Chapter 11

The Swordsmanship Genius Possessed by a God — Chapter 11

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Allen hired a coachman.

Renting a carriage would be more efficient than walking, since it would save travel time and allow him to practice his cultivation technique along the way.

The coachman was a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man.

“Where would you like to go?”

“To the Viscounty of Villerman in the Owen Kingdom.”

Located in the northern part of the Owen Kingdom, the Viscounty of Villerman was about three days away, even when traveling quickly by carriage.

“That will be two gold.”

As expected, hiring a carriage was expensive. Two gold coins were enough to cover a month's living expenses for an ordinary commoner.

Having exchanged his platinum coin for ordinary gold coins, Allen paid without hesitation.

Inside the carriage, Allen continued using his cultivation technique to gradually dissolve the condensed mana and make it his own.

‘I suppose it's inevitable that the process is getting slower.’

The higher his stats rose, the harder they became to increase. Just as anything improved quickly at first before eventually reaching a plateau, this was no different.

Allen quickly pushed aside his growing disappointment. Greed was a monster that knew no end once it took hold.

‘I should be grateful for even this much.’

It had only been a short while since he would have been satisfied with even a single drop of mana. Through extraordinary luck and fortunate encounters, he had escaped his curse and obtained this much mana. He couldn't allow himself to become greedier.

Shaking off his disappointment, Allen closed his eyes and resumed cultivating.

He became so deeply absorbed that he no longer noticed the rattling of the carriage.

______________

Late that night, when they stopped to camp along the road, the coachman lit a campfire.

Allen approached the coachman, who was about to make a meal of some hard bread taken from his luggage.

“Would you care to join me for dinner?”

The coachman was about to politely decline when he noticed the food and liquor.

Smoked meat, fine-looking cheese, dried fruits, and even liquor with a pleasant aroma.

It was remarkably luxurious fare for a roadside campsite.

Seeing the coachman's hesitation, Allen added,

“It's rather dull eating and drinking alone. I'm going to make some stew as well.”

“Well, if you insist...”

It had been a long time since the coachman had seen such a proper meal, let alone liquor. He did not refuse a second time.

Allen prepared enough food for the coachman as well. He added smoked chicken and stock, then soaked the bread until it was warm.

Stew and bread, smoked meat with cheese, and fragrant liquor.

With such a splendid meal, even the tiresome campsite seemed to possess a certain charm.

“Ahh, how long has it been since I've had a warm meal and a drink?”

“Don't you earn quite a bit of money? There's the fare I paid you, too.”

“I borrowed a lot of money to buy the carriage. Between paying interest, making repairs, and covering all sorts of other expenses, things are tighter than you might think.”

“Oh! I never knew that. I thought all coachmen were wealthy.”

“People often misunderstand because the fares are so expensive. But the truly wealthy people are the customers who can afford to ride in these costly carriages.”

The coachman began telling stories about the unusual customers he had encountered over the years.

There was the scoundrel who had stolen money while getting out of the carriage, the fellow who had looked down on him for being a coachman, and the customer who had arrived at his destination only to throw a tantrum and insist it was the wrong place.

“Still, every now and then, I meet handsome and fine gentlemen like yourself. That's what makes this job worthwhile, isn't it?”

“You certainly have a roundabout way of asking for another drink. Here, have another glass.”

“Oh my, thank you!”

Allen poured the liquor with a broad smile. The two laughed and chatted as though they had known each other for years rather than having met for the first time that day.

Perhaps it was because his heart had been worn down by the long war against the demons.

Allen enjoyed laughing and chatting with other people like this. Even those rough and wicked bandits had been a welcome sight, so there was no reason he wouldn't enjoy sharing a meal with the coachman.

“Then, sir, who was the worst person you've ever encountered among your customers?”

The coachman was delighted by Allen's question.

How often did a customer address a mere coachman so respectfully? Even if it was only a manner of speaking, it made him feel as though he were someone important.

