Anagin Chronicles

Chapter 018. The Eternal Apprentice (2)

Deodia’s crew’s hideout was in the woods not far from the Ruin Village.

They lived there, kept watch, and stored the profits they took from the ruins.

“It’s more of a fortress than a hideout. Palisades, watchtowers, armed men, the whole place is tightly guarded… but that won’t mean anything to you.”

The ponytail man finished, trying to sound intimidating, but he’d lost the nerve. Fair enough, Anagin had already knocked out the fortress’s owner and badly mauled the even worse Monster Merchant.

So talk of “tight defenses” felt meaningless.

“Bah, boring.”

Watching Anagin show no reaction, ponytail man muttered.

If there wasn’t even a chance to grab some free coin, the trip should at least be entertaining, but there was none of that.

He couldn’t imagine Anagin getting scared, nor the fortress putting up a real fight. The defenders were predictable… or maybe they’d already fled.

At this distance, the villagers must’ve realized the chaos—perhaps they’d run off with the loot.

“Hold on… if we’re unlucky, they might’ve bolted for real. Those kinds of guys have a sixth sense—the moment something feels off, they bolt. The problem is they don’t just run—they take the goods. Our goods.”

“Our goods?”

When Anagin echoed, the ponytail man pretended to be wounded.

“Ah, why are you like this? I might not have helped physically, but I helped with guidance, didn’t I? I’ll handle it, so please say ’our goods.”

The ponytail man shamelessly rubbed up against Anagin. He’d decided it wasn’t worth trying to steal by force or sneak anything—Anagin was too strong and too perceptive.

Anagin, perhaps amused, moved the conversation along.

“If they ran, why worry about it now?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think they ran. Looking at you gives me the feeling they didn’t.”

Anagin suspected the ponytail man had something wrong with his head. One moment, he feared they’d fled, the next he was certain they hadn’t—that was some shaky instinct.

A short while later, Anagin and the ponytail man arrived at Deodia’s hideout.

Whether the ponytail man was cursed or blessed with that instinct, Anagin had to admit he’d been right: Deodia’s remnant crew hadn’t fled.

Though they were present in a way neither of them expected.

“They didn’t run, huh?”

“Not exactly able to run. Looks like a visitor beat them to it?”

The ponytail man looked over the broken palisade, scattered corpses, and the coins and jewels spilled on the ground.

It seemed Deodia’s crew had been carrying loot to escape when someone attacked them. The question was: who attacked them?

“What a waste.”

The ponytail man scooped up coins and a gold necklace from the ground. Whoever’d come first didn’t seem the type to care much for treasure. Or perhaps he cared about something more than treasure.

“Going in?”

The ponytail man asked, still picking up the scattered treasures.

“No reason not to. If you’re nervous, you don’t have to come.”

“Come on, what do you take me for…? Don’t worry, I’ll bolt if things get dicey.”

It was a brazen line, but Anagin liked it—it meant he didn’t have to worry about the guy.

Anagin stepped into the fortress without hesitation.

Inside, the scene mirrored the outside: smashed storerooms, corpses, and jewelry and coins scattered like trash.

The place had been gutted, leaving Anagin with a feeling of annoyance—like clearing out something long procrastinated.

“This won’t do.”

The ponytail man, looking at the mess of valuables, raised both hands.

Two hoof-shaped tattoo marks along his skin moved and crept up to his palms. The hoof-shaped marks popped out of the skin and formed objects in his hands.

“The Greed Magnet Set. A magic tool that attracts valuable jewelry proportionally to the user’s greed.”

The ponytail man explained the magic tool without being asked, then demonstrated.

Ching—!

He struck the two Greed Magnets together. A vibration ran through them, and the scattered valuables darted toward him.

Light items snapped onto the magnets as if flying; heavier necklaces and the like crawled across the ground toward the ponytail man, gathering around him. All that remained was to pick them up.

“What are you, a damn crow?”

From a half-collapsed building, a man stepped out.

“Oh, a tall one, huh?”

He stood at least two and a half meters—a towering figure.

Anagin tilted his head back to look up at him. The man had long, muscular limbs to match his height, thick brows that gave his face a fierce cast, and a shaved head that only made him look more menacing.

“Periphetes?”

The ponytail man called the giant bald man by name, apparently recognizing him.

“You know him?”

