Chapter 104: The Bumpkin in Jail

Given his own temper, Shaya originally had no interest in any trivial officer position under the Byzantine Empire. He could have simply walked away. Although the enemy was numerous, with his dragon-blood enhanced body—nearly impervious to ordinary attacks—and his dragon scale armor protecting his heart, along with his razor-sharp fire fork and the crimson killing aura that rendered him invincible for a short time, none of these foes seemed to be true experts. If he forced his way through, escaping wouldn’t be a problem.

But now, with his changed status, if he fled, once fighting broke out, his comrades in the Rodria Cavalry Regiment would never stand idly by. They would unsheathe their swords to aid him. If a battle erupted and he ran off, those cavalry brothers would bear the blame. These were genuine Byzantines, with families, mouths to feed, and military positions to uphold.

Drawing a deep breath, Shaya’s expression gradually calmed. He raised his hand, causing the opposing officer to tense immediately, stepping back a few paces and raising his sword.

Shaya sneered lightly, pressing his hand onto Shalba’s, who held a spiked mace, pushing it down slightly. Then he stepped forward two paces. “I’ll go with you.”

The nearby cavalry erupted in protest, but Shaya abruptly whirled around, shouting fiercely, “Enough of this nonsense! Shut up, all of you!”

His gaze swept across the cavalrymen, and he spoke slowly, “What is it you all intend? To kill an officer and rebel? Don’t forget who you are. Hm... I’ll go with them. The rest of the matters, I leave in your hands.”

Shalba immediately understood. This rough man was Shaya’s closest confidant and said at once, “Don’t worry. Before making a move, we Rodrians will ask the general for permission.”

Shaya glanced at the officer and sneered, “Do you need to tie me up?”

The officer hesitated, then replied, “No need. We have a proper arrest warrant for your interrogation.”

Shaya gave a grunt. “Then may I bring my personal belongings?”

“No weapons, horses, or armor allowed,” the officer answered after a moment’s thought. “Personal clothing is permitted.”

Shaya drew out his fire fork with a flick. “Does this count as a weapon?”

The officer glanced at the unassuming blackened fork, a common tool for stoking fires. Though somewhat puzzled, he shook his head. “You jest, sir. That’s not a weapon. But it is made of iron…”

“This is my treasured possession. The only relic left to me by my foster father. I carry it everywhere.”

Shaya shook his head.

The officer considered for a moment. Since this man was cooperating and there was no need for a fight, a rusty iron fork was no trouble. He nodded in agreement.

Shaya changed into new clothes and brought a small bag along. Soldiers inspected the contents to ensure no hidden daggers or iron objects.

He instructed Shalba, “That goblin saved my life. Take good care of it. Once healed, if it wants to leave, let it go.”

Several soldiers then escorted Shaya away. Outside, indeed, hundreds of fully armed Byzantine infantrymen secured the area. They helped him onto a carriage. Before boarding, the officer whispered into Shaya’s ear, “I respect the Rodria Cavalry Regiment as well. This order is beyond my control. Forgive me.”

Shaya, accustomed to softness over hardness, nodded silently and climbed aboard.

The wheels rolled on, guarded by infantry, as they departed.

Behind, the cavalry pursued to the street’s end. Shalba’s face flushed red with anger. He shouted, striking the mace hard on the ground and stamping his foot. The surrounding riders were full of discontent—some furious, some disheartened.

“Return to quarters! Prepare the formation! Send a messenger to urgently report to the general!”

The cavalry swiftly retreated to make preparations.

Dodolo lingered behind, a mage with a hesitant expression.

This rustic species was captured... should he notify Lady Adeline? Ah, such a dilemma... the princess forbade revealing her identity...

Shaya had anticipated harsh interrogation: torture, whipping, branding, the legendary tiger bench and pepper water. But with his dragon-blood body, he felt no real fear. He planned that when the chance came, he would escape prison. By then, his cavalry brothers would have long left Wildfire Town to report to the Thirteenth Cavalry Regiment. With Adric’s protection, they’d be safe. Then he could flee into the wide world—free as a bird or fish. At worst, he’d return to hunting demons or become a mercenary, living freely.

