Kagyu BLADE & BASTARD: Dungeon Chronicles Volume 4

1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-7183-9354-7
Verlag: J-Novel Club
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 4, 250 Seiten

Reihe: BLADE & BASTARD

Scale's dungeon exists in infamy as a vast maw of unknowable depth, containing monsters and legendary treasure. But the dungeon itself isn't the whole story; after all, what would a place like that be without adventurers willing to delve into it? Trace the dungeon's beginnings with the tale of the free knight Sezmar, who leaves his knightly order and gathers his party to adventure for the first time. Follow the son of a shoemaker, who barely survived an encounter with the red dragon, as he collects a motley band for a dodgy job. Experience Orlaya's first adventure with her new companions after escaping the yoke of her old clan. Stalk the black-clad adventurer Iarumas as he explores alone, silently seeking something. In Scale, there are just as many adventures as there are adventurers, and the dungeon swallows them all.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Kagyu, Kumo

Weitere Mitwirkende

So-Bin

McCann, Sean

Leseproben

The town of Scale was like a calm sea.

The wind blew at times, and there were even storms, but they would pass as if they had never been. Only the daily hustle and bustle continued on.

That was true of the demon horde, which had never even come to the public’s attention, as well as the uproar with the red dragon, which most definitely had. Those incidents had left lotus flowers floating on the surface of Scale’s glassy pool, but no more than that.

Heroes would always be treated like heroes, but their praises were only sung far and wide for a time...

And when it came to the thief who was their companion, he never drew any public attention at all.

The boy ran down the main street of Scale again today. No one gave him any trouble.

As far as Raraja was concerned, that was something to be grateful for—any thief who stood out from the crowd was inexperienced at best. He was happy he could avoid standing out, certainly, but happy about that would just be childish.

am

That was why he did his best not to swagger. He took care to walk no differently than he normally did. Still, if someone who knew better had been looking—Moradin, for instance—they wouldn’t have been able to keep from grinning.

This was how a truly experienced thief ought to be, and Raraja aspired to rise to those heights.

He was heading toward a shop with a sign that bore the gracefully arching tail of a cat—Catlob’s Trading Post. There was a small placard on the door declaring the trading post “open.”

This business was frequented by many adventurers, yet despite its success, it was always incredibly quiet. Only that small sign on the door indicated it was open for business. However, Raraja had never once seen it flipped to the “closed” side. He wasn’t even sure it one.

“Hey, I’m here.”

He opened the door without hesitation, but that shop—which was like a shady den—greeted him with nothing but silence. There was no sign of anyone else being there.

In this shop packed tightly with arms and equipment (similar to a burial chamber in the dungeon), one man was always present. If you looked for him, there he was. But if you looked for him. And no one would do that if they didn’t already know he was there.

As expected, there he was behind the register, melding with the shadows. He wasn’t even dampening his presence. It was as if he’d been there all along, like one of the shelves or armor stands.

After calling out to him, Raraja casually hopped over the counter and joined him in the back of the shop. Only at this point did Mr. Catlob turn his unseeing eyes toward the boy.

“So you’ve come.”

Had he been polishing an item, maintaining his collection, or doing something else entirely? Raraja didn’t know what Catlob got up to behind the counter, and he did his best not to pry. Raraja was forthright, but he always felt the need to remain respectful—or perhaps wary. He was here to learn something, after all.

“Well then, here is what I have for you today,” Catlob said, pulling out a box. He set it down with a heavy clunk.

It was the unassuming sort of chest one might find in the dungeon. Trap included.

Did Catlob deal in such things here?

Raraja had once asked, and he’d been told, “It’s for sale.” The elf had then added, “But I couldn’t put a price on it.”

Catlob turned to Raraja. “Take all the time with it you need. And watch the shop for me while you do.”

“Yeah, yeah...”

In short, this was Raraja’s lesson—and also his tuition.

The boy couldn’t object to that. He was being allowed to learn how to open chests in a safe environment, with direction. He couldn’t have asked for a better arrangement. If he had to watch the shop or stock shelves in exchange, he would gladly pay the price.

And while Raraja was working, Catlob could go into the back of the shop to do whatever he liked.

