Necromancer Of The Black Bible (28)

The carriage came to a halt.

It was unusual; until now, it had only stopped when they camped for the night.

‘But it’s only noon.’

As I thought that, Sanchez called up to the driver’s seat.

“What’s going on?”

“You’d better come take a look.”

Hearing the tension in Mobin’s voice, Sanchez opened the carriage door.

“I’ll check what’s happening.”

I nodded, and Sanchez immediately stepped outside.

From their exchange, I guessed what it was.

‘Bandits, it seems.’

There had been plenty of bandits in my past life too.

But they feared black magicians and rarely dared to bother us.

‘They probably wouldn’t touch priests of the Theocracy either.’

From what I remembered, the priests of the Kallios Theocracy were infamous for their tenacity.

Even the smallest slight was remembered, and vengeance always delivered.

Even black magicians avoided provoking them.

‘I doubt that’s changed in this era….’

Just as I thought this, Sanchez returned.

He flung open the door and asked me,

“Father, you should come see this.”

I gestured to William, and together we stepped out and approached the hill where Mobin stood.

From there, we had a clear view of the road below.

Dense forest stretched out, backed by a towering mountain.

‘That must be Shadowpeak.’

Though it had been long, I remembered the name.

Because when I first passed here with my master, he had told me its name.

“That mountain is called Shadowpeak. Bandits swarm there. They’re so numerous even neighboring nations haven’t been able to wipe them out.”

Near its summit, the mountain was dark, as its name suggested.

At night it sometimes glowed deep violet, said to be the work of black magicians living nearby.

‘Are they still there now, I wonder?’

As I drifted in old memories, Sanchez approached and asked,

“What should we do about them?”

I followed his finger and saw carriages at the forest’s edge.

They were lavishly decorated, unmistakably noble or merchant wagons.

They had to belong either to nobles or a powerful trade guild.

Bandits surrounded them densely, looking to be negotiating a toll.

“Looks like they’re demanding a toll.”

“Should we just leave them be?”

“If not, what exactly would we do?”

At that, Sanchez looked baffled.

I laid out the obvious points one by one.

“Have bandits ever attacked Theocracy carriages?”

“Never.”

“Then is there any chance they’ll rob us?”

“Likely not.”

“Then why should we intervene?”

Truthfully, even the real Raiernov would have said the same.

From past conversations, I knew—though he preached justice and God’s will, Raiernov was never truly righteous.

He would never act against scripture, nor interfere out of pity.

But Sanchez didn’t seem to know that side of him.

I gave Sanchez a puzzled look.

His face reddened as he forced out words.

“Father… innocent people are suffering at the hands of bandits. Do you mean to just let it happen?”

Then Nocturne gave me a hint.

‘Do not rashly interfere in others’ affairs. The God of Light sees all, and you must not undo His providence with your own will.’ That’s from the scripture of Kallios. Use it, he’ll understand.

I did as Nocturne suggested.

Reciting the line from scripture made Sanchez solemn.

I then asked him,

“And still, you think they should be saved?”

“…Yes.”

“Even if it goes against the teachings?”

“…Yes.”

His voice grew smaller with each answer, but inwardly, I admired him.

‘So there are people like this even in the Theocracy.’

He still felt untainted, pure.

I’d had my fill of the hypocrisy of Theocracy priests in my past life and this one.

So I thought they were all the same—but this one was different.

He seemed to have the will to right any wrong he perceived, no matter what.

Then Equinox spoke.

[This is fortuitous. A chance to learn a new technique.]

That, I agreed with.

A hundred bandits would make fine material.

‘And it would bring me closer to Sanchez as well.’

I smiled inwardly and asked the still-stiff Sanchez,

“You won’t regret it?”

“Regret? What do you mean…”

Sanchez looked at me in bewilderment, and I gave him a faint smile.

Right on cue, Nocturne fed me a fitting phrase,

and I recited it, meeting Sanchez’s eyes.

