-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 264
Chapter Title: Descent from the Mountain
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Time seemed to have frozen.
Everything fell silent, leaving only the chaotic noise behind.
Whispers from the crowd, faces etched with confusion and inexplicable doubt at this turn of events—it was all palpable.
I spoke clearly once more.
“This trial was flawed from the start, and there’s something I must confess to all of you.”
“Ahem, hmm.”
The judge wiped the sweat from his brow at my words and asked,
“Hatsan of Samaria, you’re objecting to the trial? What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said. There’s something I need to tell you all. It’s been said that I stopped the arson in Sodomora. But that’s not true. I—”
I took a moment to steady my breath.
Then I opened my mouth again.
“Strictly speaking, I’m closer to the one who started the fire.”
“What did you just say? That you set the fire, Samaritan?”
I could feel everyone’s shock at my words. Even the murmurs stopped as they leaned in, eager to hear what would come out of my mouth next.
My eyes turned to Elfriede, sitting quietly in the defendant’s seat. Until just moments ago, she had worn an expression of serene detachment from it all, but now even she looked stunned, her brows raised as she stared at me.
“The truth is, I’m the one who set the fire.”
“W-what do you mean? If that’s true, you’ll bear a grave罪! Why on earth would you do such a thing?”
“I’m a barbarian. A savage who races across the Black Wastelands howling, breaking, and destroying. For a barbarian like me to set fire to a city—does that really need any other reason or explanation?”
“That—what—!”
The judge seemed greatly flustered, but his sunken eyes flashed with serious intent.
Until moments ago, those hollow eyes had been clouded with tension and various emotions, but now they glared at me as if I were the epitome of lawless savagery.
It wasn’t just Judge Porfirio.
Loud tsks and furrowed brows rippled through the crowd around us.
Because I’m a barbarian.
It was absurd that such a simple reason sufficed, but that was reality. My black hair and foreign features were original sin enough in this world.
No matter how much fame I gained as an adventurer, no matter how many merits I racked up, no matter how many people I healed or served—these would forever be the tag that haunted me.
And right now, that fact was working in my favor. I said,
“Why did I set the fire? Why did I set the fire? Obviously because Gaia Continent lacked warmth. It’s too damn cold here. Fuck, it’s freezing.”
“Lacked warmth?”
The judge’s brows twitched.
“What are you talking about?”
“You people of Gaia Continent are too cold. When stones fly at you for no reason and curses rain down, when you chase pickpockets only to trip into the mud and get trampled and mocked instead—it’s only natural to crave a bit of warmth, isn’t it?”
“You set the fire to resist racial discrimination?”
“I could talk for days about it. But no one cares about that stuff. No one will listen. They won’t even pay attention—they’ll just mock it. So I set the fire. Now you’ll listen to my story.”
“Even so, setting a fire—that’s utterly heinous. Did you give no thought to the victims?”
“Who cares about that? The important thing is I sent you a message. And that woman, Elfriede Desmund? She was nothing more than a torch I used. Funny you didn’t even notice.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
I know that guy. He’s the one who set fire in Desros’ arena too!
Stinging glares of hostility and wariness poured my way. They seemed convinced I was the arsonist who torched the city.
In truth, who the target was probably didn’t matter to them. The gathered mob just wanted to vent the hot summer heat building inside them on someone.
So that elf woman is innocent?
That explains why she was so docile—not like a typical arsonist. Was she being blackmailed?
I kept saying that elf was innocent. The real culprit is someone else. See, I was right?
And it’s way more satisfying to curse a barbaric savage than a fair-skinned elf. Visual appeal matters when it comes to stirring emotions.
To anyone watching, I was the perfect villain.
Even so, prepared as I was, the flying curses, stones, one-copper coins, and tomatoes stung a little.
As I silently endured the condemnation, the judge, who had been scribbling something, spoke up.
“Ha, then we have to restart the trial. To cause such a spectacle on the day His Highness Friedrich is here... From victim compensation to everything else, there’s no end to what we must consider!”
Someone rose from the audience seats.
Judge Porfirio irritably snapped at them.
“And what do you want? Got something to say?”
“I’m Galad of the East Gate Laundry—the representative of this arson’s victims. I have petitions and complaints here from everyone. The petitions are for that skinny fairy, and the complaints are for this pitch-black barbarian.”
Judge Porfirio flipped through the thick stack of papers. Groaning “hmm” and “ugh” as he did, he finally said,
“Requests to reduce the defendant Elfriede’s sentence, and complaints demanding that Samaria’s Hatsan, the mastermind behind it all, be punished in her stead. All thirty victims agree?”
“As you can see.”
“Ha—. In Sodomora’s 200-year history, this is unprecedented. I, Porfirio, acting on behalf of Jupiter himself, frankly have no idea how to handle this.”
The judge fell silent again, deep in thought. Even with his seasoned experience, this case had unfamiliar twists.
