Rumors (2)

“Did you say the dead are rising?”

Dalen asked, wiping the sauce off his hands.

“That’s right. Corpses, nothing but bones, clawing their way out of graves, and old men who died in their beds the night before, wandering out of their homes in the dead of night.”

“Hmm.”

Tap, tap.

Dalen lightly drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought.

“Undead, huh.”

The appearance of the undead was a significant omen in this game.

Seventy years ago, the paladins had launched a massive campaign to eradicate necromancers, making them a rare sight on the continent.

The few surviving necromancers had retreated to remote areas, beyond the reach of the paladins.

Notable places included the frozen northern plateau, the vampire count’s domain in the western empire, and the scorching desert to the continent’s west.

Outside of such remote areas, even the shadow of a necromancer was hard to find.

Thus, the discovery of undead was a clear sign that something unusual was afoot.

“The worst of these events would be the vampire count invading the empire.”

The vampire count, eyeing human lands for the first time in four hundred years, would strike when the empire’s power waned.

The ensuing Second Blood War would signal the climax of the game’s later stages.

“But it’s too early for the vampires to make a move. The empire hasn’t weakened enough yet.”

Unlike the Apostles of Reversal or the Witch of Ashes, the Blood War wasn’t the result of a single person or group’s will.

It was a complex web of the empire’s overambitious expansion policies and the resulting power struggles between nations, culminating in an unexpected explosion—the Blood War.

Even with the intervention of evil gods, it would be difficult to hasten the continent’s intricate political landscape so drastically.

Dalen gathered his thoughts and spoke.

“Have you heard of the dead rising in other regions?”

“I’m not sure about that… but since there’s no word of the army mobilizing, it seems like just a rumor from some border village.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Dalen returned to his meal, tearing off a chunk of bread. Watching him, Volkmar asked.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on? I thought it was just nonsense.”

“No, it’s probably just a rumor.”

With Volkmar looking puzzled, Dalen chewed on his bread and tapped the table.

If the rumors were confined to the northern empire, there was no need to worry.

Before the vampire count’s invasion, the dead would roam all over the empire, the surrounding small kingdoms, and even the city-states.

“So it’s likely one of those small undead events. The Ferryman of Hell? Or the Legend of the Ghost Horse? What else was there?”

Dalen wiped up the remaining stew with his bread, sifting through his memories.

Before long, Volkmar resumed his chatter about the empire’s politics and the resulting market prices.

---

That day, the boy regained consciousness once more, just hours after Volkmar had left.

”······.”

This time, the boy didn’t scream.

He turned his gaze from the ceiling to Dalen, tears welling up in his small eyes.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Dalen offered him bread and stew with a nonchalant expression. The boy devoured it all and fell back asleep.

Days passed like this.

Spending most of his time asleep, the boy began to move around by the fourth day.

One day, Lucia took him to visit the temple priest again.

The next day, he accompanied Dalen to the blacksmith to order new armor and a sword.

Watching them buy provisions at the market, the boy realized they were preparing to leave the city.

That evening, during dinner, the boy spoke up.

“Can I come with you?”

Lucia paused, her spoon hovering over the stew.

It was the first time the boy had spoken since being rescued from the witch.

“Well… dear, we’re not just going to the next town.”

“Where are you going?”

“Well, you see…”

Lucia hesitated, her lips forming a thin line.

She couldn’t very well tell him they were heading to the paladins’ headquarters, dodging a traitor seeking the holy sword.

But she understood the boy’s reluctance to part with them.

The trauma of being tortured by a witch at such a young age was unimaginable.

It was remarkable that he had managed to overcome those horrific memories by relying on the two people before him.

Naturally, the boy couldn’t fathom being separated from the source of his newfound stability.

Yet taking him along meant exposing him to unknown dangers.

“Hmm…”

“···I guess it’s not possible, right?”

A restrained but unmistakable disappointment flickered across the boy’s face.

At that moment, Dalen, chewing on a sausage, spoke up.

“Do you know how to pack your own backpack?”

