Chapter 676: The Armory
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 676: The Armory
"How busy..."
Muen stood at the highest point of Dolonslei Fortress, gazing out over the vast battlefield ahead.
It was his third day at the fortress. Taking advantage of a temporary retreat by the demon army, the Imperial soldiers finally had a chance to venture out and clear the field.
Even if the piles beneath the walls consisted mostly of demon corpses, they couldn't be left to rot. Aside from the unbearable stench of decay, any resulting plague would be a death sentence for a besieged city that was almost entirely cut off from the outside world—especially given the dire shortage of medicinal supplies.
Muen could still see many busy figures below the walls. After the army mages incinerated the corpses, the well-trained soldiers began redigging trenches, setting traps, and clearing the moat.
While these measures wouldn't do much to stop a determined assault, they would at least slow the demons' advance and force them to expend more bodies to fill the path forward.
"So this is where you were, Young Master Muen."
"Mr. Verner."
Muen turned to see Verner walking toward the watchtower alone, without even his personal guards.
Much like Donnik—who was "smart, but not quite smart enough"—Verner held a position equivalent to Duke Campbell’s right hand within this border army. His status was immense.
The difference was that Verner lacked talent for cultivation, so his personal strength was unremarkable. He primarily handled civil duties like logistics and defensive analysis, rarely stepping onto the battlefield himself.
However, on the demons' assassination list, he was ranked even higher than Donnik. That alone spoke to his importance to the military.
Fortunately, during the recent anomaly of the demon siege, he had been stationed at this rear fortress. He hadn't followed the main army deep into the heart of the Abyss, narrowly escaping the targeted assassinations the demons had carried out against several high-ranking Imperial officers.
It was said that several key figures had perished in that incident.
"Why are you up here alone, Mr. Verner? It’s dangerous."
Though the fighting had paused, massive avian beasts still circled the sky. They were the demons' scouts, occasionally diving for a sudden strike when no one was looking. Night sentries often lost their lives to these creatures.
"There’s no such thing as 'dangerous' or 'safe' anymore. If I were to be assassinated inside this fortress, we might as well stop defending it, open the gates, and let the demons in," Verner said with a wave of his hand, clearly confident in the stronghold's security.
"On the contrary, it’s you who mustn't run into any trouble, Young Master Muen. Now that the demons know you’re here, they’ve surely marked you as the primary target after the Duke himself. To shake the army's morale, they might try to kill you at any cost. Be careful," Verner warned with a heavy, solemn expression.
"As you just said, Mr. Verner, I also have great confidence in this fortress."
Muen lightly brushed the stones of the battlements—stones that had endured countless ages yet remained steadfast. He smiled thinly.
"Besides, I don't believe anyone can silently assassinate me as I am now. If the demons were capable of that, then the one in danger wouldn't be me, but my father lying in his sickbed."
"Haha, Young Master Muen truly has a bit of the Duke’s flair from his younger days."
Verner laughed with genuine emotion.
He was an old acquaintance of the Duke’s estate and had seen Muen in his earlier years. Unlike the somewhat thick-headed Donnik, the ever-rational Verner found it difficult to believe that the former "playboy" could undergo such a radical transformation in a single year.
But reality trumped logic and reason. It was right there in front of him.
"What are your plans next, Young Master Muen?"
Verner stepped to the edge of the wall, also looking out at the busy soldiers. Many of the trench designs and trap placements were his handiwork; from this vantage point, he could clearly monitor the progress.
"Plans?"
"Judging by how you’ve been inspecting every corner since you arrived... I’d say you’re the type who can’t sit still, Young Master Muen." Verner looked at him with a face full of sincerity, like one overworked corporate slave recognizing a kindred spirit in another.
"...No, Mr. Verner, I think you’ve misunderstood something."
Muen’s cheek twitched.
While it was true he couldn't stay idle—even training and fighting in his consciousness space while he slept—that was a far cry from "overtime."
As for working extra hours, he’d rather go chop down a few more evil believers for fun than return to the "996" lifestyle of his past.
"But speaking of plans..."
Muen rubbed his chin. "Mr. Verner, would it be possible for me to tour the armory?"
"The armory?"
Verner blinked, surprised. "Military supplies are extremely tight right now. To be honest, the armory is nearly empty. There isn't much to see. Why would you want to..."
"It’s precisely because it’s empty that it’s worth seeing."
Muen smiled. "The Empire’s next shipment of supplies is due soon. As a Campbell, I suppose I’m naturally cautious when it comes to military hardware. I want to see it with my own eyes to ensure that when the supplies do arrive, no 'accidents' happen."
"Is that so? But those matters are usually handled by—"
Verner started to object, then caught himself. He clapped his hands lightly and smiled. "I overstepped. It’s just an armory visit. Given your status, there’s no need for me to make excuses. I’ll arrange it immediately and have someone—"
"No, that won't be necessary. Given your responsibilities, caution is only right. As for the arrangements... don't trouble yourself. Just temporarily assign me those soldiers who entered the city with me. I’m familiar with them."
