Children of the Holy Emperor

CH 35

The prisoner followed along obediently, as led by Aslan. He was so compliant that Aslan couldn't help but suspect he was planning an escape.

Aslan sneakily glanced at him, but the prisoner's face was so impassive that it was impossible to read any emotion. Not even a trace of relief for being alive or anxiety about what was to come could be found. He had been through the infamous heresy trial; perhaps that had affected his sanity.

"Hey, you should be grateful to be alive. Jerome usually doesn't spare greenhorns who come flowing in like you. He's a man full of suspicion, you see."

The prisoner gave him a sidelong glance before responding. "Well, thanks."

It seemed he was aware that Aslan had willingly taken on this burden for him.

But what's this unexpected sense of camaraderie?

"At least the worst part is over, so as long as you do as told, you won't die so easily. Anyway, let's introduce ourselves. I'm Aslan."

"Nei......"

Nei?

"They call me Bart."

Ah, it's an alias.

*Clank clank*

The sound of metal clashing echoed loudly each time he moved. The prisoner had thick shackles on both arms, connected by a chain that wasn't very long. It seemed to greatly hinder his movements.

"We're going to have to do something about this first to get anything started......"

Wondering if it would be alright to remove the shackles, Aslan soon shook his head. What good would it do if he escaped? Branded as a devil worshiper, the prisoner wouldn't be able to set foot anywhere on this continent.

Their destination was a blacksmith shop at the edge of the Weapon Village. It had a small furnace and a worn-out anvil. It was questionable whether it should be called a blacksmith shop, but that's what it was.

"I can't remove these." The blacksmith, Max, rubbed his reddened nose as he spoke. He had crawled out from a midday drinking session. "These aren't the kind of shackles made to be unlocked. They've been welded together with heated iron."

Looking at the smooth wrists of the prisoner, the blacksmit cocked his head, "There's no scar from the shackles. Interesting."

Aslan grimaced. Expecting him to walk around the treacherous western mountain range with a shackled man? Who are they trying to kill?

"How can this not be done? I need to send him to pick herbs in the mountains starting tomorrow."

"Well, we could try heating it up in the furnace and hammering it......" Max, holding up a bottle of liquor, shrugged his shoulders.

"And what, risk losing his hands?"

That's a problem. He had asked him to work, but if he lost the ability to work, it would indeed be an issue.

As Aslan pondered alternatives, Bart, the prisoner, was staring blankly at his own shackled wrists. "Who would've thought they'd resort to this......"

His tone suggested it was the first time he had properly noticed the shackles, despite having worn them all along.

His mental state really seemed unstable. The thought of having to manage him gave Aslan a headache unlike any he'd felt before.

For now, they decided to at least cut the chain connecting the shackles. Soon, Max picked up a hefty hammer from a corner of the blacksmith shop and began hammering the chain.