Chapter 279 – Summon (1)
Verden left behind the spire of the magic tower.
The expressionless face hidden under a gray robe carried a brighter hue than usual.
Just burning a single banner of the Bohemirn Magic Tower was enough to make him feel relieved and unburdened.
So much so, that it was hard to put into words.
'Well, it's only natural, isn't it.'
It had been nearly two years since he achieved Defying the Heavens.
In that time, Verden had succeeded in grasping the realm of a Quasi-Transcendent. He had even obtained several artifacts befitting that level…
Looking back only at the major events, it had been a life dense with meaning.
Only after experiencing such times, did he finally witness the traces of the Bohemirn Magic Tower with his own eyes.
Even if it was just an empty branch office, reacting with intensity was inevitable.
A mere venting of frustration was only a natural instinct.
Verden felt utterly refreshed.
'Now then, where should I go.'
He paused to consider his destination.
After leaving the branch, he had nowhere to head immediately.
Even glancing around the nearby area, he felt not the slightest interest.
Compared to the capital of the Kingdom where he had stayed not long ago, there was simply nothing here.
Soon, Verden finished his thought and turned toward the north of the autonomous territory.
Toward the tavern recommended by Padreld, The Fallen Wyvern.
***
On the eastern side of the autonomous territory lay an old residential district.
A haven for poor citizens who lived day to day, hand to mouth.
The tightly packed, dilapidated buildings that crowded the streets made the view unpleasant, while the narrow and winding alleyways resembled a maze.
The walls at the outskirts blocked sunlight so thoroughly, it felt merciless.
It was tangled, cold, and dark.
Perfect for hiding, guarding, and trading things in secret.
"Ugh, heave!"
Modified wagons stood in the deserted streets.
Under the strict watch of guards, smugglers carried crates from the wagons into the buildings.
In the wide underground warehouse concealed below, the smuggled goods were neatly stacked one by one.
Watching the process, Padreld spoke.
"Once the work is finished, make sure you get some rest. I'll be heading to the central district for a while. I'll stop by this evening to check in."
"What about the raiders? Should we bury them?"
"Lock up the six men under Oel so they can't escape. If they try to run despite the warning, killing one or two of them is acceptable."
"Yes, leave it to us."
Issuing his orders, Padreld boarded the wagon.
He took only the driver and two guards who doubled as escorts, leaving the district behind to personally inquire about renting a building.
Preferably one expensive and comfortable.
Not long after, Padreld managed to find one that matched the conditions.
"This one looks good…"
An old-fashioned mansion with its door chained shut.
Creeping vines clung in messy tangles across its outer walls.
The fountain in the garden was cracked, looking unlikely to function properly.
Not a pleasant view, by any stretch.
'Still, for the autonomous territory, this is top-class.'
According to the broker, it had belonged to the Mamentus Merchant Guild. After the guild master's untimely death, it had recently gone on the market.
Though late in settling in the autonomous territory, the Mamentus Guild had managed to establish themselves impressively…
'Looks like another guild will soon disappear from the territory.'
For them to put up one of the few mansions for sale.
The guild master had held all authority, and while that allowed them to wield unity, the absence of that single man had left them crumbling helplessly.
For Padreld, this was nothing but good news.
He asked the broker.
"Has it been cleaned?"
"Of course. Despite its exterior, the mansion's interior has been maintained. You can use it right away without issue."
"Then I'll rent it for fifteen days. Whether I extend the period, I'll inform you later."
"An excellent choice!"
Padreld pulled out a wad of money and handed it to the broker.
The rent was steep, as expected for a mansion, but he didn't hesitate. Just selling the gem pouch he carried would more than make up the cost.
'Besides, I even received help.'
Even if it had been a loss, scrimping on costs would have been foolish.
Excessive frugality could eventually return as enormous losses. All the more so when the counterpart was no ordinary individual.
Either way, he had secured the building.
Now, all that remained was to summon the organizations of the autonomous territory, and the urgent matters would be done.
