Chapter 28
ZATZBALD BLOODYCRIMSON KINGSBLADE had been the champion of the underground arena. Mira and Soul Howl had been involved in various events with him, which added to their surprise when they saw how he carried himself now. They were very curious about how such a change had occurred.
Once upon a time, fighting was Zatzbald’s supreme joy. His life’s mission had been to make a shower of his enemies’ blood. He’d been up-front about constantly raring to fight, glaring daggers and baring his fangs at challengers. How did he become a calm, compassionate priest delivering a sermon about the gods?
Anyone who’d known him back then would think this was a different person, yet here he was.
“From champion to priest… Wonder what happened.”
“Beats me. That’s the most random combo I can think of.”
As the mystery piqued Soul Howl’s and Mira’s interest, another adventurer group who’d just arrived spotted the priest, hid their presence as if they were in mortal danger, and tiptoed toward the exit.
Seeing this, Soul Howl urged Mira to go ask them about the priest. Getting information out of people was easier for a cute girl than a suspicious-looking guy, after all.
“Fine, I guess,” Mira grumbled. She stopped an adventurer, whispering to the young man, “Excuse me! I have a question for you.”
He looked back and forth between the priest and Mira before finally looking back to her, making his mind up, and replying, “What is it? Ask me anything.”
Evade the priest’s tongue-lashing, or talk to a cute girl? The adventurer had seemingly picked the latter, though he kept his voice low.
“That priest is no ordinary man, is he?” With her eyes, Mira indicated the priest. Then she whispered even lower, leaning closer to the adventurer as if they were sharing secrets. “If you know anything about him, would you share it with me?”
When she leaned toward him, he blushed, yet casually tried to draw personal information out of her. “Uh, you mean Father Kingsblade? You haven’t been in town long, have you?”
“No. I just got here. I’ve heard people call him ‘the iron-fisted priest.’ For a priest, iron fists are an odd trait, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, I guess. If your first impression is that he’s not a normal priest, you’ve got a good eye. Everybody else knows that, though. Once upon a time, that priest was apparently the underground arena champion.” The man showed off his knowledge proudly, but Mira had already known that. What mattered to her was why Zatzbald had changed careers.
“Oh ho! That is impressive.” She feigned surprise, then asked her most pressing question. “Why did that champion give his title up for priesthood?”
The man glanced around quickly. Then, even more quietly, he whispered, “I’ve only heard rumors about this, but…”
Zatzbald Bloodycrimson Kingsblade’s legacy as the strongest fighter in Ozstein’s underground arena had kept him famous to that day. He’d once lived a turbulent life, believing in nothing but his own strength. He’d fought out of the belief that victory was the only way to leave your mark on the world, and that defeat meant losing your identity.
You might’ve called him an utterly idiotic meathead. Still, those precepts had given him strength, pushed away defeat, and became a firm part of his identity. After years upon years of fighting, everyone acknowledged his strength, and he’d become a living legend.
However, seven years ago, his legend had come to an end. The undefeated fighter suddenly met defeat at the hands of a girl training to be a warrior. He’d lamented losing his identity, but the girl had told him something: that power was only one way to prove himself. Although he had been defeated, as long as he still lived, his story wasn’t over.
He’d struggled to accept her words; they refuted his very life prior to that point. While he struggled, the girl told him something else: if someone stronger than him said that, it must be true. Odd words, for someone who’d just claimed power wasn’t everything.
Still, the girl’s words reached him. Her spirit—her belief that strength wasn’t everything, despite her own overwhelming strength—set his firm new ideology into motion. Awakened from his indifference to all but power, he asked how he should live his life from now on.
She answered that he should try a life that was the exact opposite of the one he’d lived thus far.
“So he got baptized, trained, and became a priest. Crazy, right?” The adventurer wrapped up Father Kingsblade’s history with a look of admiration.
The priest had found a new place and established a new identity for himself, without relying on his power as a living legend. It seemed he was revered just as much as he was feared. Furthermore, Kingsblade didn’t normally use his legendary strength—but he made an exception for adventurers, the man added with a shudder.
At one point, when a group of A-rank adventurers made a ruckus during a service, Kingsblade balled them up and threw them out like rags. From that point on, he was known as “iron-fisted.”
The explanation was both moving and stupid, but Mira had an inkling of how sincerely Zatzbald-like it all was. She smiled gently at the priest, who had yet to finish his sermon. “I see. What an interesting background…”
“By the way…do you like strong men?” the adventurer suddenly asked, noticing how Mira’s eyes were drawn to Zatzbald.
Mira imagined her ideal chivalrous form. “Hrmm… It’s good to be strong, but I believe gentlemanliness is the true path to manhood,” she declared. These days, that was a faraway aspiration for her.
