Chapter 107. Want me to send you off too?
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Is the totem by the door not visible? Or is the totem instead drawing in drunken dogs?
It started with the Chief of the First Base Camp—Aviot’s captain, Fixer.
“Today, huh? I mean—take that mask off and come on! We gotta drink honest, one-on-one! Ain’t that right? Huh?”
The man who’d decided he’d die—somehow he didn’t die, and he’d miraculously survived.
And he’d guzzled strong liquor so hard that with every breath he exhaled, a waft of alcohol hit like—whoosh.
“I’m two years older than you, huh? You said so! Damn, I’m feelin’ it! Hyung-nim! Pour your little brother a drink—khk!”
Thud, thud-thud.
Three punches, dead center, right in the solar plexus.
But maybe his condition was just weirdly bad—no. It’s just that this bastard is tough.
“W-what the….”
Eyes overflowing with betrayal, like he’d been blindsided by a comrade he trusted.
“Khk, ugh!”
I drove two more into his solar plexus.
Thunk.
“…Damn it.”
Fixer went down with a heavy sound, and a curse came out on its own.
Looks like one totem isn’t enough.
I dragged that huge body along the floor, sat him down neatly beside Plen, and wiped the sweat dripping down my forehead.
‘Just doing this and I’m sweating.’
Yeah. You can’t hide age.
Anyway, as I stepped into the room to enjoy the peace I’d reclaimed with my fists, a shadow approached.
“Se-senior, hic. Death Knight-nim is resting comfortably….”
“Want me to send you off too? Wanna go check in person?”
“…I’ll be going.”
Oberon came in nicely drunk, then quietly snuffed out.
That one wasn’t normal anymore either.
Who the hell handed liquor to a fledgling whose hair hadn’t even dried of blood, seriously…
The way he was chugging straight from the bottle without even a cup—yeah, I didn’t even have to see what his master was like.
‘That punk’s got fast instincts.’
Of course, I can’t make Oberon into the third totem.
Senior Riheim—no matter how dignified he is, if it’s about his disciple, his eyes would probably roll back.
If I made Oberon into a totem, I might end up as the decorative ornament on the tip of Senior Riheim’s staff.
So, back into the room.
“Hoo. What a mess.”
If I’d just cracked everyone’s skulls, I might’ve felt better, but weren’t they comrades I’d fought alongside, in their own way.
I couldn’t just make blood spill.
“Alright, then….”
With a relaxed heart, I sat upright and began to 펼치 my breathing technique. …No, I was about to.
BANG!
“Wahaha! You beat Fixer? You—better at drinking than you look! Come on, take my cup too!”
A huge man burst in, throwing the door open like he meant to rip it off its hinges.
It was Chief Kallion of the Third Base Camp. No—he wasn’t alone.
“Ahem. Then the winner between the two can face me. I drink the best, you see.”
The name… I don’t know.
He introduced himself before, I think, but all I could barely remember was the position.
The Chief of the Fourth Base Camp.
From the impression then, he’d been a fairly dignified man for a mercenary, but… when he got drunk, he seemed to get pretty lively.
“Here. Take it.”
“You take it first?”
“Ohho, you’re pretty eager—khk!”
SMACK!
“First cup.”
Kallion extended his cup as he moved in, then took a hit right on the nose and staggered.
THUD! THUD!
“Second cup, third cup.”
The cup toppled. As Kallion fell flat on his back along with the cup, my fists didn’t stop.
And finally—
“Fo…urth… cup.”
Tremble.
Kallion rolled his eyes back and trembled.
I finished off the first uninvited guest, lifted my head, and looked at the rest of his group.
“……”
“……”
Shaking eyes. A thin silence. Tremble—Kallion’s fingertips and toes twitching.
Slide.
Tap!
“He’s my loot.”
“…….”
The Chief of the Fourth Base Camp cautiously tried to take Kallion away, then froze at my refusal.
“……”
“……”
That thin silence again.
“…I’ll just take the alcohol, then.”