Of course, the deeper his deliberations grew, the more my heart pounded.
It was unfolding exactly as I’d planned.
The days spent trudging under the blazing sun to victims’ homes had meaning. What I’d asked wasn’t to erase the incident itself.
Just to redirect the complaints aimed at Elfriede toward me.
It’s just swapping defendants—no loss to you.
Truth is, who actually set the fire doesn’t matter to us. But then you won’t get a cut of the elf slave sale price, right? We were all set for a windfall.
Instead, Samaria’s Hatsan will do things to benefit you all from now on. You’ve seen over the past few days how useful I am. Think of it as investing in me and the Mars Guild. You won’t regret it.
Hmm—.
Convincing Galad, the laundry owner who suffered the most, had taken effort, but seeing him resubmit the petitions and new complaints today meant things had worked out.
He’d served me ice water, eager for connections to a famous adventurer—he must’ve realized creating a debt with me wasn’t a bad idea.
Everything felt smoothly on track.
As I calmed my racing heart and breath, Judge Porfirio finally opened his heavy, agonized mouth.
“Very well. Jupiter and the kingdom’s laws always favor the victims. If that’s the victims’ will, the public’s will, then I must follow. With that, we’ll close this trial and schedule a new one in a week—”
“Wait—.”
Just then, someone cut off the judge. I turned to see the crowded stands parting like the sea as people bowed their heads.
A man approached me, his silver armor gleaming like a noble guard’s, shoulders laden with insignia, waist jingling with expensive ornaments, his steps clanking.
Short, neatly trimmed golden hair, an amiable face you couldn’t hate. His expression brimmed with youth and confidence.
“Your Highness Friedrich—.”
Even the judge bowed in flustered panic. The man’s name was Pride Friedrich—the kingdom’s proud successor, hailed as a warrior of renown.
Emerging from the crowd, he stood before the judge, before me, and spoke.
“I came thinking I could buy a female elf. You’re putting on quite the show, barbarian. What’s your name?”
The judge hurriedly answered the man’s question.
“His name is Hatsan of Samaria. Hatsan Zigress—! Hatsan, bow to His Highness at once! What are you doing?”
“Hey, Porfirio. I didn’t ask you. I’m speaking to the bold one here who confessed his crimes before me without fear.”
The man’s blue eyes fixed on me. People in this world had no qualms about staring piercingly, and this prince was no exception.
“Kneeling before my presence? You’re an interesting one. I’m asking you. Your name—?”
“Hatsan of Samaria.”
“Hatsan. An intriguing name. Hatsan— you’ve admitted your guilt. Victims, location, witnesses—all present. No need to delay the trial and waste time and budget. I, Pride, rightful heir to the kingdom and Jupiter’s proxy, will take over this seat. Any objections, Porfirio?”
“Goodness, how could there be? Wherever you go is the court, Your Highness. I yield my seat. Please, sit here.”
The judge prostrated himself flat and promptly vacated his chair.
Prince Pride, heir to the throne, ascended as if it were the most natural thing, receiving the gavel and robe.
His face, shadowed briefly by the sun and the robe’s cast, sank into momentary darkness.
For an instant, I thought his clear blue eyes flashed crimson. I’d felt immense pressure from nobles before, but a prince was born different.
This was the authority figure raised from childhood to rule over others.
Looking down at me, he said,
“Criminal Hatsan. Black-haired Samaritan. By confessing your crimes yourself, you’ve steeled yourself to bear full responsibility, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“Y-you! Show proper respect to His Highness!”
“Enough, Porfirio. I know Samaritans bow to no one. Anyway, Hatsan. I hear the damages from this incident amount to 200 gold. Whew, that’s a fortune. Fail to pay, and your life ends here. Can you handle it?”
“No, all I have is 150 gold.”
“150 gold, eh. Substantial, but not nearly enough. Will this trial fizzle out so anticlimactically? You don’t strike me as dumb enough to confess on bravado alone—”
A trace of boredom and disappointment shadowed the prince’s shaded face. That’s when it happened.
“Y-Your Highness—.”
The halfling auctioneer with glasses, who’d been running the proceedings, approached with a trembling, tense voice.
“I-I am the auctioneer Camur. I know it’s presumptuous, but may I speak?”
“Speak.”
“W-well, let me check—. After tallying the newly filed victim complaints, some have withdrawn monetary compensation claims. Thus, the total for this trial and incident is 143 gold, 35 silver, 10 copper.”
“Oh-ho, is that so?”
The prince looked down at me.
“More than enough with what you have. Intentional? No, asking spoils the fun. But, Samaritan—arson is grave. Repaying damages doesn’t erase your罪.”
His tone was casual, but the words carried a brutal edge.
I’d planned for this situation over the past week, but I hadn’t anticipated a heavyweight like Prince Friedrich intervening, so I tensed naturally.