“Gentlemanliness, huh…? Makes sense,” the adventurer murmured in response. Giving an utterly awkward performance as a “gentleman,” he made his pass. “Miss, if you don’t mind, I’d love to take you out to dinner—”
“What are you doing here, dude? The priest’s gonna notice you—damn, he’s already got his eye on you!” One of the adventurer’s party members had returned warily and peered toward the back of the chapel. As soon as he checked back there, he grabbed his friend’s collar and ran off with him in tow.
The young man tried to say something to Mira as he was dragged away, but he didn’t dare yell during a sermon, so his words didn’t reach her. Neither did she care enough to find them out.
Still, the adventurer had clarified the history of this champion-turned-priest. Ignoring the man being forcefully towed out, Mira turned to Soul Howl, who’d listened next to her. “Well, there you go.”
“Everyone’s got their own story, huh? That’s a crazy reason to become a priest,” Soul Howl said, equally amazed and amused.
Mira fully agreed. “No kidding. I’ll never understand people who speak with their fists,” she replied, revealing her amazement at Zatzbald’s dynamic lifestyle.
“You’re more like them than you think, Elder.”
Soul Howl’s casual remark didn’t seem to reach her ears. “Hm? What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“A life that was the exact opposite of the one he’d lived thus far.” Those cheap words were easier said than done. Soul Howl was impressed that Zatzbald had embodied them, but he focused most of his attention on the girl who’d told the fighter to do that.
“Hey, you know that girl from the story? Gotta wonder…”
Mira felt that suspicion as well. “Maybe…” she murmured.
They were thinking of the same person: Wise Man Meilin.
Warrior training had essentially been an everyday routine for Meilin. Maybe another girl trained like she did, but when one restricted the pool to close-range fighters, not many girls out there could’ve defeated Zatzbald. Hell, there might not be any others who could; among the other players, Zatzbald was rumored to be inferior only to the Three Great Kingdoms’ generals.
“If it was Meilin, do you think the priest knows where she is?”
“Doubt it,” Soul Howl said. “That was seven years ago, right? Master Meilin never fights rematches, and she’s not the type to stay in one place long.”
“Hrmm. Fair…”
Soul Howl was right. Back in their gaming days, Meilin spent her time wandering around, calling it “warrior training.” That became so habitual that when she did return to her tower, it meant a big siege was about to happen. As such, the likelihood that Zatzbald knew her whereabouts was nearly zero.
“Anyway, we’d better get out of here too…” Soul Howl looked around the chapel and grimaced.
When Mira glanced around the interior as well, she made eye contact with Father Kingsblade. “Right…”
Kingsblade hadn’t once paused his sermon, but one thing was different now. Instead of looking around his congregation cheerfully, he was glaring daggers at the duo. He’d apparently noticed them huddled in the corner, whispering to each other. He’d clearly mellowed out since becoming a priest, but his eyes were just as sharp as they used to be.
“Let’s hurry up and escape!”
“Yeah, let’s!”
At this rate, they might end up subjected to Father Kingsblade’s legendary iron fists, so Mira and Soul Howl decided quietly to retreat. They followed the arrows out of the chapel. Even along the way, they heard the sermon. Today, Kingsblade seemed to be lecturing the congregation about gods and prophecies.
“Long ago, darkness engulfed the world, but it was dispelled by the combined efforts of the Trinity, spirits, and mankind. Only by clasping hands can we overcome all darkness. Our gods also watch over us hand in hand, after all. That is the greatest proof.”
The Church of the Trinity was the most influential religion on this continent and had the most worshipers. Adherents believed the three pillars of the Trinity advocated working hand in hand as the only way to overcome hardships and weaknesses. The continent’s three largest nations—Grimdart, Ozstein, and Alisfarius—each protected and worshipped one of those three gods. The nations obeyed the Trinity’s teachings and cooperated, never quarreling, while leading the continent as absolute rulers.
As Mira recalled lore she’d been fed at the start of the game, the chapel exit came into view, and the sermon continued. “The Trinity told us to work together to prepare for the coming future, in which the same darkness that once engulfed the world will appear once more in the form of an abyss. There is no need for us to fear. As long as we continue to work together, the light will surely come—”
When she and Soul Howl exited and closed the door, the priest’s loud, clear voice suddenly cut off. In its place were the murmuring night breeze and city commotion.
The chapel’s side exit led to a quiet back alley. A large building towered ahead, while the alley extended to either side. The area was illuminated, perhaps out of consideration for adventurers returning at night.
When they left the alley and circled to the front of the church, the light was even brighter. Ahead of the chapel was a large plaza. Countless candles surrounded its central fountain, warmly illuminating the surrounding area.