“Do what you want.”
Instead of taking his crew, he took only the liquor bottle and left the room.
And like that—thump.
Left of the door: Fixer. Right of the door: Plen. Beside Plen: Kallion.
“Hmm.”
Looking at it like this, it was the chiefs of Camps 1, 2, and 3 gathered in one place.
Just as I started to feel a little regretful about having sent the Chief of the Fourth Base Camp away…
“Mage-nim! My looooord! It is I, Raileigh, who has arrived! Your right hand—Raileigh!”
A frivolous voice.
And sure enough, he had a bottle tucked under his arm.
“I brought the best liquor for my lord— I did bring it, buuut….”
But maybe his instincts were no joke—his footsteps slowed more and more.
“…May I go?”
Raileigh stopped at what he considered a safe distance and politely asked for my intent.
“Of course, no—”
Raileigh was one step faster.
Whip—tap.
“…I’ll sit here.”
Raileigh approached and sat beside Fixer. He even balanced it—left 2, right 2.
Fast enough to move before getting hit, and still thinking about symmetry—honestly impressive.
Even I had nothing to say.
“…You, go.”
“…Are you sure, sir?”
“…Yeah.”
He was pathetic.
Normally, even if Raileigh sat like that, I’d smash his solar plexus just as fairly as the other totems, but…
‘…Not that kid.’
Think about it.
From Raileigh’s point of view—he’d tried to scam an inexperienced mage—coming back into Hamelin Great Forest probably felt like garbage. But what could he do?
They told him to follow them all the way to the ancient ruins. They said the danger wasn’t that high, but to him it must’ve been like thunder from a clear sky.
And then, just when he thought he’d finally clawed his way out of the Great Forest…
‘He got caught by some crazy bitch.’
Back then, at the ancient ruins’ camp, Raileigh was dragged in, and it was just…
Shackles on both arms and both legs.
They didn’t just call him a “criminal” in words—they treated him like an actual “criminal.”
And he’d only gotten those shackles off a few hours ago!
So how could I persecute him. Unless I wasn’t human.
But then.
“…Really?”
“Really.”
“Then maybe… did you drink, Mage-nim?”
This bastard.
Raileigh tested my patience. As my fist trembled, I remembered how miserable he’d looked and cranked my patience all the way up.
“If you get hit with a bottle, it hurts.”
“…Yessir.”
Only then did Raileigh seem to believe me, and he sprang up like an arrow.
But why?
“Uh, but, Mage-nim.”
“What now.”
“Could you lend me a pen and some paper for a moment? Just a moment. Ah, there it is. One second….”
Instead of leaving when told, he went into my quarters, pulled out three parchments, then scribbled something and made message cards with string.
And then—
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Before I could even read them, he hung cards on Totem 1, 2, and 3.
“Then… may you live long and prosper!”
I watched him sprint off, then curiosity tugged at me, and I turned my gaze.
“…You f*cking bastard.”
The message cards hanging from the totems’ necks were short.
Beware of dog
Rabid dog inside
If you get caught, you die
There was a reason he’d bolted like that.
The mercenaries’ drinking kept going.
Just how much booze had they stockpiled? The drinking started at lunch and didn’t stop until nearly eight.
Aster, alone in the room, quietly held the view outside the window in his eyes.
“…Tch.”
He didn’t like it.
About two hours since Raileigh left—there hadn’t been a single uninvited guest.
So shouldn’t that be a good thing…? But a person’s heart doesn’t work like that.
When something works too well, a nasty streak started creeping up inside.
‘Should I go grab him even now?’
Inner conflict.
As a person, he’d said he couldn’t beat Raileigh today—but just how long had he lived like a person.
Mostly never.
It wasn’t that he’d been treated like a dog—if he thought about it, he’d mostly lived like a dog.
So…
‘Just one day, huh?’
Even if one more stain got added to a life already blotched with stains, it wasn’t like there was anything to be ashamed of.
But.
“…Forget it. Tch.”
Aster smacked his lips and folded away the conflict.
