Chapter 675: The Armory

"So busy..."

Muen stood at the very top of Dolongslei Fortress, looking out over the vast battlefield ahead.

It was already his third day in the fortress. Taking advantage of the demonfolk army’s temporary withdrawal, the Empire’s soldiers finally had a chance to leave the city and clean up the battlefield.

After all, even if what piled beneath the walls was mostly demonfolk and demonmen corpses, they couldn’t just let it rot. Leaving aside the stench of decaying bodies—if some plague bred from it, then for a near-sealed, hold-the-city defense like this, it would be an extinction-level disaster.

Especially under conditions where all kinds of medicines and supplies were in short supply.

Even now, Muen could still see many busy figures below the city. After the accompanying mages incinerated the corpses, the soldiers—disciplined and well-trained—began digging the trenches deeper again, laying traps, and clearing the moat.

These things wouldn’t have any major effect, but in the end, they could still slow the demonfolk’s advance a little, and also make them consume more bodies to fill in the road they needed to move forward.

"You were here all along, Young Master Muen."

"It’s Mr. Funal."

Muen turned his head. He saw Funal walking alone toward this section of the watchtower, without even a personal guard.

Much like Donick—“smart, but not very smart”—Funal, within this border army of the Empire, was essentially also Imperial Duke Campbell’s right-hand man. His status was extremely high.

The slight difference was that Funal’s cultivation talent wasn’t great, so his strength wasn’t particularly outstanding. He handled mostly clerical work like logistics allocation and defense-line analysis, and rarely went onto the battlefield himself.

But on the demonfolk side’s must-kill list, he was ranked even above Donick. That alone showed how important he was to the entire army.

Fortunately, in the abnormal incident during that demonfolk siege earlier, because he was holding the rear in this fortress, he hadn’t gone with the main army deep into the Abyss interior—so he happened to dodge the demonfolk’s targeted assassination of several top leaders in the Empire’s forces.

It was said that several important figures had fallen in that incident.

"Why did Mr. Funal come up here alone? It’s dangerous."

Even though the fighting had paused, enormous birds still circled in the sky. They were the demonfolk’s eyes. Now and then, they would seize a moment of carelessness and dive to launch an attack—night watch soldiers were often killed in the jaws of those beasts.

"There’s no such thing as dangerous or not dangerous. If I can be assassinated even inside this fortress, then we might as well stop holding it, open the gates, and let the demonfolk come in."

Funal waved his hand, clearly very confident in the fortress.

"Rather, Young Master Muen, you cannot afford any mishap. Now that the demonfolk know you’ve come to the fortress, they’ve definitely listed you as the primary assassination target under the Duke. To shake morale, they may do anything to kill you. Be careful."

"Just like Mr. Funal said earlier, I’m also very confident in this fortress."

Muen lightly stroked the stone blocks on the wall—blocks that had endured who knew how many years and were still solid—and chuckled.

"Besides, I don’t believe anyone can assassinate the current me without a sound. If the demonfolk can do that, then the one in danger wouldn’t be me, but Father, who’s lying in a sickbed right now."

"Haha, Young Master Muen really does have a bit of the Duke’s style from when he was young."

Funal laughed with emotion.

He was an old acquaintance of the ducal residence who had seen what Muen used to be like. And compared to Donick—who had a screw missing—Funal, who had always been rational, found it even harder to believe that the former “playboy” could change so drastically in a single year.

But compared to so-called logic and reason, reality was right in front of him. One had no choice but to believe.

"What plans does Young Master Muen have next?"

Funal came to the wall as well, gazing at those busy soldiers. Many methods of trench-digging and the placement of traps had come from his directions, and from this position he could see the progress more clearly.

"Plans?"

"From how you’ve been looking around everywhere since you got here... Young Master Muen should be the type who can’t sit still, right?" Funal looked over with a face full of sincerity, like a dead corporate slave who worked himself to the bone and had finally met another dead corporate slave who worked himself to the bone—recognizing a kindred spirit.

"...No, Mr. Funal. I think you’ve misunderstood something."

Muen’s cheek twitched.

He really did have a hard time sitting still—he even fought and trained in his consciousness space while sleeping... but that and working overtime were two different things.

Working overtime? He’d rather go chop down a few more heretical believers for fun than return to those feverish zero-zero-seven days.

"But speaking of plans..."

Muen rubbed his chin and said, "Mr. Funal, could you let me tour the armory?"

"The armory?"

Funal froze, baffled. "Right now, military supplies are also scarce. To be honest, the armory is almost empty. There really isn’t anything worth touring. Why would Young Master Muen...?"

"Precisely because it’s empty, it has value to tour."

Muen smiled. "The Empire’s follow-up supplies will be arriving soon. As a Campbell, I’m probably naturally cautious about military stores, so I want to see it with my own eyes—so that once supplies are delivered, nothing else goes wrong."

"Is that so? But things like that are handled by—"

Funal was just about to say something, when he suddenly reacted. He lightly clapped his hands and laughed.

