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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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The fact that Aslan had fought in Nechagni wasn’t exactly a secret.
At the very least, Counts Warfall and Scholunkund, whose territories had been affected by the battle, would know.
Beyond them, the counts’ scouts and mercenaries who observed the battle, and even the farmers in nearby villages, would also have heard about it. The information wasn’t exactly obscure.
However, the distance between Nechagni and Olpasbet was considerable. This was what puzzled Aslan.
Even if news traveled fast, there was no reason for someone here to know about such an insignificant event so far away.
But there was no way to find out, so Aslan decided to fish for information.
“My business in Nechagni is concluded. I was looking for a suitable city to resupply.”
“A suitable city?”
“I’m interested in Olpasbet’s Whitesteel weaponry.”
Baron Olpasbet let out a thoughtful hum, resting his chin on his hand.
Whitesteel was a metal unique to Olpasbet.
As its name suggested, it was a white metal that, when forged into weapons and armor, resulted in light yet durable equipment.
While expensive due to the difficulty of mining it, the Baron seemed to find Aslan’s explanation plausible, nodding slowly.
“So no other business then? No particular destination in mind?”
“That’s correct.”
“I see.”
The Baron leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing on his lips. The chair, upholstered in some kind of animal hide, creaked. He shifted his gaze.
“I have a little task for you.”
Aslan nodded.
“I’m listening.”
Encouraged by the positive response, the Baron leaned forward, his large hands resting on the desk, his smile widening.
“Are you familiar with the legends of Olpasbet?”
It was an unexpected question.
But Aslan knew the legends of Olpasbet well.
In fact, there was very little about this world that he didn’t know.
Nevertheless, Aslan played along, feigning ignorance to elicit more information.
“I’m not.”
“I hear that Olpasbet didn’t exist long ago. Just empty plains when the Old Gods still reigned.”
Aslan barely suppressed a grimace.
“But when the great gods descended upon this land, and the foolish Old Gods dared to oppose them, the Poison-Breathing Dragon, one of the Fated of the Universe, slew one of them right here.”
“…I’ve never heard that before.”
“I hadn’t either, until recently. But that’s not the important part. The Old God slain by the Poison-Breathing Dragon, its body instantly rotted and swelled from the potent venom. They say its flesh became the earth and mountains, its head the peak.”
The Baron paused, as if expecting Aslan to dismiss the tale as absurd. Aslan simply nodded.
While it was indeed a fantastical story, he couldn’t ignore it.
It was information an ordinary person shouldn’t know.
“The interesting thing is, this absurd story is true, and there’s a hidden part to it. The Old God that died here was powerful, and its mighty weapon is said to be slumbering deep beneath Olpasbet.”
A hidden weapon.
Hearing this, Aslan immediately guessed who had told the Baron this story.
The monstrous deity who observed every battle in the world, who coveted every weapon in existence.
The War God.
Knowing this, Aslan understood what the Baron was about to ask.
“And this ‘little task’ you have for me is…?”
“Indeed. I want you to find that weapon.”
It wasn’t a “little task.”
As far as Aslan knew, acquiring that weapon required traversing the mines and exploring the poisonous swamp deep underground.
There was no way to cross the venom that could melt even a god, so exploring it directly wasn’t a viable option. Not unless he leveled up significantly and gained new abilities.
But Aslan didn’t refuse.
He saw this as an opportunity.
A chance to escape.
A chance to gather resources and delay the War Monk pursuing him while completing the quest.
“Very well.”
“Oh, as expected of the Master of Battle. So decisive.”
A flicker of excitement shone in the Baron’s eyes, and Aslan saw what he was planning.
The Baron had either already summoned a War Monk or was planning to.
Once Aslan explored the mines and either found the god’s weapon or the path leading to it, the Baron’s next move was obvious.
He would deploy his forces, along with the War Monk, eliminate Aslan, claim credit for capturing a Great One, offer the divine weapon to the War God, and earn the deity’s favor.
It was a transparent plan.
“But before that…”
“Hmm?”
Of course, it was a plan that only mattered if Aslan fell for it.
Aslan, calmly planning how to outmaneuver the Baron and exploit the situation to his advantage, continued.
“Even if I am the Master of Battle, I am still human. Not a priest.”
“…Indeed.”
“It would be difficult to conquer the mines alone with just a prisoner girl, wouldn’t you agree?”
The Baron’s gaze shifted to the girl. Angie had been standing behind Aslan with her arms crossed, a look of discomfort on her face since they entered the office.
She frowned at the Baron’s scrutiny.
Her limbs were thin, and the rags she wore offered little protection.
Even if she were properly equipped, it was doubtful she would be much help in a fight.
