Chapter 18
Chapter 18
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Noble's Byproduct 3
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“Huh?”
“C-Captain?”
The mercenaries stared at their captain in terror, wondering if this was really the man they knew. But his face was frozen in a bizarre expression.
“W-What do you want from me?”
“I want to requisition the relay village and plunder anyone passing through to find the bastard who stole my stuff.”
The mercenary captain spoke with a smile, but his eyes gleamed with savage murderous intent.
“You want me to do that in my name? If I did...”
The King's Church would come down hard on Tarki, his father, and Count Kazel, the Marquis of Salasmar. Hell, King Korasar himself might swing the hammer of retribution.
“It's fine. We'll find my stuff quick before things blow up. Besides... your father isn't already plotting rebellion against the king? That's why you're after the New King’s Scripture copy, right?”
“......”
“This method works great for finding my stuff, but it'll also flush out that New King’s Scripture copy. Unless...”
The mercenary captain whistled again. Tarki had no choice but to clutch his stomach and collapse once more. The pain gnawing at his insides was excruciating beyond words.
“Argh! F-Fine! I'll do it! Damn it!”
Overwhelmed by the agony, Tarki finally submitted. Just like that, the pain vanished.
“Alright then, young master. Let's work together.”
Perhaps to affirm their newly established lord-vassal dynamic, the mercenary captain extended a hand to Tarki with a sly grin. Tarki had no choice but to grudgingly take it.
*********
“Hm?”
Azadin, perched in a tree and surveilling the distant mercenary band, sensed something off.
“Looks like getting any closer would be too risky now.”
Tarki and the mercenaries' demeanor had shifted. They were pulling out weapons and maintaining them.
They chopped nearby trees to fashion arrowheads, bound them into arrows, polished rust from swords and blades, brushed their armor, and prepared meals.
They were eating their fill and readying well-maintained gear for something big. It screamed large-scale battle prep.
And their vigilance had ramped up—no half-assed spying without getting spotted.
“We can't approach while the sun's up. They're skilled; sentries line every path to their camp.”
Midiam assessed the mercenaries' war footing the same way.
“So what now? Keep watching from afar and come back at night?”
“No. Let's bypass them and reach the village first.”
“Huh?”
“They might raid the village.”
“But it's a relay station down there? Practically a fortress?”
Over 500 households—huge for the sparse northern regions, practically a city. Not some pioneer outpost, but an official relay village. A single mercenary band raiding it would draw the King's Church's wrath for sure.
That's what Midiam and Ismail thought. But Azadin knew something they didn't.
‘The bone wand infused with Kurt cultist magic—they had it. Not loot; it was in their supplies. Means there are Kurt cultists in that band, and plenty of them.’
If just one cultist, he wouldn't entrust the bone wand to supplies—he'd keep it himself. So a supply manager or someone with access is definitely a Kurt cultist.
‘Given the wand's power and the magic inside, their goal's the New King’s Scripture. Now that the wand's gone, any cultists in there will start showing their true colors soon.’
Thanks to intel the others lacked, Azadin realized the mercenaries wanted to seize the relay village.
It sat where all nearby roads converged—perfect for controlling passersby. And for Kurt cultists who'd lost their bone wand from higher-ups, no reason to hold back anymore.
“Trust me, I've got good reason to think that. Let's skirt them and head to the village first.”
Azadin skipped mentioning the bone wand and urged them onward.
*********
The sun dipped lazily toward the west.
This time, too, Azadin played the blind man and passed the checkpoint into the relay village without issue.
A blind man posed no threat, they figured. Plus, Hubris folk all believed in the afterlife—blind pilgrims got treated kindly as merit-earning opportunities.
The village market was in full swing, caravans parking wagons in the entrance square to set up camp.
“Oh, that?”
“Korasar Courier Guild's here. Perfect.”
Midiam and Ismail lit up at the sight of wagons flying the Korasar Courier Guild banner.
