Chapter 113
Chapter 113
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: There Are Too Many Fallen Nobles 6
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Before entering the fog-shrouded area, Azadin impressed upon Scott,
“Once we’re inside, there’ll be Naga Empire folks. When fighting breaks out with them, I need assurance you won’t betray us.”
“I don’t betray my employers.”
“Didn’t the Naga Empire hire you, and yet you surrendered to me?”
“It wasn’t the nation that hired me—it was the Naga present at the time. And if surrendering counts as betrayal, isn’t that stretching the term too far? So what do you want from me?”
“Well...”
Azadin looked troubled. In truth, what he wanted was for Scott to swear on that ‘Naga half-orc oath.’
But on second thought, it was an act orcs used to demean and insult humans—demanding it felt like spitting in the wind while lying down.
Plus, would it even prevent betrayal? Wasn’t it utterly pointless?
“Forget it. I’ll just trust you.”
“What a joker. Shouldn’t you worry more about that Naga woman? She’s probably plotting to bolt at any moment.”
“Shati? I’ve got no way to convince her not to run.”
She was a Naga, after all—her loyalty to the Naga Empire wouldn’t just vanish because someone told her to ditch it.
“To keep her from running or betraying, I’d have to kill her, but I’m not ready for that easy choice yet.”
“...An easy choice, huh.”
Scott the orc seemed deeply moved by Azadin’s words.
*********
“Then I’ll lead the way.”
Sir Brock stepped forward, parting the fog.
“So, Sir Brock— what’s your wife like?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“I’m asking because she might shoot us full of arrows on sight. Not out of curiosity about your married life. What does she look like?”
“A Bthumite with black skin and black hair. A young woman.”
“Hmm. Got it.”
Azadin nodded at that.
To pass through the fog, he first sent Ismail ahead as scout and Midiam to the rear. No one else was as reliable for scouting or rearguard as those two from the Herald clan.
‘Since they can use Foresight Bird magic.’
Just then, Ismail whistled from the lead.
“Everyone, stop.”
“What is it?”
“There are spiderwebs.”
“Ah.”
Everyone nodded at the mention of spiderwebs. It was common for noblewomen to become followers of Artra. The Spider Queen Artra of the Kurt divine tribe granted her female followers youth, vitality, and beauty.
Many court ladies fell to Artra’s temptations to bolster their power and allure. Hadn’t Baroness Nordt, once Count Salasma’s mistress, been a follower of Artra?
“With webs this thick... it must be massive.”
Azadin clicked his tongue upon spotting a corpse tangled in the webs. They spanned from a massive wooden signpost along the road to nearby buildings, with a dog’s corpse rolled up tightly in them.
It was a fairly large Bullmastiff breed—should’ve been calf-sized and rippling with muscle—but now it was drained of fluids, just shriveled skin.
“There are footprints here. Judging by the size... a spider bigger than an ox.”
Ismail showed Azadin traces of the spider.
“Good. Fog’s too thick—cancel scout formation. Tighten up.”
Azadin reshaped their formation.
“Scott!”
“Yeah?”
“Time to ditch the wheelchair.”
“What? What’re you talking about?”
“To deal with spiders, your wheelchair will come in handy.”
Azadin pulled Scott from the chair and scavenged timber from a nearby building to craft sharp wooden spears. He made four spears and linked them like a barricade.
He mounted them on the wheelchair for wheel mobility. Too big and heavy for a person to wield easily, but on the chair, it was manageable.
It was perfect for halting cavalry or large monsters. He tethered the goats with leather straps so they’d drag the spears along.
“And the other knights, form ranks behind the spears. Our archers will cover from there.”
Azadin set a combat formation from the start and advanced. Scott, now forced to walk after yielding the chair, grumbled.
“Ugh, every step feels like needles stabbing my legs... I ride the wheelchair to avoid gaining muscle—ain’t this too much?”
Normal humans fretted over muscle loss; orc Scott worried about gaining it. Sir Brock sighed, shield raised at the front.
“So that’s it—my wife became a spider?”
“Not necessarily your wife—could be your lover or mistress.”
“......”
“Sir Brock, did you have a mistress?”
Guillaume Balt asked Brock.
“Embarrassing to admit, but no mistress—just one lover.”
“Embarrassing tale. Becoming a cultist is a sin, sure, but do you know how jealousy ravages a soul? Corruption seeped into her desolation—that makes you partly responsible for this fall!”
Brand railed at Brock upon hearing him.
“No, hey, I get it. Everyone keeps lovers, right?”
