Wizard: I am a goblin

Chapter 82 The Crimson Town

The coachman ran away... Gebu was not surprised at all, but it was a pity about the six silver coins for the fare.

Fortunately, the dwarf agreed to share the mount with Geb.

It was still a day and a night's journey to Chifang Town. The four of them were traveling together, and it was evening of the second day—

The dwarf and Gebu sat together, the female mercenary with the little girl, the four of them, a horse, and a giant goat, arrived at Chifang Town in the glow of the setting sun.

This town is so popular!

Under the setting sun, the entire town was ablaze with crimson sloping rooftops. It was as if the whole town was ablaze, or as if a red tide was endlessly surging from the horizon toward us.

Gebu's eyes were so captivated by the intoxicating red that he forgot to blink.

The dwarf looked at the halfling in front of him and laughed:

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"Ah...it looks good," Gebu replied absentmindedly.

"The most famous thing about this Chifang Town is this red color... The robes of the cardinals of the Holy See are dyed with red sand produced here. At the height of the town's prosperity, there were dye houses all over the streets, and even the river that flowed through the town was dyed red."

"Ah...ah." Gebu finally realized, "You mean the most prosperous time? Not now?"

"Business was tough in the old kingdom, so the dye houses moved to the coastline of the new kingdom. It's closer to the cotton-producing areas and is the center of the textile industry. This saves a lot on transportation costs."

"So... the New Kingdom has taken over the Old Kingdom's business. Won't they protest? If I remember correctly, the church's center was in the Old Kingdom," Geb asked, gripping the giant goat's horns. This guy was more stable than the giant eagle, but a bit skinny and uncomfortable.

"Hey, those old charlatans... those old priests, they wish they could drive all the foreign merchants out of the old kingdom and make everyone obediently go back to farming..."

Before the words were finished, a scream shattered the peaceful evening.

The four people looked at the source of the screams at the same time; a group of people had gathered in the town square.

Gebu, always eager for excitement, urged the dwarf to ride his sheep over and take a look. The knife-wielding woman, fearing the dwarf would renege on his debt, followed closely behind with the hostage.

A crowd surrounded a cart containing four corpses stacked on top of each other. They were unrecognizable, with horrific wounds on their bodies. Some were missing arms, some were missing legs, and one was only half a head.

"My Jimmy!" an old woman cried, kneeling before the cart. "I shouldn't have let you go hunting those manticores... What's the point of earning that money? You're risking your life... You wouldn't even kill a crow, how can you be a monster hunter!"

The crowd listened to the woman's wails, looked at the dead bodies with unbearable sorrow, and whispered among themselves.

"Another batch has died... Thank goodness."

"That manticore is terrifying. The Baron should send knights to hunt it down; these ragtag knights are utterly incompetent..."

From the crowd stood a gaunt old man—he wore a black monk's robe, his high cheekbones concealing sunken cheeks, and he was so thin that he looked like a withered tree covered with bark.

The old priest cried out in a hoarse, broken voice: "May God protect us, in the name of O'Bak... What a tragedy! Four more fine young men have been tempted by money and perished under the claws of that scorpion... As a servant of the Lord, I hereby proclaim to the lost sheep: the source of this calamity is not that flying monster, but that wicked foreign merchant and the decadent lifestyle he brings! Greed! Pride and debauchery!"

The old man was talking so much that he was practically drooling, and he was so moved by his own words that his face turned red. Gebu was worried that the guy might faint from lack of oxygen halfway through his story... But despite his thin appearance, he had a large lung capacity and was still rambling on and on.

"That manticore was a sign sent by the Lord! The Salt and Iron Merchants wanted to trade with the evil heretical empire, so the Lord sent a monster to block the road and slaughter the caravan... It couldn't be clearer! I appeal again... no, I warn everyone in Red Town again, do not serve the dwarf caravans anymore, or you will suffer the same fate as the people in these carts... O'Bak bless their souls."

The crowd reacted differently to the old priest's ramblings; some agreed, while others disagreed. Only the old woman who had lost her son wept even more bitterly.

The dwarf Dulin snorted dismissively.

"Look, just as I said, the old priest in the church is itching to see us dwarves doing business on their territory. I bet that priest wishes the carts were full of guild members. He'd be happy if we were all dead."

"Who is this person?" Gebu asked.

"Father Wusha. The chief priest of the Holy Church in Chifang Town. The caravan people nicknamed him 'Old Crow.' He..."

The dwarf seemed to want to say something even harsher, but then thought it inappropriate to curse the priest in broad daylight, so he held back.

The crowd in the square gradually dispersed, and Gebu and his group arrived at the caravan's encampment on the edge of town.

This open space used to be a horse farm. After the caravan arrived, more than a dozen horse-drawn carriages set up a camp in the open space. All sorts of caravan members set up stalls and booths in the camp. It was bustling with activity, with people shouting and horses neighing.

Dulin led the three men directly to the center of the caravan camp, to a large purple tent.

He lifted the curtain, and a faint scent of incense wafted into his nostrils. Gebu sniffed it—myrrh and…frankincense?

Geb had read about these two spices in a book, but this was the first time he had smelled them.

Looking back, the book contained so many descriptive words, such as woody scent and milky scent... In reality, I was actually able to distinguish them one by one.

These two spices are quite valuable… The owner of this tent must be very wealthy, Geb thought.

Sunlight streamed through the tent, casting a soft, pale purple glow that spilled onto the mosaic-patterned carpet. In the center of the tent, a bearded female dwarf sat cross-legged, eyes closed in meditation.

The dwarf Dulin straightened his clothes a little nervously, then cleared his throat.

The female dwarf did not open her eyes, but simply nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

"Lady Stoneheart, in the name of rocks and ancestors, of the Jinkra clan, son of Thornton, Durin pays homage to you. May you be as steadfast as the towering Stonefoot Mountain."

The middle-aged dwarf spoke to the female dwarf in front of him with the utmost respect, like a child facing an elder, enunciating each word carefully.

"May the rocks bless you, Durin of the Jinkra Clan. I, Toril Stoneheart, welcome you to the Fourth Salt and Iron Caravan. I have a deep friendship with your father Thornton and his father Thor. I hope that the relationship between our two clans will be as enduring as the iron mines of the Giants Mountains."

The dwarf woman spoke slowly and deliberately. Only after she finished speaking did she slowly open her eyes.

"I'm pleased that you've maintained dwarven etiquette even after leaving the underground. However, now that we're under the heavens, traveling through human lands, let's get straight to the point, just like humans."

"Dulin, what can I do for you?"