Chapter 157. This Place is a Mess Too (3)
The negotiation proceeded smoothly.
Caron would heal the Crown Prince, and in return, Samir would grant him entry to the Ali Oasis. Their interests aligned perfectly.
"How surprising," Caron remarked, slipping the contract into his pocket while eyeing Samir. The prince was clever—people like him didn't trust easily.
"Given our long-standing enmity, isn't it strange for you to trust me so readily?" Caron asked.
At Caron's question, Samir offered a bitter smile, shaking his head slowly, then said, "It's not you I trust."
"Then what?" Caron asked.
"I trust the path you've walked so far," Samir answered.
He met Caron's steady gaze. Those unwavering eyes spoke volumes about the kind of man he was. Stories about Caron Leston had reached him through the Sultanate's intelligence network.
One said that Caron had executed a marquis of the border to free innocent citizens from tyranny, and liberated southern kingdom refugees. Another contained the story of when he was thirteen years old, banishing a demon from the Imperial Palace and beating up the children of nobles who were going the wrong path. Even the ruthless Queen acknowledged his talents, which was a sure sign of his capabilities.
The intelligence officers considered Caron uncontrollable... But I disagree, Samir thought.
He believed Caron's methods had been audacious, but one truth remained constant—he always delivered the best possible outcome.
"But remember," Samir warned, his voice firm, "You'll do the job only if the Saintess fails."
"That works for me. If she succeeds, I get to reap the rewards without lifting a finger," Caron said.
"I guess that's how things will turn out. From what I know, your relationship with the Holy Kingdom isn't exactly friendly. Do you have any issues with working together?" Samir asked.
Caron recalled Saintess Seria. She was a symbol of the outcast, and the opposite of Saint Elijah, whom he had clashed with near the southern forest. His brief research on the Holy Kingdom had proven useful.
Azureocean Castle recognized her as the closest person to a true cleric, someone who saved those in need and tirelessly devoted themselves to acts of service. Such a person would naturally come to this land to treat even the Crown Prince of an enemy nation.
...You really need to be careful with people like that, Caron thought.
Usually, those kinds of people fell into one of two categories: Either they were genuinely good people in the purest sense, or they were acting at an almost flawless level. The truth was something only time and direct experience would reveal.
"No, I have no issues," Caron said, smiling with a nod.
It didn't really matter who Saintess Seria was. Rather, it would be a joyous occasion if she performed a miracle and healed the crown prince. Even Caron felt uneasy at the thought of driving Guillotine into the prince's body.
There would always be the risk of being accused of regicide. And if that day came, the Empire and the Sultanate would inevitably plunge into war.
Samir let out a small sigh at Caron's wholehearted response and said, "The contract is sealed."
"I'll also need you to clear up my identity as well," Caron added.
"You'll be a hired expert under my personal employ. A royal-backed operative—no one will question it," Samir replied.
That was the exact answer Caron wanted. Satisfied, he grinned and asked, "So, do we head straight to the royal palace?"
"Yes, my brother's condition worsens by the hour. Ah, and one more thing," Samir said as he stood up slowly, his voice dropping into a serious tone. "If your identity is exposed because of your own mistakes, I won't take responsibility. You'll be branded as a deceitful infiltrator. Do you understand what I mean?"
Caron knew what Prince Samir meant: If Caron got caught, he would die alone. He had no complaints, because he would have made the same choice.
"Disappointing, but I understand. You've already made plenty of concessions," Caron said.
"I'm glad we see eye to eye," Samir replied.
"Well, we're in the same boat now, so a little compromise goes a long way," Caron said.
Relieved that things had gone smoothly, he extended his right hand to the prince, a smile tugging at his lips. Slipping his mask back on, he added, "I'll even throw in protection duty as a bonus. How about that?"
"Will there be extra charges?" Samir asked.
"It's complimentary. Unless, of course, you want something outside the usual scope," Caron explained.
"What should I call you in the meantime?" Samir asked.
Caron paused and shrugged, then answered, "Cain. Call me Cain."
"Cain... That's the name of the knight who once served the Malevolent Emperor," Samir recalled.