“···Yes.”

“Can you set up a campsite?”

“I’m a bit slower than other mercenaries, but I can do it.”

“Have you ridden a horse before?”

The boy hesitated.

“I’ve ridden a pony a few times. If you teach me, I’ll learn quickly.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll hire you as a porter and mercenary. I’ll put in a formal request with the mercenary guild.”

Dalen said, cutting a large piece of sausage and popping it into his mouth. The boy returned to his meal with renewed focus.

Lucia, slightly flustered by the swift conclusion, added belatedly.

“Uh… I’ll teach you swordsmanship! Dalen’s a good teacher, but his style might not suit you.”

“Thank you.”

The boy bowed his head.

And so, the young mercenary Parn joined their journey, and the group left the city a few days later.

It was exactly ten days since they had arrived in Revivach with the Gallios caravan.

---

Crackle. Crackle.

The campfire sent sparks flying. Dalen poked the fire with a thick branch.

After adding more logs to the growing flames, he murmured a spell in a low voice.

“Ignel Rot.”

The magical fire spread to the logs, merging with the campfire and blazing brightly.

Dalen returned to his spot with a bowl he had been warming by the fire.

Lucia and Parn were asleep in their blankets. He was on first watch.

“Mm. Delicious.”

Reheating the leftovers from dinner made for a satisfying late-night snack.

Dinner, as always, was Lucia’s handiwork.

Grilled vegetables and eggs bought from the city, cooked with meat, and a stew made by simmering slightly overripe or questionable ingredients with grains.

Dalen chewed on the slightly tough meat and gazed up at the sky.

A moon slightly smaller than Earth’s. A sky filled with countless stars.

Though the stars’ positions differed greatly from his home, the constellations’ shapes and forms were surprisingly similar.

A world both different and familiar.

That’s how it was in a world where people lived.

“Ugh.”

At that moment, Parn, who had been sleeping soundly, groaned and tossed in his sleep.

Dalen gently placed the back of his hand on the boy’s forehead. It was a bit warm, but not too bad.

“You’re doing well, young mercenary Parn.”

Dalen whispered softly, pulling the blanket up over the boy’s shoulders.

It was the fourth day since they had left Revivach.

Following the merchants’ route, they rode south toward the empire’s border.

With just the three of them, there was more work to be done than when they had been escorting the caravan.

They had to remain vigilant at all times and find a suitable campsite as dusk approached.

Naturally, they also had to take turns keeping watch at night.

And between a paladin and a veteran mercenary, the young boy held his own.

While Dalen hunted for game and Lucia set up camp, Parn ventured into the forest to gather firewood.

Despite Lucia’s protests, he insisted on taking his turn at watch, showing no signs of fatigue during the day.

Thanks to him, their pace hadn’t slowed as much as Dalen had anticipated.

“Three days to cross the border between the city-states and the empire. Two more to cross the Estra River and leave the empire’s territory. Then about ten days to reach the paladins’ headquarters.”

Of course, that was assuming they traveled on horseback without any incidents. Unexpected events could extend the journey.

Lost in thought, Dalen set his half-empty bowl aside.

He glanced at a nearby blanket.

“Can’t sleep?”

From within the blanket, Lucia opened her eyes. She sat up slowly, murmuring.

“···Not tonight.”

As she rose, her long blonde hair cascaded over her slender shoulders like a small golden waterfall.

Lucia stared at the campfire, then turned to Parn, who was still occasionally groaning in his sleep.

“When will he stop suffering?”

Since leaving the city, the boy had been plagued by nightmares every night.

Though the physical wounds inflicted by the witch had healed, the mental scars remained.

“It’s a matter of time. Our role is simply to wait.”

“···Yes. Time is what he needs.”

Lucia lowered her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The flickering red flames of the campfire danced in her moist blue eyes.

Dalen scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Did you kill them?”

“What?”

“The accomplices of that labyrinth thief. The ones suspected of helping to kill Barrett.”

“Oh…”

The knight lifted her head briefly, then let her gaze fall again. She stared into the crackling fire, biting her lip in contemplation.

