Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Black Magic Disaster 3
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Everyone stared at Azadin, but he suddenly let out a wail.
“Sniff… sob. How lamentable.”
“…….”
“What’s with him? Is he drunk?”
“Everyone! This is exactly what I mean—people have fallen into depravity!”
The merchants and adventurers all exchanged glances.
‘This guy’s wasted.’
‘Who the hell gave him booze?’
They rolled their eyes, looking for someone to blame. Meanwhile, Azadin was ranting on.
“The Three Great Archangels vowed to grant the power of white magic to those who uphold the three virtues and sealed themselves away on the Inner Sea Peninsula! But as people abandon those virtues, the Salvation Knights are losing their strength! And now, with the Age of Jupiter approaching, the forces of darkness will regain their power—how can this world be so full of pleasure-seekers, with no one striving for virtue?!”
“Wh-what are you talking about?”
“Hey, man! All I said was I wanted to make some money and get a slave….”
“Exactly! Slaves! Isn’t slavery illegal under both the Salvation Knights and the Royal Church? How can you speak such depraved words?! Don’t you know your corruption is hastening the Age of Jupiter?!”
“Uh, um, excuse me.”
The other merchants were flustered by Azadin, who was shouting about the Salvation Knights’ faith.
The Age of Jupiter was an apocalyptic tale passed down in the Salvation Knights—a favorite topic for market beggars, vagrants, lunatics, and alcoholics.
Of course, the fanatics of the Salvation Knights loved it too, and Azadin was drunk and raving about it.
“The Age of Jupiter approaches! Embrace the three virtues! Shun indulgence, depravity, and prostitution!”
“But you’re the one drinking!”
“W-well, we gave it to him.”
“It’s fine! Temperance isn’t one of the three virtues!”
As Azadin said this and reached for more booze, the merchants held him back.
“Ugh!”
“What kinda strength is this?!”
“He’s tall! And built like a tank!”
The merchants barely restrained Azadin.
“Come on, we’ve got a long road tomorrow, so go crash in your room!”
“Y-yeah, you’re right.”
“Alright! I can walk on my own!”
Azadin shoved off the merchants trying to support him and headed upstairs to his room. Once inside, he clasped his hands together, regulated his breathing.
“Phew.”
His flushed, excited face quickly returned to normal, his expression and eyes sharpening. He had mimicked a drunken lout using a bodily control technique to manually spike his heart rate and dilate his facial capillaries.
“Fanatics really rub everyone the wrong way.”
“It wasn’t the fanatic act—they hated you for the rowdy drunk bit.”
Midiam poked her head out from the bed and asked.
“You were watching? Not sleeping?”
“The inn was shaking—how could I?”
“With that thing sticking out so obviously on your face, it must be tough operating as a herald.”
Ismail, who hadn’t slept either, chimed in.
“I don’t know if what they’re saying is true about the herald clan or if they’re just framing innocent commoners as slaves, but it’s utterly vile. I’d love to wipe them all out.”
Having overheard them talking about enslaving herald clan members, Midiam gave a cold smile and shifted on the bed.
“We’ll have to verify it.”
Azadin was incensed by what the merchants and sawmill folk had done. He’d deliberately played the fanatic to ruin the mood, but that hadn’t fully quenched his anger.
“So if we confirm it, you’ll kill them?”
“Depending on the circumstances.”
Azadin replied.
“It’s a herald’s duty to uphold the Emperor’s law. Anyway, time to sleep? For tomorrow?”
Azadin lightly brushed his teeth with tea leaves and salt, then lay down.
‘Who’s this daughter of the herald clan they mentioned? A former herald? We got no handover, so I have no idea. Guess I’ll check it out myself.’
Azadin closed his eyes, soothing his troubled mind.
*********
The next morning, the merchants and adventurers packed up amid hangovers, preparing for the journey. They seemed used to it, heavy drinkers all.
Even hungover, they packed without breaking merchandise, proof they lived half-drowned in booze.
“Alright, let’s roll!”
They hit the road routinely. The group left the Emperor’s Highway for a forest path, well-trodden and firm. Tea vendors nearby sold brew and snacks.
Azadin asked one.
“Business good?”
“Eh, so-so. Can’t set up on the main road—guilds shake you down.”
“Beasts or bandits?”
“Haha. Yeah, but I’m quick on my feet.”
