Chapter 5
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Following the King's Path (1)
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Revenge was sweet.
The tangled thoughts in his mind melted away cleanly, and it felt like the massive boulder weighing on his chest had been lifted.
"There are so many bastards I need to kill..."
In his previous life, he'd spent about three years with Batay's mercenary band.
Of course, not as a mercenary, but as a slave hauling their gear.
Noon on the day Rakshar was captured by Batay. Rakshar died.
That same evening, right here at this ferry landing, Batay killed the smugglers and seized their gold.
The first load Blanc carried as a slave was the gold chest sitting right here.
"I won't touch the gold. I'd rather get out of here right now than deal with money."
"Y-Yes! Of course!"
"Hiiik! Hiiiik!"
"P-Please spare us! We beg you!"
Staring at the steaming slabs of fresh meat in front of Blanc, the smugglers completely lost control of their bladders.
'Perfect.'
Perhaps because they'd witnessed Batay's gruesome death, the smugglers—who'd stubbornly refused just moments ago—suddenly became compliant.
"You look injured. Think you can move the boat?"
"We'll do our absolute best!"
It was almost too compliant, which could prove troublesome.
Blanc wasn't immune to the allure of the gold before him, but he'd decided to leave it behind.
Because to these men, that gold wasn't treasure—it was poison.
'Considering Batay spent three years on the run after taking it, leaving it here is probably the smart move.'
To smuggle gold, it wasn't enough just to steal it away. You needed a way to fence it without getting caught.
And any criminal outfit sophisticated enough to handle that wouldn't be your average thugs.
Batay had overlooked that. Or maybe he'd known and done it anyway.
Either way, three years later, he was killed by an assassin from some nameless crime syndicate.
Deprived of his master, Blanc was sold, resold, and sold again.
It took nearly a decade of slavery before he finally escaped and started working as a mercenary.
"Now the starting point's different."
Under the moonlight, the smugglers could only watch Blanc mutter to himself, desperately hoping the werewolf from before would return.
Two days later, in the morning.
A group of soldiers rode into Free City Baywood on horseback.
They looked like mercenaries, but their crisp chain of command gave them away as disguised troops.
The soldiers reined in at Baywood's central square, finally arriving at their destination: an inn.
"Welcome, Sir Nasgoer."
A middle-aged man emerged to greet the man called Nasgoer, but he didn't dismount—instead, fixing the greeter with a cold stare.
"You didn't find him?"
"My apologies. We confirmed he entered Baywood, but..."
"But?"
The middle-aged man sweated profusely as he answered Nasgoer's question.
"His trail vanishes after that."
"Damn it all."
Nasgoer dismounted and strode into the inn.
The middle-aged man trailed behind him.
Entering the room the man had prepared, Nasgoer took the seat at the head of the table as if it were natural.
"Keep reporting."
"Yes. We confirmed he arrived at this very inn where we're staying."
"And?"
"According to the owner, only the maid remained—the heir of the Cardmus Family and a suspected gamekeeper left at night, just the two of them."
"At night?"
"Yes. We found it odd that they left under cover of darkness, and the next morning, even the maid had vanished without a trace."
"Hmph."
Nasgoer downed the mug of beer he'd ordered earlier in one gulp, as if nursing a headache.
"So, what's your conclusion?"
The middle-aged man, sweat dripping unchecked, offered a lame excuse.
"I suspect... he was trafficked here in Baywood. Maybe the gamekeeper sold him off..."
Even Nasgoer, who had rushed here himself, didn't rate the odds of a thirteen-year-old noble boy still being alive in Baywood very highly.
At best, kidnapped or imprisoned. At worst, murdered.
The problem was, no matter the case, there should have been some trace left behind. But this was a complete disappearance, leaving Nasgoer at a loss for what to report to his superiors.
"If you thought it was trafficking, you should've found at least a sales record by now. You couldn't track down one kid, so you drag me all the way here?!"
"My deepest apologies!"
The middle-aged man prostrated himself flat on the floor, begging forgiveness.
Nasgoer desperately wanted to crush the man's skull, but he restrained his rage with maximum patience.
He knew all too well that killing this fool would leave himself stuck in this filthy, stinking city searching for the boy.
"This is your last chance. Bring me any trace related to that boy within twenty-four hours."
"Yes, sir! Nasgoer!"
Dismissing the man with a wave, Nasgoer let out a long sigh and drained the rest of his beer.
'Traversed a two-day horse ride in one day, then vanished completely...'
In truth, Nasgoer had assumed Blanc was still wandering lost in the mountains.