“Strictly speaking, they weren't customers, but... Have you ever heard of the Iron Shackles Society?”

“The Iron Shackles Society?”

Allen tilted his head, pretending not to know.

The coachman continued.

“They're a truly wicked bunch who've established themselves in a nearby village beyond these mountains. In fact, they're the reason I'm having such a hard time with the debt I incurred buying this carriage. If I'd known it was their money, I never would have borrowed it.”

“Are they loan sharks?”

“That's not all. They're vile criminals involved in human trafficking, illegal arms dealing, and even rape.”

The coachman's face reddened in the light of the campfire. Between the alcohol and his rising anger, he began talking about things he would ordinarily never mention.

“Even in my case, the interest has grown to several times the original loan. Does that make any sense? Not long ago, they told me to hand over my carriage if I couldn't pay the interest. But how am I supposed to make a living without it?”

After venting his complaints and anger for some time, the coachman suddenly realized what he was doing.

He had been treated to food and liquor, yet he had done nothing but complain about his own troubles. Surely such stories couldn't be enjoyable to listen to.

“My apologies. I've been talking about myself far too much.”

“Not at all. Have another drink.”

“I wish all my customers were like you, sir. By the way, what business takes you to the Viscounty of Villerman?”

The coachman hurriedly turned the conversation toward Allen. He assumed that Allen had approached him with liquor because he wanted to talk about himself.

“I heard there's a newly discovered dungeon there.”

“Oh dear. You seem like a good man, so allow me to warn you. That place is dangerous. They say dozens of adventurers have already died in there.”

Apparently, it was around this time that the dungeon near Villerman had begun gaining its notorious reputation.

But the more dangerous a dungeon became, the more adventurers tended to flock there in pursuit of greater treasures.

“Did you come because you heard rumors that there might be treasure inside?”

Allen couldn't think of anything to say, so he nodded. The coachman waved his hands dismissively, as though his suspicions had been confirmed.

“Oh, goodness, those are all false rumors. The Lord of Villerman, who's been having no end of trouble because of that dungeon, deliberately spread them himself.”

“I'd like to see with my own eyes whether there's treasure there or not. Please understand it as the curiosity of a young man.”

Faced with Allen's response, the coachman became embarrassed instead.

“N-no, of course. I've overstepped my bounds. Who am I to tell a gentleman like you what to do...?”

The coachman slapped his own mouth, scolding himself for speaking too freely.

“In any case, since you've treated me to such fine liquor, I'll make sure we travel even faster starting tomorrow.”

“Thank you. But there's somewhere I'd like to stop first.”

“Somewhere you'd like to stop?”

“Let's go to the Iron Shackles Society.”

The coachman looked horrified at Allen's answer.

“W-why would you go there...?”

“My father gave me an errand to run.”

“Your father sent you on an errand to the Iron Shackles Society?”

The coachman shook his head, unable to believe it.

“That must be because your father doesn't know how terrifying those people are!”

Allen burst into laughter as he drank his liquor. Terrifying? Who was supposed to be afraid of whom?

“Don't worry too much.”

A smile appeared on Allen's face in the firelight.

“I won't let any harm come to you, sir.”

_______________

Osval, the leader of the Iron Shackles Society, was a large man with a thick, unkempt beard.

Inside the enormous warehouse that served as the society's headquarters, he smiled at a middle-aged woman seated before him.

“Why are you so frightened?”

“I-I'm... s-sorry...”

The trembling woman's body was covered in cuts and bruises. Clumps of her hair had been torn out, and her eyes were badly swollen.

They were the marks of the countless beatings she had endured while being dragged here.

“Why did you have to run away? Anyone watching might think we're bad people. You're the one who came to us asking to borrow money, after all.”

At Osval's words, the woman nodded frantically.

But she felt terribly wronged.

‘If I'd known it was your money, I never would have borrowed it!’

