Chapter 181
Chapter 181
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 181
Chapter Title: On the Road to Sampoh (5)
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***
The central training ground of the South Palace Lord's castle.
Neti rubbed her eyes as she stared at the container.
But no matter how much she rubbed them, the container right in front of her didn't disappear.
It wasn't a case of mistaking it for something else.
Think about it—who in the world has a container with handles and chains attached for easy dragon handling?
Neti stared blankly at the container before turning her head toward her sister.
"...Sis, weren't we supposed to ride on the dragon's back?"
Seti, who was carrying a water barrel, let out a hollow laugh as if it were absurd.
"I never said we were riding on its back."
"..."
"And how would we eat and sleep on a dragon's back? Enough nonsense—help move the luggage."
With that, Seti pointed to the corner of the training ground. The warehouse held folding chairs, sleeping bags, and food crates ready to load into the container.
Neti grumbled but obediently picked up a food crate. It was pretty heavy.
Curious about what was inside, she peeked open the lid, and dried fruits, canned goods, and the endlessly nauseating Spam greeted her.
'...A diet perfect for getting constipated.'
Neti muttered under her breath as she carried it to the container. She then asked the Saintess, who was organizing luggage inside.
"Saintess, weren't you riding on its back?"
"Huh? No? It's not a short trip—it's over ten days. How could anyone ride on a dragon's back that long? Even a horse couldn't handle it."
"Then?"
"I pitched a tent."
"...A tent?"
No matter how big a dragon's body was, could you really pitch a tent on it? As she tilted her head, the Saintess added,
"You know cliff camping? Like that—ropes between the scales. Pitched the tent... Oh, it wasn't too bad. Just a bit of motion sickness."
She said it like it was nothing, but Neti couldn't chime in agreement. Hanging off a dragon's body for over half a month?
Crazy. She's insane.
Neti stuck out her tongue and resumed carrying luggage.
It didn't take long to move everything. Two superhumans handling it directly helped, but there wasn't much luggage for the container to begin with.
Anyway, by the time the three girls had finished loading and taken a sip of water,
A massive shadow fell over the castle.
The red dragon, Orse Tabul.
He circled the South Palace Lord's castle lightly before landing in the training ground.
Boom! Stones and dirt flew up in alarm, and the castle's servants and guards flinched even more violently.
If Ballagu, the South Palace Lord, hadn't warned them beforehand, they all would have scattered in panic.
Of course, they hadn't fled, but they were still terrified. Some prayed to the gods or knelt in awe.
But regardless of what the castle's humans did, the dragon paid them no mind.
His attention was fixed solely on the people in the training ground—especially the Saintess clinging to the blue-eyed girl.
[I have come at your call.]
***
The rooftop of the Palace Lord's castle.
Ballagu swallowed hard as he watched the dragon land in the training ground.
He'd known it was coming, but seeing it in person left him speechless at its majesty.
But Yeomyeong, the one who'd summoned it, was utterly nonchalant.
He glanced at the dragon briefly, then continued their conversation as if it were nothing.
"The illusion on your face will hold for about two days at most. After that... got any plans?"
Only then did Ballagu snap out of it and reply to Yeomyeong.
"Yes, I plan to wear a mask."
"Good. Then we'll need a reason for the mask."
With that, Yeomyeong cast the illusion of blood tears on Ballagu's face.
Ballagu checked it in a mirror, and a massive scar crossing his face came into view.
"This scar..."
"It's an excuse. Say you're wearing the mask to hide the scar—it'll reduce suspicion from others."
"Ah...."
"You can't wear it every day, so recruit someone reliable for when you take it off. Someone like Dovan..."
As he gazed at Yeomyeong rattling off advice, Ballagu unconsciously asked,
"Lord Cheon Yeomyeong... are you a hero?"
"...What?"
What nonsense is this? Yeomyeong stopped advising and furrowed his brow. Ballagu cautiously added,
"That's just from what I've seen at your side. You drove off Dagall in the demon realm, gave our enslaved tribe a chance at atonement, and saved this city, didn't you?"
"..."
"And with the Saintess, you saved countless people from the terror of the missile, faces and names unknown."
"Where'd you hear about that..."
Yeomyeong started to interrupt but shook his head. It must've been from Pinel about the nuclear missile.
