The world, which had grown dark, gradually began to burn bright, and the bandit slowly opened his eyes. Uncertain of when he had closed them, the bandit could do nothing but stare blankly into the air as soon as he awoke.
As if searching for lost memories, he gazed silently, and his blurry vision slowly cleared.
What came into view was a girl.
“Aslan, this one’s awake!”
“Who…? Ugh, my head…”
With the image of the girl still hazy, an intense headache struck him. Clenching his teeth and groaning, the bandit leaned forward, and the ropes tied around his body pulled, waking someone behind him.
“…Gulp! Uh, y-yes.”
Realizing it was the voice of his companion, the bandit let out an “uh.”
He was bound.
More precisely, he was tied to his companion.
Just as he noticed this, several footsteps approached.
A soft voice emerged from the center of those steps.
“Are you conscious?”
Even the bindings were meticulous. With fingers, ankles, wrists, and torso all tied together, there was no way to act. The best he could manage was to slightly tilt or fold his body.
While assessing the situation, his blurred vision gradually cleared.
Once his sight fully returned, he saw four people: a one-armed man, a small girl, a woman of average height, and another petite girl—clearly an elf.
Memories started returning. The last thing before his sudden blackout resurfaced, and the bandit frowned after a brief moment of daze.
“You…,”
SLAP!
As he tried to think of a menacing threat, the one-armed man swung his hand.
The slap sent the bandit’s head spinning, and a tooth flew out of his mouth.
“Kk…,”
Blood flowed from his mouth, and the knocked-out tooth rolled on the ground. The man who delivered the slap looked startled for a moment but quickly composed himself and spoke.
“You’d better choose your next words carefully.”
“You, you don’t know who I am…”
“I don’t. And I don’t think you’re anything special either. Neither is the person you follow.”
With that dismissive statement, the bandit spat out a mouthful of blood. The saliva mixed with blood glistened under the sunlight.
As the one-armed man, Aslan, grabbed the bandit by the hair, he stared at it expressionlessly.
“So, I’ll ask you a few simple questions. If you cooperate, I might just let you go unharmed. It seems more reasonable than the deal you offered me earlier. What do you say?”
In response to this, the bandit made a grunting sound and rolled his eyes.
At the edge of his vision, he caught sight of a girl—the elf he had brought to sell. A brown-haired girl with green eyes.
The elf seemed anxious as she watched him being hit.
The bandit smirked bitterly before…
“Gggkk—”
BOOM!
As Aslan yanked his hair down and kneed him in the face, the bandit let out a croaked sound. Blood streamed from his mouth like a brook, and his eye, likely injured, turned completely black.
“Fine. Since that’s your choice, I’ll bury you myself.”
Though following instinct, his actions didn’t yield good results. With one eye blinded, he shivered slightly upon hearing the painful groan of his companion behind him.
The bandit belatedly realized what had happened. Since he hadn’t gotten up, they must have tortured his companion mercilessly.
A strong sense of danger washed over him. Swallowing his saliva and blood, the bandit spoke.
“Wa-wait.”
His slurred speech betrayed his broken teeth, but Aslan lowered the knee he was about to swing upon hearing it.
“What, what do you want to know? Don’t, don’t kill me. I…,”
“If you had cooperated from the start, you wouldn’t have had to endure all this. You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble.”
As Aslan released his hair, the bandit trembled while speaking.
“What do you, what do you want to know?”
“Just some basic information about your organization. What were you doing in Randy Canyon? Why were you doing it? How has the area been recently? And…”
As Aslan glanced briefly at the elf, the bandit tensed and shifted his gaze.
“How many elves are there?”
Upon hearing this question, the bandit realized that his unconscious companion had divulged a lot of information, and the elf had likely leaked details as well.
If he lied, the consequences were obvious.
Sweating profusely, the bandit answered.
“We… we are slave merchants. We mostly kidnap from the Vida Kingdom and sell in the Calus Empire.”
But the bandit had to start with the obvious. He sought a way to survive based on Aslan’s reactions.
Survival was the bandit’s top priority.
“Go on.”
Feeling his unconscious companion slump, the slave merchant continued.
The organization wasn’t large.
At most, thirty people. They struggled against monsters, and most were non-combatants.
They usually captured and sold slaves. There were minor goods like travelers or fallen nobles, and high-risk, expensive goods like priests, warriors, or greenskins.
Among these, the product they paid the most attention to was elves.
No resistance, no need for food or water yet still able to survive, easy to manage. Their untainted minds made training simple, and they rarely attempted escape, making capture easier. Unlike human slaves who needed to be knocked unconscious and brainwashed through prolonged frustration to comply, elves required none of these trivial efforts.
All one had to do was ask them to follow, put shackles on them, and inform them of their duties.
Despite their robust bodies, superior physical abilities, and near-immortality, elves were a docile race, so capturing and selling them carried low risk but high returns.
