Chapter 159
Chapter 159
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 159
Chapter Title: Malaria Potion 2
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‘Am I crazy? Do you have any idea how huge the difference is with or without regeneration magic? I’d have to be insane to let you go. On top of that, you already know way too much about me, and you don’t have much status among the nagas, so I can’t release you anyway.’
Regeneration magic capable of healing wounds was far too valuable.
Besides, Shati didn’t hold a high position among the nagas. Even if Azadin let her go, she wouldn’t wield any real influence over them.
If anything, they’d just suck him dry for every scrap of information about Azadin, then use it to relentlessly target him for mass-producing copies of the Divine King’s Battle Chart.
For Shati’s sake as well, Azadin had no intention of releasing her.
“You might look like a decent naga, but that’s only because you’re out here traveling. Once you return to your kingdom, there’s no way she’d just let you off the hook, Shati.”
“I’ve braced myself for some punishment. A few lashes, maybe they pluck out an eyeball or my tongue, chop off a limb or two...”
That much she could endure. It might sound like unspeakable torture to a human, but nagas had regeneration, so such punishments didn’t cause permanent damage.
“Don’t you get it yet, Shati? I don’t want to let you go.”
“......”
“I want to be with you.”
‘I want to travel with a regeneration mage.’
That was the intent behind his words, but everyone who heard them couldn’t help interpreting it differently.
“W-Well then. Safe travels.”
Dehares bid Azadin farewell and set off on his ship.
*********
“Truly, a naga who knows how to talk sense.”
Jibek was inwardly impressed by the refined air Dehares exuded. Scott, meanwhile, puffed up with pride.
“But they’re nagas—they eat humans, right? Their rations include people. They eat anything that isn’t human, so they’re starting to crave human flesh. Didn’t want to show that off in front of us, so he dropped us off.”
‘No, if we trace it back, isn’t it because you scarfed down all the food we were supposed to serve the guests? What’s there to brag about?’
Defending the monster nagas who devoured human flesh wasn’t easy, and thinking of Dehares’s consideration made Scott come off as petty.
“Anyway, this is coastal cliff territory—how do we climb up?”
There was a slight sandy strip at the base of the coastal cliffs, but no villages nearby, not even animal trails.
“Dropping us off in a place like this.”
“With the Kerim mountain goat, it shouldn’t be a big issue.”
Azadin said as much and surveyed the cliffs. Moments later, he spotted a path.
“We’re climbing that?”
“Wait and see. I’ll go first.”
Azadin unloaded the saddlebags from the Kerim mountain goat to lighten the load, then mounted it. The goat nimbly ascended the near-vertical slope with expert ease.
“Wow.”
“Alright. Now...”
From atop the cliff, Azadin uncoiled a rope and lowered it, securing one end to a nearby rock before tying the other to the goat’s saddle.
“Perfect! Tie the horse!”
“H-The horse? It’s gonna be insanely heavy, though?”
Jibek was skeptical but followed Azadin’s instructions and secured the warhorse to the rope. Then...
“Hup!”
Wasn’t Azadin pulling from above, hauling the horse up the cliff? The startled horse kicked against the wall, climbing without slamming into it.
“There, next!”
Azadin pulled up Jibek, Scott, and Shati in turn.
“Whew. Impressive, boss. That’s some serious strength. Did copying the Divine King’s Battle Chart bulk up your Kazas further?”
“It’s not just that—I didn’t pull it up alone, obviously. The goat helped.”
“Even so, that’s insane power. At this rate, I could go back to a wheelchair and get around fine. Or how about a piggyback rig? We make one out of wood, you carry it on your back, and I ride on top.”
“You call me boss but treat me like a pack mule.”
“It’s division of labor. You meatheads handle the muscle, us brainiacs handle the brains.”
“Then why’d you use that big brain of yours to yap and stuff your face until we got kicked off? A little less eating, and we could’ve sailed in comfort.”
“Enough, enough. Right now, the priority is resupplying food and horse fodder. Food...”
Sir Jibek then pulled out dried fish. While sailing, he’d diligently fished, handing some to the nagas and drying the rest in the sea breeze into jerky.
But the amount was what Scott would polish off in a day.
“The fodder shortage is the real problem.”
Scott stated shamelessly. It wasn’t entirely wrong—the beans and oats for emergencies were gone, sacks empty.
“We’ll have to find the nearest village.”
*********
Young men in blue turbans were ransacking the village merchants and warehouses, loading valuables onto carts.
