Chapter 126, Leverage and Compensation

Translator: Barnnn

 

Lord Gruash of Speraniessa fixed the three adventurers before him with a piercing gaze.

 

“There are a few matters I need to confirm with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Hal replied, setting down his teacup.

 

All three of them — Ize, Hal, and Fieda — had just spent ten draining minutes being lectured on the sacred value of punctuality. Now, weary but obedient, they straightened their backs and turned their attention to the business at hand.

 

“First and foremost,” the Lord continued, “regarding the supplies for the local orphanages. Volhelm informed me you intended to deliver them yourselves. However, it would be faster if the city guards were to distribute them. It would also make the supplies appear more official — more trustworthy in the eyes of the orphanages. That said, we will still inform them that the donations came from you, and we’ll issue formal certificates of donation.”

“If I may, my Lord,” the secretary standing beside him said, “I can explain the rest.”

 

Gruash gave a curt nod, gesturing for the man to continue.

Unlike the rather comically rude messenger from earlier, this secretary stood upright and spoke with a clear, ringing voice that belied his slim build.

 

“Once the items in question are delivered to the city guard station adjacent to the Lord’s estate, we’ll provide three certificates of donation — one for each of you. These documents will entitle you to various discounts and preferential treatment throughout the city during your stay. Should you wish, we can even arrange discounted rooms at the finest hotel in Speraniessa — accommodations so exclusive that even A-rank adventurers rarely have the privilege.”

 

His tone held the faintest note of condescension at that last remark — perhaps a habit, or perhaps his true nature showing through.

Still, if all it took to earn local discounts and hospitality was handing over goods they’d received for free, then it would be foolish not to accept. The trio nodded in agreement.

 

“The supplies will be retrieved later today. We’ll call horsebuses to this inn to transport them.”

“Oh, you don’t need to go to all that trouble–” Hal began.

“No, no,” the secretary interrupted firmly, smiling thinly. “Please, let us send the horsebuses. TODAY. Otherwise, you may forget until next week… or next month.”

 

Having no good comeback, Hal slumped in his seat, defeated. Ize mirrored the motion beside him, and the secretary’s smile grew a shade more knowing.

 

“I take it we’re all in agreement. Now, if I may, there is one additional location I’d like to include for the distribution of these supplies — if we have your permission.”

“If the supplies are going to those who need them,” Fieda said, “you’re free to make use of them as you see fit.”

“Is the place in question not an orphanage?” Ize asked.

“Yes. A treatment center,” the secretary replied.

“Then by all means,” Hal said. “Please put them to good use.”

“Thank you. We’ll see it done.”

 

Satisfied, the secretary stepped back behind the Lord’s seat.

 

“The next matter concerns the Fire Dragon — and Volhelm’s proposal regarding it…” Gruash said, glancing at the secretary.

“Yes, my Lord,” the man responded instantly, ushering out the other attendants and officers, and closing the doors to the room.

 

Then, with surprising casualness, he sank into the only remaining seat in the room — a single-seater sofa — and poured himself some tea from the nearby pot, and began to speak as if among old friends.

 

“When Vol sent me the details, I was shocked, honestly. But after going through it, it seemed like a decent enough deal, so I gave provisional approval.”

“To what extent?” Hal asked.

The secretary let out a sigh and rolled his shoulders. “No need to act so formal, kid. Basically, within Speraniessa, we’re banning the consumption of Sugar Mandragora. No eating it, period.”

“Criminal charges would be difficult to enforce,” Gruash added, his voice colder. “But we’ve decided that any transaction involving the plant for non-medicinal purposes will be taxed heavily.”

“To be exact,” said the secretary, “fifty percent of the market value. So unless someone’s desperate, trading it within this territory will be next to impossible. Even legitimate medicinal uses will require certification from a registered pharmacist or alchemist. We’re closing all the loopholes… Still, punishing the sellers — adventurers like you — would be trickier. At most, we can require Guilds to note intended uses on quality certificates. But that’s about it.”

 

The Sugar Mandragoras Fieda’s group had sold through the Guild had fetched a handsome price already. But according to Duris, sales to noble clients could reach even higher figures. Slapping a fifty percent tax on top of that meant the sums involved would be astronomical.

The new measures were indeed a powerful deterrent. Buyers would think twice, and if enough doors closed, more sellers might turn to legitimate channels like the Guild.

 

“We understand,” Fieda said. “And we’re grateful for your cooperation.”

“”Thank you very much,”” Ize and Hal echoed.

 

This time, all three bowed more deeply than they had at their initial greeting. Gruash waved a hand dismissively, frowning.

 

“Believe me, when the Wardon case came to light, I wanted to help. But Sugar Mandragora is rare, even in this region. Thanks to our status as a Rank 1 Dungeon territory and our general disdain for such practices, there are few nobles here who’ve ever tried to eat the stuff — and even then, we couldn’t find enough to offer aid.” He paused, his voice growing quieter. “Those people — those adventurers who fought in the Deluge a few years back — they’re worth more than any foolish noble in this kingdom. I thank you for what you’ve done. You did well.”

The secretary chuckled. “Honestly, I was THIS close to sneaking into the food stores of a neighboring territory to steal some. I even figured out their patrol routes and entry points. But this uptight Lord here wouldn’t let me go through with it.”

Gruash scowled. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Hey, when lives are on the line, maybe ethics should take a back seat for a bit, you know?”