Therefore, these slave merchants seized the opportunity presented by the change in the emperor of the Calus Empire.
Crossing over to the Vida Kingdom, they began mass harvesting elves.
At first, things seemed to be going well. Indeed, they were.
With no issues, they joined forces with other slave organizations to gather elves.
They planned to take the gathered elves through Randy Canyon to the Calus Empire.
But the situation changed suddenly.
Slave organizations began collapsing.
By someone, or some monster.
Those who died were all victims of surprise attacks—throats slashed, necks pierced, hearts stabbed—and as their numbers dwindled little by little, more members fled.
It was clear that those who fled were soon found dead. Seeing the series of corpses, the slave organizations retreated deep into Randy Canyon.
Some called the unknown entity the monster of Randy Canyon, while others claimed it was a curse harbored by the canyon.
As irrational madness spread, most slave organizations were annihilated, leaving only three.
Even hiring capable guards didn’t improve the situation.
This group had escaped from such an organization, intending to sell the elf they brought along to cover their travel expenses.
Though it didn’t work out too well.
Stammeringly recounting the story, the slave merchant finally gave the number of elves.
“Twenty? Is that right?”
“Yeah, twenty. There used to be more, but… maybe the monster took them or they disappeared.”
Aslan hummed thoughtfully.
The story felt suspicious.
It wasn’t just because of the lack of information.
First, the number of elves was unusually high, and the method of driving the slave merchants into crisis was familiar.
Gradually cutting down large groups, driving them into dangerous areas, controlling them with fear and madness, achieving goals during the process, and efficiently reducing their numbers.
This method was similar to what Aslan often used when facing many opponents.
It was also a tactic he employed, albeit in a simplified form, against mercenaries he betrayed before arriving at Olpasbet.
Still needing a few missing puzzle pieces despite the familiarity, Aslan asked hesitantly.
“…How did the dead ones die?”
“Huh? How? Ambushed in the dark…”
“I mean the wounds. Was it just one attacker?”
“Wounds… wounds…?”
Confused as to why this was being asked, the slave merchant trembled and pondered before answering.
“Two… two attackers. Mostly… sometimes one, sometimes two…”
Babbling aimlessly, Aslan focused on the part about “two.”
“In cases of two, one on the leg and one on the neck?”
“Huh? Um… yeah, that sounds about right…”
Uncertain answers from the bandit. But Aslan assumed it was due to fear.
One on the leg, one on the neck.
Aslan understood what was happening.
This attack style was very familiar.
Cutting the legs to remove mobility and evade options, then pulling the target down to a height where the neck can be reached, followed by severing the neck.
It was an attack style chosen by small-sized dual swordsmen moving at high speed, and it was also the style Aslan taught to his former apprentice and comrade.
Before his thoughts went further, Aslan cut them off and simply said,
“Good job. From now on, think carefully before answering.”
Giving advice-like words, the slave merchant flinched and nodded.
Leaving him behind, Aslan glanced at the brown-haired elf and thought.
Randy Canyon, where Aslan currently stood, wasn’t far from his destination, Honingal Noble Territory.
Traveling northeast for about three weeks would get him there.
To the north of Honingal Noble Territory lay the land that would later become the main quest area and the homeland of elves.
The land where the corpse of the god of nature and creation grew as an ancient tree.
The land of elves.
This was why Aslan aimed for Honingal Noble Territory.
Phey, the veteran swordsman, was an elf.
Recalling the elf with her curly red hair tied in two braids, Aslan sighed.
Aslan was certain.
The one annihilating this slave organization was Phey, the one and only elf warrior in the world.
‘The reason is obvious.’
The time Aslan and Phey spent together wasn’t short. Enough to influence someone.
Phey must have learned a degree of responsibility from Aslan and judged that as a strong elf, she should protect weaker elves.
Then there was no reason to hesitate. After pretending to think for a moment, Aslan drew his dagger.
The small movement made the bandit panic.
“Don’t, don’t kill me! I told you everything! Please, I’m…!”
Ignoring the man’s scream, Aslan lightly swung his dagger to cut the ropes.
The severed ropes clattered to the floor, leaving the bandit staring blankly.
Aslan looked at the dumbfounded expression and spoke.
“Guide us to your organization. I intend to offer support and protection.”
“Pro…tection?”
The bandit glanced sideways at Aslan’s weapon and dagger, then at his companions, calculating the odds and potential gains. His dirty eyes darted restlessly.
“Who, who are you?! What makes you so great…?”
“An emperor assassin.”
“…What?”
The title renowned across the northern continent froze the bandit, prompting Aslan to sigh.
“The veteran of combat, Aslan. Is that not enough?”
Finally understanding how powerful Aslan truly was, the bandit suppressed any complaints.
He was no match alone.
Carrying his unconscious companion, the bandit led Aslan without complaint.