He’d like to free all the totems and nail Raileigh to a wall, but he wasn’t in the mood right now.
And the reason was outside the window.
At the mercenaries’ drinking.
“Wahaha! What, huh? You’re already drunk?”
“Today—kgh. We gotta drink more. Kgh—he’s already gone?”
Mercenaries shouting rowdily, pouring and drinking like it was the best thing in the world. If you listened closely, it wasn’t like they were having any meaningful conversation.
They just laughed, laughed, laughed—spewing meaningless nonsense and laughing.
Were they drunk on the joy of victory? That could be part of it.
But Aster could see it clearly.
Small groups around drinking tables. And at each table, every so often, a cold silence would come.
“……”
“……”
Like it was timed, the conversation would cut off, then as if nothing happened, laughter would ring out again.
When the talk cut off, it was truly strange.
For a very brief moment, the mercenaries’ gazes gathered in one place. They’d linger on the table, then drop away with a flick.
What sat there was a brimming cup.
A cup that no one touched throughout the long drinking.
A cup with no owner.
No—there was an owner.
They just couldn’t come.
Because the owners were those who couldn’t attend—those who’d been sacrificed in battle.
“…They said it was the last drinking, huh.”
Aster recalled the mercenaries’ chatter before the drinking began.
The last drinking.
A farewell held by those who remained, for those who’d left.
A final 자리 where those who survived and those who finally set could be together.
That was why the mercenaries laughed and made noise.
Like clowns, laughing more than usual. Making big gestures to make each other laugh. And the way they smiled until their lips felt like they’d tear—
Go well.
Because they wanted to say that one line.
Just then, Aster’s eyes fell on a bottle left behind by one of the uninvited guests.
“……”
The bottle Plen had come and chugged from.
Tap.
When he flicked it with a finger, there was still a decent amount left.
And beside it were two unused cups. Aster pulled one of them toward himself.
Trickle.
Liquor filled the cup. There were two cups. One was for the one who couldn’t come.
“Well… even if he came, he wouldn’t be able to drink it.”
How would a dead person drink liquor. Nonsense.
But did the mercenaries fill cups because they truly believed their comrades could drink? No. It was just… yeah. Just an act of sending someone off.
“Did that one… burn incense at New Year’s?”
He didn’t know.
Shine von Lehmann—Aster knew far too little about Shine.
Even what he did know was just secondhand, overheard from drunks’ chatter at taverns.
“…Well, be satisfied with liquor.”
As he said that, Aster took off the Sakwol Token.
He’d been avoiding drinking in this body as much as possible, but it was the last drinking. He couldn’t help but have one cup.
No—right before he took off the Sakwol Token.
“‘Beware of dog. Rabid dog inside. If you get caught, you die,’ huh. That really suits you.”
“…?”
A door that was open before he realized it. And standing there, a single suspicious figure.
Pale skin. Clothes like they were cut from the hem of night itself. Eyes as red as blood, yet shining with light.
“May I come in?”
A woman smiling wide, showing her fangs.
Aster stared at her for a moment, then slowly nodded.
“If you want to die, as much as you like.”
“……”
“You’ll be the fourth totem.”
“……”
“……”
A thin silence. The one who spoke first was the woman.
“You little piece of trash…. Well, fine. How could a foolish thing like you recognize me. I understand.”
Shine said it with a shrug. In truth, it would be impossible for anyone to recognize Shine at a glance after going from Death Knight to vampire—but Shine’s nature was twisted to begin with.
“It’s me. Me.”
“The fourth totem?”
A way of speaking that snapped the flow in half.
“…You rotten thing.”
Shine suppressed the irritation rising up and continued the introduction calmly. No—was about to.
“Me. Shine von Lehmann. The one who saved your filthy life—hup!”
“You f*cking bastard.”
Killing intent spread through the room like a wildfire.
“You had nothing else to impersonate, so you impersonate a parasite?”
Aster’s eyes boiled fiercely, and Aster kicked off the ground and sprang forward.
