Chapter 3: Reckoning
In the vast continent, there are four witches.
The Witch of Fire, the Witch of Ash, the Witch of Bone, and the Witch of Feathers.
To the untrained eye, they might seem like ordinary people, but there is one reason they are called witches.
“A unique power inherited through bloodline, a gift they are born with.”
Without any training or effort, the magnitude of their innate abilities rivals that of the greatest sorcerers, if not surpasses them.
And those who gain great power through sheer talent are often seen as outcasts in any world.
Just as a protruding stone invites a chisel, witches have faced centuries of oppression and hunting.
The sole reason for their persecution was simply being a witch.
The oppression was so severe that from the original fourteen bloodlines, only four remain today.
“That’s why the history of witches is filled with tales of their misdeeds.”
Even a worm will turn when trodden upon.
How could witches, capable of burning entire cities, remain passive under unjust persecution?
Hundreds of years ago, unable to endure the oppression, the witches finally drew their swords of vengeance against humanity.
Dozens of cities were reduced to ashes by their overwhelming power.
The hatred towards witches found its justification in that event.
What followed was predictable.
People hunted witches as dangerous beings, and witches sharpened their blades of revenge with even greater hatred.
The centuries-long history between witches and humanity, with few exceptions, was marked by hatred and violence.
Amidst this endless cycle of animosity, two witch bloodlines stood out for their infamy.
“The Witch of Bone and the Witch of Ash.”
Among them, the current Witch of Ash was one of those who cunningly drove the continent towards ruin.
The emergence of a new demonic realm due to the proliferation of mandrakes signified her formal pact with the evil god Enaxagous.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen for a few more years. This isn’t the normal course of events.”
Dalen tapped his glass thoughtfully.
What variable had arisen? What had caused the witch to break her seclusion so prematurely?
As he pondered the reason, with Volkma’s drunken ramblings as background noise, he shook his head and chuckled.
“No, the reason isn’t what’s important.”
He couldn’t pinpoint why it had happened years earlier than expected.
But it would be stranger not to recognize the decisive variable.
A variable that had never existed in hundreds of iterations, one he had never encountered beyond the monitor.
That variable was none other than Dalen himself, with his abnormal growth and actions.
“I’ll go with you.”
Dalen pushed his empty glass forward, prompting Bourbon to pour another drink.
The bottle, half-empty, sloshed with its brown liquid.
“What? Together?”
“You said you were heading to Revivach to seize an opportunity, right?”
“That’s right! The branch in this city is stable now, so I was planning to seek new ventures!”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
”…?”
Volkma, tipsy and slow to comprehend, was startled by Dalen’s words.
“Unbelievable! Are you saying you’ll accompany my trade journey? It’s an honor! Dalen, the great warrior who tore goblins apart with his bare hands, the hero who saved the Bronze District!”
“I can’t believe this.”
Volkma’s booming voice echoed through the tavern, startling Sienna, who shook her head in disbelief.
Dalen chuckled. This guy gets more dramatic when he’s drunk.
With a smirk, he downed his drink in one go.
The fiery liquid burned down his throat, clearing his muddled thoughts.
“Right. No need to overthink it.”
This is a living world.
Not a computer game made of zeros and ones, but a world where thinking beings breathe and live.
The world, influenced by the massive variable that was Dalen, was constantly producing complex processes and outcomes.
But that didn’t mean Dalen had to keep up with that complexity.
“It was simple from the start.”
Dalen recalled the piles of paper he scribbled on when he first arrived in the city.
Plans to retrieve corpses, earn money, and enhance his own power to preemptively thwart apocalyptic possibilities.
His bold actions over the past few weeks all stemmed from those plans and decisions made in that inn room.
And it was true that many fruits had already been borne from his best efforts at every moment.
The shattered foundations of the apocalypse lay scattered along his path for all to see.
“Nothing has changed.”
Despite countless turning points, there was nothing in his initial resolve that needed changing.
Retrieve corpses to enhance his abilities.
And use those abilities to eliminate apocalyptic possibilities one by one.
Even if the future he knew kept twisting, there was no need to fear.
After all, these many turning points were all of his own making.
Rather than hesitating in the face of a changing future, it was wiser to move more proactively.
“From that perspective, it’s actually a good thing they’re reacting like this.”
Dalen had already blocked several paths leading to the apocalypse.
If the instigators of the apocalypse didn’t react to this situation, that would be a cause for serious concern.
In other words, their intensified reaction was evidence that Dalen posed a clear threat to the apocalypse.
“Nothing has changed.”
Dalen repeated to himself as if making a vow.
“If the apocalypse tries to come a step closer.”
