Chapter 367 - Ownerless Land (1)
A man on the verge of freezing to death in the biting cold, would gladly trade his very life just to drape himself with a thin cloth.
But once he manages to escape even slightly from that flesh-cutting wind, he begins to crave thicker cloth… a small hut that can shelter him through the day.
And before long, he will want to lie down on a soft bed, dream of warming himself by a fireplace, and yearn for a delicious meal.
Such is the natural flow of consciousness for anyone.
In this way, desire knows no end.
But there are many restraints that can force it to stop at a reasonable line.
The most representative of these is law, established by a nation.
The world requires proper symmetry.
If oppression grows too strong, desire will be pressed down until it explodes, and if oppression grows too weak, desire will run rampant.
The causes may differ, but both stir chaos all the same.
In other words, stability is like a balance formed where discipline and desire clash and push against each other, but do not topple.
Just as when one person enjoys happiness and peace, another must live in misfortune and unrest…
The "Ownerless Land" belongs to the latter category.
It is barren land, one that nations are unwilling to claim.
Thus it became the dwelling place of humans and other races with nowhere else to go, and the locals who eke out life day by day.
So many people proclaim themselves to be lords, that in truth the land has no master at all.
That was the land toward which Verden and Adrian were heading.
***
Clop, clop…
They entered the city slowly, having procured an old carriage from a nearby village.
The carriage Adrian usually used, powered by
Adrian took the role of coachman.
Verden, cloaked in a shabby robe that hid the radiance of [Ainber], cast his gaze outside the carriage.
"…This is the first time I've ever seen such a city."
Buildings made of brick, timber, and stone, all aged several decades, even centuries.
The unpaved road was nothing but a swamp of mud.
Judging by the puddles scattered everywhere, it must have rained yesterday.
The wet squelch of the ground could be felt even from inside the carriage.
And mingled with the smell of damp earth was a faint, unpleasant stench.
Add to that the gloomy weather, and thugs lurking in alleyways, and the atmosphere of the city was nothing short of dismal.
'It's like seeing an era before magic became commonplace.'
The world as it was, some 150 years ago, known only through knowledge.
The central continent, it was said, was a land where past and present coexisted… this place must belong to that past.
It was far from a pleasant sight.
But not everything failed to catch Verden's eyes.
At that moment, someone carrying a basket passed by the carriage.
Not a human.
A beast walking on two legs.
A face with mostly wolfish features, fur-covered body, and a tail protruding from beneath her dress.
That person was a beastkin.
'Even though I knew that other races live side by side in the central continent… I didn't expect to see them so readily.'
It wasn't his first time seeing another race, but the stark difference from elves made it fascinating.
Just then, the wolf beastkin twitched her ears, glancing about.
She turned her head slightly, and her eyes met Verden's.
"…!"
The wolf beastkin's eyes widened, and she bolted away in panic.
As though terrified.
"…Why is she acting like that all of a sudden?"
To Verden's doubt, Adrian quietly replied.
"Though beastkin are of many kinds, they all share certain instincts. Among them, the reflexive instinct to sense danger is far superior to that of humans."
"I had no intention of harming her."
"Nonetheless, my lord is not like ordinary people. Even without such intent, to them it may well feel like a threat."
So then, should he avoid even glancing at beastkin?
'Of course, if I deliberately conceal my presence, it should be fine…'
Keen instinct, physical intuition unseen to the eye, that was one of the traits of beastkin.
Suddenly, Verden wondered what a strong beastkin would be like.
Meanwhile, Adrian pulled the reins, stopping the carriage in front of a shabby tavern.
It was the place where an old acquaintance supposedly was.
Creak.
The two pulled their robes deep over their faces, concealing their appearances, and stepped inside.
"I heard you went to the brothel, got mugged, and beaten half to death? Pathetic bastard, I knew you'd end up like that."
"Gahaha! To our shitty lives in the gutter!"
"I put down ten men in the last territorial war!"