"He was my grandfather's friend. Sounds cool, doesn't it?" Caron said.
"Isn't it a bit obvious that it's an alias?" Samir asked.
"That's the point," Caron replied.
Samir pondered the implications behind Caron's choice, wondering what benefit there could be in using a name that was so blatantly false. And it didn't take long for him to find the answer.
"Ah, it's a message to my second and third brothers, warning them to stay out of trouble. That's clever," Samir remarked.
"See? I told you you we're sharp," Caron remarked.
Thus, the youngest prince of the Pajar Sultanate and the youngest of the Leston family reached an understanding.
Now, all that remained was making it safely to the palace.
***
That afternoon, Prince Samir departed straight for the capital.
The capital of the Pajar Sultanate was Mejab. From Akhba to Mejab, it was said to take four days of travel by land. If they had been in the empire, they could have taken a train for a comfortable journey, but there were no railways in the Pajar Sultanate.
At least, Caron noted, there was one fortunate thing. He remarked, "I thought we'd be riding camels the whole way."
"That's a stereotype," Samir replied with a chuckle.
"This automobile, isn't it from the empire?" Caron asked.
"Spices from the Sultanate are just as popular in the empire, I believe," Samir replied.
Caron recognized the vehicle immediately. A mana-powered automobile, much like the ones he had ridden in the imperial capital, had made its way into the Pajar Sultanate.
"Even long-time enemies have to trade. The empire and the Pajar Sultanate need each other," Samir said, nodding as he gazed out the window.
Four hours had passed since they left Akhba. Outside, vast sand dunes stretched endlessly beneath the sun.
"It seems like you could lay tracks here, couldn't you?" Caron asked, eyeing the road carved through the desert.
The landscape seemed quite different from the Pajar Sultanate he remembered—a nation once synonymous with stagnation.
Samir gave a wry smile and said, "We could build them, but maintaining and repairing the tracks would cost more than they're worth."
The barren desert wasn't friendly to railroads. Managing them in such a harsh environment would be a daunting task.
"Besides," Samir added, "There are bandits. We conduct regular raids, but they're never fully eradicated."
"I guess so," Caron muttered.
A hostile environment often became a shield. The reason the Orias Empire had never launched a full-scale invasion of the Pajar Sultanate was because of this desert. With the unpredictable weather, deadly sandworms, and various other monsters, it made it unsuitable for military campaigns. The Sultanate faced the same limitations.
"Scouring the entire desert is impossible. That's why the bandits persist," Samir explained.
With the terrain making large-scale operations impractical, outlaws thrived in the gaps.
"Desperate peasants become bandits—it's the rulers' fault in the end, isn't it?" Samir added with a bitter smile.
At his words, Guillotine whispered darkly within Caron's mind. "Owner, he's impressive. Wouldn't it be wise to eliminate him for the empire's sake?"
He sure is dangerous, Caron agreed.
The young man with black hair and eyes radiated charisma and intelligence. He had the qualities of a future king. Even in their short acquaintance, Caron could see it. Others had to have noticed as well. Perhaps that explained why the second and third princes opposed him so fiercely.
This mission might be harder than I thought, Caron thought.
While Caron mulled over these thoughts, Samir said quietly, "We'll camp here for the night."
"The sun hasn't set yet," Caron pointed out.
"The desert nights are bitterly cold. We'll be fine in this automobile, but not everyone has that luxury," Samir answered.
With the Fourth Prince traveling in person, his entourage was large. Guards, laborers, and even the Saintess and her companions were among them.
"You can go ask my servants to set up a tent for you," Samir offered.
"I brought my own," Caron replied, grinning slightly. "I helped myself to the Magic Tower's inventory before coming here."
"...Is that so?" Samir asked.
"Thanks for the offer, though," Caron said.
With a loud screech, the automobile finally came to a halt. Samir nodded and rose from his seat, saying, "Set up your tent near mine if you can. There are still many who don't trust you."
"Understood," Caron agreed.
As he followed Samir out of the automobile, the air hit him sharply. Only hours ago, the heat had felt as if it could cook flesh, but now the desert chill was biting. Truly, this was a land of extremes.
