In just a single week, Guillaumevalt had completely seized Sinop Fortress and the surrounding manors.
During that time, Azadin had been exploring the secret base of the Naga Empire. Aside from a Nether language translation manuscript, he didn't obtain any particularly special information—but he did secure a great amount of money and weapons.
They had been marching hard until then, so they took the week to thoroughly explore the secret base, rest, and repair. The injury where his ribs had been broken healed completely, and he was able to relieve the fatigue built up from travel.
However, something soon came up that forced them to leave.
***
"Azadin! Sir Zekt has appeared in a nearby village!"
Zebeck had come to inform Azadin of the news. Azadin, who had been training with Midiam and Ishmael, was startled by the announcement.
"Zekt? How far is he?"
"A day's distance."
"Ah, damn it. We didn't buy ourselves much time."
Azadin frowned.
"Buy time?" Midiam asked.
"I left a trace of myself with Nefti when I gave her the Book of the Divine King. I was trying to throw off Zekt's pursuit."
When Azadin handed a page of the Book of the Divine King to Nefti, he had placed a warding charm made with his own blood inside. If Zekt attempted to track him with mana, it would mislead him toward Nefti's group.
"Now that you mention it, I remember that. No wonder you handed over a page of the Book of the Divine King so easily."
Midiam sounded impressed.
"Otherwise, there wouldn't have been any reason to give it away."
"I thought you were trying to stay on good terms with the Arael's faction."
"Well, if we can get along, that's not entirely bad either. But Arael and I are fundamentally incompatible."
"They say he's still quite far off near the manor. What do you want to do?"
Zebeck asked Azadin.
Should they fight? Flee? If they fought, should they ambush him on the roadside and assassinate him? Or should they battle in front of witnesses, to generate accounts of Zekt using black magic?
There were several options.
"Ambushing him on a quiet roadside seems like it'll bring more trouble than gain, and if we fight in front of a crowd… would he refrain from using Nether magic to keep up appearances? Or would he just kill all the witnesses?"
Azadin shrugged.
"Either way, if we fight, innocent people will die. Let's run. The Nether magic Zekt uses should take a toll on him too."
"You're the one who brought about the miracle that defeated the Wendigo, and now you're running away from a holy knight? Even after defeating the Reaper of the Nether?"
"First of all, I didn't bring about the miracle. The miracle brought me about. And secondly…"
Azadin gave a short laugh at Ishmael's question.
"Anyone who refuses to acknowledge fear is a fool. Yeah. Zekt's terrifying."
"Even after a miracle, you're going with such a modest approach."
"People can die from just a one-inch stab wound. Even a dragonslaying hero can be killed by a child's slingshot. Never let your guard down. That's why we're already packed and ready to run, right?"
Azadin's group had packed their belongings and even replaced the horseshoes on the mountain goats and horses to be ready to flee at any time.
***
Guillaumevalt gladly agreed to Azadin's decision to flee from Zekt.
"Wouldn't it be better to bring the soldiers along?"
Brand asked. There were soldiers in Sinop Fortress who had previously served under Brock, and he was suggesting they bring them.
"If we end up fighting, it should just be against Adler and his inner circle. There's no need to escalate things. The more troops we bring, the bigger the mess."
Guillaumevalt replied to Brand and then asked:
"But wasn't your father treating the heralds more like guest generals than subordinates? If he traded the Emperor's Treasury as a bargaining chip, wouldn't Adler also know about it? Maybe he's already opened it."
"No way," Azadin said firmly.
If the Emperor's Treasury had been opened and its contents handed over to Arael, there's no way that news wouldn't have spread among the heralds.
From the perspective of the Arael's faction, they would've wanted to announce that they had gained the Emperor's Treasury in order to rally support from other still-neutral heralds.
Thanks to successfully throwing off Zekt, Azadin's group was able to travel toward Lantarik for about a day without issue.
But the next morning… it began to rain.
"It's been a while since I've seen rain."
Azadin, who had been on missions in dry regions—especially drought-stricken, famine-ridden Salasma—was delighted at the sight of rain.
But soon after…
The wind turned into a gale, and the rain became a downpour so heavy they could barely see ahead. The water swelled so much along the roads that everything but the Imperial Road turned into overflowing mud.
"What's with this ridiculous weather?"
"Whoa, we're slipping!"
The Imperial Road—also called the Empire Road or the Royal Road—was paved with stone, so it didn't turn into a muddy mess in the rain. But the flowing rainwater made the hooves of their mountain goats slip on the stones.
In a rush, Azadin's group guided the horses and goats off to the side of the road. But their hooves sank into the mud, and Scott—who was connected by harness to his wheelchair—let out a scream.
"Ugh! I should've brought a palanquin!"
"Even if you did, there's no way we'd carry you in it," Midiam snapped at Scott for bringing it up.
"As expected of someone with low intelligence—you solve everything with brute force. Wouldn't it be better to use undead?"
