The Lord: In Another World, I Have a Summoning Card !-Chapter 43: The Open Box

Arthur fell silent for a moment, then spoke in a low tone, laced with authority and resolve:

"Perhaps... But don’t forget, Dugril, you’re here because I allowed it. Your presence now, your freedom, ... all of them are privileges I granted."

He took a single step forward, locking eyes with the orc whose gaze burned with fury.

He didn’t shout, nor did he reach for a weapon—his unshaken voice and unwavering stare were more than enough.

"If you’re thinking of rebellion... if you’ve forgotten who holds the reins here... let me remind you: I don’t throw traitors into dungeons—I show them that ignorance, at times, is a mercy beyond price."

He paused for a breath, then continued with sharp clarity:

"Which is why you’d do well to wait. Quietly. And patiently."

Suddenly, he raised his hand, signaling toward the door with two fingers. From the shadows emerged the two silent guards who had been watching all along.

They didn’t speak, didn’t hesitate—they moved only at his signal. Their orders were clear, their training too strict to waver.

Dugril exhaled harshly through his nose, the hot breath seeming to carry away the last of his resistance. Then he muttered in a low voice, laced with disdain:

"No wonder the stunted dwarves curse you behind your backs... They say humans have no true talent, but forget that deceit and cunning are your real gifts—woven into your blood, just like any other race’s legacy."

Then he slowly turned around, not waiting for a response, and under the escort of additional guards, he left the hall—his heavy footsteps echoing faintly with each movement.

Arthur remained standing, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the box placed before him, now stripped of its seal. He didn’t touch it.

He gave a slight nod to the guard standing on his right.

In a calm but clear voice, he said,

"Open it... carefully."

The guard moved immediately. He pulled on the protective gloves integrated with his armor, then stepped forward toward the box. Placing his hands on the lid, he took a deep breath before beginning to lift it slowly.

The sound of metal scraping against itself echoed through the silent room, tension thick in the air as all eyes clung to the lid’s motion.

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would emerge from within the box.

Cautiously, the guard lifted the heavy lid, its screech slipping into the ears of those present like it was scratching the very air. And the moment it opened completely, a faint light spilled out from inside—as if the light itself had been imprisoned for ages.

Arthur stepped forward and leaned slightly to get a better look at the contents of the box.

Inside, three items lay arranged in deliberate, unmistakable symmetry:

A strange fruit, dark violet in color, wrapped in golden lines that curled around it like living tattoos, pulsing slowly as if breathing. Its appearance stirred a memory—an old scene from an anime he once watched in his previous life, about a young pirate and mystical fruits that granted supernatural powers.

An old scroll, tightly bound with a golden thread. Its paper had the texture of sacred leather, and it was surrounded by a weak but stable magical aura.

And a small shield, sized more for a teenager or a short-statured creature, made of an unknown metal, inlaid with faded silver runes. It clearly bore ancient enchantments.

Arthur ordered the guard,

"Take them out and place them on the table beside me—carefully."

The guard obeyed, wearing his enchanted gloves, and began transferring the items one by one, setting them before his master as if he were arranging sacred relics on a ceremonial altar.

Silence fell—thick with anticipation and unspoken questions. Then Arthur spoke in a low voice, his tone laced with analysis and suspicion:

"Three items... they don’t seem connected—not in shape, origin, or craftsmanship. And yet..."

He paused, as if retrieving something from deep within his memory, then continued:

"...they were all sent from the same place. The ancient temple... the Temple of the Orc Ancestors. And Gerum, despite his strength and experience, made fatal mistakes trying to retrieve them. That alone suggests these are more than rare tools or treasures."

He raised his hand and pointed at the fruit, without touching it, then said:

"If you bring these three together... there is a link between them that can’t be ignored. A connection beyond rarity. Something that made them extremely valuable to him—so much so, he risked everything for them."

His gaze swept the room, locking momentarily with those present, before returning to the table.

Arthur had been raised in a noble environment, where swordsmanship alone was not enough to shape a leader.

He had received a refined education that included ancient languages, racial histories, myths, and fundamental magical systems. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

This gave him deep familiarity with runes and sigils. Even if he didn’t master all the languages, he could still identify their roots and understand their core meanings.

"The engravings on the shield look familiar..." Arthur murmured softly as he leaned in to examine the carefully polished metal piece. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the intricate carvings etched into its surface. "It’s Dwarven in origin, no doubt, but not a common design. This shield may have been enchanted with a magical array crafted by the master blacksmiths of the dwarves... those famed for smelting iron in enchanted forges, using arcane techniques to enhance both durability and flexibility at once."

