The story of a protagonist who fell into another world, was captured by passing human traffickers, experienced a mysterious accident, and escaped.
Summarizing the original work's flow briefly, it's like this.
It's important in that the protagonist uses their abilities and meets companions for the first time, but the composition is ordinary.
The only somewhat unique point is the suddenly occurring accident.
Suddenly, an inextinguishable fire starts in the middle of the Wasteland, and while the smugglers are in disarray, the protagonist escapes.
I didn't tell either Karl or Til about the accident.
No matter how meticulous Valheit was, knowing about a coincidentally occurring event would be strange.
It's natural for the fire to spread naturally, then act, and for Karl and Til to intervene then.
Or so I thought.
‘Why isn’t anything happening?’
I couldn't have remembered wrong.
There's no way I'd forget the contents of Episode 1, which I've read dozens of times.
Certainly, the fire broke out shortly after ‘a meager lunch was served’.
But even though it had been quite a while past noon, nothing had happened.
“Mister, when are we leaving?”
On top of that, having a noisy rescue target next to me makes it even more distracting.
She asks once every minute or two, and it's hard to answer, making me even more impatient.
“Please wait, Miss Misha. We can only move when the time is right.”
“When is that time?”
“……”
I don't know either.
It feels like about an hour ago that the smugglers were bustling about eating.
At this point, I have to admit it.
I don't know what problem occurred, but the accident from the original work didn't happen.
This is troublesome.
I planned to call Til and Karl using the fire as a signal.
Although I told them I'd send a signal everyone would recognize, I assumed they'd naturally come when the fire broke out, so I hadn't prepared anything separately.
Since the expected fire didn't happen, the options weren't many.
Either come up with a new method right now, or cause a similar incident myself.
“Alright everyone, the situation has changed. Shall we say a little help is needed?”
“Something went wrong, didn't it?”
“To put it bluntly, yes, it went wrong. But that doesn't mean it's ruined. Is there anyone who knows what's around here?”
Nine pairs of eyes gathered on the Dark Elf.
Misha, after glancing around briefly, lifted her head with a sigh.
“When I arrived, they said they were short-handed and dragged me out.”
“Excellent. By any chance, were there any flammable items nearby?”
“Well, I only did odd jobs for a moment…”
Well, I didn't expect much.
Do I have to find out by trying things myself?
“Ah, there is one thing I remember.”
“Hmm?”
“There was a smell of oil somewhere.”
“Oil? What kind of oil?”
“It wasn’t a savory smell. More like a headache-inducing kind of smell.”
Oil, huh.
Petroleum hasn't been mentioned in the world of 『The Path of the Demon King』.
Even the most technologically advanced regions are just now using steam engines.
However, oil used for lighting has been mentioned a few times. Whale oil.
It might be inferior to gasoline or kerosene, but it should be sufficient as kindling.
“Thank you for the good information. Then, please wait here for a moment.”
“I don’t want to just sit around and wait. Isn’t there something we can do too?”
Misha grumbled.
That determination to do something was both annoying and admirable.
“When the operation begins, the smugglers will be busy fighting inside and out. You should use that gap to free as many prisoners as possible and move south.”
“Are we rescuing those people too?”
“If we’re lucky, maybe?”
The promise I made was to rescue the 10 people here, so the rest must be left to fate.
Unfortunately, there's no time.
“Isn’t, isn’t that too dangerous?”
A kid with goat horns asked hesitantly.
Letting the kids escape on their own was indeed dangerous.
Especially since my life was also on the line due to the curse.
“Don’t worry. A guardian angel will follow you.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Saying that, I left the tent.
Snowflakes, stronger than yesterday, scattered chaotically.
It was quite appropriate weather for doing bad things secretly.
‘Still, just in case.’
Using the pushed-back shadow, I went outside.
Most smugglers were gathered under tents to avoid the snow or grumbling around campfires.
“Snowing as soon as we arrive, damn it.”
“Still, we made it to the Wasteland safely. Didn’t even encounter those demon bastards once, so we’re actually lucky.”
