Chapter 17
Buying Broken Magical Tools, Weapons, and Monster Byproducts (3)
“Captain… do we really have to hold back?”
“Should we just go now and crush those guys? I feel like a single punch to their heads would finish them immediately.”
“Shut up, you idiots. I’m thinking here, okay?”
Darengberg clicked his tongue once, annoyed by his subordinates’ chatter.
‘The steward… he mouths off better than the Demon King himself.’
He poked at them mockingly, teasing them. And that last punch—barely crossing the line—was clearly intentional.
He wanted, on instinct, to kill him outright right there, but there were too many complications.
One: He was a retainer of the House of Helphion.
The second reason…
“Wait. Why is your wrist like that?”
“What the… it’s not blood. Did I scratch myself somewhere?”
“You insane fool, do you expect that to make sense? You’re bleeding because of a scratch?”
Darengberg looked at his subordinate’s arm—the one that had reached for the steward at the Magic Tower. Blood poured from a deep tear, as if struck by a blunt object.
“What did that witch do?”
“Heh… you got hit, didn’t you?”
“Damn it… we should just storm the tower and—”
Darengberg replayed the scene in his mind. The subordinate had reached out—was there a movement of mana? No, none at all.
Jamie’s skill was only 5th Circle. If she had really done anything, a Swordmaster of his level would have noticed. All that had moved was the steward’s flailing hand… flailing hand?
Darengberg narrowed his brow. His subordinate was a High Sword Expert, far beyond ordinary response speed. Yet somehow, that flailing hand almost got caught.
Could the rumor be true? That the steward, with nothing but presence, had driven away the Sandman? And the opponent was a retainer of the House of Helphion. There might be hidden strength even Darengberg hadn’t perceived.
“Oi.”
He stopped their idle chatter abruptly.
“Charles knows the trade route, right? And they hold a grudge.”
“Yes, sir. They’re camping nearby since they can’t enter the duchy.”
“Leave the steward alone. Even if they’re dogs, he’s a retainer of the Helphion House. Consider the repercussions.”
“Can’t we deal with them quietly?”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
The wounded subordinate muttered, and another shouted, but Darengberg’s own thoughts were the same as his first man.
“Of course, we won’t let this slide without gains. That would tarnish the Grizzly Mercenary Company’s face.”
His expression oozed low cunning.
“That girl beside the steward… his sister, right? We’ll target her. Looks like she spent quite a bit yesterday and today—taking that money for ourselves wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Darengberg looked toward the distant ducal mansion.
There was the strongest person in the world. He had been captivated by that strength for twelve years now. Yet the Duke met only with his own retainers, never properly training the warriors who came seeking him.
Had he endured too long? Even these young punks dared to disregard him.
“Select a few elites from the mercenary company, send them with carriages to Charles. After handling the matter, leave the duchy and move to the County of Aphnai. Live as if dead.”
His subordinates bowed and moved quickly. Darengberg lingered a while longer, until the sun set and long shadows stretched like lingering regrets toward the mansion.
The Duke of Helphion was in the training yard, mid-practice.
His bare chest bore decades of battle scars like medals. His hard, compact muscles revealed every fiber, refusing to be hidden.
Recently, his training returned to basics. He moved his sword at the slowest speed he could manage, repeating horizontal cuts all morning or thrusts all afternoon. He concentrated on the tiniest movements of his muscles and the environment, internalizing how his actions influenced the world.
“Duke.”
Apel, the steward, interrupted.
“The steward’s prediction was correct. The head maid reports Darengberg has visited the grocery and ordered his subordinates to attack Miss Rone afterward.”
“I see. The steward’s foresight was precise.”
The Duke steadied his breathing and set the sword down. That morning, the steward had come personally.
“They’ll come from the Grizzly Mercenary Company. Today they will be provoked. Watch their response. I hear the head maid is a former assassin—could you lend her for just one day?”
A request for one of his retainers, a senior with nearly High Swordmaster level skill. He trusted her and let her go, and she had already set the pieces in motion in just one day.
“A force is about to be eliminated.”
“They’ll leave themselves.”
