novelraw Chapter 24 : 【Imperial Forces and Norman Passat】
Chapter 24 : 【Imperial Forces and Norman Passat】
Chapter 24:【Imperial Forces and Norman Passat】
Sunlight shone on the drifting dust of the Kanna Plains; the dust rolling on the horizon looked like tawny, tumbling waves.
A wagon pulled by two fine horses burst out of the dust surge; the horses’ noses were covered with the dust-filtering cloths needed for long runs across the Kanna Plains, and each hoofprint bore the emblem of the Edric Empire: an iron crown forged from five rapiers.
Samael and Thaleia sat in the wagon, squeezed among a heap of looted grain, their backs against a large iron chest that held a pouch of Ancient God-era coins, peering back through the wagon’s rear to study the hoofprints between the ruts.
Why on earth would Imperial warhorses appear in a bandit camp… Samael recalled the information Thaleia had mentioned earlier and pondered. But with Elliot of Randall’s squad — the assassin — also riding in the same wagon, it was awkward for the two of them to discuss such things.
The wagon gradually slowed.
Unnoticed, the gate of Thornfall Outpost loomed ahead.
There were too many adventurers and merchant caravans coming and going at the gate.
Randall and Grad tightened the reins and slowed the wagon to avoid colliding with other wagons.
“Uncle Robin, Uncle Carlisle, good morning!” Randall habitually called to the two Guild Guards at the gate as the wagon passed.
“Morning, you little brat! Finally back!” Guard No. 1 waved back. “All arms and legs still attached? Still alive, eh?”
“Morning…” Guard No. 2 answered reflexively, then suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his expression complex as if he had seen something indescribable.
He abruptly raised his spear and blocked Randall’s wagon.
“You, get down.” he growled. “Come with us.”
“What’s going on, what are you doing—” Guard No. 1 stepped forward to stop Guard No. 2, then suddenly saw what hung at Randall’s waist.
A longsword entirely blood-red, its tip curved with barbed hooks.
A complicated expression crossed his face; for an instant he looked panicked, but he pressed his hand onto Guard No. 2’s shoulder.
“Ask first before you accuse, don’t mistake the man.” Guard No. 1 grabbed Guard No. 2’s shoulder and pulled his spear back.
“Randall, come with us.” He thought for a moment, then beckoned Randall over.
“Uh… we need to turn in our quest first — can you wait while I go to the Adventurers’ Guild Hall to—” Randall hesitated, not reacting quickly.
“Cut the bullshit, get your ass down!” Guard No. 2 shouted uncharacteristically, “Tell your teammate to go submit the quest, you come with me!”
Randall swallowed, glanced at Elliot, Samael, and Thaleia in the wagon.
“I’ll drive, brother Randall.” Samael stepped forward and took the reins. “The Hall isn’t far; we’ll be there quickly.”
“Ah… all right, thanks Brother Samo.” Randall handed the reins to Samael and, hesitating, jogged toward the two guards.
“Speak inside the guardhouse.” Guard No. 2 said darkly.
The two guards grabbed his shoulders and half-dragged, half-escorted him into a fortress-like rough white stone watchtower attached to the city wall.
Randall’s group exchanged worried glances.
“I’m the vice-captain, so listen to my orders. First, go to the Guild Hall to report and submit the quest.” Elliot cleared his throat, “Submit the quest, claim the reward, sell the spoils, then we’ll deal with other matters. Don’t block the gate — other adventurers and caravans need to pass.”
Was there something special about that Bloodsteel Greatsword?
Samael watched thoughtfully as Randall’s silhouette, held between the two Guild Guards, disappeared into the dim doorway of the guardhouse.
If a demon sword would bring trouble, perhaps it shouldn’t have been given to Randall so casually? He hesitated, shook the reins, and felt a twinge of regret.
…
Bang!
The door slammed shut heavily. The two guards stood in the dim room, watching a bewildered Randall.
Spears and bolt arrows were scattered through the watchtower; armor stands leaned in the corners, and empty wine bottles and meal boxes were piled up.
A deep-blue banner with the Guild’s golden all-seeing eye and iron-cast hands hung on the wall, alongside a rough map of the Kanna Plains and the guard duty roster.