"The soldiers from before... Abel and his group?"
Verner thought for a moment and nodded.
"Very well. They’re experienced veterans. They should be able to assist you, Young Master Muen."
*
"Young Master Muen!"
Abel snapped to attention, chest out in a salute.
"Abel, former Vanguard Squad Captain, reporting for duty with the entire squad!"
"No need for such formality, and don't call me 'Young Master.' This is a military camp," Muen said, waving them down.
"Then we should call you..."
"Just call me 'Sir' or 'Mr. Muen.'"
Muen smiled, scanning the group. They looked much more spirited than when he had first encountered them.
"How have you been lately?"
"Excellent, sir!"
It was Vik who answered. After walking back from the brink of death, his entire aura had changed, becoming much more seasoned. Now, he could probably puff out his chest to the recruits and brag about his glorious, near-death experience infiltrating a demon camp.
"Good. Follow me. We’ll talk as we walk."
Over the past three days, Muen had mapped out almost every inch of the fortress. He didn't need a guide as he led the way toward the armory.
As a critical area of the fortress, the armory was located deep within the interior. Muen looked around and noticed that the number of patrolling soldiers had thinned out. Only then did he ask:
"What do you know about the armory?"
"The armory?"
Vik scratched his head with a grimace. "It’s a different department, sir. We don't know much."
"Fair enough. Different departments, different worlds..." Muen rubbed his chin.
"I know a bit," Abel said.
"Oh?"
Muen turned his head, slightly surprised. "You know the armory?"
"I used to know a real bastard who worked in logistics. I learned a bit more about the place than the average soldier because of him," Abel said expressionlessly. "It’s nothing impressive."
"...I see."
Muen nodded slightly. "When we pass by later, you can pay your respects to your 'good friend.'"
"...Thank you, Young Master Muen."
"I told you, don't call me 'Young Master' here." Muen turned back and continued forward. "Back to the topic. Tell me about the armory."
"Yes, sir."
Abel explained:
"The armory is responsible for storing military assets—weapons, armor, alchemy bombs, and the like. It’s a heavily guarded restricted area. To prevent internal corruption, it’s usually managed by two separate systems. One belongs to the logistics department, which handles the overall requisition and distribution of supplies. The other belongs to the armory itself, responsible for the intake, release, and verification of goods, as well as guarding the facility."
"Basically an accountant and a cashier... I know the basics. Tell me something that isn't in the official reports—the stuff that isn't discussed openly."
"Something not in the reports... then that would probably be the armory keeper," Abel said after a moment of reflection.
"The keeper? I believe his name is Robert Kemper, isn't it?"
Muen thought carefully, finally pulling the unremarkable name from the long list of fortress personnel he had memorized.
"Yes. Everyone who knows him calls him Old Robert. He’s a very strange old man."
"Strange?"
"Yes."
Abel hesitated before adding, "To be honest, I don't think a man like that belongs in the army at all, let alone in such a vital position."
"Why?"
"That... I think you’ll see for yourself when we get there, Mr. Muen."
As they spoke, the guards became more numerous. Soon, the words ARMORY - RESTRICTED AREA appeared in bold red letters before Muen’s group.
*
"Old Robert! According to the logistics department's allocation, you’re supposed to release two hundred and thirty alchemy bombs to us!"
"I don't have them."
"This is an order from above!"
"To hell with your orders! Where’s the warrant?"
"Viscount Buzewell of Logistics sent me himself!"
"I said I don't have them, and I don't! I don't care if it’s Buzewell or that old fox Verner himself—the answer is no! Now get out!"
"You—!"
Just as Muen’s group was cleared by the sentries and entered the area, a man in blood-stained armor stormed out of a room, slamming the door behind him. Before leaving, he didn't forget to spit on the ground by the door.
"That’s Baron Rokar of the Left Army’s Iron Peak Battalion," Abel whispered in Muen’s ear. "This scene happens almost every day. Every unit comes here to beg for supplies."
"And he refuses them all?"
"Most of them," Abel said. "Even though it’s technically joint oversight, Old Robert only releases supplies based on his own ledger. He doesn't give a damn about anyone’s face except for the Duke and Lord Verner."
"Stubborn, isn't he?"
"He’s rigid."
Abel clearly shared Baron Rokar’s distaste for the keeper. "If he were a bit more generous with the supplies, we might not have had to suffer so many casualties."
"You can't look at it that way. Perhaps his ledger is the only one that’s actually accurate?"
Muen gave a noncommittal smile and pushed the door open.
He immediately understood what Abel had meant.
Clink...
The sound of a glass bottle rolling across the floor greeted them. The moment the door opened, a thick, pungent smell of alcohol hit Muen’s nose.
