Olpasbet’s system of renting prisoners was clear-cut.
It was only natural to consider what the rented prisoners were doing and why they were being rented.
Aslan understood the contemptuous expression Harold Crow directed at him. He knew well how it had come about and what was going to happen.
However, Aslan made no particular effort to correct it. The reasons for Aslan renting prisoners were different from imagination, and what Aslan desired was far from expectations, yet he made no adjustments.
Because what he sought was not correction.
Harold Crow’s tail lifted, and the muscles in its firm scales twitched.
Here it comes. A punch. Aslan slowly scanned the moving muscles and reached a conclusion.
Aslan concealed his signet ring by clenching his fist and, sensing an unusual aura, casually pushed the guard who was raising his weapon.
Harold’s right fist shot out almost simultaneously.
“Hiss!”
The wind-splitting sound of the red-scaled fist charging in.
Aslan anticipated the trajectory with his eyes and, tilting his body, slipped to the left.
The direction where Harold swung his fist.
“Ugh…!”
Harold hesitated, trying to turn his body, and in that gap, Aslan kicked his leg, capitalizing on the clear opening.
“Gah…!”
After throwing a punch, Harold’s unstable posture combined with the imbalance created while attempting to turn caused him to be tripped accurately by Aslan’s kick, sending him sprawling.
“Thud!”
The heavy thud of Harold’s body hitting the ground echoed, and the busy prisoners looked on with perplexed expressions.
“Grr… Ugh?!”
While groaning and trying to rise, Harold felt his arm grabbed and pulled, leaving him bewildered.
Aslan pulled Harold’s arm, which encircled his neck, swiftly cutting off his breathing.
“Guh… Choke…”
Breath was being choked off. Death was approaching. Even with the excellent lung capacity of a dragon-person, lack of breathing would inevitably lead to death.
“What… What is this…?”
The confused voices of the guards, the astonished sighs of the gathered prisoners, and Angie’s mixed look of bewilderment and interest.
Amidst all the gazes and sounds, Harold’s fading consciousness calculated his last stand.
Harold Crow was a warrior.
A skilled warrior could perceive the gap between oneself and the enemy and guess the outcome of the battle. They could tell who would die and who would live.
Now, as Harold felt his impending death, he flailed with his free left arm. It didn’t reach. His movements were restricted due to the pulled arm.
As the yellow vertical pupils gradually rolled back and Harold’s death seemed imminent,
“Choke… Cough… Gulp, gasp!”
His arms were released. As a flood of oxygen rushed into his lungs, Harold fell to his knees, gasping.
On the brink of asphyxiation, freed just in time, Harold breathed heavily and coughed, his blurred consciousness gradually returning, filling him with confusion.
“Why… Why such a deed…?”
“Because you wouldn’t have listened otherwise.”
Turning his head, only then did Harold meet Aslan’s cold gaze.
Unnervingly cold, emerald green eyes.
Feeling a creeping fear spread through him, Harold lowered his gaze.
Indeed, Harold would have dismissed any explanation as an excuse.
Relieved but also fearful that his assumptions were wrong, Harold couldn’t understand why Aslan had done this.
Aslan murmured faintly.
“I don’t intend to humiliate you as you imagined.”
“Then what… What do you want?”
“The mine shaft.”
Lifting his downcast eyes, Harold met Aslan’s lowered gaze.
There was none of the earlier chill in those eyes; only deep fatigue showed through.
“I need you to come with me to the mine shaft.”
Harold thought he had no choice.
And indeed, Aslan didn’t wait for a response.
*
In Olpasbet, there existed a labyrinthine network of mine shafts.
The main purpose of these shafts was to mine white steel, but they also served to prevent creatures from the lower levels from easily ascending.
“Commander, are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine.”
These mine shafts all started with heavily guarded entrances watched by sentries, making entering or exiting unavoidable under their watchful eyes.
Ignoring the uneasy demeanor of the guards, Aslan stood slightly apart, observing a group checking their padded armor and crude iron weapons.
One of them was Harold Crow, and the other two claimed to be his subordinates.
With Angie and Aslan joining the group, dressed similarly in padded armor and wielding one-handed axes, the entrance to the mine shaft became unusually crowded. Angie stood beside Aslan, glancing disdainfully at Harold’s group.
“They’re totally scared.”
True to Angie’s whispered comment, whenever Harold met Aslan’s gaze, he visibly stiffened—an attitude contrasting sharply with his earlier aggression when attacked.
Aslan understood the reason.
Unlike Angie, who had received little education growing up in poverty, Harold Crow was an experienced warrior. Such a warrior had briefly exchanged blows with Aslan and realized the insurmountable disparity in strength.
There was no need to worry about being stabbed from behind.
That was why Aslan wasn’t concerned despite the large one-handed sword Harold carried.
Checking the weapons at his waist, Aslan stepped forward.
“Please open the gate.”
He addressed the guard standing by the door. The guard briefly scanned Aslan before nodding to his companion.
The two guards exchanged looks and began turning the large winch attached to the side of the grid-like iron gate. Each grabbing a handle, they turned it, causing the iron bars to creak as they rose.
Thus revealed beyond the bars was a damp mine shaft, stretching darkly and long.
As the bars slowly ascended, opening the darkness wide, Aslan retrieved a torch.
“Ignite.”
Whoosh!
The sparks leapt onto the torch, igniting it brightly.
“Hold it and stay close.”
