Chapter 62: The Shameful Recitation
Marhal sent Hugo to fetch the book.
As evening turned to night, the crowd noticeably thinned. Now it was just three men working. It was interesting enough for a quick look, but not something to watch for hours on end.
The people had dwindled, but the blazing fire remained. The flames conjured by Marina's magic lit up the surroundings like broad daylight. More people had come to see the mage's magic than to watch the men work. Of course, even that wasn't much of a spectacle to linger over.
If the onlookers could have heard the conversation near Marhal, the crowd would have grown instead of shrinking—but the distance between Marhal and the spectators was too great for voices to carry.
Hugo approached Marhal, a red book in hand. He offered it to Marhal with a dubious expression.
"Master. Is this the right one?"
"Yeah, that's it. Good work. We can head out tomorrow, so just make sure to notify everyone not to be late and get some rest."
"Understood."
Hugo vanished back into the thinning crowd.
Bayola eyed the book in Marhal's hand.
"What's that?"
"If we knew, we wouldn't be in this mess."
Bayola held out her hand. Marhal passed her the book.
"It's heavy. No title. The paper's high quality too. Bachea Empire specialty?"
Refining a language over five hundred years wasn't easy. It required vast records, and in that process, the Bachea Empire advanced printing techniques worldwide. Paper made directly in the Bachea Empire was irreplaceable now that the method was lost.
"I'd like a peek too."
Marina couldn't contain her curiosity and drew closer to Bayola. Touching the cover, Marina gasped in admiration.
"There's magic on it. A preservation spell to keep the book from deteriorating... Definitely not an ordinary tome."
"If you're that curious, go ahead and look."
"Yeah. I should."
Gulp.
Bayola swallowed hard. As she moved to open it, Marina stopped her.
"Hold on. Don't we have something to settle first?"
"Like what?"
"We need to decide the rules of the contest."
"How about reading aloud? We take turns reading line by line. First one who can't or reads wrong loses."
Bayola could barely read silently. But aloud? She could handle even tough books. It was a clever choice, though Marina had no way of knowing that.
"Fine. Then open it up. Should I go first? Don't want it ending on the first line."
"No need."
With fierce determination for victory, Bayola flipped randomly to the middle and began reading in the ancient imperial tongue.
As that time arrived, Anri's body grew hot. She thought it might be a cold and tried medicine, lay in bed to sleep—but the fever wouldn't subside. In truth, she knew better than anyone. This was no mere cold.
"Your turn."
Bayola passed the book. Marina took it with a uneasy look.
Is this really important? Maybe some kind of cipher. Or just this part is special. A preserved book like this couldn't be trivial.
Anri couldn't bear the heat and rose from bed. No time to change out of her nightclothes. She threw on the cloak from the wall and left the room. The corridor was pitch black without a candle, but it was fine. She didn't need light to find his room. Her burning body would guide her.
"Th-this... doesn't seem right."
"Giving up already?"
"Another part. I'll pick it."
Marina closed the book and placed her hand on it.
Please no. A book worth a gold coin for decoration alone couldn't be smut.
With desperate hope, Marina opened it. Her eyes shook at the first line.
"Not reading? You lose."
"No. I'll read."
The count whispered in Anri's ear. "What's wrong, Anri? Tell me."
His voice sent chills and thrills down her spine. "Y-yes. I am the count's secret... "
Marina clamped her mouth shut. What followed was an indecent cascade of words unfit to utter.
"Why stop? It's not even hard."
Bayola asked with a teasing lilt. Embarrassing, sure—but the language was simple enough for Bayola to parse silently.
Tears pricking her eyes, Marina glared at Bayola and spat through gritted teeth.
"If I read it, you'll read the next part too, right?"
"If you can."
Whatever came next would be better than Marina's portion. Just grit teeth and bear it.
"What's it about anyway? Not that important, huh?"
"Ah."
"I mean... never mind."
The book owner's interruption silenced them both. Marhal didn't know ancient imperial—that much they knew. But even so, no words fit for a man's ears.
They still had that much shame.
"What's the book? Hugo scoured deep into the West for it on a scouting run. I deserve to know the contents, don't I?"
Marina and Bayola's eyes met, then darted away. They switched to ancient imperial.
[What do we do?]
[We could back off if you surrender.]
[That's not backing off.]