 

The secretary’s words made all three adventurers pause. But in the end, they found themselves nodding.

 

“Saving lives should come first,” said Fieda.

“If no one finds out, it’s the same as it never happened,” Hal added.

“And if you’re really feeling guilty, just return what you took later,” Ize suggested.

The secretary grinned and clapped his hands. “Ah, finally! My kind of people.”

 

Gruash sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“…Let’s move on. I’ve already reached out to other Lords and nobles who share our views. As compensation for their cooperation, we’ve made use of the Fire Dragon scales. Volhelm has already received his share of the rewards, too — so if there’s anything you want during your stay here, just say the word.”

“The scales were a gift to Volhelm in the first place,” Fieda said with a shrug. “What they’re used for afterward isn’t our business.”

“If you need more, we have plenty,” Ize added cheerfully, “Want some?”

 

Lord Gruash let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose with both fingers, as though physically trying to stave off the headache this conversation threatened to become.

 

“Girl, that’s a legendary material,” he said, his tone exasperated, “No one’s seen it in centuries. You don’t just pass it around like candy.”

“Yeah, put too much of them into circulation, and they won’t be as valuable,” Hal pointed out with a smirk.

“Ahh, I get it,” Ize replied, tilting her head. “But when you’ve got a whole horsebus-load of it, the rarity kind of stops feeling real.”

“A horsebus-load…?” Gruash repeated, shoulders slumping even further as he sank a little in his seat.

“All because that idiot Dragon doesn’t know the meaning of restraint,” Fieda muttered.

“…Idiot Dragon?” the Lord parroted, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, right,” Hal said quickly, “He means Bardveles. It’s the Fire Dragon — not sure if that name’s made it around yet.”

“I did hear that you named it,” Gruash said, glancing between them.

“The original name was ridiculously long,” Hal replied with a nod.

“I wrote it down if you’re curious,” Ize offered, already opening a portal with the ring on her finger.

“You did?” Hal blinked. “When?”

“Right before the… incident. When you were in the bath.”

 

Ize pulled out a small notepad and placed it on the table.

 

“Here it is. Abyureldo Fyuenzol Joekuelsch Voderia Gofnoden Drenmonies Baznejardetta Menoewz Bardukbozaveles. That last part — Bardukbozaveles — means ‘Messenger of the God of Flame.’ So we shortened it to Bardveles. Basically, ‘Flame-Wielder.'”

Hal leaned over the table and squinted. “It looks even longer when it’s written out. You filled a whole page.”

“I’m more impressed that idiot Dragon remembered it at all,” Fieda said, folding his arms.

“You really don’t hold back, do you?” Hal said, shaking his head.

“Why should I?”

 

As the three of them bent over the notepad, speaking over one another in casual tones, Lord Gruash and his secretary could only stare at them in stunned silence. Then, as if struck by the same bolt of realization, they both stood at once.

 

“Hold it!” Gruash said sharply.

“Huh? Wait — what? Just a second! How do we best deal with this…”

 

The Lord remained standing, eyes locked on the notepad as though it might vanish if he looked away.

Meanwhile, the secretary began pacing the room in increasingly frantic circles.

 

“Huh?”

“What’s going on?” Fieda asked.

“Uh…” Hal looked back and forth. “Ize, put it away.”

“Ah, right!” she yelped.

 

Ize quickly blinked the notepad back into her Magic Bag, then held up her hands like a stage magician, as if to say, “See? Nothing up my sleeves!”

She gave a sheepish grin, trying to play it off. Hal responded by ruffling her hair, while Fieda, arms still crossed, kept his gaze deliberately fixed on the far wall, doing his best to feign composure.

Gruash dropped heavily back into his sofa with an audible thump, staring at Ize. Ize, for her part, avoided his gaze, her eyes darting around the room in panicked zigzags — somehow even more frantic than the secretary still pacing around them.

 

“Shezel. Be seated,” Gruash said without looking.

“Yes, yes, of course,” the secretary muttered, scurrying back to his sofa like a scolded schoolboy.

 

Leaning forward, the Lord rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands before his mouth, settling into a pensive pose.

 

“He’s not gonna tell us to get into a robot, is he?” Hal whispered.

“Hal, that’s such an old reference,” Ize whispered back.

“Shh,” Fieda hissed, cutting them off — he knew the topic couldn’t be anything good, despite not actually knowing what it was about.

 

The silence thickened.

 

“Volhelm was…” Gruash began at last.

“Yes, sir!” Ize replied far too loudly in reflex.

 

The Lord didn’t so much as blink.

 

“…Volhelm was vague about you three. Evasive, even. I suspected something was up right then…”

“Well, they do have a lot of supplies for the orphanages,” Shezel said, “Of course anyone would assume you would have Magic Bags…”

“I thought there might be SOMETHING unusual about you,” Gruash continued, still staring at the spot where the notepad had been.

 

It was just a simple, palm-sized, lined notepad — one Ize carried to school. The kind one would pick up at a dollar store.

But that sort of item had no place in this world. It didn’t belong here.

 

“You’re not descendants,” Gruash said quietly. “If you were, you’d have treated that thing like a family heirloom.”

 

The silence stretched. Gruash, a man who valued time as if it were sacred, sat still for several seconds longer, as though weighing each one carefully before he finally spoke again.

 

“…Who ARE you?”