Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic-Chapter 661 - The Traveler and the Roder Card
Chapter 661: Chapter 661: The Traveler and the Roder Card
Chapter 661: Chapter 661: The Traveler and the Roder Card
As Shard noticed Mr. Asmon, the latter too spotted him and recognized this old acquaintance from Coldwater Port.
So he walked over:
“I didn’t expect to meet you here again. It always amazes me how destiny allows us to reconvene with different people at different places during our journeys.”
The man dressed in a brown robe sat across from Shard, and they shook hands above the table. After that, the waiter came over again to take Mr. Asmon’s order. Once the waiter left, the long-faced man began to speak to Shard with an earnest gaze:
“Oh, Mr. Watson, it was only after I read about the Big City Player in the newspapers and heard about Shard Hamilton that I realized who you were.”
He must have noticed the Demon Card in the Champion Deck.
“Sorry, I’m actually a detective. Two months ago, I was given a difficult commission, and I had to assume the alias John Watson while in Coldwater Port. Same goes for this time; I’m in Midshire Fort for another tough commission.”
Shard briefly explained his whereabouts and then, leaning forward with interest, asked:
“Mr. Asmon, did you find the demon in Coldwater Port in the end?”
Despite the surrounding din, no one paid any attention to what the two men were discussing against the wall.
“Of course not, there were only the stinking merfolk of the rumors there.”
The “Demonologist” spoke Draleon with a very distinctive accent—not unstandard, but a strange one that didn’t hinder understanding. Under the dim light of the wall-mounted oil lamp, his long face was half-shrouded in darkness:
“But later, I came across something interesting from the folklorists in Coldwater Port, which is why I made the long trek here.”
“So, you mean there are demons in Midshire Fort?”
Shard inquired, to which Mr. Asmon made a long “hmm~” sound through his nose and nodded slightly:
“Yes, it’s said to be a demon associated with flames. I’ve discovered that Sicarl Mountain is a dead volcano and there’s a local tradition of fire worship here, plus many interesting rumors, like evil ghosts in fires, the Fire of the Primordial, the phoenix, old tales of the Fire Worship Festival, and so on. So I thought, maybe the demon is on this mountain.”
He was probably once again mistaken about his target; the local fire worship traditions were actually about the phoenix, not some demon.
“This sounds fascinating. I wish you a successful journey this time.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Watson. And what brings you up this mountain? Is it a commission related to Red Water Camp?”
Mr. Asmon leaned forward, resting his right arm on his thigh as he asked.
“No, no, I have a friend who is an officer here. It just so happened that I was visiting this city and thought to call on him.”
Shard pointed towards the direction of the barracks and continued eating while regaling Mr. Asmon with the Midshire Fort Mechanical Academy murder case from a few days prior. Of course, the story’s protagonist shifted from a detective who could see traces of blood to a very wise captain.
Although the “Demonologist” had been staying at an inn in the Traveler’s Camp on Rising Wind Trail, he was aware of the serial killings in the city center through the newspapers. He was indeed captivated by Shard’s story, listening intently and offering his own opinions.
On matters of Mysticism, which ordinary people would consider, the demonology researcher Mr. Asmon certainly had authority. Even when Shard mentioned the bronze jar and the disgusting contents cooked inside, Mr. Asmon provided an eloquent explanation that similar practices existed in rituals for summoning demons.
After they finished the meal, Captain Lades still hadn’t appeared. Mr. Asmon did not leave either; instead, he invited Shard to another game of Roder Card, while also wanting to continue listening to the demon-related story. This time he had no Special Card in hand, but Shard didn’t mind using the game to pass the time.
However, before the two could finish shuffling their decks, another stranger approached.
It was a young man who appeared travel-worn yet still dressed presentably, though his short yellow hair was somewhat disheveled from what must have been a long time without a wash. He seemed about three or four years older than Shard’s current body, wearing a pair of boots and practical clothing for travel, which included a shirt and a black leather jacket.
Dragging a chair to the table, he asked the two:
“Do you two fancy a game of Roder Cards?”
His accent suggested he was Carsonrickian.
“Yes, sir, is there something you need?”
Shard asked, and seeing that Shard didn’t mind his approach, the dusty traveler introduced himself:
“I’m William Shelley, a poet from Carsonrick. I plan to walk from the very southern end of the Old Continent to its northernmost tip, but unfortunately, I’ve run into some issues with my travel funds.”
He positioned his chair at the edge of the table facing the wall and sat down.
“Do you want to play Roder Card with us to earn some money? Oh, sir, I’m sorry, we aren’t gambling.”
Shard shook his head, actually worried he might end up winning the poet’s last meal money.
“No, gambling is no fun. How about a wager with a Special Card, though?”