"Shut your mouth before you become the eleventh. That's the sixth time you've told that story already!"
"Hey! Hey, fatso! Take your stinking beast stench somewhere else! Back to the pigsty where you belong!"
"Worthless human. Should I crush your jaws so you'll never flap them again?"
"Come on then, bastard! Let me smash that thick snout of yours today."
Unwashed drunks shouted and laughed as they emptied their cups.
On one side, a boar beastkin and a man who had awakened aura were trading bloody fists.
With every bone-crunching thud, the crowd roared in excitement.
"…What a familiar sight."
Adrian murmured with a faint smile.
What kind of life had he lived to feel nostalgia here?
Verden had heard that Adrian lived rough before earning the title of one of the Central Continent's Four Strongest, but he had never asked for the finer details.
Step, step.
Footsteps mingled naturally into the commotion.
Without a hitch, Verden and Adrian found a seat in the corner of the bar.
The tavernkeeper across from them scrubbed a cup, urging them to order.
"So the owner's changed, huh."
Adrian placed two 10,000 Elk notes, three 1,000 Elk notes, and five coins on the counter.
"Two glasses of twelve-year aged brandy. And, the cat does not cry over a pool of blood."
"…."
The tavernkeeper furrowed his brows, quietly took the money, and handed over the ordered drinks.
Then, belly jiggling, beard shaking, he discreetly sent a patron outside.
Apparently, some kind of calling signal.
"Hm."
Taking a sip of the drink, Verden focused his senses toward the entrance.
Adrian's old acquaintance… he was curious about what kind of capable beastkin it would be.
Yet a moment later, contrary to expectation, a rough gang of both beastkin and humans stormed into the tavern.
Each one wielded weapons, hostility thinly veiled.
One man, holding a club studded with nails, scanned the tavern.
He jerked his chin toward Verden, and asked the tavernkeeper.
"Those two? The ones who made some weird demand?"
"Y-yes. They paid an absurd sum just for two drinks, saying something about a cat crying over blood. I wasn't sure, so I called you."
"Well done. From the look of them, they must've come to this city with foul intent."
The man glared, eyes fierce.
"Hey, you two! Get over here and kneel. Before we beat you senseless."
A threat filled with genuine malice.
The gang behind him bared their teeth, snickering.
The whistle of swung iron echoed in their ears.
The other patrons didn't even think to flee, their eyes gleaming with excitement at this new spectacle.
Blinking quietly, Verden turned to his side.
"Is that your acquaintance?"
"…Looks like the passphrase has changed since last we met."
Adrian scratched his metal mask, as if embarrassed.
Then, it was time for the alternative.
***
"Phew..."
The cat beastkin, Keirel, leaned sideways on her chair, letting out a deep sigh.
With her breath, gray smoke drifted in all directions.
The pounding in her head eased a little.
Riding the momentum, she finished her cigarette in one go, then flicked the stub into the ashtray.
Soon after, as the calming effect faded, the throbbing in her head returned.
"Damn it..."
It wasn't sickness or anything like that.
It was simply stress from the situation.
Danger lurked everywhere.
Not that it hadn't always, but recently the degree had changed.
Beastkin hunts driven by racial prejudice, wars between factions fighting for every scrap of profit… a few years ago, the new lords who rose to power did not hesitate to massacre citizens to squeeze them dry.
And those lords were marching toward the city where she lived.
'Normally, the old lord I was working with would have blocked them…'
Unfortunately, he had reached the end of his life last year.
His successor was his only son, "Liam", born late, barely in his twenties.
He had inherited his father's gentle nature, and he strongly wished to uphold his father's will to protect the city.
But most of his retainers abandoned him.
'Naturally.'
If they clung to loyalty, and the city was devoured by another lord, they would all be executed alongside him.
'Better to sell inside information to hostile forces, and save their own lives and money.'
Thus Liam became prey.
It was only a matter of time before he was hunted down.
