Grandson of the Holy Emperor is a Necromancer

Chapter 136: 074. City of Slaves -2 (Part Two)

I flinched in surprise and tried to turn my head to look at her. However, a loud cheering broke out at the same time.

Slaves were walking past the crowd while being ‘escorted’ by skeletons. Among the group, there was this one guy who really stood out like a sore thumb.

Although shackles were placed on his wrists, he was actually riding on a carriage unfitting for a slave. Meanwhile, female slaves were on either side of him, feeding him fresh fruits.

Compared to the other slaves, he was getting a noticeably nicer treatment. Although the man looked fatigued as heck, there was this unmistakable rosy glow on his face.

“Haha! Do you have any idea who I am?! I’m the Imperial Prince! The Imperial Prince! You think I’ll lose to some lowly Orcs or slaves?!”

The dude riding on the carriage guffawed out loudly.

The crowd of citizens watching the procession let out some words of admiration and amazement.

“With this, it’s nine straight victories! One more and he’ll be freed from slavery!”

“But look, you can tell he’s mad.”

“Who knows, he might get dragged away later for insulting the monarchy and lose his head!”

Whoever said that, well, that person was spot on. The dude in the carriage definitely had misplaced several screws in his head.

This kingdom was fighting a war against the Theocratic Empire, yet he was busy announcing himself as a prince of the enemy nation to everyone out here. If that wasn’t an act of madness, then I didn’t know what would qualify as one.

What was even crazier, though, was that he wasn’t bullsh*tting at all.

I stared at the slave in question and became utterly stupefied.

That face for some particular reason, felt far too familiar.

The ‘slave’ from the Theocratic Empire, who was forced to participate in a martial arts competition…

…No, he was actually the man formerly known as the Third Imperial Prince of the empire!

“Why is my older brother coming out from the arena?!”

Indeed, he was Ruppel Olfolse.

And he was currently guffawing out loudly while embracing the female slaves.

**

I hadn’t seen my older brother in a long while, but uh, he seemed to have changed somewhat.

While basking in the adulation of the crowd, he was proudly showing himself off.

…How did he end up in that state anyway?

I figured that Ruppel had also been transported into Aslan by the mass-scale warp magic. But in that case, what about Oscal Baldur? Didn’t they warp together?

I looked around but couldn’t see or sense that old man. Then again, if he was around, Ruppel wouldn’t have ended up as a gladiator slave like this.

My gaze turned back to the completely-transformed Ruppel.

The ‘Ruppel Olfolse’ I know would’ve been sobbing like a little kid after finding himself in an unfamiliar foreign land. But that dude, he was kicking up a big fuss over there.

Although, it wasn’t all that hard to see why.

So many people were cheering him on. On top of that, attractive female slaves were seducing him and humouring his needs as well.

He was getting the acknowledgement he failed to gain back in the imperial palace from these cheering strangers, so yeah, he must’ve been feeling like he’s on cloud nine or something.

I pushed my way past the throng of onlookers.

“Brother!”

“Ng?”

Ruppel turned his head and looked in my direction. His eyes opened wider. He even rubbed his eyes several times in disbelief. And then…

“Is, is that you, Allen?!”

He was clearly overjoyed as he climbed down from the carriage, but when he tried to run over to me, some soldiers blocked his path.

Ruppel flinched and stepped back.

The Necromancers stared at me and pointed their spears. “And who you might be?”

Obviously, I couldn’t say out aloud that that man was my older brother. Even if these people ended up treating me as another madman, it’d still be too risky to openly call myself an Imperial Prince.

For now, it would be smarter to feign ignorance in this case.

Besides all that, how did my older brother end up as a slave? What could have happened in the last few months?

No, hang on. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If he’s a slave, didn’t that mean it was possible to negotiate his price?

I pretended to reach inside my robe to pull something out, and extracted a coin pouch from the item window. “I wish to purchase him.”

“What the…? What are you even talking about? He’s not a product for sale. In the next match, he…”

I opened the mouth of the pouch and showed them the contents within.

It was filled with quite a lot of glistening gold coins. As payment meant for only a single slave, it was a considerable sum.

The Necromancers’ eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. They then exchanged glances with each other.

“…W-well, he’s already won nine times in a row. Maybe it’ll be better for us to sell him now.”

The Necromancers nodded their heads in agreement.

But just as they extended their hands towards my coin pouch, yet another group of Necromancers showed up to interrupt us.

“Halt! That slave is coming with us!”

I glanced at them.

This new group was kitted out in proper armour and even wore metal helms. They were well armed, and even accompanied by their own slaves who must’ve been sacrifices meant for extra demonic energy reserve.