And right at that moment, his aide, Medpin, arrived.
Not a shabby carriage, but a black-painted luxury carriage stopped in front of the mansion.
Padreld stroked his chin, giving the carriage an appraising look.
"Oh, overall, not bad. Your taste has improved."
"The ride is even better than it looks. For the price, it's worth every coin."
"Well done, Medpin. Then the carriage to escort Lord Asher is prepared… What of the most important back-alley matter?"
"Except for three, everyone showed a positive attitude. Most organizations are expected to respond to your summon."
"As they should. After sending out such tempting letters, they'd hardly be able to resist."
In the autonomous territory, the factions were bound not by hierarchy, but by trade relations.
Calling them without reason would have certainly caused more than half to rebel and refuse.
'But mentioning Roafra must be avoided.'
If he did, not just half, but nearly all would refuse the summon. Pride aside, they'd cower in fear and vanish.
A heavy-handed stance would only worsen the situation.
They were that troublesome to handle.
So he dangled bait, claiming there were rare smuggled goods.
Black tobacco, Faver, brought from the Central Continent.
It was more than enough to spark their interest.
Of course, he had separate sales channels, and no intention of actually selling it in the back alleys of the territory.
'After all, I never said I would sell it.'
It was a slight deception, but unavoidable.
Anything was better than keeping the ruler of Roafra waiting.
Worrying about what came after that man left was another matter to be accepted.
Padreld was a man who lived for the present, not the future.
"But why did those three refuse the summon?"
"One seems to be away, so no contact was possible. As for the other two, 'Frankie's Gang' and 'Iron Fist', they claim to be too busy warring with each other."
"A war, between the two? Why?"
"From what I heard, Iron Fist recruited some former mercenaries. And those men clashed with Frankie's Gang. No one has died yet, but with quite a few injured, the mood is getting ugly."
It was a commonplace incident.
In short, a clash of pride.
If one side yielded, it would end at once, but doing so would diminish their influence in the autonomous territory.
Childish as it was, both sides were fighting desperately to protect their rice bowls.
"Well, it seems they aren't planning on fighting to the death, as I hear they're holding negotiations today."
"Today, huh. That's at least fortunate. We'll keep watch, and as soon as the negotiations end, we'll send a messenger. As for the one we couldn't reach, leave it be. I never expected every single one of them to come anyway."
Padreld nodded.
"So, where exactly is the negotiation taking place?"
"They say it's at a tavern in the north of the autonomous territory, The Fallen Wyvern."
"Aha, The Fallen───"
He froze.
Padreld stopped mid-sentence and blinked.
"Shit, where did you say?"
***
The Fallen Wyvern.
Tension filled the well-reputed tavern of the autonomous territory.
The ones who had taken over the tavern glared at one another.
The quality of their equipment was far from good, yet that very crudeness only made their presence feel all the more vicious.
Dozens of men formed a circle, and within it, two men sat facing each other across a table.
Iron Fist, the bald Baldar.
The scourge of the dark alleys, Frankie.
The leaders of two organizations that controlled parts of the back alleys, locking eyes as though ready to kill each other at any moment.
"I'll say this one last time. Pay 2.3 million Elk as compensation for the physical and mental damages my men suffered. Do that, and the war ends here."
"2.3 million Elk, my ass. Have you lost your damn mind? Who was it that brought in those rootless mercenary bastards and caused this mess?"
Frankie shot a glance to the side.
A former mercenary with a broken arm flinched.
"I'll give you my last offer too. Beat the shit out of those mercenary bastards yourself, pay 1.5 million Elk in compensation, and we're done."
"You want me to cripple a fresh recruit? Then are you gonna pay back the money I spent to hire him? And compensation, you say? Anyone can see it's my men who got hurt worse."
"Who the hell told you to start shit? Who pulled a knife and threatened first? You're the one who provoked it, huh? Is your bald head keeping your brain from working?"
"The one whose brain doesn't work is you. Have you forgotten how you mouthed off drunk last time, and I smashed your jaw to pieces? Want me to split it again?"