The cramped room had a low table and a few old chairs; a teapot and a chipped iron cup sat on the table — the Guild outpost lay in a wasteland, remote and perilous; transporting fragile pottery from the Habitable Zone required long, arduous trips, so cups and bowls were usually made of wood or iron.
But the iron cup on the table was very old and bore a notch from a sword cut — clearly used on a battlefield.
The two guards were silent as they looked at Randall, who fidgeted nervously.
“You need to run now.” Guard No. 2 suddenly said. “We won’t betray your situation — but don’t get any foolish ideas, don’t expect the Imperial Army won’t investigate; you don’t know how terrifying they are…”
“Carlisle!” Guard No. 1 interrupted. “We are Guild Guards, we are Guild law enforcers! Rules are rules, we cannot condone him! Ask him first! If Randall truly did something wrong, he must pay for it; if he didn’t—”
Guard No. 2 suddenly lifted his spear and held the shaft against Guard No. 1’s neck!
“What the hell is wrong with you!” Guard No. 1 cursed.
“Run! Randall! Run! I’ve got Robin under control!” he hissed. “For heaven’s sake don’t show that damned sword in front of any Imperial soldiers or other Guild Guards! Run!”
“No… wait, uncle, what’s happening!” Randall stood stunned and helpless. Hearing the keyword “sword,” he hurriedly unhooked the Bloodsteel Greatsword from his waist and carefully set it on the table. “This is a misunderstanding! This sword is spoils from suppressing bandits! It’s the bandit leader’s weapon — Brother Samo slew the bandit leader and then passed the sword to me…”
“Uh… wait… didn’t you assassinate an Imperial Blood officer, take his matched sword, or steal a sword from an officer?” Guard No. 2 said blankly.
“No! This was the bandit leader’s weapon!” Randall explained. “It’s a misunderstanding!”
“I told you, you fool Carlisle, ask everything before you speak! Don’t misjudge him!” Guard No. 1 cursed, shoving the spear away, “You care too much about this idiot!”
“How is that possible? Bloodsteel weapons are one of the Imperial Army’s secrets, specially issued weapons for meritorious Blood officers. Twenty years ago we only saw them a few times — how could one end up in bandit hands?” Guard No. 2 blurted, then clapped a hand over his mouth.
“You big mouth! Damn you!” Guard No. 1 cursed. “Randall, explain the sword’s origin!”
“The bandit leader was a Level-Five adventurer swordsman; this was his weapon. He was slain by Brother Samo, and Brother Samo gifted the sword to me.” Randall answered clearly. “You can ask my teammates — Elliot was stabbed by this very sword.”
“Come off it… how could a Blood officer come to the wasteland? How could a mere Level-Five adventurer swordsman kill a Blood officer?” Guard No. 2 was stunned. “A Blood officer’s single-combat strength equals an eighth-level adventurer. If a Sword Baron led a coordinated unit, a trained pike-and-sword guard could slaughter three infantry regiments face-to-face — there’s no way a bandit would seize an officer’s sword!”
“For God’s sake, Carlisle, please stop leaking Imperial secrets!” Guard No. 1 sighed.
“Sorry, Randall, we misunderstood you—” Guard No. 2 came to his senses, steadied his spear, bowed slightly, and struck his right fist to his left chest in a salute used by Imperial soldiers. “We believe you are a young man of good character, a fine youth. But this sword…”
“If an Imperial soldier or a Guild Guard who used to be Imperial saw this Bloodsteel weapon, the consequences would be endless.” Guard No. 1 added. “If the Imperial military took notice…”
“They don’t care if you killed bandits or killed officers to get that Bloodsteel Greatsword. What matters is you, without authorization or permission, are carrying a military-issue Bloodsteel sword — the Imperial Army doesn’t like complicated investigations; they prefer to simply deal with things directly.” Guard No. 2 drew a line across his own neck with his finger. “If I were you, I’d rather throw this sword into the wasteland than touch it.”
“Wrap it in cloth, don’t flaunt it at your waist, you fool!” Guard No. 1 scolded. “Nobody taught you? Valuable items are like underwear — you can do without them, but don’t leave them out in the open!”
