Episode 83

Salasma and Lantarique were neighboring territories, and their rivalry was inevitable. The Kora River, which marked their border, was vital for trade, irrigation, and fishing, leading to continuous disputes over its banks.

The current Lord of Lantarique, Count Garnahaer, was a prominent noble who also controlled the territory of Adirov. However, when Count Casel ascended in Salasma, Garnahaer underestimated him and provoked a conflict, only to suffer a bitter defeat.

Afterward, Count Garnahaer adjusted his strategy. He sent his daughter for a political marriage with Count Casel while secretly employing operatives to destabilize Salasma. These operatives engaged in slave trading and supported bandit gangs along the border.

The highest-ranking operative Garnahaer deployed was a former guard captain named Doneor. Doneor disliked such covert operations, as he had once dreamed of becoming a knight or retiring wealthy. Being assigned to a bandit gang by Count Garnahaer left him resentful.

However…

Once he settled in, Doneor found the lifestyle surprisingly agreeable. As the saying went, better to be the head of a snake than the tail of a dragon. Experiencing it firsthand proved the old adage true.

Doneor indulged himself with as many of the women captured by the bandits as he desired, plundered luxurious items and treasures, and even kept a personal jester.

The lavish environment he created, rivaling that of minor noble estates, earned his base the nickname “The Bandit King’s Fortress” among other outlaws. It was to this fortress that Shati, the Naga woman, was delivered.

“Bandit King, we’ve captured a Naga.”

“What? What nonsense is this?”

Doneor was skeptical.

“Nagas are all part of the organization trying to rebuild the Nagasura Kingdom. They’re no pushovers. How did someone like you manage to capture one?”

“Well, it’s thanks to them.”

“You know, that inn that cooks its guests in a pot.”

“Ah, that place? So even Nagas can be poisoned, huh?”

Doneor laughed in disbelief.

“So, why a Naga?”

“She’s an incredible beauty.”

“A Naga disguised as a human woman.”

“Ha, sounds entertaining. But are you sure she’s not just a regular woman? Bandits tend to exaggerate, you know.”

Thinking this, Doneor dragged out someone chained beneath his dining table.

“Urgh! What is the meaning of this? Are you mocking a knight?”

The chained man was an old man with snow-white hair. Though age had sapped his vitality and his skin was parched like old wood, his bearing suggested a well-educated background.

Currently, however, he was a pitiful sight. He wore a brass washbasin on his head, a poorly made wooden sword painted with childish colors, and a tattered set of mock armor. His dignity was so diminished that he picked up breadcrumbs from the floor to eat.

“What do you think, Sir Brand?”

Doneor mocked him. Sir Brand stood abruptly.

“Whether the Naga disguised itself as a human, or the people lied to amuse their king, or they were deceived by con artists, none of that matters. What matters is that the king himself must judge! That is the duty of one who wears a crown!”

Sir Brand erased the “bandit” from Doneor’s title of “Bandit King.” To him, Doneor was simply a king, his bandit subordinates were merely soldiers, and their victims were merely subjects.

“Haha, you’re quite amusing. Keeping you alive was worth it.”

Doneor, originally the son of a tanner, carried the foul stench of his trade wherever he went. Tanning was considered a lowly occupation, so even after he became a soldier and accomplished many feats, he was never treated as an equal.

Count Garnahaer had assigned him to the bandit gang precisely because of his humble origins. Yet this old man called him king. Here, in this fortress, he became a ruler of bandits, looting and killing with impunity.

Indeed, it was far from boring. A kingdom of thieves with an eccentric brass knight serving as its jester—why not add a Naga to the mix?

The bandits’ stronghold was located in a basin. While Salasma suffered from drought, this basin seemed untouched. Inside, a small tributary of the Kora River flowed, surrounded by lush vegetation and rows of bandit camps.

At the center stood a wooden fort. Though not a permanent structure, it was far more substantial than a mere tent. Building such a fortress, with wooden palisades forming its perimeter, would have taken at least half a year.

Shati, a Naga operative, immediately grasped what was going on upon seeing the stronghold.

‘This is the work of that slimy Lord of Lantarique—Count Garnahaer!’

Having been at Count Salasma’s estate, she was well-acquainted with the tensions between Salasma and Lantarique. While the daughter of the Lord of Lantarique and Count Casel of Salasma were wed in a political marriage, the underlying enmity between the two territories had never truly subsided.

At that moment, soldiers opened the iron bars.

“Come out, Naga. Our king wishes to see you.”

“A king? A king of bandits?”

