Chapter 8
The Dream Merchant of the Refugee Settlement (1)
Allen grinned, clearly pleased by Kaspar’s attitude.
“Good, good. I like how decisive you are.”
“Then when do we leave? Right now?”
Slightly taken aback by Kaspar’s enthusiasm, Allen soon regained his composure.
“We can’t leave immediately. I’ve already arranged to depart for the refugee settlement early tomorrow morning with some mercenaries I know.”
“Other mercenaries?”
Allen nodded.
“The Dream Merchant’s forces are too powerful for the two of us to handle alone. According to the rumors, he controls nearly the entire southeastern section of the refugee settlement and commands more than fifty private soldiers.”
“Fifty?”
“That’s quite… a lot.”
“And that only includes those directly under his command. If you count everyone he can mobilize in an emergency, the number becomes much higher.”
Allen summoned the waiter and ordered more beer and milk. Then, wearing an understanding expression, he spoke.
“I understand how impatient you feel. I’m the same.”
“You are?”
“Of course. You want to build a record as quickly as possible, don’t you? I felt the same way. But haste makes waste. It’ll be better for everyone to cooperate than for the two of us to take such a risk alone.”
Allen’s assumption was half correct and half mistaken.
Kaspar did want to build a record, but that had only been his initial motivation.
From the moment he learned that the Dream Merchant was a mage, all Kaspar could think about was meeting him as soon as possible.
Despite his eagerness, however, Kaspar agreed to wait until the next day as Allen suggested.
The refugee settlement surrounding Wintersteel was vast. Even if he limited his search to the southeast, he would likely become lost on his own.
“Here it is.”
The waiter brought over the milk and beer. Allen handed the milk to Kaspar.
“I’m paying, so drink as much as you like. Here’s to our mage’s successful first commission.”
***
At daybreak, Kaspar accompanied Allen to Wintersteel’s southern plaza.
Although he had awakened much earlier than usual, he felt energized rather than tired.
It was all thanks to his anticipation of meeting another mage.
Kaspar briefly recalled what had happened on the snowy mountain.
The image of Rathead, whom he had killed far too easily, flickered faintly through his mind.
I won’t let this one die so pointlessly.
Remembering his disappointment, Kaspar resolved not to repeat the same mistake.
Two people were already waiting in the plaza: a massively built man and, in sharp contrast, a slender woman.
After Kaspar and Allen completed a simple registration with an official from the Mercenary Bureau, they received a briefing on the information they needed for the commission.
“Allen, it’s been a while.”
The large man greeted Allen first.
An axe was strapped across his back, and a thick scar ran across his face. Rather than making him look vicious, however, it gave him a steadfast appearance.
“I heard you recently reached the Expert level. That was fast—especially at your age.”
“Expert is nothing to make such a fuss about. I still have a long way to go before Graduate, Master, and everything beyond.”
“Hahaha! That’s excessive modesty. Or perhaps confidence? Either way, this commission should be fairly easy… But who is this fellow?”
The large man, who had been conversing with Allen, finally showed an interest in Kaspar.
Allen shrugged.
“This is Kaspar, a friend who’ll be working with me, Zrek.”
“Oh… Is that so? Your attendant?”
“That’s rude, Zrek. He’s a mage, so watch your mouth.”
“…A mage?”
Zrek narrowed his eyes as he examined Kaspar.
Kaspar bowed politely.
“I look forward to working with you. I’m Kaspar Hauser.”
“You’re young… No, you’re practically a child.”
“You keep putting your foot in your mouth. Kaspar is someone my uncle personally vouched for.”
“…Taylor vouched for him?”
Zrek looked surprised.
Taylor of Redrum was a broker renowned for his exacting standards.
He had admittedly been a far more prominent figure in the past and was now considered past his prime. His stubbornness, however, had remained unchanged, and he was famous for showing no mercy to substandard mercenaries.
If Taylor had vouched for someone—especially to his own nephew—that person clearly possessed abilities that could not be dismissed.
Zrek looked at Kaspar again.
The others did the same. Both the Mercenary Bureau official and the slender woman stole repeated glances at him.
“Hmm… I find that hard to believe.”
Allen’s expression hardened slightly.
“I’ve warned you repeatedly, yet you keep crossing the line, Zrek.”
The muscles in Allen’s arm twitched. A subtle fighting spirit radiated from him, as though he might draw the sword at his waist at any moment.
Zrek took a step back, but he did not change his opinion.
“Oh, come on. Don’t get so worked up. This hunt is a dangerous commission. You don’t seriously think the Dream Merchant and his gang will stand in the middle of an open field and wait for us, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Ultimately, we’ll be fighting a filthy battle inside the Dream Merchant’s den without knowing who’s a refugee and who’s an enemy. We deliberately assembled a small, elite team to avoid attracting his attention, and now a complete stranger has joined us. Isn’t it only natural that I’d want to know what he can do?”
Zrek continued offering excuses while subtly gesturing toward Kaspar with his eyes.
“Do you want to see my abilities?” Kaspar asked.
Zrek grinned.
“Well, I’m not going to force you.”
Kaspar returned his smile.
Despite deliberately steering the conversation in this direction no matter what Allen said, Zrek now claimed he would not force him.
He was a sly one.
“Then how would you like me to demonstrate?”
Zrek shrugged and extended his hand.
“Let’s begin with a handshake.”
“…?”
Whoosh!
A translucent barrier spread outward, interposing itself between Zrek and Kaspar.
Kaspar’s hand stopped in midair before they could shake.
On closer inspection, something was gleaming around Zrek’s wrist.