“Was I too indifferent to them?”
Apel remained silent. Reality was too complicated for blame. The Duke treated everyone equally. Elcia had her Magic Tower, living peacefully under his protection, while others, like Darengberg, were simply unsatisfied.
“But you truly trust those under your command.”
“Yes. Even now.”
He donned his shirt left in the corner of the training yard.
“Go.”
“Are you going to handle this personally?”
“It’s the steward’s family. It’s safer this way. I handle my own matters cleanly.”
I saw Rone off at the entrance. It was a massive trade mission: five carriages and ten workers.
“Do I need to follow?”
“Don’t worry. When did I stop being a child? I’ve lived in merchant life longer than you have.”
No matter how independent, a younger sibling is always a younger sibling.
“There’ll be an attack. Be careful.”
“I’ve heard that a hundred times already. I can handle it. Surely I’ve faced attacks before during merchant runs. That’s why the Duke provided troops.”
Even so, the Grizzly Mercenary Company was formidable. The Duke’s troops weren’t accompanying directly; they only sent subordinates. Naturally, it was unsettling.
“Where after passing Aphnai?”
“Heading first to the North Sea. They pay high for Basilisk scales—maybe up to 3 gold per kilogram. On the way, sell Salvinas tea in the Empire, weapons, and more… a long journey.”
“Timeframe?”
“About a year.”
“Send them with a reliable merchant company. Try to return within six months.”
“I know. I can’t leave such a lucrative market for others.”
“Remember the items I requested?”
Rone nodded. The Helphion lands had just finished their first steps. The trade routes reopened; they lived off monster byproducts, but the real work was just beginning. The lands had to be expanded, and monsters pushed beyond the kingdom. The tools requested from Rone were essential.
“See you, then.”
Her farewell wasn’t light—it carried weight, promising a next meeting. I watched her leave, then returned to the ducal residence.
The forest that was once a Sandworm habitat was silent.
Before, the stillness came from monsters lurking. Now, it was empty; the Sandworms had fled. Yet something remained. Sharp, menacing energy pressed the air down heavily.
“They’ve arrived.”
Charles, hidden in the forest, saw the horses and carriages—five massive vehicles.
“One, two, three… attack fast, eliminate survivors, and take only the goods.”
He drew the sword he had polished for this day. ‘They dared to mess with me back then.’ His mind held only one thought: revenge.
At his signal, the ambushers moved, slicing swiftly into the carriages. Clang! Thud! Victims fell. But he felt unease—these were his own allies, struck first.
“The carriages are empty! Only people!”
“No tools! The steward’s sister is gone! Nothing!”
Screams echoed. The carriages contained no goods, only weapons gleaming in the hands of trained warriors.
Battles erupted, and the Grizzly Mercenary Company fell swiftly. The gap in strength wasn’t massive—just the three overwhelming figures on the carriage side:
Apel, steward and swordmaster beyond intermediate level.
Sherina, head maid and nightmare of the assassin guild.
Chetrox, S-rank mercenary who wielded his body like a weapon.
Agony continued across the forest. None of Darengberg’s elite survived.
The Duke of Helphion recalled the plan reported by Laward:
<All power in the duchy must be reclaimed by the Duke and his house.>
Rone alone had loaded all trade goods into the large magical bag purchased for 5,000 gold and departed. The traps had worked perfectly: Darengberg and Charles, obsessed with carriages and trade routes, had been outsmarted.
Even the idea of transporting goods in carriages was naïve, making them easy prey. And the Grizzly Mercenary Company’s knowledge of the trade route allowed an easy prediction of their ambush.
Darengberg assumed they had no choice but to use the route—that was his mistake. Could he have done better? The Duke could not say.
Thus, he personally oversaw the strategy, respecting the steward who devised it.
The Duke drew Stormbringer and moved with speed and precision, facing dozens of mercenaries without a single drop of blood spilled. Amidst the fallen and silent, he addressed Darengberg:
“Darengberg. Don’t run if you can avoid it. Let us end this here.”
“Damn… last night’s dreams were foul…”
Darengberg faced the Duke.
