The Storm Of Coral Sahar (2)

The merchants who had their wealth stolen and received fraudulent promissory notes, along with the residents who were suddenly driven from their homes, all turned their rage toward the king.

“Someone else should have become king!”

“That’s right!”

“But still, Count Casel is a bit…”

“Then what about Ject the Arbiter? He is of royal blood as well.”

“He’s a northern royal! What does he know about our region?”

“But isn’t he an extraordinary Holy Knight? If he had taken the throne, this wouldn’t have happened…”

As Ject’s name was brought up in conversation, Zebec couldn’t hold back and stepped forward before the crowd.

“What reckless nonsense are you all spouting?”

“Huh?!”

“Ah!”

Seeing Zebec, a Holy Knight of the King’s Church, everyone was startled.

“N-No, it was nothing.”

“Hehe…”

The merchants immediately withdrew their words and put on servile smiles.

However, the refugees who had lost their homes still harbored venomous gazes, even in the presence of a Holy Knight of the King’s Church.

Being able to swallow one’s pride, put on a smile, and act submissively in front of the strong was a skill that only the merchants, with their mental resilience, could manage.

The ones who were already exhausted and desperate had no interest in restraining themselves for a mere Holy Knight.

“Hmph.”

“This world is ending. Have you ever heard of rain pouring non-stop for a week—no, two weeks—in the royal capital?”

“With such a catastrophe occurring, isn’t it obvious what’s happening?”

“Whether it’s Count Casel or Sir Ject, I doubt things would be much different. But that doesn’t mean the current king is particularly competent either.”

“If you have anything to say, go ahead, Holy Knight!”

Instead of backing down, the refugees grew angrier and began to surround Zebec. Had Azadine and his group not been standing behind him, they might have rushed forward and beaten him.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go. Here, take this as a token for your trouble.”

Azadine tossed some coins to the refugees to ease their mood.

“Are you really giving money to these blasphemers?”

Zebec didn’t seem pleased with Azadine’s decision to appease those who had spoken such sacrilegious words.

“It just so happens that I, too, am a blasphemer. Endure it, Sir Zebec. You’re not going to start brawling with civilians, are you?”

“Still, this is quite serious. For the palace where the king resides to be experiencing a flood—it’s unimaginable.”

Mediam spoke with concern, lost in thought.

“I wonder if Sion is safe.”

“Sion?”

“My cousin. He was a former Messenger.”

Mediam shrugged as she spoke.

“He was fond of me, so if we meet, he’ll definitely hear us out. Azadine, he might even help clear up your misunderstandings.”

“Well… First, let’s worry about whether he’s still alive.”

That was how dire the situation in Coral Sahar seemed.

“Come on, he’s a former Messenger. What could possibly happen to him?”

“We’ll see.”

With those words, Azadine turned his steps toward Coral Sahar.

As they approached Coral Sahar, the river’s water level kept rising. The Kora River, which had nearly dried up in Salasma, was now overflowing and reaching the embankments.

But then—

“The river is flowing in reverse.”

Azadine clicked his tongue as he noticed the unsettling movement of the water.

“That means Coral Sahar has received a lot of rain. Normally, river water flows backward when the sea tide comes in…”

“But that usually stops at the lower reaches. Yet, we’re not even at Coral Sahar yet, and the river is reversing this far?”

It was undeniable that an incredible amount of rain was falling in Coral Sahar. Just as Azadine was thinking this—

—Swiish!

An arrow flew toward Azadine.

No, not just at Azadine—an entire rain of arrows was fired upward from below the embankment, targeting the entire group.

Without much thought, Azadine instinctively swatted away the arrows with his hands while stepping back.

“Agh! I’m gonna die!”

Scott, on the other hand, shrieked and curled up in fear.

“The Messenger Clan?”

Zebec used his scabbard, cloak, and armor to shield Scott from the incoming arrows. Though the arrows carried deadly force, Zebec managed to protect both himself and Scott unscathed.

“Damn it! Why are you people always fighting each other?!”

Shati, the Naga operative, screamed as she ducked behind Scott’s wheelchair.

“That’s quite the aggressive greeting.”

Azadine counted the arrows that had been fired and clicked his tongue.

There were more than just a few Aragasa members hidden below the embankment. At least twenty of them were firing arrows.

Among them stood a figure who appeared to be their leader. A young man seemingly around Azadine’s age, wearing a mask similar to Azadine’s but far more extravagantly decorated with gemstones.

The composed stance he maintained, as if he hadn’t just launched an ambush, suggested that the earlier attack had merely been a greeting.

Sure enough, he addressed Azadine.

“If you get hit by an arrow from this distance, you have no right to call yourself Aragasa! That was merely a light greeting! Had you been struck, I would have been gravely disappointed!”

It was an absurd claim. Among the Aragasa, it was customary to call a long-range arrow shot from over a hundred paces an “introduction.”

However, that only applied when both parties recognized each other.

Even an Aragasa warrior could not easily defend against an ambush of arrows that was lying in wait.

It was only because Azadine had been suspicious beforehand that he managed to react in time. Otherwise, he would have been struck down by the arrows.

“Oh? Then I should return the greeting as well!”

