Morres [1]

39

39. The Predator (3)

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Having escaped the cliff, they ran towards Aslan's hut. Regardless of their intention to flee, they reasoned it would be best to bring along basic weapons and food. Above all, since all the bandits they were with had been knocked out, it would take some time before news of their escape reached Jerome.

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Food rations and flour, flintstones, and various medicinal herbs. Even as he stuffed a few traps and weapons into his bag, Aslan's mind was in turmoil. Sooner or later, Jerome's subordinates would probably block off all paths leading down the mountain. Since they are likely in collusion with the village guards, entering Flanders was not an option.

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Should they head towards Carthago then? Despite the longer detour through the mountain path, if they could get across safely, it might be the best choice. However, if the checkpoint guards discovered that they had come from Flanders, they would be treated as spies. Although currently at peace, Carthago and Flanders are still at war.

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'...Is Asein Republic the only choice after all?'

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No, the immediate priority was to survive from Jerome. They would seek refuge deep within the western mountains, where the search teams wouldn't reach.

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How long would it take for a gap to form in the guards? A week? A month? Or would they have to wait for an entire season?

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As Aslan busied himself with preparations, Bart, who had been quietly observing, offered some advice.

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"You won't need that much. No matter how you look at it, the escape won't take more than three days. It's best to keep ourselves as light as possible."

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"......?"

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Aslan paused and looked at Bart with a hardened expression. Thoughts began to resurface in his chaotic mind, particularly Bart's words that he had previously ignored.

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– It seems like we don't have much time, how about descending the mountain now?

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– ...you'll be flustered soon, so it's best to rest and save your strength.

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Did he know in advance that this would happen?

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Perceiving the doubt in Aslan's gaze, Bart added with a smirk while scanning the outside of the hut. "I may not know this place well, but judging from the current chaos, I can hazard a guess. It seems like a punitive force will be mobilized soon."

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...What? Why would he suddenly say something like that?

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However, without any further explanation, Bart left the hut saying, "We've wasted too much time. We need to leave now."

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Aslan, after removing some grain sacks and the heavy traps, hurriedly tied up his bag and followed Bart.

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Though they hadn't known each other for long, Bart's words hadn't been nonsense so far. It wouldn't be a bad idea to keep in mind the possibility of a punitive force and escape as far as possible.

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However, when Bart mentioned the punitive force, a familiar face came to Aslan's mind. It was Max, the old blacksmith, with whom he had formed a shallow bond since coming here. Max was a quiet old man who drank and had a kind demeanor. Aslan wanted to save him, at least.

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"I may not know much about Max's past, but here, he's just a blacksmith."

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Would the impending punitive force take that into account?

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Considering the innocent Seymour and Gustav, who were confined in the previous bandit group, were brutally killed by Rohan's punitive force, it was highly likely Max wouldn't survive if left here.

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There were countless reasons why they couldn't take him.

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Jerome might have already released his men into the mountains under the guise of catching spies. Given that situation, running away with an extra burden was practically impossible.

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Max was slow and couldn't climb the rugged mountains. He was an old man who knew nothing but alcohol, and there was a chance he might already be drunk and fallen asleep in the blacksmith shop.

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Jerome's men were in their prime, experts at fighting and pillaging.

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On the other hand, what about their own side? A handicapped half-man and a prisoner shackled with heavy cuffs. Even though the prisoner turned out to be stronger than expected.

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Instead of giving a response, Bart looked into Aslan's eyes and asked, "...Won't you regret it?"

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"......"

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Aslan hesitated. He knew that depending on his answer, both he and Bart could be in danger. Logically, he had basically declared that he was ready to die. But Aslan had developed an inexplicable trust in Bart. He had this strange belief that if he really wanted to, Bart would somehow help.

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Moreover, if it was completely impossible, wouldn't Bart have told him so?

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Aslan once told Bart that even if he were to die soon, he wanted to live honorably while he was alive. If they left an innocent, weak, and good-hearted old man and ran away, he would probably regret it for the rest of his life.

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Looking straight into Bart's eyes, he nodded strongly, "Yes, I won't regret it."

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For a moment, a faint smile appeared on Bart's face, as if recalling an old memory.

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Thud. With a light tap on Aslan's head, Bart turned around without another word.

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Unfortunately, when they hurriedly arrived at the blacksmith's workshop, old Max was completely drunk.

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Hiccup. Seeing the old man, who couldn't even recognize his visitors with his eyes half-open, a look of defeat appeared on Aslan's face.

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'...Was I wrong after all?'

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However, Bart walked past him with long strides, and placed one hand on the swaying old man's head. Soon, a bright light seeped out from his hand, wrapping around old Max's entire body.

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Whooosh.

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"Uh... Mom?"

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Old Max's eyes, which had been bloodshot, suddenly returned to normal, and widened in surprise.

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"Huh? My hangover is suddenly gone? Huh? My back? My chronic knee arthritis?"

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Ignoring the old man who was still confused, Bart started walking toward the path leading to the mountain. Aslan, who had been following him, quickly pulled on old Max's arm and spoke urgently.

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"I'll explain later, for now, just follow us. We don't have much time."

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"Hold on, let me grab my liquor bottle......"

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Although the old man was flustered, Aslan ignored his words and pulled his arm strongly. This wasn't the time to accommodate the old man's drinking habits.

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Fortunately, sensing the tense atmosphere, the old man seemed to realize the seriousness of the situation and followed them without any further objections. Seeing that his pace was not slow, it seemed his claims of no longer having chronic arthritis weren't unfounded.

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Bart occasionally stopped to gaze at the empty air, then quickly determined a direction and walked briskly. His stride was unhesitant, unusual for someone who hadn't been in the flower village for very long. They managed to enter the deep forest without encountering any mountain bandits, making their way down a secluded path.

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Beep!

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The sound of a horn echoed from behind. It was the emergency horn, rung in the flower village whenever there was a major incident. It seemed their escape had been discovered.

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