Forget negotiations, once caught, he would be impaled from groin to crown on a spear and hung on the city wall for all to see.
Mercy would not exist.
The lords eyeing this city were such men.
The weak are devoured, the strong devour.
That was the damned rule of this Ownerless Land.
"Haa..."
Keirel sighed again, pulling out another cigarette.
Just as she was about to light it, hurried footsteps pricked her ears.
Bang!
"Ah, damn it! Be gentle when opening the door! Don't you know how sensitive my ears are?!"
"S-sorry… no, more importantly! Keirel, there's a huge fight at the 'Vermin's Rest' right now!"
"A tavern brawl? So what? Fights break out there all the time."
"This one's different! Way different! Two strangers showed up, started some quarrel or whatever, and their opponents couldn't even touch them!"
"Then send Delgon. Numbers win out in the end."
"The Delgon lot got flattened right from the start. Even the beastkin were smashed. And all by one man."
Keirel froze.
The mercenaries of Delgon, once elite, defeated so easily?
Together with their gang?
If one person had handled that, then he was a considerable fighter.
For such a man to appear now, causing havoc at such a time…
'Could it be the lords sent him?'
Highly likely. Almost certain.
"Gather everyone."
Keirel shot to her feet and, with her subordinates, marched straight toward the center of the commotion.
Outside lay bodies of beastkin and humans alike.
None dead, but judging by the signs, all knocked out with a single blow.
Shrring.
Keirel bared sharp claws and teeth, leading the way into the tavern.
The inside was a complete wreck, and two men remained.
One sat in the corner of the bar, while the other stood amid broken furniture and the unconscious townsfolk.
Chilling.
Her instincts echoed.
'The one behind, I don't know… but the one in front is dangerous. Extremely.'
At best, she could buy some time.
But Keirel did not back down. That was who she was.
"I've never heard of a duo like you in this area. Who are you? Who hired you to wreck this place?"
"You were the ones who picked a fight first. Anyway, even if the passphrase has changed, Keirel, you're still the same."
"What?"
"Hm, should I spell it out? About how you cried and begged my master for meat?"
"What the hell are you talking───"
Keirel stopped breathing.
At the same time, both ears and tail shot upward, and the vertical pupils in her yellow eyes quivered like an earthquake.
Sensing the strange atmosphere, one subordinate asked.
"K-Keirel?"
"Get out."
"What?"
"Get out right now! Take all the unconscious ones with you! And don't let anyone near this tavern!"
At her urgent shout, her subordinates scrambled to obey.
Soon, the inside was empty.
And as ordered, no one approached within dozens of meters.
Only three beings were left breathing here.
At last, Adrian removed his metal mask and pushed back his robe.
Tied-up, deep navy hair flowing down.
Sharp eyes, and a small scar beneath his left eye.
"Ah… Adrian…!"
"It's been a while, Keirel. Eleven years, if I count by the calendar?"
Adrian smiled warmly.
Keirel drew a deep breath, her lips and fingertips trembling as she stepped forward.
Then.
Thock. With the top of her foot, she kicked a fallen sword up from the ground.
In an instant, Keirel gripped the blade, her eyes flashing.
"Adrian Chambers, you crazy bastard! Eight years without a word, and you suddenly show up acting friendly?! Do you think I'd be glad to see you?!"
"All right, all right, let's talk it out."
"Then take a hit first!"
Whoosh.
Keirel lunged in a frenzy, murderous intent brimming.
Swift strikes aimed straight for the vitals, swordplay seamlessly linked with martial arts. Even at a glance, far beyond anything one would see in street fights.
Of course, none of it landed on Adrian. He dodged each blow by the width of a sheet of paper, calmly trying to soothe her.
Perhaps it had the opposite effect, for her movements only grew faster.
'So this is how beastkin greet old friends?'
Verden refrained from interfering, quietly stepping aside.
For by then, tears had welled up in Keirel's eyes as she swung her blade.
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