Raraja lifted the treasure chest—a heavy one—up onto the counter and immediately set to work on it. Of course, he used the thieves’ tools he’d fashioned for himself while under Catlob’s direction.

According to Catlob, that was just how thieves’ tools were. “You’ll find picks in the dungeon at times, but they’re only good for dealing with poison needle traps.”

In the end, a successful thief was measured by how quick he was with his hands, as well as the knowledge and experience he’d put into his skills and tools. But obviously, there was more to Raraja’s arrangement at Catlob’s than merely poking at treasure chests—or dealing with customers.

For instance, one day, an ordinary, run-of-the-mill adventurer had entered the dimly lit trading post.

“Welcome.”

Was he a fighter? It was hard to remember. Raraja’s focus had been fixed on the treasure chest, not the customer.

“I want to sell some items.”

“Sure thing... There!”

It went without saying, but Raraja could not identify items, nor could he appraise them. And yet, even eyes had widened at the ring this customer placed on the counter.

No, it was not so much the ring that had stunned him—it was the words Catlob murmured.

“That’s a Ring of Healing. I can take it off your hands for one hundred fifty thousand gold.”

“One hundred fifty—!”

The boy glanced at Catlob, but the dour elf showed no reaction. Did that mean this sort of trade was nothing out of the ordinary here? Maybe here in Scale—and for a magic ring, no less—such a price was within the realm of possibility.

The customer took note of Raraja’s awkward reaction, then curtly said, “If you would, please.”

Now that he’d asked, Raraja would have to comply. The boy took bags of gold from behind the register, counted them twice to be sure he had the amount correct, and then laid the money out on the counter.

Even though Raraja was weak at math, this was a calculation that even he could manage. Fifteen bags. He couldn’t possibly mess it up.

The man nodded, and the deal was done. Raraja reached for the ring.

If there was any failure on the boy’s part, it was that, for the briefest of instants, he took his eyes off the man.

“H-Huh?!”

A moment later, the man, the ring, and the money sacks were suddenly gone. In short, the customer had been a thief, a swindler, or something of the sort, but Raraja only found out after the fact.

Catlob didn’t seem upset. “It’s a common tactic,” he explained.

“He’s probably back at the tavern by now,” said Raraja.

It wouldn’t do them any good to go looking for the man—or so Catlob had said. No one would know that adventurer or where he’d gone. And even if they ventured to Durga’s Tavern and started searching, they’d never recognize him.

“They like to call my shop a rip-off joint,” said Catlob, “but there are enough of his sort too.”

The most vexing thing about the situation was that Raraja he wouldn’t be able to find the guy. His face had already slipped from the boy’s memory—it was as if he’d never visited the shop at all.

One hundred fifty thousand gold. What a massive loss. Raraja felt terrible about it.

Fortunately, it was also a price that could be repaid—for an adventurer in Scale, that is. Still, he shuddered to think about what Orlaya would say if she ever heard about this blunder. He couldn’t tell Iarumas or Berkanan, or even Garbage for that matter.

“So that sword’s really special, huh?”

Raraja was talking about that old sword she’d picked up who knows where. That redheaded, doglike girl had been swinging it around like an ordinary longsword, but it was clear that the thing was magical in some way. Orlaya’s eyes had widened when she’d first seen it, and even Iarumas had been surprised.

Yeah, even .

The arms and equipment that lay sleeping in the dungeon were the stuff of myth—or rather, it would be more accurate to say the stuff of legend. However, that sword had seemed to stand out, even in such incredible company.

He didn’t envy Garbage for it, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t dream of such things. Every boy, at some point in his life, had dreamed of drawing a sword that would make him a hero.

Thinking about it now, ever since that adventure, Iarumas had reduced the frequency at which he delved into the dungeon to collect corpses. It wasn’t as if something had changed about him—there wasn’t some kind of problem. Lately, however, the man would just sit silently in the tavern.

Of course, that was the reason Raraja now had time to train like this. He wasn’t about to complain.

Even as he focused intently on the locks in front of him, Raraja’s mind would sometimes wander to other things. It wasn’t that he lacked a suitable sense of tension. He ...