When the Iron Shackles Society first approached her, they had concealed their name. They had pretended to be a respectable merchant company, and the place where they lent money had been a much more presentable building rather than a warehouse like this.

The woman had been forced to borrow money urgently because of her husband's illness. But once she took out the loan, they suddenly changed their attitude.

They deducted money under the pretext of advance interest and manipulated the contract. They began collecting the debt through every vicious method imaginable.

“I was wrong. I know I was wrong, so... Please... Please forgive me...”

“Come now, madam. You seem to misunderstand. We're not that sort of people.”

A brief glimmer of hope appeared on the woman's face at his unexpectedly gentle tone.

At that moment, Osval's face, which had been wearing the expression of a kind man, transformed into that of a devil.

“We're much worse.”

“...!”

The men of the Iron Shackles Society who were watching burst into snickering laughter.

Their leader was a man who took delight in crushing the hopes of others.

“You have a daughter, don't you?”

The woman was startled.

“H-how do you know...?”

“Did you think we'd simply lend you money without looking into you?”

Osval glanced toward a subordinate nearby. As though he had been waiting for his cue, the subordinate immediately began reciting information about the woman.

“Her name is Meiran. She moved here from the County of Viol ten years ago. She borrowed five gold coins to pay for her husband's medical treatment. She has an eight-year-old daughter and an elderly mother with physical disabilities. She has also been known for her exceptional devotion to her parents since childhood.”

The more the man spoke, the deeper the despair on the woman's face became.

Watching her expression, Osval asked with the same cheerful smile.

“Will you still try to run away?”

“N-no! Never! I won't!”

“Good. That's how it should be. Remember this. If you don't bring the money within three days, we'll sell your daughter. Your husband will be crippled, and we'll kill your elderly mother.”

Tears welled up in the woman's eyes.

Just imagining such a situation made her tremble with horror and her heart ache. She realized that she had truly fallen into a dreadful hell.

“Please, just this once! Have mercy on me, please!”

“Good grief. We're the ones who keep getting cheated out of our money, so why is it that we're always made out to be the villains? Boys, am I wrong?”

“Not at all, Boss!”

“I'll do anything, so please!”

“Anything? Then would it be all right for us to take your daughter and sell her?”

“No! How could you do that to such a young child...!”

Creeeeak.

It was then that the warehouse's rusty door swung open.

Sunlight streamed through the wide-open doorway. For a moment, silence fell over the previously noisy warehouse.

The person who entered was a young man.

He wore clothes made from luxurious fabric and had the face of a nobleman.

It was Allen.

“Looks like you were busy with something?”

Seeing Allen appear so suddenly, Osval felt a strange sense of unease.

The first thing that caught his attention was the sword hanging at the young man's waist.

‘A swordsman?’

Judging by his appearance and bearing, he was most likely a noble from somewhere.

The sword at his waist suggested he had received training, but he wasn't particularly large-framed and didn't look like an especially skilled fighter.

‘Still just a wet-behind-the-ears brat.’

That was Osval's conclusion.

Above all, the young man's youthful appearance, suggesting he had only just reached adulthood, was the deciding factor.

“Where have you come from, little boy?”

There was a chance the young man was someone of genuinely high status, but Osval chose to act aggressively.

Having lived a rough life as a scoundrel, he believed that showing weakness to an opponent meant being devoured.

Even so, by his own standards, he had asked the question as politely as possible.

“I really hate people like you.”

The answer had absolutely nothing to do with his question.

Creeeeak.

Allen spoke as he closed the door he had entered through.

“You think nothing of destroying people's lives and souls and making a mockery of them.”

Thud.

Clack.

He shut the door and secured it with the bolt.

Having firmly closed the door, Allen approached Osval and drew his sword.

Shing.

“And most of all—”

Osval could never have understood the words Allen spoke next.

“Because it's people like you who become demonic humans.”