The vendor brewed tea for the merchants. Azadin walked quietly with them, warning Midiam and Ismail.
“They’re watching, so no bows for you two. Got it?”
When they’d fought the holy knights, Midiam and Ismail firing bows had nearly exposed them as heralds. No 13-year-old kids outside Aragas could draw such war bows.
To avoid detection this time, Azadin warned them ahead and trailed meekly like any pilgrim.
Kaka and Chiko, the siblings, skillfully scouted the path for traps or beast markings, joked with other Cell Sword guildmates, gossiped rumors with Tarky, and marched cheerfully.
From their demeanor, they didn’t seem to think of themselves as noble blood. Especially, they’d stepped back during talk of enslaving a woman for her herald clan heritage.
‘Coincidence maybe, but that earns points. Better than Tarky, at least. They didn’t partake in slave exploitation, so I’ll make sure they don’t die.’
Azadin assessed and followed the caravan silently.
The forest deepened, growing darker. Trees were parched, twisted grotesquely.
“…….”
Azadin clicked his tongue at what his eyes perceived.
Black rot intertwined everywhere.
Traces of black magic.
“There’s a sawmill ahead. They’ll talk wyverns, and we’ll sell some goods to lighten the load….”
The merchants consulted the Cell Sword guild adventurers guarding them.
Should we go?
To Azadin, it reeked of seething black magic—dangerous and shadowed—but to merchants and others, it looked like any forest.
“Smells off.”
Midiam, gifted mage, pinched her nose, puzzled.
“Yeah? I don’t smell anything.”
Tarky’s nonchalance confirmed ordinary folk couldn’t sense it. Azadin signaled Midiam and Ismail.
“Stick close to the Kerry goats.”
He readied weapons: two swords taken from Kozel soldiers—one at his waist, one on his back. He pocketed four hunting arrows in his pants and cloak lining.
As he did, the merchants shouted.
“Hey, sawmill!”
“Oi! Karim! Brought booze….”
But at the sawmill’s edge, a figure growled instead of speaking.
“Grrrrowl!”
“Grraaarl!”
Hunting dogs burst from the village—backs clawed open, guts removed. Dead dogs charged madly, barking.
“Run!”
“Oh god!”
“Undead!”
The Cell Sword adventurers formed a phalanx instantly. Armed with hunting spears, they created a solid defensive wall.
But the charging dogs didn’t slam into it. Even undead, they retained living cunning, circling the formation warily.
“Eek!”
“B-be careful! Show weakness and we’re done!”
A dog exploited a gap, leaping in—at the rear, the fatal blind spot now.
“Hup!”
Tarky blocked it astonishingly, parrying with his longsword. The dog dodged back, realized the spot wasn’t weak, and resumed circling.
“Damn! Sneaky bastard!”
Gripping his longsword, Tarky stood at the vulnerable rear-diagonal, slashing air to repel approaching dogs.
“Not bad.”
Azadin praised Tarky, surveying. Undead dogs encircled the adventurer-merchant group, keeping them pinned. Meanwhile, humanoid undead—zombies—shambled from the village.
Likely former sawmill villagers, armed with axes, kitchen knives, clubs, spears, saws, chisels, they swarmed.
“Th-there’s too many!”
With dogs circling, spear-wielding adventurers and merchants couldn’t move freely. Enemies closing in left them panicked.
Phalanx formation hindered mobility. Standing still meant encirclement.
“Bows! Fire bows!”
Those at the rear drew hunting bows, loosing arrows….
Azadin watched, incredulous. Arrows missed wildly. Non-experts wasted ammo.
Poor shots should target slow zombies, not waste on circling threat-dogs. Fed up, Azadin grabbed a ground stone.
“Move aside!”
He hurled it.
*Whish!*
It cracked a dog’s skull dead-on.
“Yelp!”
The undead dog flailed and rolled. Azadin’s throw pulverized its head.
“Huh?”
“Whoa?!”
*Whish!*
Another stone flew true, nailing a dog.
“Leave the dogs to me—block the human zombies.”
“Y-yeah!”
“Hya!”
Others couldn’t hit agile dogs. Following Azadin’s advice, they targeted slower zombies—and hit. But weak arrows didn’t stop them.
Zombies advanced, shafts protruding. Without bone-shattering war bows, close-range was their only hope against the undead.