He stepped closer, his eyes tracing every detail of the shield. It appeared slightly smaller than standard human shields, as though it had been intended for someone with a shorter or slimmer build.

"If this shield was sent to Gerum... it wouldn’t make sense for him to wear it. At least not in its current form," Arthur thought, until a sudden idea sparked in his mind.

He gestured to the guard beside him.

"Remove your armor... and try this one on."

The guard hesitated for a moment, then obeyed. He took the strange shield and cautiously began to equip it. The moment it settled onto his body, the shield emitted a faint clicking sound, almost mechanical.

In an instant, its parts shifted and realigned themselves, the metallic plates extending and adjusting automatically to match the guard’s physique, covering his vital areas with remarkable precision.

"An auto-adjustment mechanism..." Arthur muttered in awe. "Those dwarves never cease to amaze the world with their brilliance."

Then his gaze shifted to the scroll. It was tightly rolled, its edges neatly pressed, and at its center rested an unusual seal pulsing with a faint, barely visible energy. Arthur reached out and gently touched the seal with his fingertip. It was cold, yet surrounded by a dense, quiet magical aura.

"This symbol... it’s from the Elven language, or rather, the ancient dialect used by the High Forest clans." Arthur leaned back slightly, still gazing at the scroll. He bent closer to it, then whispered as if speaking to himself:

"The script used here... it resembles Northern Elven writing. It is only used in rituals... which suggests it contains a spell or a magical pact. This might be a scroll of incantations... possibly containing either offensive or defensive magic, ready for use."

Arthur stared intently at the three items before him: the shield, the scroll, and the dark purple fruit, which emanated a subtle but undeniable magical energy.

"If the shield was sent to support Gerum in his battles... it stands to reason that the fruit and the scroll play similar roles. Perhaps they enhance strength... or grant new magical abilities."

He paused for a moment, his face furrowing as he once again examined the three items. "But... why are their origins so different?"

The shield bore the seal of the Dwarven blacksmiths, a mark unmistakable to anyone familiar with their craftsmanship.

The dwarves, that stubborn race, are known for dwelling deep within mountains, building underground cities among rocks and treasures.

Their bodies are short yet strong, and their hands have forged some of the most formidable weapons and armors throughout the ages.

Nothing from their kingdom is ever produced without a formal request and a hefty price. If their shield is here, it must serve a specific purpose.

The scroll, in turn, was completely different. The cover was made from a paper that could only be crafted by the Elves, or what is known as the "Elven." Its seal was marked in an ancient language no longer used except in rare magical rituals.

The Elves, with their graceful bodies and pointed ears, reside in protected forests, untrodden by human feet. Their lifespans are long, and their magic is deeper than can easily be understood. They hold a superior attitude toward other races and rarely share their knowledge or tools outside the boundaries of their lands.

As for the fruit... its shape and aura bore no recognizable mark. It wasn’t from the Elves, nor the Dwarves, nor did it appear to be cultivated anywhere within the kingdom. Its dark hue pulsed with stillness, as if it concealed unrefined raw magic within. Here, the hypotheses grew more troubling.

"How did these three items... from distant lands, and from races that don’t even interact with one another... end up in a single box?"

The complexity of the matter deepened when considering that this box was in the possession of the Orcs, a race that had long been looked down upon by the Dwarves, Elves, and Humans alike.

The Orcs lacked the skill to steal something of this value, nor the intelligence to acquire it through negotiation. So, was it stolen? Or was it intentionally placed among them? Or is there some hidden hand using them as carriers or pawns?

Arthur raised his gaze from the objects, closing his eyes for a few seconds. There were too many questions, and few answers.

" thinking about it... I don’t have an organized intelligence force, nor a specialized unit for gathering and analyzing information. True, my current resources are limited, and I can’t yet create a department that competes with the specialized units that have developed over many years... But that’s not enough of an excuse, especially if this gap becomes a real vulnerability in the future." I can’t afford to lose the initiative because of mistakes that could be corrected at a reasonable cost.

He sighed as he raised his gaze to the table with the contents of the box.

"I can’t keep relying on prisoners to sort through spoils and analyze them... that’s more recklessness than strategy."

He paused for a moment, then murmured in a low voice, as though he had made his decision:

"It seems Gabriel has a new task ahead of him..."