Ch.461Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Emotions are volatile. Forgetting is like a natural abrasive that occurs with the passage of time, making it extremely difficult to maintain original feelings no matter how hard one tries to hold onto them.

That’s precisely why we admire those who manage to maintain their initial resolve.

Because forgetting and familiarity wash away emotions buried in the heart and deceive the mind. Once emotions have evaporated, it’s difficult to find them again, and it’s impossible to rebuild collapsed boundaries.

By the same logic,

“يرجع. التراث القبلي. (Return it. The tribal heritage.) تابوت الارز. (Cedar coffin.)”

When the muscular figure who had crawled out of the fire pit started speaking in short, difficult-to-understand common language of the Mauritanian continent.

“……”

“…Uh, ahem. Frederick?”

“…Hmm?”

“…Put some clothes on, you bastard.”

It was an inevitable phenomenon that the guy who had looked like a devil just moments ago was now being perceived as a half-naked public indecency criminal.

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Breaking and entering, robbery, aggravated assault, violation of Article 71 of the Unauthorized Magic Use Act, public indecency, and so on.

A caught-in-the-act criminal who had committed countless crimes too numerous to list without making my mouth hurt, a half-naked muscular tattooed pig soup bone broth insect. In short, a pervert.

After interrogating the intruder caught rummaging through our residence, we obtained some mind-blowing information.

First, the identity of the second intruder.

“I. Shamar. Come. From homeland tribe.”

The half-naked performance artist (or in other words, a flasher) was a traveler from some rural area on the Mauritanian continent. He introduced himself as ‘Shamar,’ which I initially thought was his name, but it turned out it wasn’t.

“You’re Shamar?”

“Yes.”

“Is Shamar your name?”

“No.”

“Are you playing twenty questions with me? When I ask for your name, what nonsense are you spouting? This guy’s completely crazy!”

“Gyaaak! Calm down, calm down!”

Ah, that was this bastard’s name.

Shamar was his title, or rather, his role in the tribe. According to Camilla (who stepped in as an interpreter since she didn’t want us fighting due to language barriers), ‘Shamar’ originated from a word meaning ‘guardian’ or ‘sentinel.’

In other words, this guy was a sentinel who had been guarding something.

“A sentinel? This guy?”

“How can you call a person ‘bastard’…”

“Well, I guess it’s not impossible.”

Despite being stabbed, slashed, and even burned all over by Camilla’s magic at close range, he was fine. The burns and cuts had long since disappeared without a trace.

Remarkable vitality and recovery ability. Plus strange full-body tattoos and abilities I’d never seen before. At this level, he could be called a professional mercenary rather than just a sentinel.

When a sentinel leaves his post, it can be interpreted in two ways:

Either he abandoned his position to travel elsewhere.

Or he’s searching for something he’s supposed to protect.

This guy fell into the latter category.

“Some robbers broke into the tribe’s temple and stole a heritage item, and he followed them all the way to Necropolis. Protecting the temple and heritage is the ‘Shamar’s’ duty, so he’s been wandering around the city for weeks trying to recover it by any means. Suddenly, he detected traces of the heritage in a building… an energy? Power? Something like that?”

“And the place he felt it was our lodging?”

“Yes. So he snuck into the building.”

The third piece of information we discovered was how he ended up in the Port of the Dead Whale, and why he had searched our lodging.

Robbers who had broken into the temple Shamir Akande was guarding. The robbers stole the tribe’s heritage and fled.

Shamir Akande followed their traces to Necropolis, and today, he met us.

What the heritage from the temple was, why it needed to be recovered, who the robbers were—he didn’t mention these things, but I didn’t feel the need to press him.

The answer was contained in the first piece of information we discovered when we first encountered him.

“So that damn heritage is a cedar coffin?”

Cedar coffin.

That solved all the questions. The reason for recovering the heritage, the identity of the robbers, Akande’s purpose for coming here, and why he broke into our lodging.

Camilla nodded.

“Yes. I don’t understand what it means… but anyway, that’s what this man claims.”

…Damn. The situation had become seriously complicated because of those crazy cult bastards. I clicked my tongue as I roughly messed up my hair.

The reason Akande had attacked me while searching our lodging was, when you think about it, because of those guys. No, it was definitely because of them.

The half-naked muscular pig flasher had unleashed some kind of magical or ritualistic power on me because he mistook me for one of those damn cult members.

Camilla, who was taking notes on Shamir Akande’s testimony, tilted her head and stared at me.

“He says he sensed the energy of the temple robbers from Frederick too? It was very faint, so he didn’t notice until he got close, but he knew right away when he saw you. At first, he attacked because you shot a gun and he thought you were one of the robbers…”

“And then?”

“Now that he sees you, he says you just have the energy on you but don’t look like someone who would steal the heritage. More specifically, you don’t seem strong enough to have stolen it. Anyway, he says he’s sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“…You throw a person into a trash can and think saying sorry is enough, you son of a—”

“Aaaah! Stop! Stop! That’s enough cursing!”

*

We salvaged the intact luggage and documents, and completely destroyed the few unnecessary pieces of equipment.