Then he would simply crush that approaching step and throw it into the fire.
With an involuntary fierce smile, Dalen asked Volkma again.
“When do we leave?”
“Four days. In four days.”
“Four days, huh.”
That was enough time to acquire new equipment.
After countless battles in the labyrinth, the armor and weapons he received from Reveron were mostly damaged.
The axe was nowhere to be found after the last strike, and the armor was torn and rusted, covered in blood and entrails.
All he had was a nearly broken sword.
Thinking he should place an order at the Mithril Forge, Dalen stood up.
“Then let’s meet in front of the guild building in four days.”
It was time to get busy again.
Dalen bid farewell to the three and left the tavern.
But moments later, he suddenly returned.
“Did you forget something?”
Sienna, pondering how to deal with the drunken merchant, tilted her head at his unexpected return.
Her tilted head slowly returned to its original position when she saw the large object Dalen was carrying.
“I have a favor to ask.”
”…What is it?”
Thud!
In the quiet hall, still empty before business hours, a massive safe was placed.
The wooden floorboards creaked under its weight, and there was a faint sound of cracking.
Facing Sienna, whose expression was hardening, Dalen smiled slyly.
“And please sell whatever’s inside and have the cash ready in four days.”
“Four days? Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
Dalen grinned mischievously.
“I trust your abilities. Make sure to take a good commission for this job.”
”…”
Leaving her with a resigned sigh, Dalen quickly exited the tavern.
He silently sympathized with the unfortunate drunken merchant who would have to endure the wrath of the witch known as the Crow’s Nest.
Leaving the Crow’s Nest, Dalen headed straight to the Mithril Forge.
Even if the witch had just begun her activities, she was a force capable of facing an army alone.
He couldn’t face such a being with just a tattered cloak and a nearly broken sword.
And if he was going to get new equipment, it was best to entrust it to a reliable blacksmith.
“Dalen! It’s been a while!”
Reveron came running out with open arms, and Dalen couldn’t help but smile.
This felt like déjà vu from a few weeks ago.
Reveron, apparently on a break, was munching on a sandwich. Dalen handed him the sword he had been carrying.
“Sorry about this. I’ve broken everything you made for me.”
“Haha! I expected as much!”
Dalen paused, surprised. Expected as much?
Reveron burst into hearty laughter at his reaction.
“Every time you come, you always render the previous gear useless, don’t you? So I made everything in advance! Come on in!”
The blacksmith, stuffing the sandwich into his mouth, led Dalen inside. He rummaged through a corner of the shop and soon pulled out a large box, just like last time.
Inside the box lay a sturdy-looking set of armor, a shield, a sword, and a hand axe. Reberon picked up the armor first.
“The armor is crafted with a layer of silver-steel chainmail over tough fabric, reinforced with the hide of a carapace wolf. The chest, back, shoulders, and arms are further strengthened with thin sheets of black iron.”
As Reberon passionately pointed out each part of the armor, Dalen took off his shirt and tried it on immediately.
It felt more comfortable than before, with a slightly heavier weight.
It seemed the armor was designed with his superhuman strength in mind, paying less attention to weight.
“You turned the last sword into a rag, so I doubt this one will fare much better. Still, it’s wrapped in silver-steel and has a black iron core, so it should last longer.”
Dalen stroked his chin. Silver-steel and black iron were rare and notoriously difficult to work with.
In the game, Reberon wouldn’t have been able to handle such high-grade metals until at least two years after the tutorial phase.
“Impressive. How have you improved so much?”
“All thanks to you! You provided me with a perfect forge in a great location and reliable material suppliers. If I couldn’t do this much, I’d have no pride left.”
Reberon laughed heartily.
‘Truly a master of mithril.’
Having filled the deepest valleys of his life, he had climbed to the peak with the strength he had gained from overcoming them.
A person destined to become legendary must have been extraordinary from the start.
Thud, thud!
Watching the blacksmith tap his creations with satisfaction, Dalen felt reassured once more.
The path he had chosen, through countless crossroads, was indeed the right one.
In a world hurtling towards destruction, where destinies were overturned and the future was uncertain, such changes were welcome.
Though Dalen, being human, might occasionally be caught off guard by the shifting future, his role was to accelerate these changes.
If, by doing so, he could delay the impending doom and ultimately overturn the fate of the world…
Srring—
“These are fine weapons. The axe and shield too. I’ll make good use of them.”
“Indeed! You still owe me half the gold coins, so pay me next time!”
“Thank you. I’m busy today, so I’ll be off.”
“Same here. I’ve got a backlog of work to catch up on! Let’s get to it!”