Handing the lit torch to Angie, Aslan retrieved another and lit it.
“Take it.”
“Ah, yes.”
Giving the second torch to one of Harold Crow’s subordinates, Aslan moved forward. Angie followed closely, and the burly human, the bald man, and the swarthy-skinned man joined them, slipping into the dim mine shaft.
Clang!
As they passed through the iron bars, they slammed shut with a loud clang.
The clang startled the two men, but Aslan continued forward without hesitation.
Four pairs of eyes followed Aslan’s cloak as he led them into the darkness. The flickering torchlight illuminated the procession like fireflies splitting the gloom.
The path, composed of earth and rocks, initially descended gradually before rising again, sometimes appearing to ascend before dropping steeply. Several oddly jutting rocks and stalactites twisted strangely.
Suddenly, Aslan turned around mid-stride. Angie, following behind, widened her eyes in surprise but remained still. Only Harold flinched.
“Do you know what we’re here to do?”
At this unexpected question, Angie crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
It had been several days since Aslan subdued Harold Crow, during which time he had only told Harold and his subordinates that “the lord has sent us to find something in the lower levels.”
Angie stayed quiet, perhaps guessing based on what she had been told, but Harold’s subordinates appeared puzzled.
One of them, named Ecol, a swarthy-skinned man, responded.
“Uh, we’re looking for something, right?”
“Do you know why I rented you for a month?”
At this question, Harold paused in silence for a moment before answering.
“There are too many trolls coming out of the mine shafts, so your honor said we needed fighters.”
After suffering a severe defeat, Harold respectfully addressed Aslan as “your honor.”
Aslan alternated his gaze between the now obedient Harold and his subordinates, who seemed to know only the basic explanation given earlier, before speaking softly.
“From now on, we’re going to escape.”
“What?”
This time, it was Carson, the bald man, who responded.
“Excuse me, but… are you serious? No one has ever escaped from Olpasbet…”
“Does it sound like a joke?”
“…No.”
Uncomfortably shifting his gaze, Carson muttered, and Harold closed his eyes, murmuring.
“I found it strange that you brought so much food and camping gear… Was this the purpose?”
Finally realizing, Harold’s subordinates let out an “Ah.”
Aslan took advantage of the wave of understanding spreading through the group.
“This is a deal.”
As three pairs of eyes turned to Aslan, he extended his hand. The tattoo running along the back of his extended hand faintly pulsed.
“In exchange for freedom, fight for me until we get out. At least until we break through this mine shaft.”
“What about the restraints around our necks?”
“Magic removal.”
The pulsation of the tattoo on Aslan’s hand intensified, spreading from his shoulder in waves. This wave, glowing white and green, dispersed the mana of the restraints around Angie and the three men’s necks, shattering them into pieces.
The fragments scattered with a “crackling” sound, and the man who had been urging for an answer quietly closed his mouth.
“As you can see, you’re free now. Temporarily, that is.”
Carson, rubbing his newly freed neck, added, drawing curious glances.
“If you go back now and tell the guards that your restraints are gone, all you’ll get is death. You’ll be captured on charges of plotting the first-ever escape from Olpasbet and executed.”
Carson’s face paled, and Aslan turned away.
“I can escape without you. If I only cared about my own safety, it wouldn’t be difficult. The reason I’m bringing you and offering you freedom is to conserve my strength.”
Behind this statement lay partial truth mingled with bravado.
Truly, Aslan could have escaped alone without issue.
What concerned him was Angie’s safety. He lacked confidence in protecting Angie while breaking through the mine shaft alone.
To drive the point home, Aslan added:
“You should seize this opportunity while it’s offered.”
At these words, Harold Crow’s face hardened perceptibly to human eyes. His subordinates stood beside him, exchanging bewildered glances.
Overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information, persuasion, and proposals, they seemed entirely unsure of what to do.
Aslan, observing this, pondered what more he could say to convince them when—
Gr-r-r-r-r-r
Lowering his gaze upon hearing the low growl, he reached for his waist.
As Angie alternated her gaze between the source of the sound and Aslan, fidgeting with the axe in her hands, Aslan drew his weapon.
Retrieving the mace and pulling out the longsword acquired from mercenaries and plundered battles, he gripped it in his left hand. Holding one weapon in each hand, he relaxed his stance.
“Make your decision quickly. Begging me to let you out while dying will be too late.”
Harold and his two subordinates had worked in the mine shafts for a long time. They knew what kind of monsters emerged from them and understood that they were typically difficult to handle.
Thus, they swallowed hard or adopted grave expressions in response to Aslan’s warning-laden prompt.
Aslan confirmed this with a sidelong glance before speaking.
“I’ll only warn you once this time. Decide and call me when ready. Angie.”
“Eh, what?”
“Throw the torch.”
Frowning at the command, Angie pulled her arm back and thrust it forward.
The torch, released from her fingertips, spun through the air before plunging to the ground, rolling and burning along the gentle slope. In the flickering light, something slowly revealed itself.
It was an eerie creature.
A greatly bent waist leaning forward, arms so long they nearly touched the ground, and skin unsettlingly pale.
Truly, a monster deserving of the name, it rolled its starkly crimson eyes and surveyed its surroundings.
As far as Aslan knew, it was a mud troll.
Four of them emerged slowly, walking through the gaps of the flames and sniffing the air.
Aslan observed the monsters silently before stepping forward.