[You're really doing this insane thing?!]
Marina flinched, voice rising unwittingly. She glanced at Marhal. He was clearing empty bottles and opening a fresh one. Sealed glass bottles were luxury items, yet he'd downed over ten since noon.
[We keep going.]
[People are watching! Have you no shame?!]
[No one understands. What's the harm? Unlike someone with nothing to lose, I've got stakes.]
[Teaching that man ancient imperial? That's worth it?]
Marina couldn't fathom it. Teaching ancient imperial—what made it so vital? It was just tiring.
She needed to understand Marhal, or she wouldn't have offered in the first place.
[Some weakness? Then let me...]
[No, it's something I want to do.]
[Then why go so far... Wait, do you like him? If so, I can yield...]
[Think what you want. So, do it or not?]
Bayola's condescending gaze—like she could read Marina's mind—was unbearable. Marina flipped the book open.
[Fine! Let's do it!]
Their recitation of erotic literature resumed. Victory's fire burned away their shame. Their rising voices reached the few remaining onlookers.
"What are those two doing?"
"Arguing over an open book. Must be some high-class talk we illiterate folk can't grasp."
"Better than watching the men sweat buckets."
"Yeah. Those who left early missed out."
Marhal stopped drinking. He was as flustered as the first time he'd seen the Hero cleave the sky. The bottle slipped from his hand and rolled across the ground.
"H-hey! That's good booze going to waste!"
"Think mixing it with dirt would make it taste better?"
The book was a prank from his childhood days. Mar—the mage—had crafted it to tease young Marhal: an erotic novel disguised with a fancy imperial cover and preservation magic, claiming it a "royal find."
Marhal had been furious when he opened it. The joke flopped, but he kept the book as a memento. It embarrassed Mar, so he wielded it as his ultimate weapon against her.
Marhal figured they'd quit after a line or two. No one would recite smut aloud in public, even if none understood ancient imperial. He'd sip his drink to their awkward stumbles.
But the dizzying lines right beside him made Marhal squeeze his eyes shut. Their voices only grew louder.
He groped sideways for another bottle. His fingers hooked the fallen one, then grabbed a fresh from behind.
The mind-numbing reading session—over an hour by feel—ended with Bayola victorious. Marina, spirit shattered, conceded first. Whatever it said, even she—who'd uttered every filthy word so far—couldn't stomach it.
I'll check that part later.
"I win. Got it? I'm the best at ancient imperial."
Face flushed crimson, Bayola declared to Marhal, who was verging on truly drunk. Her vibe screamed she'd stab if denied, so he nodded meekly.
Self-loathing hit Marina late; she huddled on the ground, clutching her head.
Dawn broke. The three thieves sprawled like corpses after their punishment. Nearby inn guests began stirring. Sleepless Strekl emerged too.
Out to check the petty thieves from yesterday, Strekl spotted Marhal passed out on bare ground amid rolling bottles.
"He drank all that? Incredible."
Over twenty bottles littered around Marhal. The air reeked of booze.
Marhal squinted his eyes.
"Ah, you're here?"
"First time seeing you drunk. That fun, huh?"
He'd seen Marhal drink plenty, but never drunk. Strekl regretted not watching; sleep would've evaded him either way.
"Almost was."
"Strange words."
Ugh.
Marhal hauled himself up, staggering to the wagon. Peeking from under the canvas, he said,
"Skip breakfast. We'll get up when we do."
"If you're sleeping, what about departure?"
"Hugo's handled it. Road's straightforward anyway."
Marhal vanished inside. The wagon brimmed with goods, but he could curl up. Overpack, and unloading later was hell.
"What's this?"
A cloth-covered lump on the floor. Marhal pulled it back to reveal Alasil, missing since afternoon yesterday.
"Shh!"
"What are you doing here?"
"Hiding, can't you tell?"
"Why?"
"Church folk could show anytime. Should've gone back yesterday and left today."
Her miracles suggested no one at church could scold her, but that was her business.
"You've been like this all day?"
"Since afternoon. My whole body's aching—hurry and go."
"Not my call. Rest easy."
"How, crammed like this...!"
As Marhal moved to exit, his collar snagged. He tumbled backward onto Alasil.
"What the—?"
"They're here. Be my shield since we're at it."
Marhal listened. Outside came a voice he'd heard at the church before.