Time seemed to stretch on.

Finally, her lips, now pale from the pressure, parted. “I didn’t kill them.”

Lucia paused, leaving a silence that seemed to invite a question she hoped Dalen would ask.

But he didn’t. He simply watched her, waiting.

After a moment, she continued, as if answering an unspoken question. “I felt betrayed.”

She recounted how she had tracked down the labyrinth thief’s accomplices using information from Sienna, and what one of them had said to her when she caught him.

“‘What do you know, you pampered knights? You talk about being the shield of humanity and guardians of the rift, but you’re just fat cats. We’re different. We risk our lives fighting monsters just to survive. Demon hunting for humanity? Ha! To me, you’re just a naive kid trying to steal a meal worth hundreds of florins.’”

He had confessed boldly, admitting to stabbing Knight Barrett in the back, hoping to claim the bounty and the holy sword for himself.

“It was absurd,” Lucia said. “We, the knights, protect the rift, which means we protect the people of this continent. We ask for nothing in return.”

She bit her lip again. “Talking to him, I realized that perhaps the only reward for our dedication is a knife in the back. I felt disillusioned with humanity. I finally understood why some of my seniors abandoned their duties to live in seclusion.”

A breeze swept through, causing the flames to waver. The red reflections in the knight’s eyes swayed with the wind.

Dalen watched silently. For a while, only the sound of the wind and the crackling fire filled the air.

“But just as I was about to kill him, Barrett’s words echoed in my mind.”

“What did he say?”

“Not to feel betrayed by people. That people aren’t meant to be trusted.”

She paused, then sighed softly. “People are just meant to be loved.”

“Hmm.”

Dalen neither agreed nor disagreed. He picked up his spoon and resumed eating his stew.

“I still don’t know if that’s true,” Lucia admitted. “But I agree that people aren’t to be trusted. And the knights exist to protect such people.”

She smiled faintly, a weary smile. “So, I just do my duty.”

The wind died down, and the campfire stood tall once more. The flames in her eyes steadied, as if her wavering resolve had found new strength.

“I see,” Dalen nodded. He wasn’t agreeing with her, not entirely. He had plenty of counterarguments swirling in his mind.

The man she spared would likely betray more people, creating more victims. If it were him, he would have ended the man to prevent further harm.

Yet, Dalen knew that the future was unpredictable. The person he spared today might become a hero tomorrow.

He had killed many, some of whom were likely the heads of families. Perhaps their children were destined to become heroes in this crumbling world.

Even with his knowledge of significant future events, there was much he didn’t know. This world was no longer a game of zeros and ones. It was a living, breathing reality, where lives intertwined in complex ways.

“The world is complicated,” Dalen said, setting down his empty bowl. “But sometimes, in that complexity, justice can be simple. Or not.”

Everyone has their own sense of justice. For some, it’s simple; for others, it’s complex. Lucia’s sense of justice was still forming, shaped by her nature, faith, and experiences.

Perhaps this was the making of a demon slayer. Dalen had no intention of dismantling it.

Knowing the future, he was cautious in dealing with potential heroes. It wasn’t strange to be more careful.

All he could offer was a brief encouragement. “In any case, no one has perfect justice. If it exists, it’s the domain of the gods.”

He hoped her path aligned with the divine will. He added quietly.

Lucia nodded with a gentle smile. Dalen cleaned his bowl and changed the subject.

“I saw on the map there’s an inn along the trade route. We should reach it by tomorrow. We can restock supplies and take a day to recover before moving on.”

“We’re out of fresh vegetables. If the inn is well-stocked, we should buy some, even if they’re expensive.”

“Half my pack is gold coins,” he said with a grin, making Lucia chuckle. Dalen joined in her laughter.

Then, suddenly, he looked up.

“We have company,” he said. Lucia quickly turned, her senses heightened by her holy tattoos, her hand instinctively reaching for her sword.

In the distance, just beyond the range of an arrow, two shadows were approaching slowly.