He would hunt down the hounds of destruction even more aggressively, severing their lifelines.
‘And at the end of it all, perhaps I can finally choose the path home.’
With that thought, Dalen left the shop, leaving the stretching blacksmith behind.
The sun was already setting.
It was nearly nightfall when he arrived at the Paladin Order’s branch.
The building’s unique style, characterized by intricate silver decorations where straight and curved lines met, was something he was seeing for the first time. As he admired it from the reception room, the door opened, and two people entered.
One was a man on the cusp of old age, his face lined with wrinkles.
The other was Lucia Castachild, the paladin who would one day be renowned as a demon slayer, and who had accompanied him through the labyrinth over the past fortnight.
“Sorry for the delay, Dalen. Have you been waiting long?”
“No.”
Dalen replied with a low chuckle to Lucia’s apology.
“The architecture is impressive. I lost track of time admiring it.”
“You have a keen eye. The silver decorations symbolize the divine light that cuts through demons, while the curves and lines represent the gentle yet sharp nature of that light.”
The man smiled, his wrinkles softening, and sat across from Dalen.
“I am Albus, the administrator of the Paladin Order, tasked with safeguarding the continent’s rifts.”
“Dalen.”
Dalen shook the man’s outstretched hand and asked, “You’ve wielded a sword for a long time, haven’t you? I’ve heard some administrators were once knights.”
“Ha ha, I retired from knighthood some time ago.”
He had lost a leg in battle against monsters, he explained, lifting his wide trousers to reveal a sleek metal prosthetic instead of a hairy middle-aged man’s leg.
Dalen stroked his chin thoughtfully.
‘A man of considerable skill. He must be the head of this branch.’
The fact that Albus maintained perfect posture despite the prosthetic indicated one thing: he had once been an exceptional knight.
‘The Paladin Order values skill and experience above all, so he’s more than qualified to oversee the labyrinth city’s branch.’
And his assumption was correct. As soon as the introductions were over, Albus placed a small pouch on the table.
He spoke.
“Your contributions should be acknowledged by the commander himself, but due to circumstances, I must express our gratitude on behalf of this branch. We ask for your understanding regarding the current state of the Paladin Order.”
With a long expression of thanks, he offered the pouch.
As Albus bowed slightly in gratitude, Dalen returned the gesture.
Paladins never knelt before anyone but their god, not even the emperor. Thus, a paladin bowing held significant meaning.
Especially when it came from an administrator who had retired from the path of a paladin to oversee the labyrinth city’s branch.
‘This means the incident holds great significance for the Paladin Order.’
Dalen opened the pouch he had received, catching a glimpse of the gold coins inside, tied with silver thread.
“Thirty gold coins, a modest sum. And as for the divine tattoo you requested, I’ll personally send a recommendation to the main order. You can receive it whenever you wish.”
“Thank you.”
Dalen expressed his gratitude sincerely.
The value of a divine tattoo alone would easily exceed hundreds of gold coins.
Adding more gold as a bonus was a generous gesture indeed.
But the Paladin Order’s generosity didn’t end there.
Clunk.
Albus placed a small box on the table and spoke again.
“We would also like you to accept this.”
“What is it?”
“A token of our sincerity.”
Sincerity, huh.
Such words usually made him uneasy.
Opening the box, he found a purple chain wrapped in silver cloth. Dalen frowned slightly.
“This is a corrupted relic, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s the Chain of Halman, lost by the order four hundred years ago. I heard you and Lady Lucia retrieved it from the demon’s lair.”
Albus gently pushed the box containing the chain towards Dalen.
“Though it still harbors demonic energy, it doesn’t affect the user’s mind, making it a valuable treasure.”
Dalen nodded.
In the game, the Chain of Halman was indeed a powerful item.
It could forcibly subdue a target and compel them to obey commands.
Whether corrupted or purified, its function remained the same.
The only difference was whether it tainted the target with demonic energy or purified them with divine power.
“The Paladin Order cannot use corrupted relics due to our laws. However, a hero like you, unbound by such restrictions, could use this treasure to save the world.”
Albus spoke with his hands calmly placed on the table. Beside him, Lucia seemed restless.
Dalen looked at them and chuckled softly.
A laugh that sent shivers down the spine of those who heard it.
Seeing the administrator’s hands tense with unease, Dalen leaned forward slowly.
And he spoke.
“Administrator.”
Thud.
The box lid closed with a sound. Albus flinched at the same moment.
“If you have something to ask of me, say it outright. No need for these underhanded tactics.”
With a slow smile spreading across his face, Dalen continued.
“I’m good at making others owe me, but I’m not so good at owing others.”