He asked seriously, then looked at the young detective and the waxen-faced Mr. Asmon. Seeing their interested expressions, he reached into his pocket, took out his deck, and showed the top card to both men:
[Legend of the Hero: Bard Fletcher], Suit: Flower Nine.
When this card is drawn, if it is the first card, it has no effect. If it is not the first card, it can adjust its number between 9 and 10, provided the previous card drawn is of the Flower Suit and its number is divisible by two.
The card depicted a poet with long ears, wearing a hat adorned with long feathers and holding a seven-string lyre with a wooden pattern—seemingly meant to portray a legendary elf. However, Shard, who was quite knowledgeable in Elven lore, could point out at least five details on the card that contradicted elven customs. But considering it was just a Roder card, he figured there was no need to be too nitpicky.
“Let’s play cards together, if I win, each of you gives me five pounds, if I lose, you can choose to buy this card for 30 pounds. Either way, I can get my travel expenses,”
proposed the young poet.
“Are you sure this card is genuine?”
The price of this card should be more than 60 pounds. The Legend of the Hero series of cards contains fifteen heroes from ancient stories (thirteen points plus the King and Queen), and this set was issued about 90 years ago with two reprints. The card held by the poet, judging from the patterns on the edge, appeared to be from the first edition.
“Of course, it is. I won it in Mordy City of Carsonrick before I entered the mountains, and I even have a certificate of authenticity in my room,”
asserted the poet with certainty.
“You’ve been making your way here just by playing Roder cards?”
Shard asked with curiosity.
“Sometimes I lose when luck isn’t on my side, but I can earn money by singing in taverns, and I am quite confident in my voice,”
Shard nodded and glanced at Mr. Sean Asmon, the Demonologist sitting opposite him, whose black eyes seemed to be watching Shard all the time:
“Then, Mr. Watson, I will not participate. Although I enjoy playing cards, I can’t take out that much cash right now.”
“One last question, Midshire Fort is only a day’s journey from here, so why don’t you go into town and sell the card? The Prophet’s Society would not lack buyers,”
Shard asked again.
“I never sell Roder cards; I’m a Roder Card player, not a merchant,”
replied the poet as if it were the most natural thing, and Shard nodded in agreement:
“Alright, I’ll play cards with you. However, I was just discussing demon lore with Mr. Sean Asmon here. You won’t mind if we continue our conversation while we play, will you?”
“Of course not, I’m interested in your story as well,”
assured the poet with a nod, but then asked curiously:
“I see that this gentleman is well-dressed and speaks in an extraordinary manner, may I know what your professions are…”
He had approached Shard to propose playing cards because he could tell Shard had money.
“I am John Watson, a writer who came here for inspiration, and this is the Demonologist searching for knowledge of demons, Mr. Sean Asmon.”
Shard introduced them, and the young poet gave Mr. Asmon an enthusiastic nod:
“That’s interesting, could a Demonologist be considered a folklorist? Maybe your stories will give me more inspiration for my poetry.”
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“I suppose so,”
responded Shard, while the thin-faced man opposite him was already ready to continue the story. It was the sequel to the story he’d last told in Coldwater Port City, about a demon born out of calamity, striving to grant human wishes under the premise of taking everything from them.
Meanwhile, the card game between Shard and the young traveling poet Mr. Shelley was being played according to the basic rules of a simple draw not counting, best of three rounds.
“I don’t know how to address that wish-granting demon,”
said the hoarse but powerful voice of the Demonologist. When mentioning the demon, his black eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sinister smile. Sean Asmon was the sort of person who could easily scare little children at night.
Shard and the young poet were also beginning their first round. Shard didn’t include any Special Cards in his deck, but was still not too worried about the outcome of the game.
Shard’s first hole card was Stars 13, while Mr. Shelley carefully lifted the card to peek at the number, raising an eyebrow involuntarily.
“It once experienced failure because it met a person who had no wishes. The demon, not content with failure, hid within that person’s spirit and spread its Malice and lies with him.”
“That sounds terrifying,”
simply commented the poet.
“Aren’t all those ancient Evil Spirits from the stories the same?”
said Shard, as they both drew their second card. Shard got Sun 6, making his total 19 points. After some thought, he tapped the table to signal that he was holding. Poet Shelley, on the other hand, got Moon 3, and continued to draw a third card:
“Mr. Watson, you really are quite lucky,”
“The devil with no wishes walked a great distance, and Malice, lies, war, plague; these were their company. The desireless man was treated as an incarnation of calamity by his companions, ostracized by everyone he met, even his own kin. But he did not care and just kept walking, moving forward,”
“Perhaps he realized that he had been possessed by a demon,”
remarked Shard, while the young poet sighed deeply and revealed his third card, Moon 11. Unfortunately, his hole card was Flower 10; 10 + 3 + 11 made 24 points; he had busted. Shard, however, won the first round.