“Then… how should I deal with this sword?” Randall asked instinctively.
“Wherever you got it from, throw it there!” Guard No. 2 answered sternly. “If you insist on keeping it as spoils, never use it outdoors — lock it under the bottom of a chest and don’t let Imperial soldiers see it!”
“Uh… yes, Uncle.” Randall nodded.
Though reason told him that anything involving the Imperial Army was far too dangerous to touch, he still couldn’t help feeling somewhat disappointed.
Such a weapon could have greatly improved his strength — perhaps even helped him rise into the ranks of Level-Four or Level-Five Adventurers. Then his team might have become one of the best in Thornfall Outpost, no longer quarreling over a few hundred gold coins or exhausting themselves chasing a few thousand…
He shook his head and pulled out a rag from his belt, wrapping the Bloodsteel Greatsword.
“Yes. I’ll take care of it right away.” He bound the sword tightly and hung it back at his waist by the hilt.
The hilt felt warm to the touch, its grip comfortable, the balance smooth and natural — as if he were holding a better future in his hands.
…
Elsewhere, Samael and Grad were driving the two wagons and had just reached the Adventurers’ Guild Hall entrance when a figure suddenly stopped them.
“Excuse me, is this wagon carrying grain?” A refined male voice asked.
Samael raised his head slightly from under his tattered hood.
Before the wagon stood a refined, scholarly-looking middle-aged man — lean and fit.
Beneath his polished light-steel breastplate and pauldrons was chainmail padding, all covered by a dark-blue robe that muted the metallic gleam of his armor. His manner was calm and genteel.
On his back hung a steel longsword in a deep-blue scabbard.
A rune stone, oval in shape, was set firmly at the pommel’s counterweight, fixed by a steel ring.
The carved rune grooves were inlaid with a few scales of cerulean fish and feathers of a Dragon-Gryphon as catalysts, all bound by melted and re-solidified resin, amber-like in appearance.
“Yes,” Samael answered instinctively.
“We’ll be buying all of it — under the official name of Thornfall Outpost of the Guild,” the blue-robed man said calmly. “At twice the market price.”
“Ah?” Samael was stunned.
“Not willing?” the man asked mildly. “Then forget it.”
He turned to leave without hesitation.
“No, no, of course we’re willing!” Elliot, hearing the price, hurriedly poked his head out of the wagon. “We can sell it right now!”
The blue-robed gentleman turned back.
Elliot froze.
“‘Wind Sword,’ Norman Passat.” He nodded instinctively in greeting. “The magic swordsman who advanced to Level-Seven last month.”
“You are… oh, I remember now. I know a promising junior named Randall Ryska,” the blue-robed man recalled. “You seem to be the assassin from his squad — I think I saw you when you were leaving the city.”
“That ‘Wind Sword’ himself would remember me… but, weren’t you stationed at the front-line camp in the third ring of the Dungeon?” Elliot asked.
“This morning we discovered that a large portion of the front-line camp’s grain had begun to mold and was no longer edible. We used several identification spells to sort out the moldy food from the safe ones, but supplies are still critically short,” Norman explained. “A few of us hurried back to restock another batch, and we’ll be sending it over tonight.”
“Good timing, then. Since you have grain, no need to take it to the spoils market. Those merchants always buy low and sell it back to us for triple. Just deliver it directly. We’ll depart this evening, around dusk,” he said.
“Got it!” Elliot jumped off the wagon cheerfully, looking nothing like a man who’d recently been stabbed by a Bloodsteel Greatsword.
“Oh, wait a moment,” Norman said suddenly. “Where is young Ryska?”
“He… has something to deal with. I’ll let him know that Master Passat was looking for him,” Elliot answered.
“No, no, I just wanted to ask — where did this grain come from?” Norman shook his head.
“It was spoils found in a bandit camp,” Elliot replied. “They probably hijacked it from a grain convoy before.”
“Oh, then it’s been too long; some of it might have gone moldy as well.” Norman nodded calmly. “Though the toxins from Wasteland demonic fungi can be neutralized with antidotes, the cost is high. Supplies are scarce on the Dungeon front; mixing antidotes into meals is simply not worth it. Sorry, but I’ll need to use an identification spell to scan the grain. Any moldy stock we can’t take. My apologies.”
