Volume 3 Chapter 5 – Being an Imperial Soldier Sure Is Profitable

Inside the carriage, although Yimi wore a blank expression, it was obvious that she was very curious about everything around her. This was probably her first time riding a human horse-drawn carriage.

These prairie-horse-pulled wagons were quite similar to buses from his previous life. When Dylin had looked up the route for this carriage, a strong sense of déjà vu had struck him.

The carriage was packed with passengers. Along the way, it would stop at numerous rest stations where the horses would be rested or swapped out, and those needing to disembark could do so.

Wasn’t this just a bus?

Dylin had booked a luxury compartment for one person per carriage. He wasn’t about to cram into a small cabin without even a seat, shoulder-to-shoulder with people from all over.

With so many people packed in—heels against toes, breathing each other’s air, practically sharing the same oxygen—it was more than a little disgusting. Not to mention how being pressed so closely could leave one’s clothes smeared with leftover food bits or some unknown sticky substance. Just imagining such a scene made Dylin frown involuntarily.

He glanced out the window. The road stretched from Coleman City to the Empire’s frontier—no one knew what era it was built in—but it was still in use, which meant it was regularly maintained.

As the saying goes: to get rich, build roads. No matter the era or the world, this rule always seemed to apply.

“Why are you using a human appearance?”

“Hm?” They had been traveling in silence when Yimi suddenly asked this. Dylin turned his gaze to her and saw that she was looking out the window, her expression unreadable.

“Because,” Dylin paused, “if I told you I’m not the Teresa you know, would you believe me?”

He was just a transmigrator from Blue Star, not the real original Teresa. In terms of race, he was without a doubt human.

Yimi gave Dylin a sidelong glance but said nothing.

Clearly, she didn’t believe him—and probably assumed he was trying to shirk responsibility by denying he was Teresa.

Dylin shook his head. He hadn’t expected her to believe him anyway. He took out the Golden Butterfly Hairpin and turned it over in his hand again and again.

This ornament was guiding him. So if he fulfilled its wishes and helped it recover the original Teresa’s memories, would his mission in this world be complete?

And if his mission was complete, did that mean he could leave this world—go home?

At the thought, Dylin’s gaze toward the Golden Butterfly flickered with uncertainty.

The Golden Butterfly had been leading his actions all along, convincing him that he had some mission to fulfill in this world. Only after completing it would the dream end, and the truth be revealed.

Staring out the window, a trace of confusion flickered through Dylin’s eyes. He never truly belonged to this world—he had always felt out of place. Even now, everything before his eyes still didn’t feel real.

Every blade of grass and tree felt unfamiliar. He was merely a lost soul, surviving up to this point on instinct alone.

The original Teresa had been an Elf War Goddess. Dylin didn’t know exactly what that entailed, but her prestige within the Elf Tribe must have been unparalleled—battle-hardened and a pillar of the tribe.

And he was just an ordinary human from Blue Star. He had no grand ambition to save the world, no strong identification with the Elf Tribe, and certainly no sense of duty.

Since arriving in this world, he had done what he needed to do, repaid what needed repaying. He had no attachments here.

If he died before completing the mission, would he return to his original world?

Dylin glanced at Yimi sitting across the table, quietly watching the passing scenery.

In a way, what she had done could be considered a misdeed.

Clutching the Golden Butterfly, Dylin suddenly wondered: even though it had saved him from danger multiple times, wasn’t it also the origin of all this?

He owed it—but it was also because of it that he was trapped in this world.

The carriage jolted along. Even though the luxury compartment had better shock absorption than those “cargo wagons,” it wasn’t that much better. Sitting on the bench made his butt go numb. For all the extra coin he paid, the only thing guaranteed was a place to sit—not comfort.

Soon, the train attendant brought lunch.

Smelling the meat in the tray, both Dylin and Yimi wrinkled their noses in unison and declined the complimentary luxury compartment meal.

Besides, who knew how long the meat in those free meals had been sitting out? Safe, non-toxic alchemical preservatives were expensive and rarely used for free meals. To cover the smell, cheaper preservatives with slight harm to humans—what Blue Star called “additives”—were often used instead.

Taste aside, it was better to avoid eating such meals altogether.

Dylin pulled a pre-packed vegetable salad from his backpack and handed a portion to Yimi from a separate lunchbox.

“Eat. Don’t starve to death, Miss.”

“.........”

Dylin silently watched as Yimi took the food without complaint, nibbling at the salad with small bites.

She wasn’t afraid Dylin had poisoned it—after all, if he meant her harm, he had plenty of chances already. If he really wanted to, turning her into Rinpoche would be a matter of minutes.

Maybe keeping this Gold Elf girl by his side was partly the hairpin doing.

It had been subtly influencing his thoughts and perceptions, giving him, who should’ve felt indifferent to elves, a budding sense of identity. Not strong, but enough to dissuade him from harming elves. He even felt a sense of responsibility toward them.

Just past noon, in the early afternoon, the carriage suddenly came to a stop.

Dylin, who had been resting with his eyes closed, vaguely heard some coarse shouting, followed by a mess of footsteps. The carriage door was opened.

What now—bandits?

He glanced out the window. They were still in a suburban area, and there weren’t even any hills nearby. Bandits showing up here was strange.

So what was going on?

A hurried scramble of footsteps followed, and their carriage door was yanked open by a nervous-looking attendant.

“We’ve encountered a patrol squad. They’re doing a routine inspection. Watch your words, understood?” The attendant gave Dylin a knowing look. But it was Dylin’s first time on one of these carriages—how was he supposed to “understand”? He just nodded politely.

