Chapter 275 - To the Autonomous Territory (1)
"What? Prepare immediately?"
At the sudden news of departure, the smugglers wore bewildered expressions.
But that confusion lasted only for a moment.
At Padreld's command, they began to move all at once in perfect order. No one strongly raised any objections.
The survival instinct of living intact even after spending more than a decade in this business.
The leadership that had guided rough and sensitive smugglers, the connections and skill Padreld had developed dealing with nobles and commoners alike—all had forged a solid organization.
"Hurry up, move!"
"Ship No. 3 is fully loaded!"
Supplies were being stacked into the holds of the ships.
Before long, the six vessels at the dock were all laden to capacity. The sheer weight caused parts of their hulls to sink into the water.
'This should do.'
Meanwhile, Verden engraved a complex magic circle on the deck, layering Connection and Release together.
Between identical circles, attraction and repulsion were generated simultaneously, creating a performance that fixed the distance between them. And in case of unexpected external impact, he added a protective magic circle on top.
The smugglers, moving from ship to ship, cast furtive glances at it.
Just by looking, the geometric patterns of the magic circle gave them nausea, fear, and even shock.
Especially the mages among the smugglers reacted that way.
At last, the magic circle was complete.
When Verden remotely activated all of them, waves of magic power rippled between the ships lined in a row.
With this, the formation would not collapse under crashing waves, nor would the ships collide. Even by operating only mid-sized ships, the smaller vessels would naturally follow.
Time passed.
"Haa, haa...! E, everything's ready, Sir Asher...!"
A smuggler, having completed inspection, came forward.
Padreld wiped thick beads of sweat with his forearm, breathing heavily.
The humidity here was higher than outside, not the best environment for vigorous movement.
"Good work."
"N, no, sir. B, but are we really setting out? I mean, no matter how I think about it, this attempt feels far too reckless..."
Even to the end, Padreld voiced concern.
It wasn't as if that worried complaint was incomprehensible.
The underground current flowing far below was perilous even for mid-sized ships. Smaller vessels would capsize in an instant if they slipped.
Mere words would hardly convince him.
But the method to silence such discontent was simple.
"Take it."
Thud.
Verden tossed a small leather pouch.
Just large enough to fit in one hand. Padreld, catching it on reflex, instinctively felt the weight and lowered his gaze.
A glitter of brilliant light shone between the seams.
"G, gems?"
"An advance payment. You'll get the balance after the job in the Autonomous Territory is done."
Padreld bit his lip.
Even at a glance, the value was considerable. To speak frankly, this was an entirely unexpected windfall.
'So... this wasn't just labor?'
From the start, Verden had intended to pay, but the misunderstanding was natural.
Grond, the king of the underworld, had brutally executed criminals opposed to Vintert in the heart of the black market.
Naturally, they assumed the man who killed such a figure would be even more monstrous. They expected him to simply subdue the smugglers with force and use them like tools.
"If there's anything you want, just say the word."
Padreld grinned from ear to ear.
He tucked the pouch safely inside his coat.
'Money really is a convenient tool.'
Verden stroked Raindia.
Having taken Grond's treasury, that pouch of jewels was nothing more than dust to him.
"Let us depart."
"Yes, sir. Everyone! Set sail!"
At the signal, the smugglers gathered aboard.
To avoid injury from violent shaking, they strapped themselves tightly. Those in charge of steering each took their seats in the captain's quarters.
"Um? Sir Asher, you're not going inside?"
"Do not mind me."
Verden, now with Ainber's hood over his head, stood at the center of the deck.
Could it be... he intended to withstand those raging currents on deck, without any safety measures? It was madness, but Padreld did not press further.
'He must have a plan.'
He had paid them, and engraved unknown magic circles on the ships.
His attitude was not that of a man courting death. Clearly, he had measures of his own.
This new ruler of the underworld was on a different level from any mage Padreld had encountered.
"No point worrying, it's not like we can avoid it anyway."
Better to accept it.
Hummm.
At Padreld's signal, the two main ships activated their engines.
Though inferior to airships, they could maintain balance, change direction, and accelerate forward.
This was the result of Padreld once spending a fortune with great determination.