The Baron, accustomed to renting out prisoners for a specific purpose, assumed Aslan had other plans for the girl.
“Alright, I’ll assign you some troops. Five guards, perhaps…”
“No.”
Aslan interrupted him. The Baron frowned, but Aslan pressed on. The Baron cared more about the glory of capturing Aslan than a momentary annoyance.
“Troops are unnecessary. I wouldn’t want any of your guards, who work so hard for the city, to be injured or killed during the exploration.”
This was partly true. Even in a city of sin, not all guards were evil or corrupt.
Aslan didn’t want anyone to be needlessly hurt, and it would also complicate their escape.
It wasn’t the possibility of guards getting injured during the exploration that bothered him, but the possibility of having to kill them during their escape.
“Hmm, I see.”
The Baron seemed indifferent to the fate of his guards, but he was intrigued by Aslan’s suggestion.
“I’d like to rent a few prisoners under your name.”
“Oh?”
While Aslan wasn’t thrilled about the possibility of prisoners dying, it was preferable to killing guards when it came to escaping.
The Baron, oblivious to Aslan’s true intentions, considered the proposal. After a moment of thought, he nodded.
“That sounds reasonable. Very well.”
And he suspected nothing.
The reason was simple.
No escape route had ever been discovered, and no prisoner had ever successfully escaped Olpasbet.
Aslan was the only person in all of Gelladrion who knew about the escape route.
So, instead of suspicion, the Baron’s face was filled with excitement for his own plans.
“Do you have any particular prisoners in mind? No, wait. Take this.”
His excitement fueled his generosity. He grinned, offering something with a flourish.
With a soft clink, a signet ring appeared on the desk.
He presented the ring with a smug smile.
“Rent as many prisoners as you need. No need to report back to me and waste your valuable time. Just show this ring, and any facility, equipment, or supplies within the city will be provided.”
The Baron promised his full support.
Aslan was taken aback by the Baron’s eagerness but understood his reasoning.
If things went well, the Baron could become a priest. A being above humans, a messenger of the gods.
Compared to that, a little expense was insignificant.
Aslan, despite having orchestrated this situation, was still surprised by the Baron’s readily offered support.
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to repay your generosity with favorable results.”
He couldn’t promise those results would be favorable for the Baron. But the Baron, pleased with Aslan’s confident reply, softened his sly smile, adding a touch of genuine warmth.
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The prisoners of Olpasbet were primarily housed in crude cells carved into the walls of the mine.
Unless they were rented out, they were mostly used for mining.
The mine was bustling with activity, filled with the clinking of pickaxes against metal fragments and raw ore. Prisoners moved busily under the watchful eyes of the guards, dumping their findings into designated piles.
Unlike the few female prisoners or those with other means of earning their keep, most prisoners could be found here in the mines.
Aslan knew this, and it proved to be true.
He scanned the faces of the busy prisoners, their gazes following him as he walked past.
Beside him, the guard, the scribe’s assistant, and Angie all wore expressions of varying degrees of discomfort, anxiety, and displeasure.
Aslan’s gaze stopped as he saw someone approaching.
Just over two meters tall.
A powerfully built frame, rippling muscles, and red scales that gleamed even in the dim light.
A thick tail that swayed from side to side with each movement.
A skilled warrior, easily recognizable as a Dragonkin.
Harod Claw.
Harod Claw approached, carrying large sacks slung over each shoulder, and dumped their contents before the guard.
The ore tumbled out with a clatter, mostly fist-sized rocks, a considerable amount given the size of the sacks.
At least two or three times what the other prisoners had produced.
Harod Claw straightened up as if the heavy load was nothing. He rotated his head, cracking his neck, and turned to head back into the mine.
But after taking a couple of steps, he stopped, as if he’d seen something strange, and slowly turned around.
His gaze settled on Aslan and the girl, her expression still filled with displeasure.
“…Traveler. Angela Tail.”
Suspicion flickered in his golden, reptilian eyes, the pupils vertically slit.
Aslan nodded, meeting the Dragonkin’s questioning gaze.
“Harod Claw.”
The large Dragonkin approached, a look of bewilderment on his face. The guard stepped forward as if to intervene, but Aslan raised an arm, stopping him.
Harod Claw stopped a short distance from Aslan, close enough to strike with a single punch, just as he had at the inn. He frowned.
“What are you doing here? Were you looking for me?”
He hadn’t said a word, yet Harod Claw seemed to have sensed he was being sought out. He folded his arms.
Instead of answering, Aslan produced the signet ring the Baron had given him.
He showed it to the scribe’s assistant, then said simply,
“Harod Claw, I have a job for you.”
Before the Dragonkin warrior could respond, Aslan added,
“I’m renting you.”
The Dragonkin’s face contorted in disgust.
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