Chapter 129

Chapter 129

Rickart crossed mountains and rivers to reach the southern part of the Empire. Even though he rode a horse, it took a day longer than expected, making it the fourth day since he left Adelibari.

Among the various coastal cities in the south, he arrived at a city called Renova, which was one of the cities formed by maritime trade from very ancient times.

Renova was a place full of exotic architectural styles, exotic customs, and unfamiliar tastes and smells of water, and although the sunlight was somewhat stinging, it wasn't that sultry. Because the sea breeze blew ceaselessly.

White seagulls flew around, and huge galleys he hadn't even seen in Harlen were anchored at the port with their sails rolled up.

Rickart first went to the horse market and sold his horse. Because horses could be loaded onto ships too, but doing so would not only cost a lot of passage fare but also make management difficult.

A negotiation bordering on a scuffle took place, and Rickart's hand twitched over his sword hilt several times.

"Riding horses don't sell well these days. Nobles, whether knights or not, only look for destriers, and those without money only look for packhorses. Nobody looks for riding horses."

A horse merchant with black hair and darkly tanned skin spoke condescendingly with a seemingly disdainful gaze.

It seemed he intended to break his spirit, but Rickart wasn't someone to be intimidated anywhere. When he even charged into an army of 5,000 alone.

Rickart didn't get angry and merely countered calmly.

"Finding a good buyer is your problem, not mine, isn't it? This horse has well-developed muscles and good stamina. As you can see, its teeth are sturdy too. Look at this coat. Do you know how often I brushed it."

"I have eyes too so I see that well. I also admit it's a good horse. But if it doesn't sell well, who pays for the maintenance costs in the meantime?"

"......Mm, now I understand. Since your ability as a merchant only amounts to that much, you weren't a person who buys and sells good horses. Then go sell lots of packhorses. I will look for someone else."

"Heoheoi, this guy."

When Rickart deliberately provoked him by doubting the other party's ability, he burst into a hearty laugh and grabbed Rickart's sleeve.

"Understood, understood. I'll give you two gold coins. But if I buy it at full price, where am I supposed to make a profit?"

"That's for you to do with your ability. Hurry up and give me the money."

The merchant took out two money pouches from his bosom and handed them over. Each pouch contained 20 silver coins.

Rickart squeezed the money pouches in his hand a couple of times and accurately grasped the count. The total of 40 was correct.

Negotiating was truly a tiring task. Although he understood there was a difference in each other's positions, he didn't really want to associate with merchants.

Only, lingering affection for the horse he had ridden all this time remained.

"Meet a good owner."

Rickart stroked the horse's mane and neck.

The merchant watched that sight with a pleased smile. Because he knew that a person who cares for animals is exactly a proper person.

"Are you a traveler?"

When the transaction ended there was no more need for a battle of nerves, and the merchant asked in a much softened attitude.

"Something like that."

"Where are you going?"

"Sinatria."

"Where in Sinatria? That land is quite large."

"The headquarters of the Flame Knights."

"Rumors there aren't very good these days? Saying they worship demons or something."

"It's a false rumor. They are noble people."

"Well, could be. I've seen witch hunts a few times too, but from what I saw there wasn't a single witch. It's just venting anger, or having other ulterior motives."

People all knew too. That they were just framing and killing them.

However, they merely dismissed it as other people's affairs, and didn't seem to have much interest.

"Is there a ship going to Sinatria?"

Rickart asked.

"As for ships, there are plenty. Ships always set sail. But the problem is where they go."

"So is there, or isn't there? A ship going there."

"Mm...... I don't know well about sea affairs either, but for Sinatria, ships will probably sail that way when summer comes. In the meantime, spend some time here with that money. If you're bored I'll introduce you to a good place. Since ancient times southern beauties are famous for being killer in bed."

The merchant giggled with a mischievous smile. However, rather than that, Rickart was troubled by the words that a ship heading that way would only set sail after a month passed.

"Alternatively, you don't have to go straight there, you can take a slight detour. You could get off at Tagonia and detour all the way around, or if not even that, just try hiring one privately."

"If I hire privately, how much money would it cost?"

"That I wouldn't know. Probably have to give five silver coins per sailor? I can't really estimate the cost to charter a ship either. How about visiting the Benicio Merchant Guild first? Those people know sailing the best."

While saying that, the horse merchant taught him where the Benicio Merchant Guild's building was.