"I overstepped. It’s only a look at the armory. With Young Master Muen’s status, there’s no need to stall or make excuses. I’ll arrange it immediately—have someone—"

"No, no need. With Mr. Funal’s duties, caution is only right. As for arrangements... don’t trouble yourself. Just temporarily assign me the few soldiers who entered the city with me earlier. I’m familiar with them."

"The earlier soldiers... the ones led by Ebul?"

Funal thought a moment and nodded.

"That works too. They’re all experienced veterans. They really can help Young Master Muen..."

...

...

"Young Master Muen!"

Ebul came to attention, chest out, saluting.

"Former vanguard-camp squad leader Ebul, leading all squad members to report to you!"

"No need for ceremony. And no need to call me Young Master. This is a military camp."

Muen waved his hand.

"Then we..."

"Just call me sir."

Muen smiled, sweeping his gaze over the few of them—whose spirits looked much better than the first time he met them.

"How have you been feeling lately?"

"Very good!"

The one answering was Vick. After taking a trip to the brink of death, his entire aura had changed. He’d become far more seasoned. Maybe now he could even thump his chest in front of some new recruits and brag about his glorious feat of going deep into the demonfolk camp and surviving by a hair’s breadth.

"Good. Then come with me. Let’s talk while we walk."

In these three days, Muen had more or less gotten a grasp of every corner of the fortress, big and small. He didn’t need anyone to guide him. He took the lead and headed straight for the armory.

The armory, as a critical fortress area, was naturally deep inside. Muen glanced around and noticed that along the way, they could barely see any patrolling soldiers anymore. Only then did he ask,

"How much do you know about the armory?"

"The armory?"

Vick scratched his head, making a bitter face. "Not our department. Don’t really know."

"That makes sense. Not our department..."

Muen rubbed his chin.

"I know a little."

"Oh?"

Muen turned, mildly surprised, and looked at Ebul.

"You know the armory?"

"I used to know a bastard who worked in logistics, so I understand that place a bit better than most. That’s all."

Ebul spoke with a blank face.

"It’s nothing impressive."

"...Is that so?"

Muen nodded lightly.

"Then when we pass by, go mourn your good friend for a moment."

"...Thank you, Young Master Muen."

"I told you. Don’t call me Young Master here."

Muen turned and continued forward.

"Back on topic. Tell me about the armory."

"Yes."

Ebul said, "The armory is responsible for storing military supplies—military weapons, military armor, magic-conducting bombs, and so on. It’s a heavily guarded critical site of the fortress. To prevent internal corruption, there are generally two management systems. One belongs to the logistics department, responsible for unified allocation and distribution of supplies. One belongs to the armory itself, responsible for verifying entries and exits, and also for guarding the armory."

"More or less like an accountant and a cashier... I know the basics. Tell me something intelligence reports won’t mention, or something that can’t be put out in the open."

"Something intelligence can’t mention... then it’s probably only the armory’s keeper."

"The keeper? I remember his name was something like Robert Kenber."

Muen thought carefully, and only then managed to pull that unremarkable name out of the long list of fortress personnel he’d looked through earlier.

"Yes. People who know him call him Old Robert. He’s a very strange old man."

"Strange?"

"Right."

Ebul hesitated, but still said it.

"To be honest, I don’t think someone like that is suited to stay in the army at all, much less hold a post like this."

"Why?"

"That... I think once you see him, sir, you’ll understand."

As they talked, the guarding grew gradually stricter. Those few bright red characters—MILITARY ARMORY: RESTRICTED AREA—also appeared in front of Muen’s group.

...

"Old Robert! According to the logistics office’s allocation, you’re supposed to transfer two hundred and thirty alchemical bombs to us!"

"No."

"This is an order from above!"

"To hell with your order. Where’s the written warrant?"

"Viscount Buzeville, who controls logistics, sent me here!"

"No means no! Don’t talk to me about Buzeville—if that old fox Funal comes in person, it’s still no! Get out!"

"You—"

The moment they passed the sentry check and entered this area, they saw a man in blood-stained armor slam a door and storm out in fury. Before leaving, he didn’t forget to spit toward the doorway.

"That’s Baron Rokar of the Left Army’s Ironedge Camp," Ebul said in a low voice by Muen’s ear. "You’ll see this scene almost every day. Every unit comes here to demand supplies for itself."

"He turns everyone down?"

"Most of them." Ebul said. "In name it’s jointly supervised by two departments, but Old Robert issues supplies only by his own ledger. Other than the Duke and Lord Funal, he gives face to no one."

"Stubborn."

"That’s not stubborn. That’s rigid."

Ebul was clearly like Baron Rokar just now—he didn’t like this armory keeper known as Old Robert.

"If he handed out supplies more generously, a lot of times we might not need sacrifices that big."

"You can’t say it like that. Maybe his ledger is the right one."

Muen smiled without committing either way, and reached out to push open the door.

And in the next second, he immediately understood what Ebul meant earlier.

Clatter...

Along with the sound of glass bottles rolling on the floor, the moment the door opened, a thick smell of alcohol rushed at Muen’s face.