“By kingdom law, arson ranks third among the five great sins. Even after full restitution, ten years rotting in Prison City wouldn’t be amiss.”
Prison City.
A massive iron cage teeming with criminals. Ordinary folk said surviving a day there left you broken everywhere.
Essentially, the kingdom’s state-sanctioned slum for all its filth and trash. Ten years there? Better to be a slave.
The prince added a few words then.
“But I like you, barbarian. I’ll make you a Holy Knight. You’ve got potential. Two years’ training, and you’ll hit nine seats easy. A Samaritan torching the city against discrimination, redeemed by the prince who takes him in—could make a fine tale.”
Holy Knights—the order Elfriede’s Antiope belonged to, heretic hunters. The crowd buzzed loudly at that.
Heavens, forgiving the罪 and recruiting him to the Holy Knights?
Too generous for an arsonist.
Behold the prince’s mercy. The kingdom’s future looks bright.
The prince always scouts talent everywhere. Maybe that’s why he came for the elf too?
The crowd marveled and praised the prince’s judgment. Even I had to admit it was exceedingly merciful.
“Kneel and swear loyalty to me and the kingdom, Hatsan of Samaria. That absolves your sins—save for serving the cultist of Pluto. No sin beyond that is unforgivable.”
“...”
I looked up at the trial’s new master. Only his eyes gleamed blue in the shadow. Would kneeling solve everything neatly?
Yet my knees felt rooted like posts, refusing to budge.
I’d groveled through everything until now, but for some reason, with this guy, kneeling or bowing felt wrong.
“Hatsan, why not kneel? No better chance than this.”
“Truly grateful, but I’ll pass. I’ll bear my sins myself.”
So I pulled out what I’d kept dear in my bosom and held it up toward the man.
It resembled the pardon Countess Sardis’s daughter, Enya Sardis, had promised war veterans.
The prince said,
“Pardon? Indulgence?”
His expression turned deadly serious as he took it. As the throne foretold, it was a pardon.
I’d earned it from Enya while healing her as the border count’s daughter.
Even taking my 100-gold compensation, matching Elfriede’s price was impossible. With it soaring past 500 gold, my estimate proved spot-on.
So I’d thought: Nullify Elfriede’s trial, take her罪 on myself, and save us both.
That’s why I’d hustled the past week collecting gold and swaying victims—and it seemed to be working.
Thanks to safely curing the countess’s daughter. Publicly, Luna’s Vitality Orb healed her. Luna believed it too.
No good if word spread a foreign barbarian touched the lady’s foot during treatment, so I credited all glory to Luna.
Now, what happens next?
As I narrowed my brows wondering, the prince spoke.
“Stamped by the border count. Sodomora’s count rivals royals in influence. Never thought a barbarian would have one. Not stolen, it seems.”
“So my sins are gone?”
“Yes, rules are rules. Entertaining—you’re innocent. I, kingdom heir and Jupiter’s proxy, reaffirm: You are innocent, Samaritan.”
Innocent.
Those unassuming words set my heart racing.
I had won.
Murmurs swelled louder. As I basked briefly in victory’s fruit, the prince said,
“But one question. I’m no fool, barbarian. This trial and surrounding events reek of scheme or plot. All intentional?”
“If so, does it change anything?”
“No. Everyone yields to rules and results. Barbarian, judge, noble—even prince or high mountain gods can’t escape them.”
“Then think what you like.”
“Fine, I will. Hatsan of Samaria. Black Wasteland barbarian. Came on a whim, found an intriguing fellow. I’ll remember your name, Samaritan. Hatsan—.”
He pronounced my name deliberately. His voice struck like a blade to my chest.
Samaritan Hatsan.
Was that my name?
No, it was a lie.
I wasn’t the ruthless, mad Samaritan barbarian or rising star adventurer. Just a flawed, ordinary person.
Stepping off my long chain of lies, I chose truth today.
“Clerk, one correction. My name isn’t Hatsan of Samaria—it’s Hassan. Write it that way.”
“Hassan? Plain Hassan might confuse—son of whom, shall I put?”
“Son of the great beast, Hassan.”
“Ah, yes, Hatsan—. Done.”
Hassan, not Hatsan. Damn—must be my pronunciation.
Still, confessing it cleared my chest. Finally finding my place as ‘me.’ Thrill of dropping the half-baked barbarian act?
Feeling a strange fulfillment, someone laughed behind me.
“Ha—.”
I turned. The prince’s shadowed mouth stretched into a long grin, utterly at odds with his handsome, likable face.
Unthinkingly, my hand went to my waist.
My nape tingled more fiercely than ever in crises past.
Of course, I hadn’t brought a club to court—nothing there. This might get dangerous.
Lifting my head again, the prince’s face was serene and confident, as at first sight.
“Belated welcome. Hassan, from foreign lands. To your arrival on Gaia Continent. Arms wide. Most warmly—.”