“We are the Blue Turbans!”
“We’re issuing requisitions because we’re short on supplies—this isn’t banditry!”
“Thanks to us driving off road monsters and thieves, you’re safe! Think of this as taxes!”
They plundered the villagers’ food and goods, handing out scraps of paper as “requisitions” in exchange.
In wartime, armies issued these as IOUs for local supplies, to be repaid later. But these guys were issuing them?
One merchant, dumbfounded, stood as representative to protest.
“This requisition doesn’t say when or where it’ll be honored!”
“Hey now. Once the world’s at peace, come to Blue Turban HQ—we’ll pay up!”
“Where’s that HQ?”
“It’ll be everywhere once the Blue Turbans’ world arrives!”
“What’s with all the distrust? You a Kurt cultist or something?!”
The self-proclaimed Blue Turbans menaced protesting merchants with spears and swords.
“F-Fine, food we get. But why take the silverware?!”
“We’re short on camp utensils.”
“Wooden ones should suffice, no? I’ve served in the army—I know. Taking pots for field cooking, sure, but silverware...”
As the merchant pressed, the scribe issuing requisitions smirked.
“Hey, old timer.”
The merchant flinched at “old timer.”
The scribe’s tone had shifted to something sinister, like poison dripping from his tongue with every breath.
“What do you wanna hear us say? That we’re bandits? You want that? ‘Cause then you’re done for. See that girl over there? Daughter? Concubine?”
“M-My daughter.”
“She’s a looker. What if we were just bandits? We’re trying to keep some discipline here. Wanna see what happens if we snap?”
“......”
“Take the requisition quietly and pray for the Blue Turbans to rise. We’ll return it all later.”
“But it only lists half the goods...”
“That’s the tax. We’re constantly fighting bandits and monsters in Adiloph province. Shouldn’t you chip in for our efforts?”
“......”
“You should be thrilled. Listing a tax means we intend to pay—right?”
The scribe smiled thinly, subtly threatening the merchant.
Then a voice came from behind him.
“But a world run by guys skimming half as ‘tax’ doesn’t sound too welcoming for merchants, huh?”
“What?”
The scribe whirled around. A young man in a helmet sat atop the cart loaded with loot—no, “taxes.”
‘Huh?’
‘When did he get here?’
Bewildered, they scanned around. No one else—just this lone youth.
“So, what’s your endgame? Aiming to be Lord of Adiloph?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“A passing traveler.”
“Traveler?”
“Hah. This punk.”
Blue Turban soldiers gripped their spear shafts backward, swinging at the masked youth calling himself a traveler. But the shafts sliced empty air.
In the blink of an eye, he’d stepped off the cart, naturally dodging.
“Huh?”
“Guess you won’t answer nicely. Fine. Shall we set a peaceful mood for talking?”
The youth said this and picked up a rock from the ground.
“Not coming down?”
The soldiers tensed, but he flicked the stone with minimal motion—just a snap of elbow and wrist.
Yet...
*Crack!*
One soldier’s helmet crumpled, his body flying backward. The destructive force didn’t match the casual throw.
“Y-You bastard!”
“A mage?!”
As the shocked Blue Turbans panicked, the self-proclaimed traveler asked:
“What’re the Blue Turbans fighting? What’s your goal? Is Sir Guillaume of Rantaric, Earl of Adiloph, your liege?”
“You bastard!”
“Still no mood for talk?”
Another soldier tumbled away.
“G-Grab that fucker!”
Soldiers charged, but the traveler circled the cart, effortlessly evading.
“Flank him, idiots!”
At the scribe’s order, spearmen split left and right—but with only two left, it wasn’t threatening. And...
*Thwack!*
Another stone dropped one.
“Damn it!”
The last Blue Turban thrust his spear in rage, but the traveler snatched the blade with one hand. It stuck fast, like jammed in rock.
“You issued requisitions without killing, so no permanent harm. If you’d hurt folks, I’d have castrated you lot.”
The masked youth snapped the spear shaft with a hand chop. The well-oiled, tough wood splintered clean in half.
“Huh?”
*Whoosh!*
The flying spearhead passed between the scribe’s legs.
As the traveler said, it didn’t wound him—but an inch higher, and his manhood would’ve been at risk.
“Urk... y-you bastard.”
Cold sweat trickled down the scribe’s face. It had flown too fast to dodge, block, or even perceive.
In that instant as the blade passed his crotch, the scribe realized this traveler could kill them all if he wanted.