"If you make undead carry a palanquin in the middle of the main road, even a holy knight wouldn't let that slide."
"I could disguise it with illusion magic."
"No, forget it. Don't do anything stupid. A palanquin's useless, but a wheelchair can be repurposed for parts in a pinch, right?"
In fact, Azadin had used the wheels of the wheelchair before to transport heavy items and wooden spears.
As Midiam and Scott continued bickering, in the distance, they spotted an inn at a three-way junction with a large lantern lit.
"Let's head over there!"
"Yeah. I'm starving!"
Scott agreed.
***
Due to the sudden downpour and violent wind, the road had become treacherous.
Apparently, everyone nearby had flocked to the inn, as it was crowded with people seeking shelter from the rain.
But inside the unusually spacious inn, a tense and hostile atmosphere filled the air.
Sharp weapons reflected the dull glow of the hearth and torches, held in the hands of people on edge. The ones holding them were split into two groups.
"You bastards! Who do you think you are?!"
"Do you think the Korasar Pedders' Guild is a joke?!"
"And what about the Telbarin Guild, huh?!"
"Scary, sure. Aren't you the drug traffickers and slavers? Wow, I'm shaking."
"Damn you vagabond bastards!"
The armed merchants from both sides had drawn cudgels and swords and looked ready to clash at any moment.
"Pedders' Guild and Telbarin Guild?"
Azadin recognized some of them as belonging to the Korasar Pedders' Guild. But Telbarin Guild?
'Aren't those slave-trading bastards?'
The ones who sold off the Swamp Witch's children were none other than the Telbarin Guild. These armed merchants were both traders and villains, and at the core of their organization was an elven family.
Three members of the Pedders' Guild had overturned a table to make a barricade, while the majority of the armed merchants were threatening them.
It was obvious the numbers were unbalanced. The threatening armed merchants numbered more than ten, while the Pedders' Guild had only three people. The only reason a fight hadn't broken out yet was likely because they'd set up the barricade and were holding their position effectively.
At Azadin's gesture, Brand stepped forward.
"Ahem. Everyone, please welcome Sir Guillaumevalt, acting Count of Lantarik, rightful heir to Count Garnahair, protector of the barony."
"Huh?"
"Uh…."
"This man here is the one who recently drove out the mist monster Wendigo, who had taken over Sinop Fortress, and is now on his way to Lantarik. What's going on here? If you're facing hardship, or have legal grievances, you may petition. In the name of Count Lantarik, I promise a fair judgment."
"In the name of Count Lantarik…?"
Laughter broke out among the armed merchants from the Telbarin Guild.
Apparently, Count Garnahair didn't have the best reputation. Or perhaps these men had guilty consciences of their own.
"So, what's the issue?"
Guillaumevalt stepped forward with authority and asked. Though his elongated, beast-like face and glaring eyes were far from human and quite ugly, that very bizarreness now lent him a kind of imposing majesty—an aura that seemed almost supernatural.
It was as if some great non-human being had taken human form, and that vessel now radiated awe and dignity. Everyone around trembled.
'They're just weak to authority,' Azadin thought.
"This bastard from the Korasar Pedders' Guild used some dirty trick to steal our letters."
"What nonsense! We captured them because they were spying on us, stealing our trade records, purchase prices, and other business secrets."
At their words, Azadin, Midiam, and Ishmael all had the same thought.
'Got caught?'
'Idiots.'
The Korasar Pedders' Guild was a secret organization of the Herald Clan operating in the Korasar region. Outwardly, they were merchants—but their true identity was that of spies. And now, they'd been caught red-handed.
"We just happened to rescue someone who was attacked by bandits and found the letters that way."
"Then why were the letters unsealed?"
"The bandits must have read them."
"The courier carrying the letters was stabbed with something like a hook. And the weapon you're holding matches the wounds exactly."
The weapon held by the Korasar Pedders' Guild member was a blackjack—a cudgel with a leather strap, inside which was a heavy stone. It could be used to strike or thrown as a projectile.
Furthermore, the metal ring securing the strap had sharp, tooth-like points, and blood was still visible on one of them. The armed merchants were claiming that it was their comrade's blood.
"Lies. How many people use this kind of weapon, you think?"
"That's not all."
One of the merchants pulled back his hood, revealing slightly green-tinted blonde hair—an unnatural shade impossible for humans. It marked him as an elf.
Indeed, his pointed ears and the white war paint marked beneath his eyes confirmed it. He was likely someone from the upper ranks of the Telbarin Guild.
"Don't think you can fool an elf's nose. I swear on my ancestors, the blood on that weapon is from our courier."
"Ugh…."
"An elf…"
Even the hardened members of the Korasar Pedders' Guild flinched when they realized there was an elf among the opposing armed merchants.
Despite being seen as slavers and scoundrels, the Telbarin Guild was treated with deference wherever they went—because elves were never easy opponents.
And to make matters worse, the Korasar group had guilty consciences of their own.