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!”

…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?

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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?

“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?

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.

Fin.