Chapter 44: General Gru

  By noon the next day, all the thieves had gathered at the central square. Some glanced around nervously; others gripped their weapons, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

  They’d begun to calm down, but that morning, news had spread: the imperial army had deployed in Bracada, and war with Oufu might break out at any moment. The news left the thieves adrift. They’d planned to grab the loot and run, but now they were trapped—unable to advance, unable to retreat.

  In front of the square, piles of goods rose like small mountains. Three middle-aged men stood among them—one was the man who’d overseen One-Eye’s hanging—and several ogres flanked them. The men, dressed like officials, were taking notes. With a single glance, they took in every detail of the goods before scribbling furiously; their skill showed years of practice. The goods were valuable: spices, silk, and crafts. Any thief with eyes could tell this was the loot they’d been coveting. Whispers erupted as excitement spread.

  One of the middle-aged men noticed the thieves and stepped forward. "I assume everyone’s here?"

  No one dared speak. His tone was polite, but to the jumpy thieves, the politeness felt dangerous—like a cat toying with mice. Even the wily Fodolen stayed quiet in the crowd. After yesterday’s arguments, the thieves distrusted him, and he had no reason to stick his neck out now.

  "Yes, we’re all here," Ethan said, breaking the silence. He didn’t want to take the lead, but he hated the awkward standoff more.

  The man nodded. "Good. You’re all from the Ainfast Empire, aren’t you?"

  This time, even fewer dared to answer. For over a decade, the empire had waged a genocidal war against orcs. On their way to Oufu, Fodolen had warned them repeatedly not to admit they were imperial citizens—afraid the orcs would fly into a rage and tear them apart. Now, with the imperial army looming, they risked being labeled spies.

  "Yeah, we are," Ethan admitted without hesitation. The thieves nearly jumped out of their skins; even Sophia nudged him. But he figured if the man was asking, he probably already knew. There was no point in hiding. Ethan had always preferred to deal with things directly.

  Thankfully, the ogres didn’t charge forward to attack at the mention of their empire. The man continued calmly: "We have a rough idea why you’re here. Someone reported you wanted to buy the loot the goblins stole. So you’re black-market merchants, then—and the man we executed yesterday was your comrade. Is that right?"

  "Yes," Ethan replied, now the de facto spokesperson for the gang. The others were too tense to speak. The ogres nearby wore massive axes at their waists—so heavy, even a glancing blow could crush a man. Many thieves imagined their own gruesome deaths if they acted out.

  "I’m sorry to disappoint you, then," the man said. "We didn’t know the goblins planned to rob those caravans. But if they want to join our city, they must obey our laws. We bear no ill will toward any nation, and we welcome all legitimate merchants. So we’ll return all the goods to the robbed caravans—we can’t sell them to you. As for your friend… we regret what happened, but no matter who you are, breaking our laws means facing our justice. I hope you’ll remember: punishment for breaking the law here is severe. Be careful."

  The word "law"—something the thieves had always scoffed at—now felt weighty. Most silently vowed that if they survived this, they’d become the most law-abiding people in Oufu. They’d memorize every word on the stone stelae and review them daily to avoid accidental offenses.

  Then the man turned to an unexpected topic: "Whatever your original purpose, since you haven’t broken our laws, you’re our guests. We don’t want our first Ainfast guests to leave empty-handed, so we’ve set aside a small portion of the goods as a gift for you."

  The sudden generosity stunned the thieves. Moments ago, they’d feared execution; now, they were being called "guests," and the loot they’d dreamed of was within reach. The emotional whiplash left them dumbfounded.

  "The goods here are being inventoried to return to the merchants," the man continued. "Your gifts are already at the city hall. Choose a few people to collect them, and you can take them with you."

  Again, Ethan was the only one to speak: "But isn’t the empire sending troops to attack? Even if we take the goods, how do we get back?"

  The man smiled warmly. "We hold no hostility toward any nation, and we have no desire to fight anyone. Your empire’s actions are likely a misunderstanding. We’ll send envoys to negotiate with them soon. Returning your merchants’ goods is our proof of goodwill. I’m sure your empire doesn’t want unnecessary bloodshed. I’m confident we’ll reach a full reconciliation quickly. This small gift is a token of friendship for Ainfast’s private merchants. We hope you’ll tell your friends about Oufu when you return—and share what you’ve seen here."

  Slowly, the thieves processed the good news. Cheers and excitement erupted.

  "Clever," Sophia whispered in Ethan’s ear as the thieves celebrated, her breath tickling his skin. "They’re giving grace after showing force. These thieves, who’ve benefited, will go back and sing praises of Oufu’s order and kindness to humans. Rumors from their mouths are more convincing than official announcements. And returning the goods to the imperial merchants—even if only most of them—will be a huge surprise. The merchants will drop their wariness of this orc city, and the empire’s hostility will fade. Soon, even though people know Oufu is full of orcs, they’ll trust it’s orderly and friendly. This place is on a major trade route—merchants will flood here. In the long run, the benefits will far outweigh the value of these goods."

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Ethan nodded. He only cared about the book hidden among the loot. If things went as planned, everything would be easy.

  After discussion, Ethan—who’d stayed calm in the crisis—was unanimously chosen as their representative. He’d lead a few others to the city hall to collect the goods. This was exactly what Ethan wanted: he needed to check if the book was in the portion set aside for them.