Although an innocent building had been completely burned down, Vereda didn’t mind at all. The Palm Tree Trading Company was wealthy, and the Necropolis branch was a new branch where the Hormoz branch head didn’t spare any investment.

Vereda, the Necropolis branch manager, even offered to call a doctor if anyone was injured, telling us not to hesitate to ask.

Of course, I declined the offer.

“What do we do now?”

In the supply room of the Palm Tree Trading Company’s Necropolis branch.

Camilla asks while sipping hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.

“According to protocol, after engaging with a third party, we destroy equipment and move to the next safe house. Then we contact headquarters to decide whether to stay or evacuate.”

“What does the company say?”

I answered while unwrapping a sandwich.

“They want us to leave with that guy.”

The fluttering wrapper pointed somewhere. When Camilla looked in that direction, she began to scold me with a disgusted expression.

“Why do you use such bad expressions when referring to people!”

“It’s my choice.”

“Haa. Really…”

Burp! A loud belch cut off her sigh.

I gave him a pointed look, but the barbaric muscle pig had apparently devoured both manners and social awareness, as he continued to belch with a satisfied expression.

Five fish bought from the fish market near the harbor, half a goat slaughtered and cooked in the traditional nomadic way, boiled eggs with pilaf…

Akande had devoured in one sitting what could have been a meal for a family of five. And as if that wasn’t enough, he gulped down a full cup of jallab (a traditional drink made with date syrup and rose water, with added raisins, pine nuts, and honey for flavor).

I’d met many locals who ate until they were stuffed during Ramadan while working in the Middle East… but I’d never seen anyone eat like Akande in my life.

No, wait. Maybe once?

“…Why are you suddenly looking at me?”

“No, just… No particular reason.”

I lowered my gaze to avoid her piercing blue eyes. But soon after, I straightened my head and faced Camilla again.

Although I feared her fiery wrath (literally fire), I felt I needed to speak my mind.

“Camilla. Honestly, that—”

“That person.”

“Don’t you think we need to do something about that person?”

Camilla slightly crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, as if asking what I wanted to say.

Feeling frustrated, I pointed at Akande and raised my voice.

“It’s fine if he just sits there, but shouldn’t we at least make him observe basic manners?”

We’ll part ways as soon as we leave Necropolis anyway. The military intelligence bureau has reported to the Abbas government, which has informed the Order and Al-Yabd, so someone will come soon to take custody of Akande.

Although we’ll never see him again after a few days, shouldn’t he at least live like a decent human being for those few days?

At the very least, stop him from belching while others are eating.

Waving my still-unwrapped sandwich, I passionately expressed my complaints. But Camilla maintained her indifferent expression.

“What do you want me to do? Isn’t it strange for me to scold a grown adult?”

“Isn’t it your responsibility?”

“No, why would this be my responsibility?”

“It’s the white man’s burden.”

“……”

Blink. Blink.

Camilla blinked repeatedly as if she didn’t understand what I was saying. Then, as if realizing something, her face suddenly hardened.

“…@%^$^#&@#!!”

She suddenly started screaming strange obscenities and getting furious.

As the heat rose, her face turned bright red, and sparks flew from her mouth—the precursor to her breath attack.

Realizing I’d be roasted like a marshmallow if I stayed put, I quickly stuffed the sandwich into her mouth and fled outside.

“…Hey! Stop right there!?”

An angry shout followed me belatedly.

*

The official name of Necropolis, the Port of the Dead Whale, suggests that the fastest and most effective way to leave this place is not by land but by sea.

However, ship departures aren’t something that can be cut like taffy according to a candy seller’s whim. Entry/exit ports, routes, reasons, inspections, and so on—there are hundreds of inspections and procedures and thousands of documents required for a ship to enter or leave port.

Therefore, our departure from the city had to coincide with the scheduled ship departure date.

“When are we leaving?”

“Three days from now. A company ship is heading to Kenbe Port to load cargo.”

The plan is simple.

A ship belonging to the Palm Tree Trading Company (technically registered in the Sobab Islands, a notorious tax haven) will leave Necropolis at 02:00 sharp three days from now.

The destination is Kenbe Port, 472 miles to the east. There, it will load goods and materials needed by the local branch, then return via a stopover.

After leaving Necropolis and entering international waters, the ship will briefly slow down. At this point, we’ll disembark and “coincidentally” join a passing trawler to return.

Sipping traditional Mauritanian tea, I blurted out:

“Never thought I’d see the day when I’d ride a water golem instead of an SDV.”

“An SD-what?”

Joaquin, who was breaking sugar cubes with a teaspoon, asked what that was.

I waved my hand dismissively, as if to say it was nothing to worry about.

“Hmm! I don’t know what that is, but it can’t be more fun than a water golem. You’ll understand once you try it. You’ll see what a fun toy it is!”

“It could flood and kill you in an instant, so calling it a toy seems a bit…”

Just as I was about to add “Don’t you think?”, Joaquin suddenly buried his nose in the crushed sugar and started snorting it.

“Snnniff- Haah…”

“……”

“This is rather poor quality. Where did you buy it?”

“That’s sugar.”

