Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Unlucky Totoro

As the saying goes, when enemies meet, their eyes blaze with hatred.

This scrawny, shifty-looking fellow was none other than Dodoro, the very same man Shaya had encountered when he first descended the mountain and arrived in Wildfire Town. To put it plainly, this unfortunate low-level mage had, in fact, financed Lord Shaya’s first venture into the world.

The moment Dodoro laid eyes on Shaya, his gaze widened, locking onto him with such intensity it was as if flames might shoot forth. The flesh on his cheeks trembled, the muscles at the corners of his eyes twitched, and his teeth ground together audibly.

At last, Dodoro could restrain himself no longer and shouted, “You little bastard! You’ve ruined me!”

Dodoro leapt up, arms outstretched, his hands lunging for Shaya’s throat, nearly throwing himself onto him in his rage.

Shaya was somewhat perplexed. True, he had stolen a robe from this man back then.

But still… it was only a robe.

Yet here was this fellow, gnashing his teeth as if he wished to bite a chunk out of Shaya’s flesh—come on now, man, it was just a robe. He hadn’t desecrated his ancestors’ graves or stolen his wife…

But seeing this scoundrel fly into such a fury, eyes bloodshot and launching himself forward, Shaya did feel a twinge of guilt—especially since he was sitting on the ground at that moment, cradling the pitiful little creature in one arm, while his other hand was pinned beneath him. Dodoro flung himself atop Shaya, hands clamped around his neck, shaking him furiously, his voice nearly breaking into sobs: “You’ve ruined me! Ruined me! You bastard! You bastard!”

Yet, for all Dodoro’s effort, it was as futile as trying to strangle a rock. Shaya’s physique was monstrous; this withered little mage, even if he summoned every ounce of strength—more than he’d ever used in the bridal chamber—could not even make Shaya flush or pant. The muscles of Shaya’s neck were as unyielding as granite in Dodoro’s grasp.

Dodoro, on the other hand, was nearly spent, gasping for breath.

Finally, Shaya couldn’t hold back and kindly asked, “So… what exactly happened to you?”

What happened?

Dodoro glared at Shaya with a look of utter sorrow and rage…

…

…

To be fair, Dodoro had every reason to despise this country bumpkin—and his reason was irrefutable.

Ever since that fateful day in Wildfire Town, when Dodoro met Shaya, his life had descended into a nightmare.

This seemingly simple-minded mountain bumpkin had given Dodoro a vivid lesson in “No Honest Folk in Wildfire Town,” and left with his payment for the lesson—Dodoro’s very own leather robe.

Having a robe stolen was humiliating, yes, but in Dodoro’s view, it wasn’t worth much. The real problem was that the robe contained something of vital importance to Dodoro.

His mage’s badge.

It was an oval badge, no larger than a copper button, and to the uninitiated, it looked just like one. In fact, the unsophisticated Shaya had mistaken it for a button. Yet the badge was worth a hundred times more than the robe itself! If Shaya had known its true value, he’d never have sold the robe for such a pittance.

For Dodoro, that mage’s badge was nothing less than his lifeline.

On the continent, whether in the Odin Empire or the Byzantine Empire, those who could wield magic were highly sought after by the ruling class everywhere. In other words, mages belonged to a privileged order.

Though Dodoro’s powers were meager, he had managed to journey from the imperial capital to the Wildfire Plains unscathed, all thanks to that badge, which served as his talisman.

Consider it: a weakling, garbed in a lavish robe, carrying a full pack (even if he was bankrupt, he’d absconded with plenty of magical stones and other valuables bought on credit), and physically frail—such a man would be easy prey for bandits, rogues, or local bullies.

Yet, no one dared trouble Dodoro along the way, for he bore the mage’s badge.

On this continent, unless one was truly desperate, held a mortal grudge, or was so powerful as to defy the heavens, no one would dare lay hands on a mage, however lowly. The laws of both the Odin and Byzantine Empires explicitly stated: Anyone who offends a mage shall face the harshest penalties! The rulers of both empires had enacted these laws to curry favor with the mage community and attract more magical talent to their service.

Thus, wherever Dodoro went, as long as he bore the badge, none dared harm him. Even if he was weak, to trouble a mage was to defy the rulers themselves.

What’s that? You think Dodoro is useless? Fine, go ahead and offend him—then the local lord will thank you by making an example of you, having your head chopped off to teach others a lesson. It's a perfect excuse to demonstrate, “See how much I respect mages? Even a lowly one is honored here! Fellow mages, what are you waiting for? Come and join me!”

Even in lawless Wildfire Town, crawling with thieves, robbers, and mercenaries of every shade, no one dared touch Dodoro because he bore that badge. The local ruler also needed mages in his service! If word got out that a mage had been mistreated in Wildfire Town, it would ruin their reputation and make it impossible to recruit magical talent in the future.

Only a clueless country bumpkin fresh out of the mountains—like Shaya—would dare openly rob a mage.

Deprived of his badge, Dodoro was like a young maiden stripped naked and thrown into a den of ruffians—especially since he was still carrying valuables.

With Shaya gone and no proof of his identity, Dodoro, now lacking his mage’s badge, was targeted by several bands of thieves in Wildfire Town in less than an hour.

He was weak, and when faced with a pack of wolfish robbers, his feeble earth magic could do little more than raise a cloud of dust to make people sneeze or blur their vision. On the very night that Shaya left Wildfire Town, full and content, Dodoro was visited by wave after wave of thieves, robbed of all his belongings, stripped of his clothes, and left shivering outside the town walls in the cold wind.

His misfortune was profound.

Had he been in any other city within the Byzantine Empire, he could have reported the loss at the local chapterhouse and applied for a new mage’s badge.

But Wildfire Town was a place outside all jurisdiction—there was no chapterhouse there.

Dodoro spent a day as a beggar in Wildfire Town, was beaten up at night for encroaching on another vagabond’s turf, and by morning, finally found a lifeline.

A merchant caravan passing through Wildfire Town on its way to the Odin Empire discovered Dodoro. Though a lowly mage, Dodoro could at least write and keep accounts. Driven to desperation, the pitiful mage sold himself for the price of two meat pies, becoming a proud apprentice in the caravan, journeying north across the Wildfire Plains…

Had things proceeded normally, Dodoro might have stayed with the caravan, and, given his cunning and experience from the imperial capital, perhaps become a proper accountant in a few years.

But fate had more misfortune in store. The caravan, cautious as it skirted the edge of the goblin-haunted Red Wastes on its northward route, believed itself safe—goblins rarely left their territory, and the company had hired several mercenary guards.

But this time, they met goblins anyway.

A horde of goblin warriors attacked the caravan’s camp—a rare event, given the mercenary presence. Stranger still, the goblin chieftain was exceptionally skilled in combat! Normally, goblins were poor fighters, but under this leader’s command, it took little more than a meal’s time to dispatch all six mercenaries.

The goblin chief, wielding a fierce iron hammer, seemed both furious and agitated.

Afterward, as the caravan members tried to negotiate, the goblin chief declared himself the local goblin lord, furious because—

His queen had gone missing.