This didn’t look like a place where soldiers worked at all. It looked more like some trashed aftermath after a banquet—bottles and jars scattered everywhere on the ground, so messy there was nowhere to step.

"Alcohol?"

Muen bent down, picked up a bottle, shook it, and held it to the light to examine the clear liquid inside.

"Supplies are scarce to this extent, and there’s still room to drink?"

"It’s just cheap rotgut cut with a bit of alcohol. It tastes so bad I want to puke, and you can’t even get drunk off it."

A hunched old man who was scribbling on a yellowed ledger looked up. His face was flushed from drink, and he glared at Muen with irritation.

"You here to demand supplies too? Never seen you before."

"No. I’m here to tour."

"Tour?"

Old Robert squinted, like he’d never heard the word.

"Let’s get acquainted. I’m Muen Campbell."

Muen extended his hand.

"I want to take a look inside the armory. Is that alright?"

"Campbell... Campbell... oh. So you’re the Lion King’s son."

"Since you already know—"

"No!"

Old Robert slapped Muen’s hand away in one motion and spat.

"You didn’t see the words ‘critical military site’ outside? How is a place like ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) this something a little brat whose hair hasn’t even finished growing gets to look at whenever he wants—"

"This is Imperial Duke Campbell’s written warrant. Please check it."

"..."

All the filthy curses jammed in Old Robert’s throat were forced back down by that warrant that still carried the Lion King’s intimidating authority. Old Robert’s expression turned ugly. He stared for a long while, then finally snatched the warrant and snarled,

"Damned second-generation young master!"

"You can still listen to Father. That’s great."

Muen smiled.

"Sorry to trouble you."

"Hmph. I’d rather you lot don’t give me trouble!"

Old Robert snorted and stood up from his chair.

Only then did Muen notice—he was disabled. Below one trouser leg wasn’t a normal thigh at all, but a metal prosthetic.

That prosthetic was even rusty. Every step Old Robert took made a harsh creak-creak sound.

"Someone come here. Search them."

Old Robert called over a squad of soldiers.

"What is this for?"

"No spatial magic tools allowed inside the armory."

Old Robert shot Muen a dissatisfied glance, saying impatiently,

"A brat is still a brat. You don’t even know that."

"..."

Muen finally understood why even someone like Ebul—who had a friend in logistics—still didn’t like this old man.

There probably wasn’t anyone in this fortress who liked him.

"Alright. Go in."

Old Robert jerked his chin.

After a round of checks—confirming that Muen’s group wasn’t carrying anything that could be used to take supplies out—Muen was finally allowed to enter the armory.

The instant he walked in, what greeted his eyes were densely packed, orderly shelves. All kinds of military supplies were stacked and displayed. Especially those round alchemical bombs, placed in the most conspicuous spot, gave one a powerful visual shock.

But once he passed the first row of shelves, Muen abruptly realized...

Most of the shelves deeper in the armory were empty.

"How could..."

Even Ebul looked shocked.

"Supplies in this fortress shouldn’t have been cut off. Why are these things... down to only this much?"

"It’s probably related to the demonfolk’s fierce offensive."

Muen said it plainly.

To withstand the demonfolk’s violent assaults, consumption of supplies would inevitably spike at a terrifying pace. With the current speed of logistics delivery, the armory being emptied was only a matter of time.

If anything, the fact that there was still inventory left at all was what should shock people.

Muen pondered briefly. Celicia’s mobilized supplies would probably still take a few days to arrive. If the demonfolk launched another assault during this window, he didn’t know whether these supplies alone could hold until then.

...But what mattered right now wasn’t that solvable supply problem.

"You all look around first. I’ll check the inner section alone."

"Yes."

After sending the squad away, a deep darkness suddenly swirled within Muen’s azure eyes.

In the wavering perspective of black flames, everything turned pale and dead, as if only black and white flowed through the world.

But it was precisely between those two colors that Muen saw something different.

"As expected."

Muen went to a corner, picked up a tiny bit of metal residue, and examined it carefully in his palm.

"That batch of magic-conducting materials was once stored in this armory."

With that, one suspicion was no longer merely a suspicion.

Inside this fortress that looked unbreakable on the surface, there truly was a demonfolk insider.

And for someone to use this fortress as a transit point—moving the Empire’s magic-conducting materials into the Abyss—that insider’s status could not possibly be low.

"All the better. Now it seems the range I can narrow down is very small."

Muen murmured under his breath, his gaze sweeping the surroundings again. He needed to sketch out the rough storage range, then cross-check it against the approximate quantity of those magic-conducting materials.

He could only hope that what had been transported to the demonfolk was limited to the batch he intercepted halfway...

"Hm?"

But at that moment, his movement stopped. His eyes, as if drawn by something, fixed on a certain spot.

In the black-flame vision, something over there seemed... different.

Instinctively...

Muen was about to reach out and touch it—

"I advise you not to touch that sort of thing."

A voice rang out coldly.

"Curiosity that’s too heavy will bring you trouble."

"..."

Muen’s body went rigid.

At some point, this armory had become exceptionally quiet...

So quiet it was as if only the two of them’s breathing could be heard.