Chapter 18

  Zethir frowned.

  “You plan on slaughtering an army? How would you do that?” He watched as Earleon shrugged.

  “I don’t know. That’s your job,” he said, carelessly putting an apple slice in his mouth.

  One by one, all fourteen slices were eaten by him, and Zethir finally regained his thoughts.

  “You want me to kill an army on my own? Do you even know what you’re talking about?” Zethir scowled.

  No matter how he thought about it, the idea alone was absurd.

  Forget killing an army, he literally died to kill twelve elite noble spearmen. And those twelve didn’t even amount to a fraction of a kingdom’s strength!

  “You don’t think you can do it?” Earleon cocked an eyebrow, carefully patting his lips dry with a napkin.

  “No one can do it,” Zethir said, putting Earleon’s sword down on the bed.

  “That’s what you got wrong,” Earleon shook his head. “If there’s someone who can do it, it’s you.”

  Zethir opened his mouth, but Earleon was fast to talk.

  “And no, I didn’t say you have to fight their army on your own. Firstly, I’ll fight alongside you, and secondly, we have allies. But…” Earleon squinted.

  “Aren’t you curious as to why we’re doing this?”

  Zethir blinked, needing a moment to think.

  “I’m not,” he answered, glancing at the sword beside him.

  Earleon tutted. “As I expected. Well, even if you’re not, I’ll tell you.”

  Zethir clicked his tongue, but Earleon ignored him. “You must know that the god of Targia is the Goddess of Lust, O’ Vellenea.”

  “...I didn’t know,” Zethir sighed, leaning back and staring at the ceiling, bored.

  He didn’t lie, the only time he’d been at a temple was when his mother sold him.

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  “That’s… quite surprising,” Earleon tilted his head back.

  “The Kingdom of Targia is known for two things. Its beautiful citizens and its wealth. However, hidden from the public eye, it’s infamous for its slave trading. Some even say that slave trading started with the kingdom of Targia,” Earleon’s lips turned into a frown, which he covered with a hand.

  “The worst part is that most of these slaves aren’t used for labor, but rather… for pleasure. Such a dirty practice,” Earleon gritted his teeth, “I wish to destroy it.”

  Zethir’s face slowly turned cold, and his naturally pale face turned white. “Does that mean…”

  Earleon looked at him, nodding slowly. “Your mother knew this, so yes, you thought right. Now, will you—”

  “There’s no need to ask,” Zethir stood up, the sword already in his hand. “Let’s get moving. Time waits for no men, we’ve got garbage to clean up,” he said, tying the sword to his waist belt.

  Earleon smiled, his expression easing up.

  “Thank you,” he stood up and led Zethir out of his humble hut.

  ~~~

  Present time, in the forest outskirts.

  “Ah, that took quite a while, didn't it?” Earleon laughed carelessly, patting his slightly damp clothes.

  Behind, Zethir paid his clothes no attention. Instead, his gaze was trained on the tents that were set up outside the forest.

  “Who are they?” He pointed at the camp.

  There were a total of three tents, each one similar in size. Hearing his words, Earleon turned to look at the tents, flashing a small smile.

  “They're our allies,” he said, beckoning for Zethir to follow him as he approached the camp.

  As they got closer, several men walked out of the camp, as though they'd known of their arrival long ago.

  Zethir's eyes flickered with wariness, but the men didn't do anything violent. Instead, seeing Earleon, they grinned and shouted greetings.

  Earleon greeted them back.

  “How's the preparation going?” He asked, looking at the tallest man of the group. Unfortunately, the man wasn't quite taller than Zethir.

  “Not bad, we've hoarded several arcane runes. Although it cost a hefty sum, we got mitos for days! Do you know what mister Fran said?!” The man cackled, walking beside Earleon and patting the latter’s shoulder roughly.

  “He said, like,” the man cleared his throat, imitating a slightly high-pitched voice, “‘Spend all the mito you need, don’t worry about running out.’ He said that, Earl!” The man laughed some more, making Earleon chuckle awkwardly.

  “Hans, how much did you spend?”

  Wordlessly, Zethir perked up his ears.

  “What? I don’t know, like… a million? Maybe more,” Hans grinned as he let go of Earleon. Then, he looked at Zethir, opening his mouth to speak.

  “What?!” But Earleon spoke first, shouting in shock. “You spent a million, on what?!”

  Hans flinched, looking back at Earleon, who was looking at him incredulously. “Uh, on… arcane runes? Like, what else?”

  Earleon expressionlessly laughed twice, “How much is an arcane rune? It costs a thousand mitos—”

  “Ahem!” Zethir coughed. “It’s ten thousand.”

  Earleon glanced at him, before looking back at Hans. “Ten thousand, then. How many did you buy?!”

  Hans looked at the other men around them, who were watching as though they were actors in a theater. “We tried warning you,” someone said with a shrug.

  ‘Why didn’t you try harder?!’ Hans grumbled inwardly. However, seeing Earleon’s glare, he swallowed his curses.

  “Like… about a thousand?” Hans slowly said, and Earleon’s eyes slowly widened to plates.

  “A… a thousand runes?” Earleon whispered, while Zethir snickered, silently giving Hans a thumbs up.

  ‘The guy has guts,’ he praised.

  Nothing felt better than spending someone else’s money.

  “That’s ten-fucking-million!” Earleon screamed, grabbing Han’s shoulders and waving him back and forth like a ragdoll.

  “B-but,” Hans stuttered, “Mister Fran said—”

  “That’s my son! He spends my money! MY money!”

  After shaking Hans around until he saw stars, Earleon finally calmed down. Then, he swiftly introduced Zethir to the others before dragging him inside one of the tents.

  Now, they were sitting across each other, with a pile of stones between them. They were the arcane runes.

  Spell casters can carve spells into objects, but the best medium to work with were runic ores. Carving spells on ordinary material would reduce its power and overtime, the spell would lose its effects. However, carving a spell on a runic ore would solve most of that problem.

  It wouldn’t degrade overtime, and most importantly, it would keep most of the spell’s original power.

  Earleon sighed, kicking the arcane runes lightly. “Thankfully, that crazy guy didn’t actually buy a thousand runes,” he took a deep breath, feeling a hole in his pocket.

  On the other hand, Zethir didn’t take it seriously.

  “This is your plan?” He asked, gathering Earleon’s attention. “Bombarding the army with runes? Will it even work?”

  Earleon fell in thought for a moment.

  “What will that do? Kill a few thousand soldiers?” Earleon shrugged. “The plan is to bomb the palace.”