Samir's entourage wasted no time setting up his tent. Caron chose a spot nearby and reached into his pouch of dimensional space, pulling out a small, palm-sized orb.
Whoosh.
Caron infused it with mana.
Swoosh!
In an instant, a luxurious tent made from the finest leather materialized.
"Money really is the best," Caron muttered with a smirk. The artifact, crafted for travel-loving nobles, lived up to its reputation.
As he admired his tent, he sensed a presence approaching. The aura was pure—pristine, without the slightest impurity. Only one person could carry such an aura.
He turned just before stepping inside, and found himself face-to-face with a woman clad in immaculate white robes.
She was the Saintess of the Holy Kingdom, Seria. She lowered her head respectfully as soon as their eyes met.
"It is an honor to meet you," she greeted. "I am Seria, a humble servant who walks in the radiant light."
Seria's platinum hair gleamed with an almost otherworldly brilliance, a mark of her exalted status. The only other person Caron had seen with such hair was the Saint of Salvation—Elijah.
Behind her stood two paladins, their armor light but their demeanor imposing.
Caron regarded the saintess with a disinterested expression. He had anticipated conflict, but hadn't expected her to approach so boldly on the first day.
"I don't think someone of your standing has any business with a mercenary like me," he remarked dryly.
Seria's lips curved into a gentle smile and she said, "I heard that Prince Samir personally hired you for your skill. Since I may rely on your aid, I wanted to introduce myself."
Her green eyes sparkled. She then asked, "May I speak with you inside your tent?"
Caron's brow furrowed slightly and wondered what her real intention was.
"It will only take a moment," Seria added softly.
There was no harm in hearing her out. Given that she was traveling with Samir, avoiding her wasn't an option. Establishing clear terms now would be better than facing misunderstandings later.
Caron shrugged and gave a slow nod, then said, "Sure."
"Thank you," Seria replied, exhaling a soft breath. She turned to the paladins and said in a low, firm voice, "Wait here."
"But, Your Holiness," one of them protested, eyeing Caron with suspicion. "This man's identity is unclear—"
"The Radiant Light has deemed it acceptable," Seria interrupted, her gaze unwavering. "Do you intend to defy the will of the Light?"
Her resolute tone left them no choice. The paladins exchanged glances before reluctantly bowing their heads.
With a serene smile, Seria gestured toward Caron and asked, "Shall we?"
"Sure, let's go," Caron replied, stepping aside to let her enter first.
Inside, the tent's lavish interior lived up to its reputation as an artifact crafted for nobles. The ornate rug alone looked as if it cost a fortune. A spacious bed, finely carved furniture, and other luxuries filled the space.
"Definitely worth the price," Caron muttered to himself. Of course, it had been taken rather than bought, but the quality was outstanding.
"Would you like some tea?" Caron offered. "Or perhaps liquor?"
"You're the first to offer liquor to a saintess," Seria said, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You are as unconventional as I've heard."
Caron chuckled, studying her carefully. His smirk twisted slightly as he spoke again. "I never expected to fool someone like you. Let's skip the games, Saintess. What do you want?"
He unsheathed Guillotine. His presence darkened as murderous intent seeped into the air.
Despite the swiftness, the saintess remained unfazed. Her voice stayed calm as she said, "I need your help, Caron Leston."
Caron's eyes narrowed and he said, "If this is a joke, I'll cut you down where you stand. I hate zealots like you."
"I have no other choice," Seria said.
"Talk, then. Let's hear it," Caron replied.
However, the words that followed made his expression twist into a deep scowl. "...Damn it," he muttered after a pause. "Prince Samir thought he invited only the saintess. Turns out that's not quite right, is it?"
A new complication had emerged—a massive, unexpected one.
But Caron's surprise was brief. His demeanor shifted in an instant. "Welcome, my dear client," he said smoothly, a dark gleam in his eyes. "What took you so long?"
This was no mere problem. It was an opportunity—one with the potential for a monumental profit at the expense of the Holy Kingdom.
A wicked grin spread across Caron's face.
Tonight would be a long night, without question.