“Do I look like I’d know him?”

“Then how do you know who he is?”

“That’s because—”

“—I’m famous enough.”

The long-legged baldy, interrupted, answering for him.

Anagin said flatly, “I wasn’t asking you.”

The unexpected response made the long-legged baldy—let’s shorten it to Longbald—snort with laughter.

“Interesting guy… guess you’re not one of the crows.”

Crows—that was a derogatory term used for scavengers who fed on the remains of battlefields or the spoils left by fallen practitioners.

“One of you knows me. And the other’s the man who took down the Monster Merchant.”

So Longbald recognized Anagin; he must have seen that fight.

“You’re not here to pick up scraps—you came to claim spoils, didn’t you?”

“You too?”

“I’m only here to retrieve what was promised to me.”

Longbald said, lifting the book in his hand.

It looked old—very old.

“Something Deodia promised to give me. But judging from how things turned out, I figured I wouldn’t be getting it… so I came to collect it myself. Did you take Deodia down, too?”

“For now, yeah… You did this?”

Anagin gestured with his thumb at the corpses littering the area.

Longbald grinned.

“Why? Is that a problem?”

“No, just curious. That book’s all you’re taking?”

Anagin’s eyes flicked to the tome.

“Yeah. Planning to stop me?”

“No.”

Anagin shook his head, and the ponytail man nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Seriously?”

“What are you so surprised about?”

“I’m surprised too,” Longbald added with a short laugh. “I figured you’d be itching for a fight—a guy with your kind of bite usually wants everything in sight.”

“I don’t care for some dusty old book.”

The ponytail man cut in.

“That’s an artifact from the Ruin. Just that makes it valuable.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Artifacts in written form were rarely useful, but that didn’t mean they lacked value. Even on rarity alone, collectors paid high prices, and if offered to a temple, sometimes the gods’ favor—a blessing—followed.

Above all, the fact that Longbald had killed people just to take it was proof enough of its worth.

But Anagin’s attitude didn’t change in the slightest.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not interested anyway. That title… ‘On the True King,’ huh? Looks boring just from the cover. Really, not interested.”

Anagin read the faded ancient letters scrawled across the dried, cracked cover.

“Wait, you… you can actually read that?”

Longbald looked genuinely surprised.

”I just read them, didn’t I? Is that a problem?”

“It’s more than a problem. Ancient characters aren’t something just anyone can read.”

And that was true.

Most ancient records kept within the Ruin were written in archaic letters that only those trained specifically in the language could decipher. High priests, noble scholars, royalty, or practitioners of great renown—only a handful had that privilege.

Because the gods had decreed it so.

Even most nobles or lower-ranking priests couldn’t read the old tongue. Ordinary folk, even less so.

“So how can you read it?”

“And why do I have to answer that?”

Anagin shot the question back, calm and sharp.

He could read it because of his master’s teachings, but that was none of Longbald’s business.

The tall man watched him silently for a moment.

Then Anagin asked, with genuine irritation,

“If you’ve got what you came for, why don’t you just leave? Or are you disappointed I didn’t get in your way?”

“...Pff—Hahahaha!”

At that, Longbald burst out laughing. After a long, throaty chuckle, he said,

“Ahh… no need to fight. You let me take mine, so it’s only fair I do the same. Call it professional courtesy.”

It wasn’t like Anagin had let him take it—he simply didn’t care enough to bother. But he didn’t correct him.

Longbald looked from Anagin to the ponytail man and then started walking past them.

“See you around. I’ve got a feeling we’ll meet again.”

“I’d rather not,” Anagin replied sincerely.

It was just a hunch, but if they ever met again, one of them was bound to end up in a bad way. Not that he feared it—he just didn’t see the point.

“Hey, you look like a practitioner. Mind if I give you a bit of advice, as someone who’s been around longer?”

“No. Don’t. I don’t like advice.”

Anagin rejected it outright, but Longbald ignored him.

“Listen anyway. It’s the kind that’ll keep you alive. Watch your back. Even the harmless types in this line of work—they’ve all got their own schemes.”

He threw a sidelong glance at the ponytail man, as if to say especially that one.

Whatever his intention, Anagin gave a warning of his own.

“Then how about some advice from me?”

“Hm?”

“It’d be better if you never run into me again. Because if you do… I don’t think you’ll live long. Just a feeling.”