“Those demon bastards, you catch and kill them and it’s over, but the snow falls endlessly.”
I leisurely walked past the chatting smugglers.
No one paid me any attention.
‘It’s wider than I thought. Can I find it in 10 minutes?’
Like its name, the Wasteland, the makeshift fortress was quite large.
There were quite a few roughly built temporary structures, and finding it one by one seemed like it would take ages.
Wandering aimlessly is a waste of time.
Flammable materials would be stored in one place, so finding that would be better…
“Isn’t it your shift change?”
“I know even if you don’t tell me, you bastard.”
A smuggler carrying a lamp began walking through the driving snow.
Right, when you don't know, asking is the best way.
I quietly tailed him.
In a secluded corner, I grabbed the smuggler's neck.
Before he could even scream, I clamped his mouth shut with Mana Grasp.
“Have a nice long nap.”
A moment later, the smuggler, his face purple, dropped limply to the ground.
I snatched the lamp from his twitching hand.
I decided to use a more certain method than asking people.
Touching the remaining oil inside the lamp, I activated the Eye of the Monarch.
The sloshing oil glowed blue.
Simultaneously, a bluish light bloomed from the north.
When used on objects, the Eye of the Monarch also found other objects of the same type.
Normally, even if an object outside my line of sight glowed, I wouldn't be able to see it, but if a large amount was piled up, it was a different story.
Now that I found the location, all that remained was setting it on fire.
Unfortunately, there were no convenient items like lighters.
“Ha… damn it…. I was saving this to get a 6th-tier spell.”
I opened the Status Window and clicked my tongue.
It's an emergency, so it can't be helped.
As the Skill Point decreased to 1, a new spell flowed into my head.
* * *
The manager meticulously checked the documents again.
The cargo being moved this time required extreme caution.
“Thirty barrels of whale oil, twelve humans, thirty-four demons. Among these, twenty barrels of whale oil, two humans, and twenty demons need to be moved to the mine. The rest go straight to the port.”
The manager, who had been scribbling numbers, looked up.
The room felt a little darker.
“Is the lamp running out of oil? There’s still half left.”
The manager, sniffing like a rat, casually turned around and then shot up from his seat.
Outside the window, thick black smoke billowed, blocking the little sunlight there was.
“That’s the oil storage warehouse! Which idiot started a fire?!”
Grabbing his coat and rushing out breathlessly, the manager realized the smoke was only one of the problems.
The sound of the warning bell ringing could be heard from far away.
Shouts, screams, and the clash of metal could also be faintly heard.
“Is it those demon bastards? Probably. There’s no way those things would rest just because it’s the Aslan Festival.”
Answering his own question, the manager ran towards the source of the smoke.
Arriving at the scene of the fire, the manager was startled to see a familiar face.
“Mr. Palsk, what brings you here…”
“It’s Valh… no, Palsh.”
“Ah, yes, right. Anyway, the oil warehouse is on fire now, so quickly get to a safe place…”
Mid-sentence, the manager felt something strange.
Even if demons had invaded, some should have come here busily to put out the fire.
It wasn't the first time a fire had broken out, and the Wasteland had its own system, after all.
But the only person visible was the guest with closed eyes, smiling unpleasantly.
“What’s wrong.”
“Th-there’s an attack by demons at the main gate. I, I think I need to go help over there…”
The moment the manager turned to run, something grabbed his ankle.
The manager screamed shrilly as he was dragged along.
“Uwaaaaaaaah!!”
“Why leave in such a hurry? Let’s chat for a bit.”
The manager felt pressure pressing down firmly on his back.
Despite the winter cold, sweat continuously trickled down his face and onto the ground.
“I’ll, I’ll tell you anything! My life, just spare my life!”
“You didn’t listen properly. I clearly said let’s chat.”
Something wet splashed onto the manager's face, and a nauseating smell stung his nose.
It was whale oil.
“Are you perhaps knowledgeable about magic?”
“N-no. Not at all.”