The vessels cut across the calm underground lake at the dock.
And without hesitation, they merged into the raging current, their hulls lurching as acceleration surged.
"I, is this really safe?"
"Well, we're with the king of the underworld, aren't we? Should be fine, right?"
"Padreld told us to trust him, so... ah, damn it, this is scary as hell...!"
A heavy mood settled inside the ships.
Though they had traveled these underground passages dozens of times, such tension was new.
Padreld felt the same.
Though accustomed to impacts, he raised his head and looked through the window.
Verden still stood on the deck.
Though the hull shook wildly and waves battered the sides, he remained calm as if nothing was happening.
"Crazy, what kind of balance is that..."
Astonishment turned to horror.
Boom!
Suddenly, the ship tilted downward.
The formation held thanks to the magic circles, but the problem was below.
The torrents had carved height differences into the underground lake.
A small waterfall had formed, and rocks normally hidden beneath the surface now loomed near the waterline.
Even if they struck, the ships would not shatter instantly, but damage was unavoidable.
This was why they avoided departures when the currents were fierce... at such times, unpredictable dangers abounded.
And then it happened.
The waterfall suddenly smoothed, covering the rocks.
The ships passed over with ease, carried by the flow.
"...What?"
Padreld blinked.
What he had just seen was no natural phenomenon. A miracle, even less so.
In his sight was nothing but a mage wrapped in magic power. Lips moved beneath a platinum robe.
"It isn't as dangerous as I thought. We can raise the speed a little."
...What did he just say?
The voice was too quiet to hear, but dread rose. And, unfortunately, his fear struck true.
Verden unfolded his Mado.
Magic, manifested through will engraved in his imagery.
The currents carrying the ships surged stronger, and the scenery sped by.
"Gah!!!!"
Sadly, the ride was far from smooth.
With pressure building by the second, Padreld could barely breathe. His face pulled tight, fat gathering under his chin.
With great effort, he forced out words.
"S, save... me...!!"
Even straining his muscles, his body would not budge.
All he could do was desperately move his lips.
Below deck, smugglers began fainting one by one, unable to endure.
An underground voyage, led by a Quasi-Transcendent.
The smugglers' ships pierced straight ahead at an unprecedented speed.
***
Near the Midros Autonomous Territory, the smugglers' canyon was unusually quiet.
At present, the currents were flowing from the Kingdom to the Autonomous Territory, so there was no need to prepare contraband, and it was still far too soon for Padreld to return from the opposite side.
The underground lake, untouched by the rapids.
With nothing to do, the smugglers lounged around, passing time by fishing.
It was then.
"Huh? What's that?"
"What is?"
A smuggler missing his little finger pointed ahead.
A massive shadow, free of the rapids, was rushing toward the dock. Too distant to see clearly, he squinted his eyes.
Moments later, the outline came into focus.
Yes, those were six vessels.
But accompanied by a towering wave.
"W, wait, what? Hey, hey! Shit, evacuate! Get away from the dock right now!!"
"A wave! A massive wave is coming!"
If they were swept up, they could die.
The startled men retreated desperately.
But the feared outcome never came.
The wave they thought would engulf the area vanished as if it had never been, and the approaching ships docked safely, unscathed.
"What in the world...?"
No answer came. Only a subtle stillness flowed.
Thud!
Then, all of a sudden, stairs were lowered from the deck.
Immediately, people appeared, practically throwing themselves onto land. At the lead was a man whose face was all too familiar.
"P, Padreld?"
But it wasn't yet time for departure?
No, more than that—did this mean he had come through those rapids? The question was asked, but Padreld had no leisure to reply calmly.
"Uwegh! Ueehhhk!"
He vomited violently.
The other smugglers who disembarked did the same.
They had held on fine aboard the ships, but once they reached solid ground, it was unbearable.
The violent lurching of the vessel, and the stillness of land.
The discrepancy between the two caused intense nausea.
Normally, a mental-type mage would ease the dizziness, but even he had succumbed, pressing his head against the ground in sickness.
Last of all, Verden disembarked.
Naturally, he was perfectly fine. More than that, he even looked rather satisfied.
'A ship racing through the underground, quite a charming thing.'
He had ridden airships countless times.