“Oh, it’s sugar? No wonder the particles are so coarse. Adults always said not to play with food, and I guess that’s exactly what they meant. Ha ha!”

Idiot.

I clicked my tongue at the sight of the drug-addicted magician who couldn’t even distinguish between sugar and cocaine. Of course, he was joking.

Since returning to Necropolis, Joaquin seemed unable to control his playfulness. I’d heard he had a mischievous personality when he was at the magic tower, but even Francesca thought his current state wasn’t good.

He seemed a bit, no, very unhinged. It wasn’t just because of the drugs.

From what I observed while staying at his house during the last operation, Joaquin wasn’t a very sociable person. Not very active either. He just stayed in his room repeating a cycle of research-eating-drugs-sleep. With such a shut-in lifestyle plus drug addiction, he didn’t seem to take care of himself.

But since escaping Necropolis, he’d quit marijuana (I’d asked the Hasan warlord who provided our safe house to sell anything but drugs) and gotten some sunlight, making him look much cleaner. He was almost unrecognizable from the junkie I knew.

Of course, his crazy scientist personality that made him want to slap people was still the same. This was probably not due to drugs but his innate nature.

Meaning he wasn’t an acquired idiot but a congenital one.

“Oh right. Remember that monster-catching powder Francesca developed? I developed this based on it.”

“What is it?”

“Rat poison!”

Rat poison? That’s already widely available.

Wondering what was so special about it that he needed to brag, I stared at him blankly. Excited, Joaquin immediately started rummaging through his bag.

“It’s not just ordinary poison! Take a look!”

After searching his bag diligently, he pulled something out. A large syringe and a live rat.

Was he going to inject poison into the rat? Before I could finish that thought, Joaquin removed the needle and suddenly placed the drug-injected rat on the floor.

-Squeak! Squeeeak! Squeak!

The rat on the floor twisted its body and convulsed. Contorting its joints, drooling, and trembling around the eyes—it looked like something out of a zombie movie.

After convulsing for about 30 seconds, the rat seemed to calm down as if the pain had subsided, and then stood up looking normal.

And then the incident occurred.

When Joaquin took out a new rat and placed it nearby, the drugged rat rushed to attack it. Biting, scratching, stomping. After randomly beating its fellow rat to death, the rat breathed heavily over the corpse, then suddenly collapsed sideways.

The rat that killed the rat met its own death.

“…Wow.”

I meant it as a joke, but he really was a mad scientist.

While I was momentarily stunned by the unexpected effect of the drug, Joaquin scratched his head vigorously as if troubled, then tossed the syringe away.

“But this is a failure. It does kill rats one way or another, but it’s not the effect I intended. Ah, alchemy is harder than I thought.”

“What was your original intention? It seems fine as it is.”

“To make their offspring infertile and end their lineage!”

Let me correct myself. He wasn’t just crazy—he was Hitler.

I briefly considered shooting off his remaining testicles (if any) before he could declare his fascination with eugenics and the need to exterminate the Untermenschen, but fortunately my worry was unfounded.

After the rat poison failed, Joaquin lost interest in that direction entirely. Instead, he expressed his grand ambition to develop high-quality marijuana using his alchemical knowledge.

I wonder why this guy always thinks about drugs first, but anyway.

Whether he’ll become a historic mass murderer or the drug lord of the century remains to be seen. In any case, Joaquin was one of the assets under my management.

“Alright, enough chatting. Let’s focus.”

So I decided to assign him a few tasks.

“Since you’ve decided to stay in the city, the Palm Tree Trading Company will help with your accommodation for the time being. However, you’ll need to help a bit with both the company’s work and my work.”

“Think of it as rent? Ah, of course I should. So what should I do first?”

“First… you know the man who came in recently? The muscular gentleman.”

Joaquin, who had been tapping his lips with his fingers like playing a keyboard, let out a small exclamation.

“Ah- that telephone pole of a man? With tattoos all over his body.”

“Yes.”

I asked Joaquin to gather information about Akande. To be precise:

“I’d like you to find out what he’s been doing in Necropolis. I’d be even more grateful if you could find out what he did before coming here and where he came from.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“There’s a cult group called Al-Khair. They were on Ash Tree Street, the ones I was tracking before. You remember them? Please gather information about them too.”

Akande and Al-Khair. These were the two tasks I assigned to Joaquin.

Thinking it wasn’t particularly difficult, Joaquin agreed without much consideration. It was confidence befitting a resident of Necropolis.

“Is that all I need to do?”

“Yes. Contact me as soon as you get any information, and we can talk regularly. If anything happens, don’t hesitate to… Huh?”

“What’s wrong all of a sudden? Did you see something interesting!?”

As I cut off my words and turned my gaze, Joaquin started making a fuss, cupping his hands to form binoculars.

His distracting behavior as he looked around finally brought me back to my senses.

“…No. It’s nothing.”

Quickly regaining my composure, I patted Joaquin’s shoulder to calm him down.

“I must have been mistaken.”

“What is it? I’m curious too, tell me.”

“……”

I didn’t see clearly, but.

I thought I just saw a familiar face.