, central players dismissed it as a mob event. No bug subdomain holders bordered them anyway. Plus, depleting food slowed population growth and civilization—valuable for Seong-un. The catch: swarms needed oversight. But since creating Hongo early on, Seong-un hadn't micromanaged, freeing time to aid Rakrak. 'I told Hongo not to bother me unless urgent. So if it's reaching out...' Hongo said, -Due to my failure... the swarm's true nature has been exposed...