But to ride a ship, skimming over water at such speed, through colossal underground caverns—that was a first.
It was a truly memorable, novel experience.
'Though the other smugglers seem to have paid quite a burden.'
The travel time had been drastically shortened, and not a single life was lost, nor were the ships damaged. There should be no complaints.
He lightly stirred his magic.
Since Verden had studied enchantment magic for self-strengthening, he was clumsy with spells that affected others.
But at the lower tiers, even mental magic was possible.
2nd-tier imbue magic.
By casting it repeatedly in succession, seasick smugglers quickly began to recover. In an instant, the commotion ended, and Verden approached Padreld.
"Are you all right?"
"Y, yes... thanks to you, I'm fine now. Thank you."
Whew. Padreld caught his breath.
Color returned to his pale face.
Now that the violent sensations had calmed, he felt like he could live again. Clearing his head, he spoke.
"When should we depart for the Autonomous Territory?"
"How long will preparation take?"
"Once we move the supplies to the surface and prepare the wagons... roughly six hours. This place has better facilities, and more manpower, after all."
"Then we'll set out in half a day."
All the better to get some rest.
Padreld felt relieved that he could finally take proper sleep, even if only a little.
He nodded, then respectfully guided Verden to a hideout, while summoning the officer in charge of the canyon.
The order: move all supplies immediately, load them onto wagons.
Though sudden, the officer obeyed without a trace of complaint, but slyly posed a question.
"By the way, the person who came with you... who exactly is he? Judging from his robe, he's not an ordinary man. An illegal noble immigrant, perhaps?"
"Well... ah, it's a long explanation, I'll tell you later. For now, just know I'll personally attend to him. Tell the others to keep their noses out, and focus on their work."
"Ah, yes, understood. But before that, there's something I should report."
"...?"
"Beyond the unrest in the Territory itself, lately the mood among other smugglers has grown quite vicious. I've heard they've even been drawing blades on one another, desperate to steal contraband."
They were raiding each other?
"The cause?"
"Not yet identified."
Padreld rubbed his lips.
Targeting one another's cargo was a smugglers' taboo. If they had broken it so openly, something was behind it...
"Well, it won't be us they target. Not unless they want to die. Just grasp the situation. Once urgent matters are handled, I'll decide whether to intervene."
If they meddled rashly, bloodshed was inevitable.
Padreld chose to stay as far away from the unknown conflict as possible. At least for now, nothing must happen.
The officer gathered all the smugglers of the Territory.
Those who had roughly recovered boarded the ships immediately. To meet Padreld's timeline for moving the supplies, there was no room for idleness.
"..."
A man, watching them, slipped away quietly.
***
Leaving the smugglers' canyon, the man called 'Oel' dashed through the forest.
A Gold-rank adventurer party had recently been dispatched to wipe out the demi-humans in the area, making it relatively safe, so he moved without hesitation.
Skilled at mountain paths, he clicked his tongue irritably.
"They said the departure from the Kingdom wouldn't be for at least two weeks... how the hell did that bastard Padreld already arrive?"
It was an unforeseen turn.
After all the trouble he went to infiltrate, who would have thought things would unravel so suddenly. And now they were rushing to move the contraband into the Territory.
'Could they have noticed?'
...No, unlikely.
It was far more probable this was Padreld's trademark caution. A man called a smuggler-dealer would have instincts of his own.
Regardless, missing the wagons would be disastrous.
If he got hold of Padreld's cargo, he could gain a fortune tens of times greater than usual, enough to retire. He could not let this opportunity slip.
So he had to seize it.
"But who was that robed one?"
Even from afar, the dazzlingly brilliant robe, pure white with golden trim, had left him gaping.
The hood was pulled low, concealing the face, but clearly, this was no ordinary man. Perhaps Padreld's guest?
He wanted to know, but there was no time.
With the whole canyon mobilized, save for the guards, he had to move quickly.
If he lingered, or wasted effort loading contraband with the others, the chance to ambush would vanish.
But if that figure was a noble...
"Heh, not a bad bonus."
Perhaps he would gain an unexpected windfall.
Licking his lips, Oel raced down the forest trail as dusk fell, toward the campsite where his companions waited.
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