Chapter 34: The First Day of Rescue

  Within the empire’s borders, the capital was roughly located in the center. Galloping east or north on fast horses for about two months would bring you to the coast; to the south and southwest lay a federation of smaller nations; and to the west was the Barbarian Highlands, where orcs roamed.

  To be precise, the highlands were not part of the empire’s territory—they belonged to no nation at all, and no humans had ever dared to settle there. Since ancient times, it had been a haunt for all manner of dangerous subhumans: werewolves in the jungles, lizardmen along the edges of the Lizard Marsh, and ogre tribes scattered across the wastelands. Rumor had it that in the remote mountainous regions further north, there were also gigantic, ferocious exotic beasts and giant eagles.

  Beyond the Barbarian Highlands, continuing west, you would reach several other kingdoms. Imperial caravans had long maintained trade with these lands. Though merchants always hired large groups of mercenaries, nearly half of their caravans still ended up as meals for the orcs. For over a decade, the imperial army had launched large-scale campaigns to wipe out the orcs, essentially clearing the Barbarian Highlands of them entirely. Only then did trade between the empire and the West flourish, and small towns even began to spring up on the edges of the highlands.

  Bracada was one such town. It had started as no more than a few post stations and inns, but as trade grew, more people gathered, and it gradually developed into a proper town. It was near here that Chris’s caravan had been raided—and the goblins had also left instructions for where to deliver the ransom nearby.

  Ethan had ridden day and night from the capital without stopping, reaching Bracada in just twenty days. Half a year earlier, this was where he and Sophia had come ashore after escaping the Lizard Marsh.

  It was a town that felt overly young—hasty and rough around the edges. Every building had been put up in a rush in the past few years. Most had started as small, temporary inns; as business boomed, they expanded rapidly, again and again. Even those built with larger plans from the start had no decorative frills whatsoever—its guests were practical traveling merchants and tough mercenaries who lived by the sword. The entire town thus had a crude, slapdash feel, with not a hint of culture or subtlety. But no one seemed to care; the constant flow of people and noisy streets radiated a vitality all its own.

  The town revolved around three industries. First, of course, were inns for lodging; second, mercenary taverns where caravans recruited bodyguards; and third, the venues most beloved by mercenaries and merchants—brothels. Allegedly, to make management easier, the local magistrate had ordered all inns, taverns, and brothels in the town to operate as combined establishments. These three pillar industries merged into one, and the town was filled with rough-looking venues of identical design, indistinguishable from each other. Even their interiors were the same chaotic mix of merchants, prostitutes, and mercenaries—a unique, one-of-a-kind folk culture peculiar to this new settlement.

  Ethan went straight to the town hall. As soon as he met the local magistrate, he pulled out the letter of appointment the duke had given him. Over the past ten-odd days of travel, he’d learned this was the most effective way to get things done. At first, he’d wasted energy explaining to post station officials that he was the duke’s envoy; they’d all looked at him skeptically—until he produced the letter. Then they’d scramble to prepare horses for him, offer food and wine, and treat him with deference.

  The magistrate was none other than Lord Bolgan, who had helped them half a year earlier. Lord Bolgan was only around twenty years old—young for a magistrate, a sign of his considerable ability. He was a stocky, slow-witted-looking man with a short, stubby frame topped by an oversized head, his build rather like a child’s cloth doll. His broad, pancake-like face was crudely adorned with equally large, rough features: big, dark eyes that stared unflinchingly at anything noteworthy, showing no trace of dullness or foolishness. His hair stuck up in disarray, like a bird’s nest—no amount of combing could tame it.

  True to his rough appearance, he moved about with quick, fussy energy, more like a waiter in a shabby inn than a government official. He and the town he governed were cut from the same cloth: no regard for ceremony or rules, but brimming with efficient vitality.

  Contrary to his seemingly foolish looks, he still remembered Ethan as the man who’d drifted ashore here with the duke’s daughter half a year earlier. When he saw the duke’s letter and learned Ethan’s purpose, he was shocked. “Is this the same duke’s daughter who was injured last time?” he asked.

  “No, it’s her younger sister,” Ethan replied.

  Lord Bolgan let out an “oh.” He was still sitting on a chair that was a bit too big for him, his feet dangling in the air, and his bushy, broom-like eyebrows furrowed. “Sir Envoy, I’m afraid the local authorities can’t be of much help here,” he said. His voice was a strange mix of duck and goose—unpleasant to the ear, yet he still tried to raise it impressively at key points. “It’s like every thief in the world has flocked here. There have been three or four incidents just this week.” He looked indignant, slamming his short, thick hands on the desk with a thud. “Because of the war in the south, the troops stationed here were all transferred two years ago. The local guard has started recruiting a lot of new soldiers, but they’re still not enough to keep the peace. I’ve already reported to the court, asking for some troops to be transferred back from the south. I suggest you wait for the reinforcements to arrive before acting.”

