Chapter 3128: Redfoot Demon Merchant

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

Location: Myriad Realms, Azorheim, Inter-realm transit hub

"A Redfoot Dwarf youngling?" Henricks blurted, his voice carrying a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "What is it doing here, so far from RedAlps? It looks way too malnourished."

His gaze remained fixed on the young, red-clad dwarf moving through the crowd. The child couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve years old, yet there was something unsettling about seeing someone so young trying to survive in a world where even beings who had lived for millennia struggled to carve out a place for themselves.

Henricks had more reason than most to recognize the dwarf.

RedAlps had been one of the sentient realms he had the pleasure of visiting during his inter realm travels. It was located relatively close to the Card World, and the Redfoot tribes had left a particularly strong impression on him. Their hospitality, communal customs, and simple way of life had appealed to him so much that, for a time, he had seriously considered moving the Freedom Fighters’ headquarters there.

Then disaster struck. A demon invasion descended upon RedAlps.

Henricks had witnessed the invasion firsthand. He had seen how quickly a realm could be reduced from a living home into a resource to be harvested. The demons didn’t simply conquer the Redfoot. They stripped the realm of everything valuable, tearing through its lands, exploiting its resources, and treating its inhabitants as little more than tools to be used and discarded.

The experience had left a deeper impression on him than he usually admitted.

Compared to what the Redfoot had endured, the Freedom Fighters’ struggles and cause suddenly seemed almost laughable.

Watching an entire realm get stripped to its bones had nearly triggered a mid-life crisis in Henricks. It had forced him to reconsider just how insignificant their little rebellion could look when placed against the scale of the myriad realms.

As far as Henricks knew, the Redfoot Dwarves had suffered terribly after the invasion. Those who survived had either been enslaved by the demons and forced to mine the very resources of the realm they once called home, or had simply been killed.

Which made the sight before us all the more unbelievable.

A Redfoot Dwarf was standing here in Azorheim. Not only alive, but working, alone.

The youngling hurried between visitors, trying to attract customers before another guide could claim them. Yet his thin arms and narrow frame made his condition impossible to ignore. His clothing, once perhaps intended to represent the distinctive appearance of his people, now hung loosely over his underfed body. Even from a distance, I could see that he had grown considerably thinner than when I had last seen him.

Henricks stared at him for several seconds, seemingly unable to reconcile what he was seeing with what he knew about RedAlps.

"How did he survive?" he muttered.

I didn’t answer immediately.

As demon merchant, it wasn’t surprising that the young Redfoot had somehow escaped the fate that had swallowed the rest of his people and made his way all the way to Azorheim, a realm where countless beings from across the myriad realms came and went. What was surprising was that he had managed to establish himself here despite being little more than a child.

Just a skinny young dwarf in red clothes, desperately trying to earn enough to survive another day.

The contrast was difficult to ignore.

Back in RedAlps, his people had once welcomed travelers with open arms. Now one of their children was traveling the realms alone, selling his services to strangers just to stay alive.

Henricks’s expression darkened as he watched the young dwarf. After a moment, he turned to me and asked solemnly, "Your Highness, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hire the young Redfoot as our guide."

"Hey, young blood. Over here!"

Seeing me nod, Henricks called out to the Redfoot Dwarf.

I couldn’t help but stare at him with a hint of admiration. He had addressed the dwarf in the native language of RedAlps. There was a noticeable accent to his pronunciation, but his words were otherwise remarkably accurate.

Considering Henricks was the one who had first told me about the downfall of RedAlps, I wasn’t surprised that he could speak the language. Apparently, his time among the Redfoot tribes had left a deeper impression on him than I had realized.

The moment he heard his native tongue, the young Redfoot Dwarf looked over.

Wariness immediately filled his eyes.

His gaze shifted between Henricks and me, clearly unsure whether approaching us was safe. Then his expression gradually eased when he noticed the hand signs Henricks was making.

They were part of a traditional Redfoot dance used when welcoming and entertaining esteemed guests.

The familiar gestures seemed to reassure him, at least enough to approach.

Even so, the young dwarf walked toward us cautiously, keeping a safe distance until he was close enough to speak.

"Do you want a guide?" he asked in his native language.

"Yes," Henricks replied.

The young dwarf’s eyes immediately brightened with the faintest trace of hope. Work was work, after all. The young Redfoot Dwarf was just about to ask how much we were willing to pay when I interrupted. I pulled out a top-grade Blood Rule Rock and held it out to him.

"Don’t worry about the cost," I assured him. "Just take us to your favorite restaurant."

For several seconds, the young Redfoot simply stared at the red stone resting in his palms.

His fingers tightened around it instinctively, as though afraid that if he loosened his grip, the opportunity would somehow disappear.

I watched his expression carefully. This wasn’t charity. At least, that wasn’t how I wanted Redfoot Dwarf to see it.

We needed a guide, and he knew Azorheim better than we did. More importantly, I wanted to know what had happened to the young Redfoot after RedAlps fell. And if a meal was enough to get him talking, I wasn’t going to complain.

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