Looser lips than expected. Yeomyeong pressed his temples and replied calmly.
"Hero? Nah, just how things turned out."
Pure coincidence stacked on coincidence. He'd never intended good deeds from the start.
Proof? He'd spread rumors in the city himself, causing chaos.
Ballagu fell silent, respecting his words, though his face didn't look convinced.
A short silence.
As they watched the dragon loop chains from the container box around its neck, Yeomyeong spoke again.
"Ballagu, do you know why rain wets the earth?"
An out-of-the-blue koan.
Instead of asking what nonsense it was, Ballagu answered seriously.
"Well...? No idea."
"The answer is 'just because.'"
"..."
"Rain doesn't care if weeds or poison grass grow where it falls. Likewise..."
"...it doesn't care if flowers bloom either."
As Ballagu finished his thought, Yeomyeong chuckled lightly.
"Right. I'm no hero. Can't be one, don't want to be."
Like rain wetting the earth without intent to bloom flowers—his good deeds weren't ends in themselves.
Understanding the metaphor, Ballagu nodded.
"...Yes, I get it."
The conversation ended there. Yeomyeong and Ballagu descended the castle in silence toward the training ground with the dragon.
And when the Saintess waiting in the training ground spotted them,
Ballagu, silent the whole way, finally spoke.
"Lord Yeomyeong."
"What now."
"...Whatever the rain thinks, the flower will thank it."
Does it really work out that way? As Joseph and Pinel approached from afar, Yeomyeong smirked.
***
Unlike their sudden meeting, the farewell was ordinary.
Few people to say goodbye to.
Weapons dealer Joseph, one-armed elf Pinel, and Ballagu.
"Who'd have thought I'd latch onto power to grow my business? Thanks to you, customer, my pockets will fill nicely. When you return to Earth, please give my regards to Elder Jang."
Joseph the weapons dealer's farewell was as blunt as his demeanor—befitting a man who lived and died by money.
"Until we meet again. Saintess, Miss Seti, Miss Neti—take care, all three of you."
Ballagu, wearing the South Palace Lord's face, was polite. Though he added some embarrassingly earnest words.
"Lord Yeomyeong. If possible, I'll try to make a flower field in the city. Please visit again someday."
Yeomyeong promised he would, then bid farewell to the one-armed elf last.
Or tried to.
But instead of goodbye, Pinel blurted,
"Can I hitch a ride on that container to the elf forest outskirts?"
A sudden proposal.
Yeomyeong looked up at Orse Tabul as if to ask if it was okay, and the dragon replied with flames flickering at its mouth.
[I'll fly the ashes left from riding wherever in the forest, red. ]
"..."
No reds allowed. Yeomyeong shrugged at the dragon's hostility.
Instead of disappointment, Pinel handed Yeomyeong a sealed letter as if expecting it.
"Yeomyeong, then take this for me."
"...A letter? To whom?"
"A report for our captain. When you reach the city, send it to the elf forest."
No reason to refuse, so Yeomyeong gladly took it.
With that, the group finished goodbyes and boarded the container.
As they climbed on, Neti muttered something about 'dragon rider...', but shut up when Seti raised a fist.
Just as the dragon spread its wings to take off,
Yeomyeong remembered something forgotten and called Neti, whispering in her ear.
Neti nodded with a face full of joy, then immediately went outside the container and used telekinesis to climb onto the dragon's body.
"...Yeomyeong, what did you tell her?"
Seti narrowed her eyes at Yeomyeong from where Neti had been.
Her gaze was like a wife spotting her husband secretly buying the toy he'd refused the kid.
Yeomyeong sat beside Seti and replied.
"Nothing much. Just sent her on a little errand."
At his signal, the dragon soared into the sky.
The container jolted harshly, but the group ignored it. At worst, Korpus rustled awake in his sleeping bag?
Anyway, high in the sky, the dragon overlooked the city and recited exactly what Neti whispered in its ear.
[Humans of the city. ]
[The ruler of the palace knelt to me, so from today, he is my contractor. ]
[I swear on my treasure and warn you. ]
[Ignore this declaration, and not even bones will remain under my flames. ]
The dragon's declaration sounded annoyingly lazy.
Hearing it inside the container, the Saintess let out a hollow laugh.
Vague wording like 'ruler of the palace' instead of naming the South Palace Lord, and not even mentioning its own name.