  They followed one of the middle-aged men to the city hall. Unsurprisingly, it was Oufu’s grandest building. Still made of stone, it was over ten times larger than the city’s already big ordinary structures—more like a low, single-story fortress. The central hall was spacious enough for horses to gallop in; its massive stone pillars needed several men to wrap their arms around them. Slabs of stone divided the rest of the building into rooms.

  Half-orcs and humans bustled in and out, carrying papers and talking. They paid no attention to the visiting humans—this was a busy hub, like a trading post.

  The goods were stacked in a corner of the hall. An old man and a young man stood beside them. The middle-aged man introduced the elder as Lord Sedros, Oufu’s governor—the one who’d decided to give the goods to the thieves. The young man was General Gru, commander of all Oufu’s forces.

  Lord Sedros stood straight, his back and waist unbowed by age. His thick silver hair and beard would have been magnificent if left long, but they’d been trimmed short for convenience. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, his neat silver hair glinted, and even the wrinkles on his face seemed alive—as if they were just decorations to show his age, wisdom, and experience. His eyes, however, were young: bright, clear, and full of energy. This was an old man with no trace of "frailty." He dressed plainly; mixed in a crowd, he’d be unremarkable. It was hard to associate him with the powerful title of "governor"—especially of a strange city full of orcs.

  General Gru was around thirty, and his appearance seemed ill-suited to his rank. His face was gaunt and pale, with sharp, sculptural features that gave him a calm demeanor. Under his long eyelashes, his eyes were so dark they seemed to absorb light—there was even a hint of elven elegance in them. When Ethan first saw him, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him, but he couldn’t recall ever meeting him.

  Ethan glanced at him casually, then found himself drawn in. The muscles and bones visible beneath Gru’s clothes, even the sheen of his skin, were perfect—no sculptor could capture the flow and texture of his form. At first glance, it was hard to believe he was made of flesh and blood; he seemed forged from some kind of essence.

  If that body was pure combat potential, then this man lived for battle. Ethan had a sudden realization.

  General Gru suddenly turned his head. His dark eyes met Ethan’s, as if flickering for a moment. Ethan looked away instinctively.

  The portion of goods set aside for them was small but not insignificant—about a tenth of the total, with a little taken from each pile. Compared to the full loot, it was nothing, but it was still worth over a hundred gold coins.

  A few thieves stepped forward to sort and count. Selling this would net each of them around ten gold coins. The prospect of wealth sent them into a frenzy. Even the least eloquent among them showered the Oufu officials with flattery: praising Oufu’s strict laws and high living standards, declaring One-Eye had deserved death for his crimes, calling the inn’s food a "rare delicacy," and attributing it all to Lord Sedros’s wise leadership.

  "If you like it here, please tell your friends in the empire the truth about Oufu when you return," Lord Sedros said, watching the thieves crowd around the goods. He smiled like a kind master watching cats and dogs grow excited over a pile of bones. "And don’t worry about the war rumors. I’m almost certain no war will happen." His tone was casual，full of confidence.

  "No problem! You’re the most talented leader I’ve ever met!" one thief gushed. "If I get the chance, I’ll move to your city!" The thieves’ gratitude poured out.

  "Hey, what’s this?" A thief pulled a package from the goods. Inside were cosmetics, small trinkets, jewelry—girl’s personal items—and a book.

  The book was old, judging by its color, but not tattered. It was soft, bound in leather, and the bold, strange characters on its cover weren’t in any common language.

  "These must be the merchants’ personal belongings—the goblins stole them too and handed them over," the middle-aged man said, stepping forward to take the book and package. "We need to return them to the merchants."

  Ethan shifted his position, hiding his growing excitement. He tried to stay calm, but his goal—this book—was finally within reach. His breath grew heavier.

  He was almost certain he’d get the book now. Once Oufu returned the goods, he’d find Chris’s caravan, show them Bishop Ronis’s letter of appointment, and take the book easily. Then he’d return it to Sandro, report to Ronis, and be done with the whole thing.

  Ethan hated having "obligations." He loved freedom—doing what he wanted, when he wanted. When Ronis had given him this task, he’d felt duty-bound but uncomfortable. Now, this tangled, turbulent mission was unexpectedly coming to an end. It felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from his back; a sense of calm relief washed over him.

  "Wait," Lord Sedros called to the middle-aged man, cutting Ethan’s joy short. "Let me see that book."

  Sedros took the book, flipped through the cover and first few pages, then his expression changed. He clearly understood what it was. Ethan’s face paled even more, but no one noticed.

  "Why would something like this be here?" the governor muttered in surprise, handing the book to General Gru. "It’s too dangerous to let this circulate. Keep it with you."

  "I’ll take it back and put it under my pillow," the young general said calmly, as if that was the safest place in the world. His voice was pleasant—clear and melodious.

  "Good," Sedros nodded, obviously agreeing that it was secure.

  General Gru reached out to take the book. His hands were clean, with long fingers and an elegant shape—matching his sharp, graceful features. Ethan noticed a faint scar on his hand, running from the base of his thumb to the edge of his palm, like a straight crease cutting diagonally across his skin.

  A vague premonition hit Ethan. At this point, it seemed he’d have to rely on the only skill he was good at to get what he wanted.