The Genius Mage Who Uses His Fists - Episode 24 (21/201)
Episode 24. The Slave Merchant (2)
I had the rescued elderly stay at the lodging. It was a place secured by Torres, so I didn’t spend a single penny.
“You’ll surely be blessed… We’re at a loss for how to repay such kindness.”
“I acted on personal conscience. Please don’t burden yourselves.”
The elderly savored the sizzling Wayji Mountain beef while stealing glances at me. Having tasted Bertie beef before, I found it unremarkable, but they seemed to treasure every bite.
“My name is Gordon. I was originally middle-class, but somehow ended up like this…”
I’ve always enjoyed conversing with experienced individuals.
It’s not that I value the Eastern Kingdom’s Confucian hierarchy. It’s just that their words are like reading a book.
There’s always something to gain from such talks, and this time was no exception.
“I worked as an assistant for the Chervil family. After their downfall, I was captured by slave traders—though nobles once lined up to seek us.”
“You were truly with the Chervil family?!”
The unexpected name startled me.
If mages have Arahant, blacksmiths have the Chervil family.
Though now lost to history, people once flocked like clouds during their prime to obtain even a single magical artifact.
“Haha, all past glory now. Recalling those days brings tears.”
“I heard the family shattered due to an incident. It’s fortunate you survived.”
“A few of us did. Sheer luck.”
The Chervil family’s techniques were passed only to direct heirs—now extinct. A significant loss for the empire battling demonic beasts.
“A shame. Their continued legacy could’ve created wonders.”
“Well…”
Gordon glanced around. Sensing his intent, I moved us somewhere quieter. Despite the emptiness, he remained cautious.
“I wish to offer help… But swear to keep this secret. I’d rather die a slave than a traitor.”
“Of course. Speak freely.”
After prolonged hesitation, Gordon whispered, “Chervil’s true heir lives.”
“Is that true?!”
“Shh! I tell you only because you seem trustworthy. At least it won’t harm them…”
“Where are they?”
“If plans held, they’re in Myers.”
Could it be?
Chervil’s surviving heir was nuclear-level intel.
The family was massacred for rebellion. Survivors would live as traitors.
“…Astonishing. Officially, they were wiped out.”
“The chief assistant died in Lord Racto’s place. They swapped clothes and… burned the face beyond recognition.”
Gordon trailed off.
I grasped the situation.
So Racto lives…
“The eldest son, I presume?”
“You know Lord Racto?”
I did.
Though never met, he appeared in NPC dialogues—blacksmiths boasting, “Even Racto couldn’t make this!”
‘This game’s deeper than I thought.’
I’d assumed it was just brutally difficult. Yet such details existed—hints woven into blacksmith banter. Whether players noticed was another matter.
“Let’s return. We’ve been gone too long.”
“Understood.”
The weight of this information made me cautious. I hurried back, feigning normalcy.
“Sigh…”
Riu sat gloomily, untouched food before him. I’d neglected him during the talks.
I sat and patted his shoulder.
“We’ll find your brother soon. Don’t lose heart.”
“Mmm…”
High hopes breed deep despair.
His former employer now dealt in slaves, his brother’s whereabouts unknown—no wonder he couldn’t eat.
I understood his pain.
“Today’s slaver was small fry. Tomorrow, we’ll visit Devito for clues.”
“Wait! Did you say Devito?!”
An elder interjected, shaking his hands agitatedly.
“Don’t! He’s leagues above Haber—notorious for cruelty!”
“I have Bahaal’s support. What’s the issue?”
“Young master, know who backs Devito? His empire-wide connections! Rumors say Arahant’s his top client!”
Arahant? A southern slaver reaching the west?
Possible, yet hard to believe.
“Why trade with distant Arahant? Western slavers abound. For backing, Bahaal’s better.”
“Bahaal shuns underhanded deals. No slaves. Mages? They’d sell their souls for profit.”
Why did that sting?
Keeping calm, I asked, “What does Arahant gain?”
“Enemy’s loss is their gain. If Arahant drains the south of slaves, local nobles suffer.”
I understood.
Nobles rely on slaves—cheaper than hired labor.
Arahant’s goal wasn’t slaves but crippling the south’s workforce.
‘I’m an Arahant too, but this is low.’
No wonder mages are despised.
Bahaal, hiring workers formally, wouldn’t suffer much. Yet Arahant schemed anyway.