Samael froze slightly, instinctively turning from the driver’s seat to glance at Thaleia in the wagon.
Elliot had already left the wagon and was speaking with Norman Passat. Now only Thaleia and the pile of grain remained in the carriage.
Thaleia waved her hands frantically, gesturing at the grain, then toward the wagon’s canopy and in Norman’s direction, shaking her head in panic.
If anything went wrong again, Varak would never forgive them! Forget just the two of them — the entire Thornfall Outpost could be crushed in his rage, no matter the cost!
A spark of realization flashed through Samael’s mind.
【Scanner activated.】
【Target: wheat grain (normal, edible)】
【Target: wheat grain (normal, edible)】
【Target: wheat grain (fungal contamination, toxic)】
Samael pointed toward the sack containing the moldy grain, then at the large iron chest on Thaleia’s back.
I’ll buy us time! You use the chance to slip another bag of the infected grain into the chest — tonight we’ll repeat the mold-mixing process again!
Thaleia hurriedly set down the iron chest and grabbed a sack of grain, stuffing it inside.
But Norman was already approaching the rear steps of the wagon.
At the critical moment, Samael suddenly spoke up:
“Mr. Passat.”
Norman stopped and turned his head toward Samael.
“I heard you’re Randall’s mentor?” Samael asked. “It seems Randall owes much of his current success to your guidance.”
“Not quite.” Norman replied. “But yes, Randall Ryska’s internship assignment was indeed under our team — by Guild regulation, high-ranking adventurer teams must take at least three new apprentices for field training each year. It’s a senior’s duty.”
He studied Samael thoughtfully.
“Level Six or Seven?” Norman asked.
“What?”
“You, Sir War Knight — are you a Level-Six Adventurer or Level-Seven?” Norman repeated.
“Level-One. I come from a distant monastery; I only registered as an adventurer recently,” Samael replied. “Guild rules — must start from the bottom.”
“Your armor,” Norman said suddenly. “Is it some kind of rune armor?”
“Ah, yes. From the Floren Capital.” Samael improvised, relying on the geography he’d picked up — supposedly, the famous Lunos Academy was in the Floren Kingdom, a place filled with magic. One more enchanted armor wouldn’t be strange there.
“I see.” Norman nodded. “A demonic-essence circuit for cooling? The air around you feels slightly colder than normal.”
“Yes. Armor this heavy gets hot and stifling on long journeys; one easily sweats, losing stamina. Having a cooling circuit like this makes things much easier,” Samael replied. “As expected of Norman Passat — the Adventurer of Honor himself, I’ve long heard of your reputation.”
If he could sweat, he’d have been drenched in cold sweat by now.
“You’re impressive as well,” Norman nodded in return. “Ryska’s lucky to have the chance to travel alongside you.”
He walked toward the wagon steps, stepping aside to make room for Thaleia, who was getting down with the iron chest.
They brushed shoulders as they passed.
Norman glanced briefly at Thaleia.
“You’re companions?” he asked, looking toward Samael.
Thaleia didn’t speak — she merely nodded.
“I see.” “Wind Sword” Norman Passat said no more. He took out a rune stone from his robe, inserted three beast eyeballs, activated the identification magic, and began scanning the sacks of grain one by one.
He tossed the moldy grain aside onto the ground and kept only the good stock.
“Not bad. At double the price, that’s 3,300 Edric gold coins in total.” He gestured to Elliot. “You can all get off now — I’ll haul the grain over myself and return the wagon later.”
Everyone in the team was beaming at their unexpected fortune; Elliot clapped Grad on the shoulder in excitement, while Ruby bounced with joy and threw herself into Selina’s arms.
Samael and Thaleia stood side by side in the nearby shadows, watching from the corner as Norman drove away.
“You’ve got to be kidding — that Level-Seven magic swordsman is delivering the final shipment to Varak’s Dungeon?!” Thaleia muttered under her breath. “If we’re to slip the fungus in, we’d have to intercept him and his other elite teammates?!”
“Demon money sure isn’t easy to earn…” Samael felt the money pouch inside the iron chest grow heavier — and hotter — against his back.