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  “No need. I can handle this on my own,” Ethan said. Having others stay out of it was for the best—he’d kept Bishop Ronis’s advice to “keep a low profile” in mind. The only reason he’d informed the magistrate was that he might need to collect the ransom from him if necessary.

  Lord Bolgan jumped down from his chair. “You’d better not act rashly. The goblins have suddenly become much more violent for some reason. Before, they only did petty thefts for small money—some even had honest jobs. But lately, something’s changed. They don’t just rob anymore; if they face resistance, they’ll use knives, and people often get injured or killed. You’re a stranger here—if something happens to you, I can’t take responsibility for it.”

  Ethan said, “You don’t have to worry about that. I just want you to tell me what’s been happening lately.”

  “Hm…” Lord Bolgan paced back and forth, his bushy eyebrows furrowed so tightly they nearly stood on end, as if wracking his brain. After a moment, he suddenly ran to the door, peeked outside, closed it, and walked back to Ethan. He only came up to Ethan’s chest; looking up at Ethan seemed to make him feel awkward, so he pointed to the chair. “Sir Envoy, please sit down first.”

  Ethan sat in the chair, and Bolgan hopped up onto the desk—now a little taller than Ethan. He looked down at Ethan with his big, bulging, ox-like eyes. “Sir Envoy, I’ll be honest—I took a liking to you as soon as I saw you. You’re not like those other annoying officials sent from the capital. I can tell you’re from a common background, someone who worked his way up on his own. So I think you’re more open-minded, and I want to confide something in you. I wouldn’t dare tell this to just anyone. I’m the magistrate here—the people’s guardian. I can’t go around speculating or spreading rumors. But this matter is really strange.” Lord Bolgan leaned in close, his large mouth and upturned pig-like nostrils almost in Ethan’s face. “You know, our laws don’t say whether goblins count as imperial citizens, so people usually aren’t nice to them. Petty theft is one thing, but as soon as word gets out that they’ve done something serious, the army immediately wipes out their villages—men, women, and children. So those green-skinned devils have always been well-behaved, usually too scared to cause trouble. But now they’re suddenly so bold…”

  “You mean someone is backing them?” Ethan asked.

  “Some—one—is,” Lord Bolgan’s eyes grew even larger, as if they might pop out of their sockets and knock Ethan over. He leaned in even closer; though he tried to lower his voice, it still came out as that high-pitched duck quack. “For the past two months, there have been strange rumors. People say a huge city is being built deep in the Barbarian Highlands—and it’s an orc city. They say werewolves, lizardmen, ogres… all kinds of orcs have gathered there. The goblins plan to join this orc alliance too. They’ve decided they don’t want to live in the corners of human society anymore, so they have nothing to lose. That’s why they’re suddenly so bold—they want to make a big haul before they leave. Oh, and I also heard they’re transporting all the goods and money they rob to the depths of the wasteland.”

  After speaking, he finally pulled back—but then suddenly sighed. “I know this sounds absurd. I can barely believe it myself. At first, it was just a small rumor, but now it’s spread all over town… Wait, why do you look so pale?”

  Ethan coughed and composed his expression, speaking as if casually: “Surely that can’t be true…”

  “Whether it’s true or not—if it is, just think how important that information would be. I’ve written reports about these rumors, but I got no response from the court. When I told the officials who came to inspect in person, they just yelled at me, saying I must have lost my mind. I don’t have enough men here to send scouts deep into the wasteland. All I can do now is tell you. Once you bring the duke’s daughter back, talk to the duke—see if he can send troops here…”

  Suddenly, there was a frantic knock on the door, and a voice shouted from outside: “Lord Bolgan! It’s an emergency—another caravan has been raided!”

  Lord Bolgan jumped off the desk and cursed a vulgar phrase often used by street thugs. He opened the door, then turned to Ethan. “I’m sorry, Sir Envoy—help yourself for now. I’ll go deal with this and be right back.” With that, he ran off with the man outside.

  Ethan sat there, stunned. He’d seen the orcs’ strength half a year earlier—this rumor might well be true. If the goblins were really transporting their loot deep into the highlands, and if that book was unfortunately among it… He began to pray that Chris had taken a liking to the book, carried it with her everywhere, and even tucked it into her underclothes to protect it when she was kidnapped.

  No— it was just an unremarkable book. No one would think it was worth anything. The goblins would never have bothered to steal it during the raid. Maybe the book was still with someone from the caravan. All he had to do was ransom Chris, then find the person and get the book back. Thinking this, Ethan felt much more at ease.

  But thinking alone would never solve the problem. Ethan decided to first follow the map the goblins had left, go to the ransom drop-off point, and negotiate with them. He needed to see what the situation was really like.