This didn't look like a military office at all; it looked like the aftermath of a messy banquet. Bottles and jars were scattered everywhere, making it hard to find a place to step.
"Alcohol?"
Muen leaned down to pick up a bottle, shaking it and holding the transparent liquid up to the light.
"Supplies are so tight, yet there’s still enough to spare for drinking?"
"It’s just cheap swill made from diluted industrial alcohol. It tastes so bad I want to vomit, and it doesn't even get you drunk."
A hunched old man, busy scribbling in a yellowed ledger, looked up. His face was flushed with a drunken red as he glared at Muen with displeasure.
"Are you here for supplies too? I haven't seen your face before."
"No, I’m here for a tour."
"A tour?"
Old Robert squinted, as if he had never heard the word before.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Muen Campbell."
Muen extended a hand. "I’d like to see the interior of the armory. Is that alright?"
"Campbell... Campbell... Oh, so you’re the Lion King’s son."
"Since you know who I am..."
"No!"
Old Robert slapped Muen’s hand away and spat.
"Can't you read the sign? 'Restricted Area.' You think a snot-nosed brat like you can just waltz in whenever he wants—"
"This is a warrant from Duke Campbell. Please check it."
"..."
Old Robert’s mouth full of curses died in his throat, choked back by a warrant that still radiated the Lion King’s authority. His expression soured. He froze for a long moment before finally snatching the warrant away, muttering fiercely:
"Damned silver-spoon brat!"
"I’m glad to see you still follow my father’s orders," Muen said with a smile. "Thank you for your help."
"Hmph! I just hope you don't cause me any trouble!"
Old Robert snorted and stood up from his chair.
It was only then that Muen noticed the man was disabled. Below one trouser leg was not a normal limb, but a prosthetic made of metal.
The prosthetic was even starting to rust; with every step Old Robert took, it emitted a harsh, grating creak-creak sound.
"Guards! Search them."
Old Robert called over a squad of soldiers.
"What is this for?"
"Spatial magic devices are forbidden inside the armory."
Old Robert shot Muen a look of pure annoyance. "Brats will be brats. You don't know the first thing about protocol."
"..."
Muen finally understood why even someone like Abel, who had friends in logistics, disliked this old man.
There probably wasn't a single person in the entire fortress who liked him.
"Alright, get in there." Old Robert jerked his head toward the door.
After a thorough search to ensure Muen and his men weren't carrying anything that could be used to smuggle supplies out, Muen was finally allowed into the armory.
Upon entering, he was met with rows upon rows of neat shelving. Various military supplies were stacked high, and the sight of the rounded alchemy bombs placed prominently in the front was visually striking.
However, as Muen moved past the first few rows of shelves, he suddenly realized... most of the shelves in the back were empty.
"How can this be..."
Abel looked equally shocked.
"The supply line to this fortress hasn't been cut, has it? Why is there... so little left?"
"It’s likely due to the intensity of the demon assaults," Muen said.
To repel such fierce attacks, the consumption of resources would accelerate exponentially. Given the current speed of logistics, it was only a matter of time before the armory was picked clean.
If anything, the fact that there was still any stock left was the real surprise.
Muen pondered for a moment. Celicia’s shipment would take a few more days to arrive. If the demons attacked again in the meantime, he wondered if these meager supplies would be enough to hold them off.
...But right now, the supply shortage wasn't the most important issue.
"You guys look around. I’m going to check the inner section alone."
"Yes, sir."
After dismissing the squad, a deep, swirling darkness suddenly flickered within Muen’s azure eyes.
In his Black Flame Vision, everything turned pale and deathly silent, a world of shifting blacks and whites.
But it was within this monochrome world that Muen saw something different.
"As I thought."
Muen walked to a corner, picked up a tiny scrap of metal residue, and examined it closely in his palm.
"That batch of magic materials... was once stored in this armory."
With this, a certain suspicion was no longer just a theory.
Inside this seemingly impregnable fortress, there was indeed a demon mole.
And for someone to use this fortress as a transit point to smuggle the Empire’s magic materials into the Abyss, their status could not be low.
"But that’s fine. The list of suspects just got a lot shorter."
Muen murmured to himself, his gaze sweeping the surroundings again. He needed to map out the approximate storage area to cross-reference it with the volume of the stolen materials.
He hoped that the only batch sent to the demons was the one he had intercepted.
"Hmm?"
Suddenly, his movements stiffened. His gaze was drawn to a specific spot as if by a magnet.
In his Black Flame Vision, there was something there... something that didn't look right.
Subconsciously, Muen reached out his hand to touch it...
"I’d advise you not to touch that."
A cold voice rang out. "Too much curiosity will only bring you trouble."
"..."
Muen’s body froze.
Without him noticing, the armory had become exceptionally quiet...
So quiet that the only thing he could hear was the sound of two people breathing.