Azadine strung his bow and fired an arrow.

The masked young man sneered and caught Azadine’s arrow midair, but—

“?!”

He was caught off guard by the overwhelming force. He barely managed to twist the arrow’s direction as he staggered backward. If he had tried to catch it head-on, it would have pierced right through his face.

“Ugh?! You insane—! You infused magic into a greeting arrow? Were you trying to kill me?!”

It was ridiculous for someone who had initiated the attack with a sneak attack to accuse Azadine of attempted murder.

“I didn’t enchant it with magic.”

“Hah. Don’t lie. Don’t put on an act. That was a standard Moon Horn Bow, and you used lightweight arrows—how the hell did you get that much power out of it?”

“By using traditional Aragasa archery techniques, the same bow can shoot with greater force.”

“And you expect me to believe you achieved such precision with Aragasa archery techniques? Don’t joke with me.”

Aragasa techniques increased projectile speed by pushing arrows forward, originally designed for soldiers to extend their range when firing in volleys.

It was more akin to a projectile launcher than proper archery.

Yet the precision Azadine had just demonstrated was so uncanny that it didn’t seem possible through traditional Aragasa methods.

At that moment, Mediam recognized the young man.

“Sion, my brother!”

When his name was called, the young man removed his mask.

He was a striking young man with pale skin, bright blonde hair, and gray-blue eyes.

“Oh, Mediam, it’s you. Haha, it’s been a few years, and now you’ve become a proper young lady.”

He greeted Mediam warmly but then turned his sharp gaze toward Azadine. His hand, which had caught Azadine’s arrow, throbbed from the impact. Even with gloves, his fingers hurt—had he been barehanded, his skin would have been torn.

“Are you seriously telling me that arrow wasn’t enchanted?”

“I can’t enchant arrows with magic.”

“What? What kind of nonsense—”

“You mean to tell me you haven’t heard of my reputation? I assumed all Aragasa knew that ‘Azadine the Disgraced’ is a fool who can’t use magic.”

“I thought everyone outside of the Ethar bloodline was a fool. Competing over who’s the bigger idiot doesn’t interest me.”

Hearing this, Shati chuckled.

“Another one like Scott. Arrogant in speech, aren’t you?”

“I simply speak the truth, which makes me honest rather than arrogant. That guy, however, is truly arrogant.”

Scott proudly muttered as he grumbled.

“The Messenger Clan sure has rough greetings. I almost died from that ‘introduction.’”

“But it looks like the greeting is only the beginning, doesn’t it?”

As Shati pointed out, Sion and his subordinates hadn’t lowered their weapons.

The ambush in the first place… must have been to intercept any Messenger Clan members of Arael’s faction traveling along this route.

Had Mediam not been recognized among them, that first volley might not have been just a greeting.

“We should at least talk this out, don’t you think?”

Azadine steadied his mind, recalling that Mediam had recognized this young man.

“…So, you’re Azadine the Disgraced. Arael’s brother.”

Sion Ethar nodded, as if he had already heard about Azadine.

“I’m the older one. She’s the younger brother.”

“You’re arguing about that despite being twins? You must have a great bond. If you really hated each other, you’d be trying to kill each other instead of arguing about seniority. Not that it matters—neither of you have any inheritance anyway, just a pair of penniless vagabonds.”

“You little—”

“So then. You’re a traitor to the Senate, aren’t you? I assume you’re following your kin. If that’s the case, release my cousin.”

“No! Brother! Azadine is not on Arael’s side! I can vouch for him!”

“…Is that so?”

Sion tilted his head slightly.

“Then I welcome you. But it’s surprising—siblings usually aren’t this estranged. Is there something wrong with your personality?”

“You seem awfully upset about it. Shouldn’t you be happy that I’m not Arael’s ally?”

“Not really. Low-ranking Messengers like you—enemy or ally, it doesn’t make much difference.”

“Low-ranking Messenger?”

“Azadine the Disgraced, what’s your rank?”

“108th rank.”

“Seriously? I expected you to be at the very bottom, but you’re actually dead last? That explains why you infused magic into your greeting arrow out of sheer pride.”

Sion was convinced that the sheer weight behind Azadine’s arrow had to be the result of magic—he couldn’t believe it was simply due to skill and strength.

Azadine turned to Mediam and asked,

“Has he always been like this?”

Mediam laughed awkwardly.

At that moment, Sion’s expression turned serious.

“Listen up. Stay away from my cousin. No matter what bond a Messenger has with their servant, Mediam is an Ethar. You can’t just treat her however you want. Of course, I understand that, as a man, you might be unable to resist Mediam’s beauty, but still…”

“…….”

“And Mediam, why did you run off like that? If you’d just waited a little, we would’ve arranged a fine position for you.”

Azadine ignored the comment and instead asked,

“Forget that. Tell me about Korasar and Coral Sahar. What’s going on?”

“Ever since Dimia of the Flower and her younger sister Janis passed through here, the storms have been relentless. It’s almost laughable.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if a storm is raging, shouldn’t Aleph of the Wind be the one causing trouble? Yet it’s Dimia of the Flower who’s making waves. Doesn’t quite match her title, does it?”

“…….”