After listening to his explanation, Rickart thought he should roughly head that way and ask for directions again there if he couldn't figure it out.

"I will go. Please find it a good owner."

"May luck dwell on every path you take."

Because the horse market was in the suburbs, Rickart moved his steps towards the city in earnest.

However, on the flat-carved coast where black rocks were split into many branches, Salaman people had laid down mats and were offering worship.

"Salah- hman! Salah- hman!"

Clear voices echoed as they bowed toward the southeast. He wondered if it was okay for heathens to do that openly, but no one paid any mind.

Actually, it was legal since they were offering worship after paying religious taxes to the city.

It seemed that while they disliked and hated heathens, on the other hand they somewhat understood in their own way and lived together. The South was such a place. Truly heterogeneous, and fascinating.

Passing the alleys inside the city walls, there were truly all kinds of people. Mercenaries, travelers, soldiers of unknown affiliation, pilgrims, priests, knights, nobles, commoners, and even slaves.

People were so crowded they bumped into each other as they passed, and Rickart, finding the sword at his waist cumbersome, unfastened his sword belt and carried the sword on his shoulder for the first time in a while.

Passing a place like a gateway inside the city, fortunately it was less crowded. It felt like his blocked breath was clearing.

The restaurants along the street had outdoor tables. There, people were eating grilled or steamed seafood with their hands. Large crab dishes were seen, and fish, shrimp, conch, etc., varied.

Because Rickart was an inlander, he found seafood he had never seen in his life fascinating. And somewhat gross too. Aren't those bugs? Can you eat that?

Anyway passing the noisy place, it became a bit quieter as he reached the district where various merchants and craftsmen gathered.

Rickart was about to ask where the Benicio Merchant Guild was again here, but there was something that caught his eye. It was none other than the slave market.

People were gathered, and most were closer to sightseeing than trying to buy slaves. Imperial people were sold, Salaman people were sold too, men and women, adults and children regardless, all were sold.

Under Imperial law slavery was illegal, but no one cared about such crap here.

Those wearing nothing, their destinies mortgaged to others' hands, went up on the platform. Characterized by overflowing confidence, the slave merchant introduced them, appealed their product excellence, and people called out prices.

"Take a look at this one, this! Speaking of this one, he's the one who used to attend an Amir who enjoyed sodomy! His beauty is not inferior to a woman's, right? They get discarded past 15 so I bought him at a high price! Good at day work too! And good at night work......!"

The dark-skinned beautiful boy pitiably turned his head away, and just as the slave merchant said, he was incredibly beautiful.

However, Rickart wasn't interested in such things, and making no value judgments, he merely calmly took in all these sights in his eyes.

Then an iron cage situated a bit away from where slaves were sold caught his eye. There was not a single person there, so wondering why, Rickart walked that way.

Under a very shaded place, a man locked in an iron cage sat quietly with a gag in his mouth.

His hands were also bound, and whether it was originally like that or because he couldn't drink water, his skin and lips were cracked wide open.

Sunken eyes, prominent nose, hair hanging down carelessly, messy beard and dark skin. Anyone could tell he was a Salaman, and fascinatingly, his eyes weren't dim but clear.

Rather than locking up a person, it felt like locking a beast in a cage. But, a familiar scent came from him. It was the smell of agarwood.

Rickart squatted down and looked at him quietly from the front. He too didn't avoid his gaze and looked at Rickart.

Rickart thought it was fascinating. Because, neither fear, resentment, nor hatred could be felt from the heathen's eyes.

After observing the person locked in the cage for a while, Rickart untied the water pouch at his waist, opened the stopper, and reached his hand out through the iron bars.

However, he didn't take the water pouch and just kept looking.

"It's not out of sympathy. Merely, death doesn't necessarily have to be painful."

Then he seemed to think for a moment, took the water pouch, and poured the water into his mouth biting the gag to drink. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"You don't believe in superstitions, do you?"

Next to Rickart, a stranger struck up a conversation. Turning his head to look, it was a young Southerner with black curly hair. He wore expensive silk clothes, had a cutlass at his waist, and held something like a baton in his hand.

"What do you mean?"

"Things like bad luck catching on or curses. But, you'd better be careful. Because this guy is a real mage. Have you heard of the Mage of the Wastelands?"

Rickart looked back at the iron cage. Having quenched his thirst, he was raising his eyes and quietly looking up at the newly appeared man.