The ‘Korasar Courier Guild’ started as a humble pack-peddler co-op. Now, with accumulated wealth, it was a massive merchant house with serious funds and organization in Korasar...
And it was one of the front organizations run by the Herald Clan, Aragas's people.
“Hm. Courier Guild, huh...”
Azadin gave a wry smile and headed for the wagons.
*********
The Korasar Courier Guild caravan formed a circle with five wagons, like bison shielding their herd from hunters.
A classic steppe defense: wagons as barricades. Inside, large tents for camping; outside, wagons doubled as shops serving travelers.
A street performer outside juggled to draw crowds—all performers and clerks were Heralds.
As Azadin approached, the performer and caravan guards spotted him and started snickering.
“Who's this now?”
“Isn't it the famous 108th Herald Azadin?”
“Keekekeek.”
“How'd those three months undercover as a Herald go?”
“......”
Azadin sighed.
It was always like this. To the Herald Clan, he was the traitor’s son, the spawn of Akre who ruined their vow—they'd never forgive him.
Yet they groveled to Arael like they’d hand over their hearts. Arael had proven his strength, beauty, genius.
Back in the day, some who'd sneered at Arael like this ended up with shattered jaws. Arael always made challengers or mockers pay; Azadin never did.
So the petty harassment fell squarely on him. When Midiam and Ismail followed, the mockery intensified.
“Oh my, even attendants now? Got some skills, eh?”
“Cut it. These kids aren't my attendants.”
“Oh? They aren't?”
“Nope. But they're clan, so slap some horseshoes on our mounts. That doable?”
“Of course. Whose orders?”
“Even with Elder Kazas's recommendation, you flunked basic training and became a Herald without proper process—who are we to ignore?”
Their words dripped with thorns. But Azadin calmly pulled silver candelabras and cutlery from the pack mule's saddlebags.
“Trade these for coin too. And any blue steel arrowheads? Hook me up?”
“Well, well, fancy stuff you brought.”
“Pinched it from somewhere? Watch that Herald rep.”
“......”
They needled him blatantly, over the top.
Midiam and Ismail exchanged glances. They knew Azadin caught flak from the clan, but seeing it was no joke.
Herald-run guilds originally supported Heralds.
Sure, roles reversed lately, but their mission—funds, gear, intel, safehouses for ‘Korasar Courier Guild’—seemed begrudged even now.
“Need spare clothes. Lend some. Do laundry too?”
Azadin handed over laundry and got changes. Women's clothes.
“What's this?”
“No other clean stuff left. Wear it.”
“Barely shows, right? Heh heh.”
“Sigh. Quit the childish crap? I'm ignoring you 'cause forced marches wore me out. Plus, I'll keep leaning on Korasar Couriers ahead—no point crippling you lot and burning bridges.”
Azadin sighed and returned the clothes.
“What'd you say?”
“This punk—thinks he can after getting Herald via Kazas pull...”
“Us, your classmates, as servants? Why you over us?”
“You flunked basic training! Think it's fair you're a Herald?”
The ‘Korasar Courier Guild’ staff were Azadin's training cohort.
They'd watched him drop out mid-basics and resented him becoming a Herald anyway.
Midiam, watching, spoke up.
“If it's that unfair, challenge him to a duel.”
“Duel? This brat lost it? Talking to us?”
“Want a beating first?”
They glared viciously at Midiam, but she stayed cool.
“Only sniping from shadows—too chicken for duel risk, huh.”
Azadin chuckled at that.
‘Duel risk? Sounds good, but not your line, is it?’
Mention of duel drew sneers from the cohort.
“Fine. Was gonna challenge Azadin anyway.”
“Beat him, we're Heralds, right?”
“Issue's who goes first. First guy's got the edge. Heh heh.”
They saw Azadin as pocket change. Midiam smirked at that.
“Oh? Go ahead then.”
That instant!
Midiam moved.