So when reports placed him in Baywood, the shock had been immense.
'Whoever it is, there's a capable hand by young Blanc Cardmus's side.'
He couldn't imagine a thirteen-year-old boy navigating such perils on his own.
'If we don't find him, it'll be a headache...'
A massive headache.
The invasion of the Cardmus territory of Norinton had been a joint effort by three Gartaria Kingdom houses.
Ranketa, Camora, and Vishus.
They'd framed it under noble family banners rather than the kingdom's name to keep it a territorial dispute.
It was a transparent ploy, but as long as it stayed a localized lord-vs-lord provocation—not full-scale war with Felix Kingdom—they could offer compensation elsewhere.
If push came to shove, they could cede far more valuable land than Norinton.
To Felix, Norinton wasn't a vital strategic hub anyway.
But to Gartaria, it was land they had to acquire, no matter the cost.
'And we let the heir slip away!'
Yet they'd lost Norinton's rightful successor.
The Cardmus Family had ruled Norinton for three generations.
Their hold was ironclad: a baron house recognized by Felix Kingdom and endorsed by the Goddess Church as Norinton's true lords.
Under feudal law, territorial ownership worked that way.
Not even a king could arbitrarily seize such inherent rights.
And Blanc Cardmus was the last Cardmus bearing those rights.
If the boy ever came forward claiming his lawful ownership, Gartaria would have no recourse—short of all-out war with Felix.
"Damn it all..."
The aftertaste of the beer turned bitter in Nasgoer's mouth.
They'd floated downriver by ferry for a day and a half.
A journey that would've taken a week on foot.
Thus, the smugglers and Blanc's group arrived at a tiny, unnamed fishing village.
Undeterred, they pressed on through a narrow path up the mountains, passing through an unmistakably man-made cave. Three days after leaving Baywood, they reached the Felix Kingdom highway known as the King's Path.
This was the road King Wilhelm I had used for his northern conquests during Felix's founding. Follow it, and they'd reach the capital, Baltimer.
"Well then, we'll be off..."
"You did well. I'd love to reward you handsomely, but circumstances don't allow it."
"N-No, sir! Without you, young master, we'd already be corpses. This was just repayment for saving our lives."
"Is that so? Then we can part as friends. Rakshar."
The smugglers flinched as the massive hunter rose.
Anyone watching would think they cowered before Rakshar, but a closer look from afar would reveal they were desperate to put distance between themselves and Blanc.
"Yes, young master."
"Escort them back to that cave entrance we came from. They've brought us this far despite your wounds—we owe them that courtesy."
"No, really, young master. We can manage on our own..."
"I insist."
Under Blanc's firm urging, the three smugglers reluctantly departed under Rakshar's guard.
Emilia, who had watched silently, let out a huge sigh the moment they vanished from sight.
"Phew. Ah, now I can finally breathe. I couldn't even draw a proper breath those past days. How do you stay so calm chatting with those terrifying thugs, young master?"
"Because I'm a noble."
"Even nobles don't bat an eye after watching men slaughter others so brutally!"
"That's how nobles are."
Throughout their three-day escape, Emilia had stared at the ground without a word.
Abandoned alone? Trembling in anxiety, weeping in her inn room.
Rescued by Rakshar and brought to the ferry, her first sight was mutilated corpses.
'The smugglers here tried to avenge their comrades. No way to stop them.'
Blanc had quietly explained to her: stay silent from now on, don't provoke them, keep talk to a minimum.
He'd only meant to scare them enough for a quiet passage, but his intimidation worked too well. Emilia hadn't uttered a peep for three days.
Now, with the smugglers gone, she unleashed a torrent of chatter without pause.
"The sun's setting, so we should set up camp..."
"Camping's a first for me. But dinner first, right? Should've bought some fish back at that village. Good thing no rain tonight—just need flat ground. Rakshar's huge; how much food for him? He likes spicy, right? Or..."
"I'm skipping dinner."
"Pardon?"
Blanc was utterly fed up with Emilia.
"Nobles don't eat dinner."
"What do you...?"
"One more word, and I mean it—no dinner. Got it?"
Emilia was her mother's favorite maid, present since Blanc's birth.
In short, family to the Cardmus household. So even as noble and servant, Blanc couldn't bluntly tell her to shut up.
Reading the mood, she quietly unpacked the pot from the smugglers and started on dinner.
Unable to pester Blanc, she bombarded Rakshar—who'd returned after seeing them off—with endless chatter.
Too busy yapping at Rakshar, perhaps.
Emilia failed to notice three arrows missing from his quiver.