“I’m in a very bad mood today. You’d better choose your answer carefully. Are you knowledgeable about magic?”
“Yes, I know. Of course, I know!”
The manager vigorously nodded his face, buried in the snow.
The force crushing him lessened slightly.
“Among 7th-tier spells, do you know of one called Discharge. Think of it as converting mana into electricity- something like that.”
“Ye… Is that so. Yes.”
The manager, who knew nothing about magic and didn't know what electricity was, answered sincerely.
“Used normally, it’s a spell that at most ends with a sting. Of course, if used properly.”
Quite far from the manager's line of sight, something crackled and sparked embers.
It seemed more accurate to call it a ball made of embers.
“It can cause something like a fire.”
As the Count finished speaking, the ball moved slightly towards the manager.
Oil and embers. The manager quickly assessed his situation.
“No, no! Didn’t I answer well until now! Please stop that damn ball, please!”
“Of course, I should. My purpose is to chat.”
A smiling face appeared before the manager’s eyes.
He hiccuped without realizing it.
“Hand over everything you know about the mine connected to Novosibir. Maps, personnel deployment, scale, hidden paths, number of prisoners, etc. Everything, without exception.”
In another situation, he would have whined that revealing such things would get him killed.
But the manager wasn't foolish enough to choose future death over immediate death.
A long chat began.
* * *
‘South, south…’
Misha Druke kept repeating ‘south’ to herself as she ran.
Right now, she had no choice but to trust that closed-eyed human.
When the fire started and the warning bell rang, the Wasteland turned into chaos.
Those trying to fight, those trying to flee, and the trapped slaves added to the mix, creating utter pandemonium.
She opened every prisoner cage she saw.
She didn't have time to care whether they were human or demon.
She had to free even one more person before the fire engulfed them.
“This damn brat…”
A smuggler who noticed Misha yelled, then collapsed limply as a dagger lodged in his throat.
Bright red blood spread over the snow.
This was already the 10th time.
She hadn't known the guardian angel the closed-eyed human mentioned meant something so violent.
But it was reassuring.
As she opened another cage, emaciated humans emerged with difficulty.
To the humans looking bewildered that a Dark Elf kid had rescued them, Misha shouted loudly.
“South! You have to go south! That way!”
Like this, the line of escapees gradually grew.
A few smugglers who saw the escaping goods rushed at them, but they all fell before long.
Arriving at the south gate like that, Misha took a small breath.
The smugglers also seemed flustered as a huge number of slaves appeared from behind.
“Kill those things first while blocking the gate!”
Seeing the smuggler's gleaming blade, Misha froze, remembering the day she was captured.
Just like then, the smugglers were reaching out to her again.
But this time, those hands couldn't reach her.
“Ughaaaa! My arm!”
“So noisy.”
The head of the smuggler whose arm was cut off rolled on the ground.
Misha cautiously looked up and saw a white-haired woman holding a handaxe.
“…Are you our guardian angel, sister?”
“What? Um, uh, yeah, I guess so.”
The slightly flustered woman grinned and cut down the approaching smugglers.
Blood splattered, staining the snowy field.
“Wh-what the hell is that bitch?”
“Shoot, shoot!”
Crossbowmen aimed at the white-haired woman.
But that also meant turning their backs.
A familiar figure moved among the shooters and slit their throats.
Seeing that figure, Misha unknowingly cried out.
“Brother!”
Karl, answering with a nod of his head, swept across the top of the wall, cutting the smugglers' throats.
Attacked from above and below, the smugglers lost their will to fight, dropped their weapons, and the battle ended.
Misha rushed to her brother.
“Brother!”
“You’re safe.”
As Karl smiled as if relieved, someone approached him and extended a hand dripping with blood.
“You’re Karl Druke, right? I’m a mercenary sent by Palsh. You can call me Til.”
“Greetings later. We need to move the captured people outside first.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Only after Til turned and walked away did Karl realize his hand was trembling.
She was less like a human and more like a ghost.
He had no clue where Palsh had found such a person.
‘Palsh, just what kind of human is he?’