Meaning, these guys were Necromancers with quite a bit of authority.

The leader of the armoured Necromancers exchanged his piercing gaze between me and Ruppel. “…What is your relationship with this slave?”

I cussed inwardly at that question.

This guy’s eyes were filled with vigilance. I wasn’t sure what he thought about me, but Ruppel was definitely being ‘suspected’ here.

If that’s the case, I needed to take a step back from here for the time being. “I was merely curious since he apparently won nine times in a row. As I’m in the middle of a journey, I was in need of a guard, you see.”

“My apologies, but this slave cannot be sold to you. His lordship, the castellan of Evelyum, is planning to take possession of him.”

“The castellan? How come?”

The Necromancer curtly replied to my question. “It doesn’t concern you. Take him away.”

The summoned skeletons grabbed Ruppel and began forcibly dragging him away. He resisted and struggled to free himself before staring at me. I placed my index finger on my lips and silently mouthed the following words.

-I’ll come and rescue you, so behave yourself.

Ruppel’s head faltered lower after he understood what I was saying.

Once the Necromancers took my older brother away, Tina and Hans walked up to me.

Hans asked first. “Who was that man, sir?”

I ruefully smacked my lips and replied. “My older brother.”

“…?! You mean he’s an Imperial Prince?!”

Tina tilted her head in confusion at Hans’s reaction as she still didn’t know about my real background.

Hans continued on. “Oh my goodness! So the rumours of Aslan holding the Imperial Prince captive were all true! But to think he’s now a slave! If the Theocratic Empire finds out, the ensuing pandemonium will be truly horrific.”

“You’re right about that.”

More importantly, though, it seemed that the castellan of this city must’ve figured out Ruppel’s true identity. That’s probably why my older brother got dragged away like this.

Things just got more complicated.

I spat out a lengthy groan. “All of you, prepare to leave.”

“Pardon?”

“We’ll flee from the city once I break my brother out.”

“B-but, how…?”

Hans and Tina stared at me in a daze.

Since Ruppel got dragged away by the castellan’s people, the possibility of him getting locked up somewhere in the fortress was quite high.

I replied. “Isn’t it obvious?”

If he got imprisoned, then all I had to do was break him out.

Now that Ruppel’s identity had been exposed, an investigation about me would be launched sooner rather than later. If that’s the case, I should make my move first before my opponent has a chance to act.

“Yup, it’s time to go on a rampage.”

I shifted my gaze over to the huge castle located on top of a hill over yonder.

While staring at the castle of Evelyum, I began warming up my muscles.

***

In the military camp belonging to the Theocratic Empire.

Paladins in metal armours were standing tall and proud even under the sweltering sunlight beating down on them.

Aslan’s citizens could be spotted infrequently among the empire’s soldiers displaying their finely-drilled military discipline.

“T-thank you. Thank you so much!”

Raphael and Alice healed the kingdom’s citizens who were wounded during the war. From the trivial little scratches all the way to grievous injuries, they gave it their all. With their skill level, they were more than capable enough to heal even a person at death’s doorstep to full health.

However, it was still a difficult task trying to treat dozens, hundreds of refugees every single day.

Raphael smiled back at Aslan’s refugees who were expressing their gratitude.

It was then, he heard a small commotion breaking out at a nearby guard post.

Someone was approaching the Theocratic Empire’s territory. It was an old man using a golden-coloured sword as his walking stick. He was wobbling unsteadily on his feet.

The Paladins guarding the camp quickly pointed their spears at the old man. “Halt! Identify your…”

“Get out of my way if you wish to keep your head.”

The old man’s words were filled with thick murderous intent.

The Paladins flinched nastily and froze up on the spot.

The old man’s eyes, obscured under the dry and cracked hair strands, were glaring venomously at the Paladins. “I shall have an audience with his majesty the Holy Emperor right away.”

The emaciated old man, with a dried-up scalp and lips, alongside a face lacking signs of vitality – came across as oddly familiar to the Paladins.

They eventually realised who this was and froze up even further on their spots. And Raphael, witnessing this situation from a distance, hurriedly dashed towards the guard post.

The old man was a sight for sore eyes, at least to the archbishop. A great hero who participated in the battle against Necromancer King Amon fifty years ago had finally returned to the fold.

It was the legendary figure who ably guided the Holy Emperor and the archbishop to the front steps of Amon all those years ago.

“Oscal! Is that you, Oscal?!”

The vice-captain of the Order of the Golden Cross.

The sword king, Oscal Baldur.

He had crossed the barren desert to reach the Theocratic Empire’s camp.

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