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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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Renting a prisoner in Olpasbet had a clear, unambiguous meaning.
Considering the services these prisoners provided, and the reasons people rented them, it was obvious.
Aslan understood the look of contempt on Harod Claw’s face. He knew why it was there, and what the Dragonkin was thinking.
But he didn’t bother to correct him. Even though his reasons for renting Harod were vastly different, and his intentions far removed from what the Dragonkin assumed, he didn’t offer an explanation.
Correction wasn’t his goal.
Harod Claw’s tail twitched, the muscles beneath its hard scales rippling.
It was coming. A punch. Aslan’s eyes tracked the movement, calculating the trajectory.
Aslan closed his fist around the signet ring, subtly pushing the guard, who had raised his weapon at the Dragonkin’s aggressive posture, out of the way.
Almost simultaneously, Harod’s right fist shot forward.
–Whoosh!
The red-scaled fist cut through the air, aimed directly at Aslan’s head.
Aslan followed the predicted path with his eyes, twisting his body to the left, into the arc of Harod’s punch.
“What…!”
As Harod’s eyes widened in surprise, as he started to turn, Aslan seized the opportunity.
He channeled his momentum into a swift kick.
“Ugh!”
Harod’s unstable posture after throwing the punch, compounded by the imbalance caused by his attempted turn, made him vulnerable. Aslan’s kick connected perfectly with his supporting leg, sending the Dragonkin sprawling.
–Thud!
The heavy thud of the Dragonkin hitting the ground echoed through the mine. The busy prisoners stopped, staring in surprise.
“Ugh… what?!”
Harod groaned, trying to push himself up, then froze as he felt his arm being yanked.
Aslan pulled on his arm, twisting it behind his back and pinning it against his throat, cutting off his air supply.
“Gah… ugh…”
His airway constricted. Death loomed. Even a Dragonkin’s superior lung capacity was useless without air.
“Wh-what is the meaning of this?!”
The guards’ startled cries, the prisoners’ gasps of shock, Angie’s look of mingled confusion and intrigue – all faded into the background as Harod’s consciousness dimmed.
His last vestiges of awareness desperately calculated his chances.
Harod Claw was a warrior.
A skilled warrior knew the difference between himself and his opponent. He could predict the outcome of a fight.
He knew who would live, and who would die.
Now, feeling the approach of his own death, he flailed with his free left arm.
It didn’t reach. His captured arm restricted his movement.
His vertically slit pupils rolled back as death beckoned.
“Gah… cough! Cough!”
The pressure on his arm released. A rush of air filled his lungs, granting him life. He gasped, his hands braced against the ground.
He coughed and sputtered, his vision clearing, confusion replacing the haze of near-death.
“…Why… why did you…?”
“You wouldn’t have listened otherwise.”
Harod finally met Aslan’s gaze.
Those cold, teal eyes.
A chilling fear spread through him. He looked away.
The man was right. He would have dismissed any explanation as an excuse.
While relieved that Aslan’s intentions weren’t what he had initially assumed, Harod was also terrified.
He couldn’t understand why Aslan had done this.
Aslan spoke softly.
“I don’t intend to subject you to the humiliation you imagined.”
“…Then what… what do you want?”
“The mines.”
Harod looked up. Aslan lowered himself to meet the Dragonkin’s gaze.
The coldness had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a profound weariness.
“I need you to accompany me into the mines.”
Harod knew he had no choice.
And indeed, Aslan didn’t wait for a reply.
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Olpasbet’s mines were a labyrinth of interconnected tunnels.
While their primary purpose was Whitesteel extraction, they also served to contain the creatures lurking in the depths below.
“Boss, are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
The entrances to these mines were heavily guarded, and any entry or exit was closely monitored by the guards.
Ignoring the guards’ wary gazes, Aslan observed the group gathered a short distance away, adjusting their quilted armor and inspecting their crude iron weapons.
Harod Claw and two of his self-proclaimed subordinates.
Angie, wielding a one-handed axe, and Aslan, both in similar quilted armor.
The area before the mine entrance was unusually crowded.
Angie stood beside Aslan, watching Harod’s group with a sneer.
“They’re completely terrified.”
She was right. Every time Harod Claw met Aslan’s gaze, he visibly flinched.
A stark contrast to the calm, almost savage way he had reacted when his subordinates were attacked by the girl.
Aslan understood why.
Unlike Angie, a slum dweller with little education, Harod Claw was an experienced warrior.
And that warrior had briefly exchanged blows with Aslan.
He would have felt the insurmountable difference in their abilities.
There was no need to worry about a sneak attack.
That’s why Aslan wasn’t concerned, despite the large single-edged two-handed sword in Harod’s grip.
Aslan checked the weapons at his belt and stepped forward.
“Open the gate, please.”
He addressed the guard. The guard gave Aslan a cursory glance, then nodded to his companion.
The two guards exchanged a look and began turning the large wheel beside the barred gate.
The metal bars screeched as they rose, slowly revealing the damp interior of the mine.
Damp, dark, stretching deep into the earth.
As the gate ascended, the darkness seemed to open its maw. Aslan produced a torch.
“Ignite.”
–Poof!
A spark flew from his fingertip, igniting the torch.
“Hold this, and stay close.”
Aslan handed the lit torch to Angie and lit another one for himself.