Yet the expected interrogation never came.

Instead, the carriage took him to a courtyard in the city, near the garrison headquarters. Thick walls, two lines of armored infantry on guard. Shaya was placed in the innermost room, furnished with a bed and table. He was told to await the military’s decision there.

The officer who brought him quietly slipped a thick blanket to him before leaving.

In any case, Shaya was under soft house arrest.

He was told he could move at will within the room, but could not leave or enter the courtyard.

Less than two hours later, a stranger appeared, his face waxy and harsh, expression sour as if owed a hundred gold coins. He slammed a stack of papers, a quill, and an ink bottle onto the table.

“Here, write a clear account of your responsibility in escorting Sir Bonfret, the assassination of the sir, and your dereliction of duty.”

After speaking, the man left.

Shaya was momentarily stunned, then laughed heartily. Naturally, he paid no mind, threw himself on the bed, wrapped in the blanket, and fell into a deep sleep.

At night, he awoke to find a tray at the door with a water jug and three meat pies. Shaya, unfazed by cold food and water, gulped down one and a half pies, then sat at the table, glanced at the papers, and, stomach rumbling, hurried to the outhouse behind the house for half an hour before emerging with a contented sigh. As for the papers—well…

After the first day’s delivery of writing materials and the demand for confession, no one ever came to bother him again.

Meals continued to arrive three times daily. Though coarse—plain water, cold bread with meat—the rustic was used to hardship. With shelter overhead and food delivered, Shaya found a certain comfort.

As for any confession, not a single word was written. He ate his fill, slept deeply, and passed the time chatting with Dora in his mind.

Dora mocked Shaya’s situation endlessly, but the rustic remained unfazed and calm.

In short, the Byzantine military neither harmed nor interrogated him. They simply penned him in like livestock. Shaya experienced a pig’s life—and surprisingly, felt the happiness of a pig.

Food was poor, but compared to his old days of struggling just to survive, it was heavenly. The only regret was the absence of alcohol.

Given this, Shaya took no rush to escape. To run would mean exposure to wind and rain; where could he find such comfort again?

Sometimes, he even thought:

“Damn it, if prison in the Byzantine Empire is this comfortable, I might as well serve two years properly and enjoy this leisurely life.”

After more than ten days, on the fifteenth noon of his captivity, someone came to see him.

Shaya had just finished lunch and was lounging on the bed, patting his belly after a full meal. The ease of the past weeks had made him feel slightly plumper. Suddenly, the door opened, and a man entered.

The man was broad-shouldered, stout-waisted, with a round face full of flesh, eyes squinting into slits from his wide smile. He looked at Shaya on the bed and said, “You little Shaya, still so comfortable? Do you know things outside are nearly turned upside down because of you?”

Shaya leapt from the bed. “General Rabbit… no, General Lure?”

The man was indeed Lure. He seemed thinner, arms folded as he strode in and plopped down beside Shaya without offense at the mistaken title. He gave Shaya a long look, shaking his head with a tut. “I thought so. You’re heartless, living comfortably here with food, drink, and sleep, no battlefield struggles. You even look flushed, your face rounder. At this rate, you’ll catch up to me.”

Shaya laughed heartily and sat down, resting his head against the bedhead. “General Lure, what brings you? Has the military sent you to interrogate me?”

Lure’s eyes widened in mock shock, but the amusement could not be hidden. “Interrogate? What nonsense! You lucky bastard! You’re thriving now! What bastard in the military dares interrogate you? Aren’t they afraid of being drowned in spit?”

He slapped the bed and barked, “Enough! Pack your things. Let’s go.”

Shaya nodded and began to rise, but then a thought struck him. He caught a hint of advantage in General Lure’s words. Shaya sat heavily back down, wearing a shameless expression, and looked at Lure.

“Damn it! If you’re arresting me, arrest me. If you’re releasing me, say so! Who do you think I am? If you don’t speak clearly, I’m staying right here! Not going! Absolutely not!”

He shamelessly climbed back onto the bed, clutching the edge, burying his head, shouting, “I’m not going, not going! Unless you give me a clear explanation, don’t expect me to leave!”