Seeing his nod, the attendant went on to notify the rest of the train.

Such urgency baffled Dylin.

It was just a patrol militia, wasn’t it? Why the panic? Why alert every single carriage like this? It’s not like they were bandits.

Soon, heavy, disordered footsteps approached—and the door to Dylin’s compartment swung open.

Several burly men burst in, clad in crude cloth armor, wielding spears and sabers, and wearing the Empire’s flying eagle insignia.

“Routine inspection for heretics by Imperial order. Stay seated and don’t move,” barked the leader, walking in with a puffed-up chest and clasped hands behind his back. Judging by his rough appearance, he was likely a mere militia captain, though he acted like a full general.

Don’t move.

Dylin glanced at Yimi.

There were only two people in this compartment, both sitting upright. Who exactly was moving?

The man’s gaze swept over Dylin—then landed on Yimi.

Instantly, his beady eyes gleamed with gold.

No human could resist the allure of a Gold Elf’s beauty—especially lowly militia who had likely never seen such a stunning woman in their lives.

Though she looked young now, there was no doubt that she would grow into a jaw-droppingly gorgeous beauty.

Dylin didn’t want trouble, but the greedy heat in the captain’s eyes told him trouble was already here.

Poverty breeds vice. These guys acted like they’d never seen a woman before.

Judging by the swagger with which they barged in, they probably bullied commoners regularly.

Disgust and disdain flickered in Dylin’s eyes.

Now he understood why the surrounding nations held such a low opinion of the Empire. When even mountain thugs like these could parade the imperial banner, what reputation could the Empire hope for?

Felicia had said the Empire’s recruitment standards dropped each year. It seemed she was right.

It was probably full of lazy thugs who didn’t want to earn an honest living.

“Where are you two from?” the militia captain asked, pretending to check the passenger list.

“Sir, we’re from Coleman City,” Dylin replied, putting on a smile and polite tone.

Yimi was stunned.

The rumored Elf War Goddess who had slain sub-dragons was now bowing and scraping to a human?

Was she always like this?

She didn’t know what these human soldiers wanted, but their predatory stares were clearly not friendly.

They made her very uncomfortable.

“This is our student ID. We’re Coleman Academy students. Just enrolled this year.” Dylin handed over his ID.

“Tut.” The captain glanced at it before handing it back, claiming he’d seen it.

In truth, his eyes hadn’t even scanned the text. Dylin guessed he probably couldn’t read—maybe not even common speech, let alone Elvish.

With their underdeveloped brains, being able to talk was already impressive.

Dylin had stated their school affiliation to make it clear they were backed by Coleman Academy—and behind that, the Land of the Elves. These soldiers better not get any funny ideas.

“You’re Coleman students? Why aren’t you in school? What are you doing in the Empire?” The captain eyed Dylin.

Such a sissy-looking kid, all delicate and young—not at all manly.

“We’re on break. Came for some sightseeing—to experience Imperial culture.”

“Sightseeing? Hmph. That’s suspicious.” The captain sneered. “We’ve caught six heretics this month who used ‘sightseeing’ as an excuse to sneak in.”

That left Dylin speechless.

Seriously, if not for this stupid hairpin, he wouldn’t be anywhere near this godforsaken Empire.

If he were a heretic, would he really come here? That’d just be asking for trouble.

“But we’re not like them. We’re Coleman students—our identities can be verified.”

“Are you heretics?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you worship Carreto?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me: what’s the thirty-sixth tenet of Carreto’s Doctrine?”

“Sorry, officer. I consider myself well-read, but I’ve never even heard of a book called Carreto’s Doctrine.”

“You don’t know? You’ve never read a book written by our Emperor himself and still claim you’re not a heretic?” The captain chuckled. “And that girl with you—never seen that golden hair around here before. I suspect she’s a foreign heretic. And I have proof!”

Wait, that counted as proof?

Dylin was stunned—completely speechless at the shamelessness.

“Well then, officer, since you keep mentioning the Carreto Doctrine, why don’t you recite the thirty-sixth tenet? Let us learn something new.”

“Hah, I could recite that in my sleep! You two are definitely heretics! Men, seize them!”

The captain’s eyes flickered with panic, and he quickly ordered his men to surround them.

Yimi also realized these people were just picking a fight. Her gaze turned icy.

She didn’t understand why they were being so unreasonable—but she was ready to deal with them.

“Hey, officer, you dropped something.” Suddenly, Dylin spoke, pointing at the floor.

“? What?” The captain looked down and saw a gorgeously decorated wallet.

“Isn’t that yours? Only someone of your status could afford such a fine wallet.”

“.............Ah, yes, it’s mine.” Enchanted by the wallet, the captain picked it up with glee. “Heh heh, I almost lost it. Thanks, kid. You’re a good one.”

“You’re welcome, officer. See, we’re students from Coleman—how could we possibly be heretics?”

“Mm... Yeah, now that I look again, you really don’t seem like it. I can tell you’re good, law-abiding citizens.” Hugging the wallet, the captain grinned ear to ear.

“Coleman City’s a fine place. Good folks. No way it’d produce heretics. I admit, I overreacted. Alright, move on to the next carriage!”

Once the captain left, Dylin sat back down.

It wasn’t about anything else—he just didn’t want trouble.

He was a stranger in a strange land. Getting wanted over a few pests would be ridiculous.

Better to toss out some bait than fight—feed a bun to a dog and avoid the hassle.

So being an Imperial militia paid that well, huh?

Listening to the ruckus from the other carriages, Dylin sneered inwardly.

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