Chapter 46: An Age of Chaos
"A Dwarf... not good at forging?" Arthur exclaimed in surprise. Zoltan's face flushed even deeper.
"I'm only fifty-two! I haven't even formally started learning the craft yet!"
Triss kindly intervened: "Dwarves aren't considered adults until they turn fifty-five. Considering the dwarven lifespan, Zoltan and you are both still young men!"
Hearing this, Kolgrim suddenly cut in: "That's odd. I heard that Dwarves must work in the mines for forty years before they're allowed to freely leave Mahakam. How did you manage to…?"
"[Dwarf Obscenity], don't even get me started!" Zoltan spat a wad of thick phlegm onto the ground in disgust.
Seeing that he clearly had a story to tell, Arthur quickly pulled him into a tavern by the roadside.
Sure enough, after a few mugs of beer, Zoltan began to recount the plight of young Dwarves in Mahakam.
Unlike the fragmented human kingdoms rife with duchies and fiefs, the Dwarves of Mahakam, though divided into many clans, maintained absolute obedience to the Great Elder in public affairs.
"That's usually a good thing. Keeps us safe in Mahakam," Zoltan slammed back another mug of beer, his speech already starting to slur: "But that old bastard of the Hoog family, he took everyone's respect as license to do whatever he pleased!"
"He figures that too much exposure to human cities makes young Dwarves flighty and rebellious. He mandated that every Dwarf, once old enough to wield a pickaxe, has to fulfill a collective duty, which means working in the mines for forty years or more!"
"Duvvelsheyss! I was thrown into the mine only fifteen years after crawling out of my mother's belly!"
Arthur silently refilled the Dwarf's mug: "So you escaped?"
Zoltan, smelling of ale, shook his head vigorously: "Not for that, no. The work in the mines is dull and hard, but you dig up rare stones now and then, and you make friends with a few good lads."
Here, the Dwarf suddenly slumped onto the table, sobbing miserably: "Cabra, you idiot! Why did you have to provoke that bastard?! How am I supposed to explain this to Auntie Sblatton now, eh?!"
Arthur didn't know how to console the Dwarf, so he gently patted his shoulder: "Don't be too sad. Perhaps you can take a fragment of that fellow's armor back as a memento for avenging your friend."
"That's it! I'll send his helmet to Auntie Sblatton to use as a chamber pot!" The Dwarf suddenly cheered up, rising unsteadily to his feet.
But just as he staggered out the door, he burst back in:
"Bad news, Arthur! Someone's coming to arrest you!"
"Calm down. Let me see what's going on." Arthur lowered the hand that had been steadying the Dwarf's head. His heart hammered a few times before settling down.
The Dwarf had turned around too quickly. If it hadn't been for the reaction speed granted by [Alertness], Arthur might have suffered his first injury in this world from a headbutt.
He peered over the Dwarf's furry head and instantly relaxed.
A large crowd was indeed approaching from the direction of Maribor, but they could not possibly be there to arrest him they were all wearing long black robes and looked like some kind of mysterious organization.
Amidst a hubbub, the crowd gradually drew closer. All of them wore black cloth bags over their heads, with only two holes cut out for sight.
Arthur frowned, his right hand gripping his hand-and-a-half sword:
"Stay alert. These people don't look friendly!"
"Probably some nascent small cult. There have been more and more of them recently," Kolgrim remarked, stroking his chin.
"Nilfgaardian cheap goods and priests are flooding into the Northern Kingdoms. The former are driving our merchants into bankruptcy, and the latter are spreading these cheap goods, along with all sorts of doomsday prophecies, among the common folk." Triss watched with an expression of disgust, pulling Adda away from the window.
The tavern owner, hiding behind the bar, said nervously:
"Sirs, please don't stand in the doorway staring. Quick, find a table and sit down. These people are very heavy-handed in their work."
"You all stay inside. I'll go see what's happening." Arthur tossed a gold coin onto the bar and strode out. The tavern door slammed shut behind him.
The crowd drew closer. A few individuals looked unkindly at Arthur, but upon seeing the hand-and-a-half sword resting before him, they turned their gaze away, their expressions becoming even more vicious.
Arthur heard Triss ask the owner through the closed door:
"What are they doing?"
"I don't know. Probably found signs of a demon or something again. There are many of these types lately. They need to burn something every now and then."
Arthur couldn't hear the rest. Suddenly, a small boy darted out of the crowd, running toward him and shouting for help.
It was young Everett!
Arthur blinked, wondering if he was mistaken. Hadn't the boy gone with Mara to Foam City via the teleportation tower? How could he be mixed up with this group?
A black-robed figure chased after him, grabbed young Everett, and roared:
"You little bastard! You must be the offspring of your witch mother and a demon, daring to assault a man of the cloth!"
The robed figure held the boy's clothes tightly with one hand, and forcefully swung the other hand toward the boy's cheek. He looked like he wanted to break young Everett's neck with a single slap.
The slap never landed, because Arthur intercepted the black-robed man's wrist with the scabbard of his hand-and-a-half sword.
"Stop it!"
He shouted for the man to stop, but Arthur's hands were busy. He swung the scabbard, hitting the black-robed man's other hand heavily, and while the man's arm was numb, he shielded the boy behind him.
"Where is your mother?"
"The bad people took her!" Young Everett timidly raised a hand and pointed towards the group of black robes.
Arthur expected the robed figures to immediately draw weapons and attack, but what he got was a chorus of shouting:
"You dare interfere with a man of the cloth carrying out his duties!"
"Are you going to violate the agreements of the Novigrad Concord?"
"Priest, pray to the gods and call down a curse on this scoundrel!"
…
Hearing the tide of furious yelling, young Everett trembled, hugging Arthur's leg tightly.
Arthur gently patted the boy's head with his left hand, comforting him:
"Don't be afraid. Leave this to me."
The door behind him creaked open slightly, but Arthur merely pushed the boy inside, then stood holding his hand-and-a-half sword, facing off against the black-robed men in the doorway.
"Hey, swordsman, we don't want any trouble, but you have to hand the boy over to us."
Seeing the commotion growing, the leader of the black robes could no longer pretend nothing was happening and tried to negotiate with Arthur.
Considering there were over twenty other black robes behind him, most of them carrying torches and pitchforks, the tone of his words was surprisingly humble.
"Who are you, to dare demand someone from me?" Arthur asked.
................
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