"...Swearing on treasure? What treasure? A dragon with none. Everything from one to ten is a scam? Yeomyeong, did you just trick a dragon?"
Yeomyeong shrugged at the Saintess's question.
She shook her head in disbelief, but Seti smirked and poked Yeomyeong's side.
And with Neti's faint scream from outside the container fading last,
Yeomyeong left the trash city behind.
***
Misfortune never comes alone, they say?
Merchant Tindamel thought it profoundly true. He was living proof.
It started with the mercenary band's betrayal.
Originally planning to hire an Earth-origin band introduced by dwarves, he'd been persuaded by 'better kin from home than Earthlings' and chose Dodon's Brotherhood for escort.
Not stupidity on Tindamel's part.
Dodon's Brotherhood held ten superhumans, one of the most famed in the central region.
But great trust meant greater shock from betrayal.
—Merchant sir, we'll take this caravan's goods.
Normally, Tindamel would've shown traitors the bite of Earth automatics.
But his escorts had long gone south to Dreiterial chasing big scores, leaving his proud Earth guns in the mercenaries' hands.
Damn that big score.
Misfortune didn't end there. Rifling his luggage, the mercenaries found what shouldn't be found.
Hidden among ordinary goods for emergencies, but who'd expect an elf-forest herb dealer in their ranks!
—Awakening Potion? Hey, merchant sir, who were you selling this to?
Even with blades at his throat, Tindamel stayed silent.
Merchant courage? No—admitting the buyer meant instant death.
But the mercenaries mistook his silence for bravery.
Threats turned to horrific torture.
Pulling nails was bearable, but his subordinate merchants' screams were unbearable.
Decades crossing the fertilizer road together. Family who'd seen railroads laid and eras change.
When the caravan clerk screamed under torture, he decided to spill the truth.
"Bring Dodon."
The torturers smirked disgustingly and left the tent.
Who'd imagine the special bath tent for wilderness bathing became a torture chamber?
As Tindamel shed blood tears over the fainted clerk,
A burly man entered.
Brown-skinned with a scarred upper body exposed—Dodon himself.
"Tsk, Tindamel, finally ready to talk? Would've been easier sooner."
Dodon prodded the fallen clerk. Tindamel nodded and pleaded.
"I'll tell all. Where I bought the Awakening Potion, who's receiving it... so please, spare the rest."
"Of course. Spill, and all merchants live. Mercenaries live by credit, right?"
Credit my ass. Swallowing curses, Tindamel followed Dodon out.
Dodon dragged him to the campfire in the camp center and pressed his shoulder.
Superhuman strength buckled his knees instantly.
Amid mercenaries' jeers, Dodon interrogated.
"Now, speak. Who sold this precious Awakening Potion? Who's buying?"
Obvious question. Who makes it? Necromancers, obviously.
Who buys? Necromancer-allied nobles, obviously.
The point: use Tindamel's testimony to blackmail the buyer noble.
An Earth recorder in a mercenary behind Dodon proved it.
"...Come on, speak."
Dodon urged, but Tindamel squeezed his eyes shut, hesitating.
Was spilling right? Truth meant death for him and all here...
As he wavered, a whoosh of wind blew overhead.
Campfire swayed, leaves scattered—fierce wind.
No natural gale, so Tindamel and Dodon's band looked up.
Above: a shadow blotting night clouds.
"Dragon?"
As Dodon muttered, the dragon slowly descended.
Mercenaries gawked blankly.
A quick one shone a small flashlight—barely illuminating the chest.
"...What's that?"
But the flashlight caught something odd on the dragon's chest.
What to call it? Boxy iron crate?
Mercenaries puzzled, but merchant Tindamel recognized instantly.
Container?
An Earth-standard from America's Vietnam War era. Why on a dragon?
All held breath in confusion, tension, as the dragon set the neck container down.
Thud.
The door burst open; three people emerged. Precisely, three people and one crow.
Strange enough, but not over.
Next, the dragon reached to its neck, lowering something.
A tall short-haired girl, who hit ground and wretched—waaah!
Laughter from another girl, worried consoling voice, youth patting her back.
All blinked at the surreal scene; Dodon recovered first.
"...All hands, battle ready."
Weapons drawn instantly—mostly stolen Earth automatics from Tindamel.