Guillaume Balt defended Brock. He wanted to win over a key vassal like Brock, who held vital passes.
“What’re you saying? The King’s Church canon encourages monogamy. Lust leads to too many kids, inheritance squabbles, wars, rebellions—leaving the people to suffer every time, no?”
“But...”
The King’s Church promoted monogamy, but few nobles followed it. Hardly a major flaw.
Brand, however, was furiously principled on honor and propriety with the knights.
‘Brand the scribe never defied superiors like this before. He’s a different man now.’
Brock, taken aback by Brand’s outrage, apologized.
“Scribe Brand, forgive me. I’ve got no defense, even with ten mouths. Even heroes keep three wives and four concubines...”
“Kept them before becoming heroes. Pathetic. So what’ll you do? Kill your cultist wife and pretend it didn’t happen? Or...”
“I’d restore her if possible, but that’s impossible, right?”
“Never heard of someone turned into a spider bigger than an ox turning back.”
As far as Azadin knew, such severe mutations were beyond saving. A miracle maybe—but even new kings of the Eight Kingdoms paid dearly for those.
“Then I’ll kill her and take my own life.”
Shati, overhearing, grumbled.
“Why you all deciding life and death on your own? Maybe she’s happy as a spider-human now?”
“......”
Shati, kin to the Kurt divine tribe as a Naga, might think that way—but humans couldn’t swallow it.
“More importantly, Shati—can we talk?”
Azadin pulled her aside.
“Where’s your Naga base?”
“Can’t say.”
“Even after coming this far?”
“I’m just a weak prisoner. Haven’t betrayed my kin.”
“In this mess, finding the base wouldn’t be betrayal. Don’t you think something’s up with your Naga?”
“What? Think we can’t handle a few Artra followers?”
Shati brimmed with confidence against Artra’s ilk.
“Can’t you see? Too few human sacrifices.”
“What of it?”
“Idiot. Since when do Naga have such loyalty to humans that they’d just fog up and wait for them to flee? Proof things aren’t going your way.”
“......”
“Fine, won’t talk? No matter—probably disguised as a brothel or trading post anyway.”
“Ugh, don’t overreach!”
Shati bristled, but inwardly reeled.
‘How’d he know? Heralds, the Emperor’s Heralds—can’t underestimate them.’
“Hm?”
Azadin halted.
“Hah.”
His breath fogged white and froze. It was early summer. Rantaric was warm—breath freezing was impossible.
“This...”
Everyone noticed the chill. And the fog thickened.
“Careful.”
Shadows of humans approached from within the fog.
*********
“Huh?”
Guillaume Balt, on alert, deflated.
“Grrr!”
What emerged from the fog were mummy soldiers Nagas often used. But frost coated their skin, limbs frozen—cracking and crumbling with each step?
Before reaching the spears, a frozen leg shattered, toppling the mummy like a porcelain doll.
“Grraaa...”
Behind them loomed more corpses—and live but freezing-to-death were-rats.
“Why’re there were-rats here?”
“Birdheight Village. My fief... but what’s this?”
Azadin advanced to inspect a still-living were-rat.
“Hey. What happened?”
“Urk. H-humans.”
“...A cloak—no, a goat!”
Azadin fetched a Kerim goat to wrap and warm the were-rat. The fur and body heat eased the chill tormenting it.
“Think this’ll make me spill for you bastards?”
“You don’t know? That girl’s Shati, Naga Empire agent.”
“Huh?”
“And that prick’s Scott Macgreen, orc necromancer.”
Not wrong. But ripe for misunderstanding.
“Don’t judge by appearances, Mezzeri’s kin. Speak.”
“Mm... During the council, a Nether beast appeared. Human witch’s doing!”
“A human witch?”
“Yeah. Urk... c-cold.”
Even wrapped in the Kerim goat, the were-rat shuddered. Teeth chattered, front incisors clacked and snapped, blood spurting—then freezing.
“What kind of woman’s the witch?”
“The l-lord’s wife.”
Sir Brock flinched at that.
His wife a witch? A Mezzeri apostle, a were-rat, saying it?
“She cursed the mistress for stealing her husband. Kidnapped her before us, turned her into an Artra follower.”
“Artra follower?”
“Yeah. But the Artra follower attacked her back—they fought, witch summoned a Nether beast but lost control!”
“......”
“Summoning Nether beasts to weaken King’s Radiance and destroy humans’ Eight Kingdoms? Scrap that plan! We can’t handle it!”
Even as it spoke, the were-rat froze from inside out. The cold invaded its marrow—it died.
“Summon Nether beasts to destroy the human world?”