"Try it, asshole. Before you do, I'll cut your damn wrist off."
In an instant, the air grew heavy.
A tense silence fell. Sensing the mood, several men laid their hands on their weapons.
The moment negotiations broke down, it was obvious blades would be drawn.
"For god's sake, take it outside…"
The tavern owner covered his face.
The thought of his shop being wrecked without compensation made it impossible for him to keep his eyes open.
His son, the worker, trembled, unable to even think of intervening.
It was then.
Creak.
The tavern door opened.
At the sudden sound, every gaze in the room swung toward the entrance.
"..."
Verden, who had stepped into the tavern, lifted his head.
He saw the bald man and the scar-lipped man sitting at one table, and the rough crowd occupying nearly the entire tavern.
'A lot of people.'
That was the extent of his impression.
Without a care, Verden moved forward and took a seat at the bar's corner.
He spoke to the man who resembled the tavern owner, seemingly the worker.
"I've heard the food here is good, bring me your best dish."
"Eh, what?"
"If you don't have the ingredients, anything else will do."
"No, no, we have plenty of ingredients… but, can't you see over there?"
The worker subtly gestured with his hand.
Following the motion, Verden found countless eyes fixed on him.
Eyes filled with annoyance, and disbelief.
Verden turned his head back.
"What's the problem?"
"Uh, well, that is…"
"Hey."
A voice came from the side.
A man with a pointed chin, with an irritatingly sly look, stood there.
He wore a padded shirt and a shabby leather vest, and in his left hand held a wooden club capped with metal at the end.
He spat on the floor, growling.
"Who the hell are you? Didn't you hear? Today, Iron Fist and Frankie's Gang are negotiating here, no one else was supposed to come into this tavern."
He hadn't heard a thing.
And what the hell were Iron Fist and Frankie's Gang to him anyway.
Getting no reply, the man nodded as if he understood.
"Ah, so you're an outsider. No wonder you had the guts to come in here. But didn't you feel it the moment you walked in? That if you stepped in, you'd get fucked? What, you got no sense?"
There was no sense of danger whatsoever.
And it wasn't that he lacked sense, he simply didn't care. The crowd filling the tavern amounted to no more than that in his eyes.
Verden asked.
"What's your business?"
"Hah, listen to this prick talk? I was gonna let you walk out, but…"
The man jerked his chin.
"Empty your pockets and get lost, if you want to walk out in one piece."
An abrupt threat.
The tavern owner hurriedly intervened.
"H-hey, Brody. He's an outsider, isn't he? He must've come here without knowing. Just let it go this once, I'll buy you a drink…"
"A drink, my ass. Move aside, will you?!"
"Ugh!"
"Father!"
Shoved by brute force, the tavern owner fell on his backside.
Brushing his arms, the man called Brody gripped the wooden club tighter and made a feint swing.
Cheers erupted.
"Bwahaha! Hey, Brody! Go easy, go easy!"
"No, hit him harder! Do it harder! Smash him with that club!"
The air of negotiation was gone, replaced by laughter.
Some even whistled, urging greater violence.
Baldar and Frankie, seated at their table, watched as if entertained.
After all, if they actually waged war against each other, both would suffer losses.
For now, it was time to cool their tempers.
The tavern owner and his son cast worried glances at Verden.
Meanwhile, Brody, hyped up, sneered.
"Hey, everyone's waiting. Aren't you gonna move? Or what, you want me to beat the shit out of you and take it, huh?"
His words were crude and unrefined.
Listening quietly, Verden chuckled lightly.
A brawl breaking out in a tavern was a common sight.
Being ambushed by bandits outside was hardly rare either.
But to Verden, all of this was unfamiliar.
The ambush while moving with Padreld, and this situation in the tavern now, all of it.
He never thought someone would try to pick a fight with him like this.
"Quite refreshing."
"What bullshit are you spouting───"
Thud!
A shockwave burst from his fingertips.
Brody, eyes wide open, was hurled out the tavern entrance.
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