“Here.”
“Uh, yes sir.”
He handed the second torch to one of Harod Claw’s subordinates and stepped forward. Angie followed close behind, and the large Dragonkin, along with the bald man and the dark-skinned man, trailed behind them, disappearing into the darkness.
–Clang!
As the last of them passed through the gate, it slammed shut with a deafening clang.
The two men flinched at the loud noise, but Aslan continued forward, undeterred.
Four pairs of eyes followed the back of his cloak as he led them deeper into the darkness. The flickering torches, one at the front and one at the rear of their small procession, cut through the gloom like fireflies.
The path, carved from earth and rock, sloped gently downwards, then upwards, then downwards again, twisting and turning through the mine. Strange rock formations and stalactites jutted out at odd angles.
Aslan suddenly stopped and turned around. Angie’s eyes widened in surprise, but she remained still. Only Harod flinched.
“Do you know what we’re doing here?”
Angie crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at the abrupt question.
It had been several days since he subdued Harod Claw. During that time, he had only told Harod and his men that “the Baron has asked us to find something in the depths.”
Angie, seemingly trying to piece things together based on what he had told her earlier, remained silent. Harod’s subordinates, however, looked confused.
One of them, a dark-skinned man named Ekul, spoke.
“Uh, didn’t you say we’re looking for something?”
“Do you know why I rented you for a whole month?”
Harod remained silent for a moment, then replied,
“You said the trolls emerging from the mines were becoming more numerous and aggressive, and you needed people to fight them.”
He spoke respectfully, perhaps chastened by his previous encounter with Aslan.
Aslan looked at the subdued Harod, then at his subordinates, who seemed to accept his explanation. He spoke softly.
“We’re escaping.”
“…What?”
This time, it was the bald man, Carlson, who replied.
He gripped his studded mace, his face contorted in confusion.
Aslan stared at him.
“Why, don’t you want to leave?”
“It’s not that, but… are you serious? I heard no one’s ever escaped Olpasbet…”
“Does it sound like I’m joking?”
“…No.”
As the men exchanged uneasy glances, Harod closed his eyes and muttered,
“I was wondering why you brought so much food and camping supplies… so that was your intention.”
His subordinates let out a chorus of “Ah”s, as if suddenly understanding.
Aslan rode the wave of comprehension that swept through the group.
“This is a deal.”
Three pairs of eyes focused on him. Aslan extended his hand, the tattoos on the back of it flickering faintly.
“I’ll give you your freedom, but you fight for me until we get out. At least until we get through these mines.”
“But what about the restraints around our necks…?”
‘Dispel Magic.’
The tattoos on Aslan’s hand, which extended up his arm to his shoulder, pulsed with light, sending out a wave of energy.
The wave, glowing white and blue, washed over Angie and the three men, dispelling the magic of the restraints and shattering them.
The fragments scattered across the floor with a soft tinkle. The man who had been about to ask about the restraints closed his mouth.
“As you can see, you’re free now. At least temporarily.”
Carlson, rubbing his newly freed neck, looked at Aslan quizzically.
“Even if you go back and tell the guards your restraints are gone, they’ll only kill you. You’ll be executed for attempted escape, the first in Olpasbet’s history.”
Carlson’s face paled. Aslan turned his back to them.
“I can escape without you. It wouldn’t be difficult if I only cared about my own safety. The reason I’m bringing you along, the reason I’m giving you your freedom, is to conserve my strength.”
It was a partial truth, mixed with a bit of bluster.
He could escape alone.
The problem was Angie. He wasn’t confident he could protect her while simultaneously fighting his way through the mines.
Aslan drove the point home.
“You’d better take this opportunity while you can.”
He turned slightly, and Harod Claw’s expression was clearly troubled, even for a human to see.
His subordinates exchanged anxious glances, clearly unsure what to do with the sudden influx of information, the coercion, and the offer.
Aslan considered what to say, how to persuade them. Then…
–Groooowl.
A low growl echoed through the mine. Aslan lowered his gaze and reached for his belt.
Angie looked back and forth between the source of the sound and Aslan, fidgeting with the axe in her hand. Aslan drew his weapons.
He pulled out his mace and the single-edged longsword he had taken from the mercenaries, holding one in each hand, letting them hang loosely at his sides.
“Decide quickly. You’ll regret it when you’re begging for your lives.”
Harod and his two men had worked in the mines for a long time. They knew what kind of monsters lurked within. They also knew how difficult they were to deal with.
They swallowed hard, their expressions grim, at Aslan’s warning.
Aslan saw their reactions and spoke.
“I’ll give you a little preview. Call me when you’ve decided. Angie.”
“Uh, what?”
“Throw your torch.”
Angie frowned, then swung her arm back and threw the torch forward.
It arced through the air, landed with a thud, and rolled along the ground, scattering sparks. The flickering light illuminated something moving slowly down the gentle slope towards them.
It was a grotesque creature.
A hunched back, long arms that nearly dragged on the ground, and shockingly pale skin.
A creature truly deserving of the name monster. It rolled its bloodshot red eyes, surveying its surroundings.
Aslan recognized it.
A Mud Troll.
Four of them slowly emerged from the darkness, sniffing the air.
Aslan stared at the creatures, then stepped forward.
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