Click.
Only then did the neck-riders turn.
They chatted among themselves; two slowly approached the camp.
"Sh, shoot?"
"No, hold."
Soon, identities revealed by firelight: displeased youth, white-haired eyepatch girl.
"Hello? Saw you're a caravan—mind if we check your goods?"
Absurdity rose in the eyepatch girl's wake. Dodon replied.
"Who are you?"
"Just travelers."
"Travelers on dragonback? Heroes, are we?"
Cautious Dodon.
Girl smiled to reply, but Tindamel slammed forehead to ground, yelling.
"S-Saintess! Saintess! Oh, great Five Gods!"
"...Oops."
"Saintess! Save us! These mercenaries betrayed our caravan, trying to kill merchants! Please! I beg—gurk!"
As Tindamel rambled, Dodon choked him out.
Brief silence.
Before it lengthened, Dodon sighed heavily.
"Saintess, total misunderstanding. Give me a chance to explain."
***
"...Misunderstanding?"
"We're outwardly Dodon's Brotherhood mercenaries, but actually the Empire's secret counterintelligence unit."
Dodon's voice was steady—even his men wondered if true.
But as Dodon subtly signaled behind his back, they snapped to.
'All ready. Signal: woman, hostage.'
Superhuman mercenaries drifted from fire; Dodon continued.
"We got intel this merchant secretly supplied Awakening Potions to the Empire via necromancers. Infiltrated as mercenaries, now detaining."
He ordered proof: Awakening Potions.
A subordinate soon brought two real ones.
"See? Awakening Potions only necromancers make. Undeniable proof they're colluding."
Saintess unmoved by display. Dodon swallowed.
"Oh, and goods? We'll provide any from caravan except evidence, as desired."
Waiting for reply—not from Saintess, but the youth beside her.
"Proof you're Empire secret counterintelligence?"
"Just showed the potions—"
"That's proof merchants collude with necromancers, not that you're secret unit."
Sharp point. Dodon cursed inwardly, stayed calm.
"...We're secret. Wouldn't carry badges."
Please just go. Contrary to wish, youth tilted head cockily.
"Good then."
"...Good? How?"
"Worried you were real Empire secret. No proof? Can kill all, no issue. Right?"
"Threatening Empire now? It's a misunderstanding..."
"Wipe that disgusting twisted mana stench off before yapping."
Busted. Rumors of holy knights detecting twisted mana—youth must be one.
"Twisted mana? What..."
Dodon's feigned confusion hid hand-to-mouth signal: index-middle.
'Go.'
Subordinates from shadows moved.
As twisted mana flowed through superhuman mercenaries' veins,
"Now! Take them!"
Dodon drew sword, charged.
Ten superhumans including him, with subordinate fire—easy hostage Saintess. So he thought.
But plan failed from start—no shots from subordinates.
Precisely, couldn't.
Mana-blind subordinates clutched throats, floating skyward.
Telekinesis—monstrous, grabbing dozens' necks at once.
Dodon dodged spells, gritted teeth.
Messy, but started—must grab Saintess for survival chance.
"Kill!!!"
Roaring, superhumans swarmed youth and Saintess from four sides.
Next instant, youth 'clenched' hand midair.
Another spell? Dodon braced—then familiar light flashed from youth's hand.
Chilling sword aura on blade.
When'd he draw? Question unspoken.
First, youth swung gracefully, beheading approaching superhumans.
Thud thud—two heads fell. Before blood sprayed, others exploited gap.
One dagger right, two swords left.
Youth backed protecting Saintess; dagger guy dove first into guard.
Daggers clashed swords; another life snuffed.
Not youth—dagger mercenary dead.
Pointless? No—death was the ploy.
Next, dagger guy's corpse swelled.
Boom!
Corpse explosion using flesh as bomb. Youth turned back guarding Saintess, ate blast full.
'Yes!'
Dodon's cheer. Left flank guys grab Saintess—survival opens...
Clang!
Blast-covered youth parried two swords unscathed.
Ice shards followed. Panicked superhumans, no corpse explosion, throats pierced dead.
"...Fuck what?"
How? Even simplified, direct corpse explosion?
Dodon's doubt ended.
Before noting red mana swirling youth,
Bullet hit forehead.
Bang!
Saintess's revolver round pierced Dodon's skull.
***