Anagin said it with utter sincerity. His gut told him that if they ever crossed paths again, someone was going to meet an ugly end—and he was quite sure it wouldn’t be him.

Whether he caught the tone or not, Longbald just chuckled again, soft and amused, before walking away.

After Longbald left, Anagin and the ponytail man combed through the ruins, collecting whatever loot remained.

There was a good amount of wealth gathered from the Ruin, along with weapons, food supplies, and even some magic tools.

“But man, there’s not a single decent magic tool here. Tsk—!”

The ponytail man clicked his tongue as he examined the finds.

He had volunteered to assess the magic tools—on the condition he’d get a higher cut of the reward—but nothing seemed worth much.

“Are they that bad?”

“Wanna hear it? Take this Interspatial Bag, for instance. It’s supposed to let you carry anything lightly, but the capacity can’t exceed the bag’s physical volume.”

He waved the shabby-looking bag around, grimacing. It was worn and cheap-looking even at a glance.

“Honestly, it’s not even a real Interspatial Bag. It just feels light when you carry it.”

The basic condition of a proper Interspatial Bag was simple: it had to let you carry large quantities of items in one bag while keeping it lightweight.

If even one of those conditions failed, it wasn’t a real one—just a defective imitation that only looked the part.

For ordinary folks, it would still be a rare treasure, but for a proper practitioner, it was junk—barely worth keeping, better off sold.

And that wasn’t the end of it.

“This rope here is a so-called Infinite-Length Magic Rope.”

The ponytail man held up a short length of rope, barely an arm’s span long, with a thin metal ring wrapped around its middle.

“Infinite?”

“Well, that’s just the name. It’s not actually infinite—everything magic-related’s got a bit of bluff in it.”

“Still, seems useful enough.”

“Not exactly. To extend it, you’ve got to pull it with raw strength.”

The ponytail man demonstrated on the spot.

He grabbed both ends and yanked hard—the rope stretched slightly.

“Your arm strength’s weak.”

“That’s not the point!”

The ponytail man flared up.

“Anyway, to use it, you have to pull it by force, and the more it extends, the harder it gets to pull… such a pain. Every single tool here’s got a screw loose somewhere.”

He gestured toward the other scattered items on the floor—implying they were all worthless.

But Anagin crouched down and inspected the so-called junk. To his eyes, some of them didn’t look half bad. Value was always a matter of perspective, wasn’t it?

“Explain all of them to me.”

“Seriously?”

“They look useful to me.”

“Well, proper appraisals are professional work, you know—I usually charge per item…”

“Fine. Add information along with it.”

“What?”

“Appraise all the magic tools, then answer the questions I’ll ask. In return, you get half of what’s over there.”

Anagin pointed at the pile of coins and jewelry stacked on the table.

The fortune Deodia had gathered over time. Naturally, the amount was beyond imagination.

The ponytail man reacted immediately.

“Welcome aboard! What should I tell you first?”

The ponytail man rubbed his hands and kindly explained the magic tools one by one, step by step.

“To put it like this….”

A cloak that repairs itself by draining the user’s stamina.

A tent that’s insanely heavy but unfolds and folds by itself.

As the ponytail man said, the magic tools in Deodia’s lair had something off about them.

“But that’s natural. Rare magic tools are usually carried personally. Proper magic tools are hard to come by, even with money. The things left in a place like this are only the screwed-up ones. Like your bag.”

The ponytail man pointed to the Interspatial Bag Anagin he had used to batter the Monster Merchant.

A sturdy, half-Interspatial bag that could hold many items but didn’t reduce weight at all.

Anagin put all the looted magic-tool items into that Interspatial Bag. He thought they might come in handy someday.

“Ahem! Ahem! Then I’ll take half of those shiny things now?”

“Wait, first you have to answer the question I asked.”

“Aww, I thought you’d forget. What do you want to know?”

“The guy from earlier, Longbald.”

“Longbald?”

“It’s a shortened form of ‘Long-legged Baldy.’”

“Puhahahah! That’s a hilarious nickname. And what about him?”

“What kind of guy is he?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Tponytail man asked, surprised. Anagin didn’t seem like the type to be interested in others.

Anagin explained why he was interested.

”Because I feel like I’m going to beat him to death the next time we meet.”