“A Shield Bracelet. It’s a magical artifact.”
When Zrek moved his wrist, the translucent barrier followed its direction like a shield.
It was a fascinating sight.
“Now, shake my hand.”
Zrek extended his right hand with the bracelet still equipped.
Only then did Kaspar understand his intention.
“You want me to demonstrate my power.”
“Well… you can think of it that way.”
Zrek smiled innocently.
It was an openly childish provocation, but Kaspar gave a small nod.
“Very well.”
Sometimes it was necessary to deliberately fall for an obvious trick.
If only to prevent more troublesome pestering later.
It would also help ensure the smooth acquisition of magic—no, the successful hunt for the Dream Merchant.
He would demonstrate his abilities thoroughly and decisively.
“Good, good. That’s more like it.”
At Kaspar’s acceptance, Zrek strengthened the shield further.
Even to the naked eye, the barrier was becoming increasingly dense.
Kaspar reached toward it.
It felt like soft jelly.
Yet beneath that softness, he sensed something solid pushing his hand away, refusing to permit him any farther inside.
“This won’t be easy. This shield is—”
“Ignite.”
Zrek flinched at the sudden incantation.
Flames?
Yet there was neither a thunderous blast nor a spectacular explosion.
Crimson flames poured from Kaspar’s hand like spilled water, engulfing the shield with the ravenous desire to burn everything away.
Ignite settled on the barrier and greedily consumed its surface.
The shield slowly melted like flowing lava. Cracks formed even across the portions that still appeared intact.
In an instant, the fractures multiplied into dozens, then hundreds, spreading like a spiderweb across the entire barrier.
—Crack!
A sharp shattering sound, like delicate glasswork breaking, interrupted Zrek’s relaxed explanation.
The shield separating Kaspar and Zrek shattered.
Its fragments sparkled like glass before vanishing into the air.
“…!”
Fwoosh.
Zrek’s eyes widened.
Allen and the woman watching from a short distance away reacted the same way.
“What do you think?”
Kaspar extended his hand once more.
Ordinarily, he would never allow another person to touch a hand saturated with heat toxin.
This time was different.
The Ignite spell provided a plausible explanation for why his hand felt hot.
Yet Kaspar’s careful calculation proved unnecessary. Instead of accepting the handshake, Zrek recoiled in alarm and stepped backward.
“Come now. Don’t be like that.”
Kaspar moved his hand closer.
Zrek desperately leaned from side to side to avoid the handshake, as though Kaspar’s hand were made of lava that would incinerate him on contact.
“Hahaha! As expected of Taylor. His eye for talent never fails.”
Zrek awkwardly scratched the back of his head.
Disguised in ragged coats and covered in dust, Kaspar and the mercenaries entered the refugee settlement.
“The Dream Merchant is an excommunicated mage who was expelled from the Metal Magic Tower several years ago,” Allen explained. “His specialties are alchemy and illusion magic.”
Kaspar walked while listening to him.
“Why was he expelled?”
“The wanted notice doesn’t include details like that. This hunt has nothing to do with his expulsion. If the Dream Merchant hadn’t begun spreading Dream Powder here, neither the city nor the Magic Towers would have cared what some excommunicated mage did while hiding in the refugee settlement.”
The refugee settlement sprawled bleakly beneath the long shadow cast by Wintersteel’s walls.
Shacks and tattered tents clung haphazardly to the abandoned land beyond the city. They looked so precarious that a fierce northern wind might tear them away at any moment.
People who had lost all vitality stood between the paths like ghosts.
Their worn clothes were caked with grime. Elderly people had been reduced to skin and bone, while the children had lost all youthful liveliness, leaving only vacant gazes behind.
The farther they ventured into the settlement, the denser the people and shacks became.
It was somewhat like a forest, whose outer edges and deepest regions possessed completely different densities.
A gray-haired man appeared ahead of them. Judging by his sturdy build, he was another mercenary.
Beside him stood a shabby middle-aged man, nervously looking in every direction.
“Zrek.”
The gray-haired mercenary approached and greeted Zrek.
His name was Ronta.
“Is this the man?”
“That’s right. He’s the informant who’ll guide us. He once worked in the Dream Merchant’s territory, so he supposedly knows the area inside and out.”
Zrek nodded, took a silver coin from his pocket, and handed it to the informant.
“Don’t be so frightened. All you have to do is lead us into the Dream Merchant’s territory. It isn’t dangerous or difficult. Once you’ve done that, I’ll pay you the rest of the promised reward.”
“Yes… Yes, sir!”
The informant bowed as he accepted the silver coin, greed flashing in his eyes.
“Lead the way.”
They resumed walking through the endless, monotonous scenery of the refugee settlement.
Kaspar did not know how long they had been walking.
Just as he began wondering whether they might reach the eastern gate at this rate, something entered his field of vision.
“That is…”
The refugee settlement was filled with tents and shacks.
If someone wished to construct a fortress district while preserving that same wretched appearance, its entrance would have looked exactly like this.
Several layers of rubbish had been piled into barricades, openly advertising that everything beyond them belonged to a criminal organization.
Beyond the barricades stood gaunt-eyed men keeping watch. Each held either a rusted sword or a crude, apparently handmade spear.
One of the sentries noticed the approaching group and came forward warily.
Unlike the others, he wore relatively good clothing and carried a well-maintained spear.
Kaspar’s gaze fixed on the man’s face.
That man…
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you people before.”
His voice was filled with suspicion.
“Who do you think they are? They’re new customers.”
The informant answered with perfect composure.