Chapter 14

After signing the contract with Verna, the elven exile handed over an invitation, stating that Lord Rast, the Lion-Scorpion Beast Duke, wished to see him. Holding the exquisitely gilded invitation, Sakavi felt this Duke was no ordinary figure.

Since they had extended an invitation, it was unlikely he would be seized and enslaved upon arrival; Sakavi decided he must go. To ignore the local power’s face would make future survival difficult.

For this banquet, Sakavi specifically sought out Verna to have her detail the etiquette of high-society gatherings and what gifts to bring. Banquets were social arenas—many people would be encountered; caution was needed to avoid offending anyone.

In the end, Sakavi decided it was better to bring Verna along—professional matters belonged to professionals. He had considered bringing Gop, but Gop adamantly refused to join the fuss.

According to Verna, Lord Rast was the undisputed ruler of a thousand li around. His city welcomed any race or individual to live and trade freely, as long as they paid the head tax and became legal residents.

Within his domain, killing of any race was forbidden. Under his rule, even crimes like murder and robbery—common elsewhere—were nonexistent. Sakavi was deeply curious: what manner of man was this legendary-tier beast, granted the title of Duke, wielding such extraordinary control?

Sakavi was particularly intrigued by how races like jackalmen, inherently inclined toward robbery, managed to live under such order.

He immediately asked Verna to take him to a nearby jackalman tribe. Having seen so many races, the town showed no surprise at the combination of dragonkin, drow, swamp toadfolk, and gray dwarves.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Sakavi approached a stall and asked, “Old man, how much for this bagpipe? What is it made of?”

“Young man, first time traveling far from home, eh?”

“Yes, bored at home, so I’m just wandering.”

“Hahahaha! You youngsters—you know nothing and still dare become adventurers!”

“Old man, you’re joking. I’ve read plenty—I’m not ignorant.”

“Oh? Then tell me—what is this bagpipe used for? Get it right, and I’ll give you one free.”

“It’s used by jackalmen during celebrations, and it’s unique to them.”

“Hahahaha! I told you you didn’t know! You got half right—I’ll give you this one free. This isn’t for celebrations—it’s used by jackalmen at funerals.”

“But now the young have turned to worshiping the War God. Yeenoghu is nearly forgotten. This bagpipe, once carrying jackalman culture, has become a symbol of their former savagery and evil.”

“Old man, don’t be sad. Far to the west, many jackalmen still worship this deity. Their culture has never been broken.”

“Sigh. A god of slaughter and betrayal—better left unworshipped. But it’s a pity this culture, passed down for countless generations, is fading. Young man, be careful here—anyone who asks you to kill, no matter how good or bad they seem, must be refused.”

“Why? Shouldn’t evil people be killed?”

“Only the Duke’s Judicial Office decides who deserves death. We jackalmen are tasked with maintaining order here. Put simply—as long as our Peacekeeping Corps stands, no criminal escapes justice!”

“Old man, you were a peacekeeper in your youth, weren’t you?”

“Hahahaha! Sharp-eyed young man! Too bad time spares no one.”

“Old man, why are there no children here? Only foreigners and elders.”

“The young are all peacekeepers. The children? They’re in school. Follow this road straight ahead, turn left after the church, and you’ll see the school in a few steps.”

“Thank you. Wishing you prosperous business—I’ll head to the school.”

“Farewell, young adventurer. Here’s your bagpipe.”

“Thank you!”

“Go slowly.”

The town was small; within five minutes, Sakavi reached the Church of the War God the jackalman had mentioned. Unlike the underground temples he’d seen, this church lacked oppressive grandeur—though two jackalmen with sword and shield stood at the entrance, the atmosphere inspired reverence, not fear.

“These are our town’s heroes, fallen in the war against demons, their souls now in Ferlon’s divine realm. These statues are the War God’s affirmation—and their eternal symbol of defending justice.”

“Your Holiness, forgive us for our ignorance—we did not mean to offend the deity.”

“No matter. Ferlon treats all equally—any race, any being, who holds reverence for war, he honors alike. Come in, rest awhile.”

“Then we shall not be formal.”

“Please enter. Look—this orc holding the great axe is Lord Ferlon himself. It is said that while walking among mortals, he declared: no race should be deemed superior or inferior.”

“He often ate and slept alongside his soldiers, until he helped found the Pantheon and became its Grand Overseer, after which he ceased close contact with worshippers.”