“Yes. Our king even has his own personal jester. He’s more regal than most counts.”

“……”

Shati realized that, even in jest, these bandits were distancing themselves from Count Garnahaer.

‘Perhaps I can make it out of here alive after all.’

Holding onto that sliver of hope, she followed the soldiers.

Inside the heart of the fortress, the longhouse was decorated with gold, ivory, and various rare treasures. Women in exotic clothing, likely looted from merchants, were cleaning the interior.

Though the longhouse was large, it didn’t require five or six women to clean it simultaneously. Their scantily clad state suggested they were there to show off the bandit leader’s power to his subordinates.

‘He’s drunk on power. This is typical of men like him.’

Shati was brought before the bandit leader, known as the Bandit King. He was a middle-aged man, seemingly quite capable.

“This… is supposed to be a Naga? She looks like an ordinary human woman to me.”

“Yes, her companion also looked human at first but transformed when they fought.”

“Now that you mention it, there were rumors that the Count of Salasma turned out to be a Naga. She must be connected to him, right?”

“……”

Shati was at a loss for words. Despite his ostentatious surroundings, this bandit leader was unexpectedly sharp.

“Not going to answer? If you’re waiting for your companions to rescue you, being uncooperative defeats the point of surrendering without resistance. Or are you just biding your time?”

“It’s humiliating just speaking to filth like you, you dirty warm-blooded monkeys.”

“Was it your doing that turned the Count into a Naga?”

“That was his own choice. Becoming a servant of the great Cobra Queen Debyslin is an honor. For a warm-blooded monkey, it’s an undeserved blessing.”

“Hmph. So, the Count of Salasma became a cultist. You wouldn’t have accepted him as a servant without a price. What did he offer?”

“The corpses of his subjects. We planned to mummify them and use them to overthrow the Count of Lantarique.”

Shati mixed truth with lies. It was true they had planned to amass undead armies to consume Lantarique and the entire Korasar region. However, the Cobra Queen Debyslin had accepted the Count as a servant because he offered copies of the Heavenly King’s Book of Truth.

Revealing the Heavenly King’s Book of Truth here would only ignite the greed of these bandits.

“Hahaha. Nobles are all the same. They’re truly insane.”

“You sound like someone who wants to be a noble yourself. How about it? Would you like to become a servant of the Cobra Queen?”

“Didn’t you just call me a filthy warm-blooded monkey?”

“That’s beside the point. Becoming a servant would free you from the fate of being a dirty warm-blooded monkey. We Nagas are a far superior and longer-lived race than you humans.”

Shati loathed these bandits but was willing to recruit them if possible.

Count Casel’s death at the hands of the Messenger Clan had ruined the Nagas’ carefully laid plans. If she could recruit this Bandit King and his followers, it would partially salvage their efforts.

“Hm? For someone captured, you seem awfully arrogant.”

Doneor smirked at Shati’s confident demeanor.

“So, what will you do? Will you accept?”

“No, I don’t like it. Trying to negotiate with me as an equal? Hang her on the frame. As for her food, use her fellow Naga’s corpse for now.”

“Yes, sir!”

“…W-What?!”

Shati was taken aback by Doneor’s response.

At that moment, a messenger burst in.

“C-Chief! There’s an emergency!”

“An emergency? What is it?”

“Some lunatic is storming in!”

“A lunatic?”

“Yes! He’s demanding to buy the Naga woman and breaking the arms and legs—or worse, castrating—our guards.”

“Castrating?”

Doneor turned to Shati.

“Sounds like someone’s here for you. Any idea who it might be? A companion of yours?”

“M-Maybe.”

“Talk.”

“You’re planning to hang me on the frame, aren’t you? Why should I tell you anything?”

“If you don’t—”

But screams echoed from the bandits outside.

“Chief, this isn’t the time for this!”

“Please take command!”

“…Damn it! Fine!”

Doneor hurriedly began preparing for battle.

As Azadine and his group entered the basin near the tributary of the Kora River, the signs of the drought plaguing the eastern interior disappeared, replaced by a lush, green forest path.

“Hey, stop following us.”

The guards of an armed merchant caravan ahead of them grew irritated as Azadine’s group kept close.

“We’re not following you on purpose. It’s just a straight road.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t think we don’t know your game. There are lots of bandits in this area, and you’re trying to use us as protection.”

“Even if that’s true, isn’t it better to have more people? Makes it harder for bandits to attack.”

A larger group would indeed be less appealing to bandits. Azadine pointed this out, but the guards of the caravan sneered in response.