Chapter 571 - 506: Ogre Bloodroar, Blood Covenant

"A… a Merchant…"

The Ogre slumped in the corner, his coarse voice trembling uncontrollably, hoarse and flecked with blood. He was wracked by the agonizing pain from his broken arm and the terror of having his Power so utterly crushed.

"I… I got it from… a passing merchant… traded… for… for three whole cave bear hides, and… and two sacks of high-grade rye…"

He struggled to lift his head, trying to avoid Roland's eyes. Their placidness was unnerving, sending a chill down his spine. The murky, dark red had faded from the Ogre's pupils, leaving them unfocused and wide with terror.

"A Merchant?"

Roland frowned slightly.

"What's his name? Where is he now?"

"His name… his name…"

A look of desperate concentration appeared on the Ogre's swollen, bruised face, his brow knitting in pain.

"I think he's called… called… Hiss… Damn it, I can't remember… That guy is secretive, rarely talks about himself… That's right!"

He suddenly spoke as if clutching a lifeline, his words tumbling out in a rush, but his unsteady breathing made him stutter.

"'Copper Tongue'! One of my men… nicknamed 'Copper Tongue'! He's dealt with that Merchant a few times, I think… I think he even helped him move some 'special' goods… He should know more!"

As if to lend his words more weight, the Ogre struggled to point with his good left hand toward a corner of the hall, speaking urgently.

"He was… he should have been… right over there!"

Roland looked in the direction he was pointing.

The tavern, its grim atmosphere from moments before now gone, had descended into a scene of bustling chaos.

"BANG! THUD!"

"Gently! You brainless oaf, that's Boss Karen's heirloom oak table leg, not firewood!"

"Ouch… my back… Priest Holland, this beam… do we really have to lift it up? I think a few nails would be good enough…"

The Ogre's men, who moments before had been lying scattered about, groaning, or struggling to their feet, were now working under Holland's direction, clumsy but diligent.

Two burly men with bruised and swollen faces were grimacing as they tried to hoist a broken ceiling beam back into place.

Nearby, the Ranger whose Short Bow had been knocked away by Roland was steadying a wobbly wooden ladder, reluctantly but carefully handing up rusty iron nails.

As for the vicious man named Riley, the snake-like coldness was gone from his face.

Looking thoroughly sullen, he used his uninjured hand, along with a limping accomplice, to sweep splinters of wood and the wreckage of broken barrels into a corner.

Behind the bar, Boss Karen was mopping cold sweat from his forehead with a rag of indeterminate color, his high, thin voice on the verge of tears as he endlessly muttered directions.

"Over there! Yes, that plank might still be usable! Be careful! Don't knock over my barrels! That's the last keg of Dwarf spirits!"

And then there was Holland. The Priest, who just a short while ago had been menacingly surrounded by these very thugs and barely able to fend for himself, was now pacing among them with his hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out.

The expression on his face—a mixture of smug satisfaction and forced severity—radiated a certain…

"supervisory" air, like a fox borrowing a tiger's might.

"All of you, pick up the pace! The repair fees will be deducted from the 'compensation' you owe! If anyone dares to slack off…"

He deliberately dragged out his words, his gaze flickering vaguely toward where Roland stood silently.

The thugs flinched. Forgetting their aches and pains, they threw themselves back into their work with renewed vigor.

Although they still grimaced in pain, no one dared to utter a single word of complaint.

Seeing this, Roland gave a slightly helpless shake of his head.

His gaze swept quickly over their faces, some filled with Fear, others with numb resignation, and then he raised his voice.

"Which one of you is 'Copper Tongue'?"

After a brief silence, a figure hesitantly rose from a group cleaning a pile of broken wood.

He was a man of average build, with a slick, shifty look about him.

He looked to be in his early thirties and wore a worn leather vest dusted with wood shavings.

His face wore an expression common to men who live by their wits on the street: a mixture of shrewdness and cowardice.

His face was pale, his gaze evasive, and his fingers unconsciously fiddled with the hem of his clothes.

"Th-that's me, milord."

His voice was dry, and he carefully shuffled forward two steps, not daring to get too close.

Roland's gaze settled on him. He raised the Secret Imprisonment Dice in his hand and asked calmly,

"What do you know about that merchant?"

Copper Tongue swallowed hard. His eyes darted to the wretched sight of the Ogre in the corner, then snapped back. His voice took on a fawning tone.

"Milord, I… I'm just an errand boy, a go-between, I really don't know much! That Merchant… none of us know his real name. He's never said it himself."

"I only know that he comes near Lin Ye Town every so often, always at the black market… that area by the abandoned mines northwest of town. He only shows up to do business in places like that."

He paused, as if trying hard to remember, or perhaps choosing his words carefully.

"The things he deals in… they can be pretty uncanny sometimes, not like a regular merchant's wares. One time I helped him handle… uh, transport a few old items, and they had this… strange smell I can't describe. Like some kind of burnt herbs, and also like rust, but not quite."

"Also, when he negotiates prices or inspects goods, his eyes are very… very 'penetrating.' It's like he can see right through you, see all your little schemes in an instant."

Copper Tongue licked his chapped lips, then lowered his voice, his tone turning speculative.