“To the left, the demon holding a letter is Lagosh—Ferlon’s strategist and a brilliant commander. Legend says he was repeatedly defeated by Ferlon on the battlefield, and moved by Ferlon’s doctrine of racial equality, he joined his ranks.”

“To the right, the troll holding a herb is Bruz—Ferlon’s original alchemist since the beginning. Few tales survive of him, but every warrior prays to him for healing themselves or their kin.”

“The other statues are warriors of past generations who earned divine favor through valor and became lesser deities. Take this bone carving, blessed by Ferlon, as a gift—may you always return safely from your next quest.”

“Your Holiness, this gift is too precious—we cannot accept it.”

“Ha! Take it, young one. The world still holds many wonders waiting to be found. Ferlon guides every brave soul.”

Looking at the jackalman priest, missing a leg and one eye, Sakavi reluctantly accepted—and returned the favor with a finely crafted dagger made by gray dwarves.

After bidding farewell to the priest, Sakavi’s party arrived at the school. Before they reached it, they heard clear, rhythmic chanting. For a moment, Sakavi was stunned—he had been transmigrated for eighteen years, yet this familiar sound of study was the first he’d heard since.

Following the sound, he saw a row of modest buildings where jackalman children of all ages were loudly reciting texts. On the open ground before them, other children practiced archery and combat skills.

Verna explained they were studying the Duke’s legal codes. Every jackalman must serve as a peacekeeper after graduation; those who failed their exams were not permitted to graduate. Those excelling in combat were selected after three years of service to join the reconnaissance corps as soldiers.

If even a jackalman village was this well-ordered, other regions must be no worse. With a basic understanding of the Duke’s domain, Sakavi decided not to delay—he pressed onward day and night toward the Duke’s castle, Weilincheng.

Weilincheng looked less like a city and more like a gathering place. There were no walls, no moats—only a few towering watchtowers, better called observation posts.

At the city’s edge checkpoint, a jackalman riding a large hyena approached. Dressed in blue uniform, he clearly differed from the toll collectors—he was a peacekeeper.

“Hey, Dragon! Over here! Peacekeeper Quik Bloodhand has been waiting for you, honored guest. The Duke has assigned me to escort you into the city. Would you like to tour the civilian district first, or head straight to an inn?”

“I’d like to see what makes the civilian district different.”

“Then you’ve come to the right man—I’m Quik, the famous gang leader, ah no, the Peacekeeping Corps commander. Let me give you a quick tour of the city.”

“The central area is where the elites live—we call it the Lords’ Quarter. Before us lies the Outer District, the breeding ground for crime and gang murders, home to vagrants, criminals, and cultists.”

“Why not clear them out?”

“Shadows hide in every corner—even Weilincheng isn’t exempt. If anyone tells you there’s no crime here, punch them in the face—just don’t get caught by the peacekeepers.”

“In truth, the Outer District is deliberately tolerated by the upper class. No matter how hard you try, demons from Hell and tendrils from the Abyss can never be fully eradicated. Better to let them fester in the trash than infiltrate ordinary citizens—easier to monitor and control.”

Between the Outer District and the true residential zones lies a moat, with peacekeepers guarding all access points—they won’t let these scum enter.”

“The residential zones are divided into four parts. Ahead, you’ll reach the Trade District—also called the Foreigners’ Quarter—where merchants from all over the world reside.”

“Gambling dens, brothels, slave markets—all there. You might even find a beautiful foreign woman there.”

He winked at Sakavi, smugly confident in his expertise—but Sakavi had no interest in such things. Besides, anyone with real talent had already been sold to big cities—why would they stay here for these poor folk to scavenge?

“Deal with that later. Keep going.”

“To the left of the Trade District is the Industrial District—also called the Smiths’ Quarter—where local weapons, herbs, farming tools, and even tables and benches are produced and sold.”

To the right is the Residential District—also known as the Landlords’ Quarter—where most homes are rented rather than sold, serving long-term residents such as merchants, families of Weilincheng’s grassroots clerks, and workers from the Smiths’ Quarter.

“Finally, the Artisan Quarter—also called the Dandies’ Quarter—mostly inhabited by elves and a few artisans from other races.”

“Everything from gemstone necklaces and fine robes to coarse linen and snacks—all handcrafted. My lord, where shall we start?”

“Let’s visit the Industrial District.”