At the term Mage of the Wastelands, Rickart wondered if he looked a bit different, or maybe not. He didn't know if there was a special meaning, but commonly Salaman mages were called Mages of the Wastelands.

Anyway, the Mages of the Wastelands were the ones who manufactured the poison the Rubens Guild used when they ambushed Rickart in the past.

Since they merely sold the goods, Rickart didn't particularly harbor ill feelings toward the Mages of the Wastelands.

"If you feel that uncomfortable, why didn't you just kill him earlier? Do you really have to starve him like this?"

"What if a curse is laid? Because of that fear no one lays a hand on him. They don't even come near. And it's not trying to kill him. It's draining his strength."

A chuckle burst out from Rickart. Then the Southerner made an expression as if asking what was funny, and Rickart answered.

"It's just funny because they frame and kill perfectly fine people as witches, but when it's a real mage they can't even lay a hand on him."

"Hearing it, it is indeed funny. I am Barbara. A merchant of the Benicio Merchant Guild. And you?"

"Rickart. A traveler."

"Where are you heading? The Holy Land?"

"I am heading to the headquarters of the Flame Knights."

"The Flame Knights...... It'll take a month before there's a ship going there. Alternatively, you could take a slight detour."

"Is there passage?"

"Before that, do you know how to use that sword a bit?"

Barbara pointed at the sword slung over Rickart's shoulder with his chin and asked. Rickart answered calmly.

"I have never lost so far."

"If an inlander came this far alone, well, you must be above average. There is one ship going to Armosa Island. If you take another ship from there, the Order's headquarters is right around the corner. How about it, will you ride?"

"I have no choice. I'll ride. How much is the passage fare?"

At the question asking the passage fare Barbara grinned, then tapped the iron cage with the baton he was holding.

"Keep a close eye on this guy while going. That's the passage fare."

Saying that, he told him to look for a ship named 'Marlin' at the port before the sun rose tomorrow morning, and turned around and left.

It seemed he intended to sell this person called the Mage of the Wastelands. Perhaps because there's no buyers here, he intended to go all the way to an island called Armosa to sell him.

Although uncomfortable and dangerous, being that rare an existence, he'd likely get a pretty good price.

Rickart looked at the mage again. Their eyes met. He watched quietly before asking.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Then the mage tapped the gag in his mouth with his bound hands.

It seemed they gagged him so he couldn't chant spells, but he wondered if they couldn't sell him if he starved to death like this.

However, originally when handling slaves they sometimes starved them. Because they'd drain their strength so they couldn't rebel properly. Right now the reason was different though.

"See you tomorrow."

Leaving those words, Rickart moved his steps without even getting his water pouch back.

The mage left alone merely sat quietly again to spend time. One hour, two hours, three hours; even as the sun set, he remained exactly sitting without budging.

When night fell, like any city, people's excitement rose, spending money, pouring and drinking, playing.

Then a drunkard staggered in the moonlit night and approached the mage.

"Hey, Salaman bastard. Do you believe in God too? You don't? Look at this fucking son of a bitch."

Muttering something to himself, he pulled down his pants and tried to pee toward the mage. But just then, the mage's pupils disappeared, and only his white sclera flashed.

Then suddenly something like a whip flew in from somewhere and tightly squeezed his lower body.

Whish! Chwack!

"Agh......!"

The drunkard tightly closed his eyes and was about to scream. But this time a thick whip flying in from another place covered his mouth.

And instantly, from beyond that darkness, dozens of strands of whips stretched out. However, they weren't whips but tentacles. Something alive looking like octopus tentacles.

The tentacles wrapped around the drunkard's whole body. So densely wrapped, his original form couldn't even be seen. In that state, they continued to squeeze.

Crack! Crunch! Snap. Thud!

He was definitely dead. There was no way he could be alive. However, blood or things like that didn't burst out at all. Even though it was certain he was already dead, the tentacles didn't stop squeezing.

Then as black pupils appeared again in the mage's eyes that were full of whites, the tentacles disappeared as if sucked into beyond the darkness with a swoosh.

And what it had been wrapping was nowhere to be seen, merely something looking like a wrung-out dry towel dropped to the floor with a thud.

Tranquil silence. From afar, and from inside buildings, the loud chatter of people roamed the night streets again.

The mage merely remained sitting, without even a slight movement. In his hand, the water pouch Rickart had handed him was held.

By the way, the gag in his mouth didn't seem to have any particularly great effect.