“Already that time, hm?”
Stars shone in the darkness of the night sky. When they checked, it was already past 7:00 p.m. It had taken a long time to investigate and resolve Fenrir’s corruption; half a day had already passed since they’d awoken. Still, from a gaming perspective, they’d cleared an enormous facility extremely quickly.
“Ah, finally outside again… It’s been so long,” Soul Howl murmured emotionally as he looked up at the sky. Being underground for ages tended to make you miss the endless sky.
“Ah, fresh air,” Mira sighed in response, looking up as well. The fragrant aroma of food wafted over. Thinking back, she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Now what are you planning to do?” she asked Soul Howl. “Surely all the affordable accommodations nearby are long booked.”
“I’m about to leave, so I don’t care,” he replied, looking from the night sky to the fountain in front of them. “I’d like to get as close to my next objective as possible.”
Relaxing rooms, clean beds—Soul Howl paid no heed to those luxuries or the peace of mind that came with them. Instead, he was opting to rush to his next destination.
“What, leaving already? How impatient. Here I was willing to let you stay another night in my lovely mansion.” In other words, Mira’s mansion spirit was open to Soul Howl again if he couldn’t find an inexpensive place.
Soul Howl looked at her suspiciously and sighed. “Get real. You just want me to cook for you.”
“Ngh…” Though he’d seen through Mira’s plan, the sore loser retorted, “Well, still—if you leave now, you’ll surely have to camp.”
Heading out at this point, it would be difficult to reach another city that same day, which would mean camping. However, Soul Howl smirked as if that wasn’t a problem at all.
“I’ve had to do that ever since I started my travels,” he replied. “It doesn’t bother me now. Besides, I’ve got ways to fend off wind and rain, although they might not be as comfortable as your mansion.”
Since Soul Howl started his journey, he’d consistently prioritized speedy travel. Even if he reached a city at night, he pressed on if he had no business there. And if he wasn’t in a city when it was time to rest his head, he camped. Each time, he explained, he used a small fortress golem to keep rain and wind at bay.
“Oh ho! A fortress golem…”
“Yeah. You’d be surprised how useful necromancy is.”
That application of golems hadn’t existed in-game, but it apparently created a fortress as small as a normal home, plenty sturdy enough to withstand wind. Even when his journey got difficult, Soul Howl added nostalgically, that allowed him to get some rest and keep going. Humans always slept best in a room put together just for them.
“That said, a fortress golem doesn’t have a shower, toilet, or kitchen like your mansion. You’re basically cheating.” The perfection of Mira’s mansion spirit had apparently surprised him.
“Bonds with spirits win again,” Mira replied proudly.
“Anyway, it’s about time I head out,” Soul Howl said, then cast a spell.
Next to him, the Bicorn skeleton with the broken horn appeared. Its eerie, sinister aura caused a clamor around them, but Soul Howl didn’t seem to care. That was normal for him.
“Get your business done and come home to us,” Mira reminded him. “I’ll tell Solomon I said as much.”
Her mission was to bring the Nine Wise Men back to Alcait, but she couldn’t strong-arm Soul Howl into that; he had work he absolutely needed to do. Instead, she had him promise he’d come back once he finished, adding that he should prepare a means of contact in case of an emergency.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been thinking of settling down for a while now, so I swear, I’ll be there as soon as I’m done. Now that I can use advanced magic again, I should wrap up much faster. As for a means of emergency contact—eh, I’ll see about that after I visit the Hinomoto Committee. Might as well discuss it with Solomon.” It was only a verbal promise, but Soul Howl answered as sincerely as ever.
“Good. I’ll be waiting.” To Mira, a verbal promise was enough. When Solomon and the Nine Wise Men swore, they always meant it. Their word was their bond.
Soul Howl climbed onto the Bicorn, turned around, and added, “Oh, speaking of: tell the Spirit King and Martel I said thanks again. Things are about to be a lot easier thanks to them.” There was rare emotion on his face. No doubt he was very happy to be able to use advanced magic again.
“I shall,” Mira agreed, then telepathically passed on the words Soul Howl had just told her. “Rather, I already have. They say ‘We did it because we wanted to’ and ‘Good luck!’”
The Spirit King and Martel were still observing and offering support through Mira. They seemed to like Soul Howl so much that they hated to see him leave.
Soul Howl smiled a little at their words. “That so? Well, see you. You were a big help, Elder.” After a quick, sheepish thanks to Mira, he rode his Bicorn onto a nearby building’s roof.
“Right. Get your job done, and get it done right!” Mira encouraged him.
She watched him leap from roof to roof and disappear into the darkness of the night, then walked in the opposite direction.
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login