What kind of family were they?
‘Should’ve investigated when the Black Guard operated here.’
Wait, hold up?
Suddenly, it hits me. If Debito and Arahan are really making a deal, could the Black Guards be protecting him?
This is entirely possible. If true, the situation has escalated far beyond simple proportions.
This isn’t just about eliminating a slave trader—it’s a silent war between Bahal and Arahan.
‘If a power struggle erupts, where should I stand?’
The answer came swiftly.
Though I inhabit a mage’s body, my values and beliefs differ entirely from this world’s mages.
Not that I side with the knights, either.
If it were me, I’d either repay those scheming in my territory in kind or make them pay a fitting price.
Neither dirtying my hands for profit nor foolishly enduring humiliation for honor aligns with my principles.
‘Regardless, the slave trader must be dealt with.’
For Liu’s sake, and for basic decency.
A slave trader flouting the law is nothing but garbage to be disposed of.
The real problem is dismantling those shielded by the Black Guards.
I left the inn at dawn.
“Welcome.”
“I’m here to see Debito.”
“……?”
The gatekeeper glared at me disdainfully, as if asking, Do you even know where you are?
I shoved his face aside and stormed in.
“H-hey! What the hell are you doing?”
Inside sat a group of rough-looking men.
Their builds and weapons alone made it clear they were leagues above yesterday’s slave traders.
A flicker of danger prickled my skin, but I feigned indifference.
“Where’s Debito?”
“You got a death wish? Know where you are?”
“A den for backdoor dealings.”
“Hah! What’s this brat on about? Dressed like a noble, but even nobles get their heads lopped off here. Scram while you can.”
Before crushing them, I needed answers. The key question: was Arahan truly involved?
I lowered my voice, probing.
“Getting bold since partnering with Arahan, aren’t you?”
“What?! How do you know—”
“I’ve no words for underlings. Bring Debito out. Now.”
“Who… who exactly are you?”
Their attitudes shifted instantly.
Those slouching earlier now stood stiffly, hands clasped in forced respect.
“Who do you think I am?”
I slowly removed my lenses.
Blinking away the dryness, my eyes felt clearer.
“A-Arahan?!”
Gasps erupted.
The arrogant thugs dropped to their knees, foreheads hitting the floor.
Yet one man at the back remained upright—pale-skinned and eerily calm.
He stared blankly before giving a slow nod.
Was he Debito?
No—his attire marked him as a subordinate.
But his composure…
‘So the Black Guard is real.’
My suspicions crystallized.
Debito’s ties to Arahan were confirmed, with a Black Guard hiding among his men.
I’d hoped it was rumor. It wasn’t.
“My, my.”
Footsteps clacked from above.
The sound descended until the man himself appeared.
“What brings someone of your stature to this pit?”
He defied expectations—long face, slit eyes, a cunning smirk.
Not brutish, but sly.
“You’re Debito?”
“A nickname. Not my birth name.”
He pulled a whiskey glass from a shelf, adding ice calmly.
Unfazed by my gaze. Arahan’s name held no power here.
“Heard you wrecked the harbor yesterday.”
“News travels fast.”
“Didn’t expect you here. Reckless… or ignorant?”
He sipped whiskey, chuckling.
His men exchanged confused glances. As their boss stood firm, the groveling underlings began rising.
The tide was turning.
I sharpened my tone, reclaiming authority.
“Arahan severs ties. Hand over the slaves, and I’ll leave.”
“Pfft—! Ah, forgive me. Kuk-kuk—!”
“No respect? You think you’ll survive meeting Arahan’s gaze?”
“Do I? They say eye contact with Arahan means death. So when do I die?”
“…….”
Damn Black Guard rats.
His composure betrayed his knowledge—my bluff, Arahan’s disinterest.
Debito drained his glass, voice hardening.
“But I’ll spare you. Consider this a life lesson.”
Clang! Clang!
His men drew swords—not crude blades, but honed longswords.
‘Only one Black Guard?’
Steel aimed at my heart, but I ignored it.
The real threat was the pale-faced guard.
What level? 4th Circle? 5th?
‘5th Circle’s manageable.’
I steadied my stance, gathering resolve.
Taking him out first would decide this.
As I visualized the fight—
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The ground trembled.
Magic? From the Black Guard?
Before I could process it, a roar echoed outside:
“Make way! The Lord of Bahal approaches!”