“It is foolish to judge before moving forward. God’s will lies in the process. If in doubt, then proceed.”

Sanchez’s eyes trembled.

“Father…”

“Let us move forward first. Whether it aligns with God’s will, we’ll judge in the process.”

“Understood.”

Sanchez rushed to Mobin and spoke hurriedly.

I leisurely returned to the carriage with William, and soon it was moving again.

The Blackleaf Merchant Guild—one of the continent’s three great guilds.

That day, while passing through the woods near Shadowpeak, they faced a troubling ordeal.

They were surrounded by bandits, despite already having paid an agreed toll.

Their guard captain, Garson, protested to the burly bandit blocking the road.

“Look at this document. It’s a contract we signed with your chief earlier this year.”

“So what?”

“It clearly states the toll we owe your group.”

The contract listed five gold per carriage.

Not a small sum.

Yet Garson had paid them fifteen gold as agreed.

But the bandits didn’t back down.

Even after pocketing the hefty pouch, the burly bandit gave no order to withdraw.

Instead, he held out his hand.

“You’ll have to pay more.”

“Why should we?!”

“Because you didn’t make that deal with me.”

At that, Garson flared.

“Do you not see this? We signed it with Michael, chief of the Shadowpeak bandits!”

“Ah. You misunderstood.”

The bandit picked his ear with a thick finger as he slowly approached Garson.

He was easily twice Garson’s size.

Towering over him, the bandit spoke.

“We’re not the Shadowpeak gang. Whoever this Michael is, whatever paper you signed with him—it means nothing to me.”

“You bastards…”

Garson grit his teeth.

Then he stepped back, fumbling inside his coat.

It was a simple powder signal flare, a token given to him by Michael himself when they signed the contract.

It was meant to be used if impostors attacked instead.

‘Never thought I’d have to use this.’

Garson wasted no time, pulling the flare’s string.

Bang!

A loud blast echoed through the forest.

Garson looked around and shouted,

“That was a call for aid to Michael. He’ll have seen it by now. You’d best run before the Shadowpeak gang arrives—otherwise…”

Thud—

Something rolled to his feet.

It was a human head.

One eye missing, a long scar carved down the right cheek.

On closer look, it was Michael’s head.

Seeing this, Garson’s heart plummeted.

The hulking bandit grinned and spoke.

“Now do you understand the situation?”

“……”

Garson fell silent, and the bandit continued.

“The Shadowpeak gang is gone as of a few days ago. Now it’s the Shadowfang bandits. And their chief is me—Lord Volg. So if you want a contract, you’ll write a new one with me.”

Garson stared at Volg.

A twisted smile curled his lips, revealing rotten black fangs.

And then it was clear why he had named his band the “Shadowfang.”

In the end, Garson had no choice but to approach the carriage and confer with the one in charge.

The Blackleaf convoy’s overseer this time was Ray, the merchant lord’s fourth son.

He already looked the weakest among his brothers, and now his face had gone pale as he asked,

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s the worst. Michael, the one we signed with, has been overthrown by another group.”

“Then we’ll need to renegotiate.”

He’d been trained by his father for such contingencies on trade routes, so he knew how to respond.

Ray instructed Garson,

“Ask them how much they want.”

“Yes.”

Garson returned to Volg and asked,

“What price do you demand for passage?”

Volg held up two fingers.

“Two more gold?”

“No.”

Volg slowly shook his head.

“Twenty gold.”

“Then only five more? We already gave you fifteen.”

“Tsk, tsk.”

Volg shook his head again.

He glanced between the three carriages and said,

“Twenty per carriage.”

“Wh-what?!”

It was an outrageous demand.

Garson had served as the Blackleaf guild’s guard captain for over ten years, traversing the continent, but had never paid such a toll.

But the decision wasn’t his to make, and Volg knew it—jerking his chin toward the carriage where Ray sat.

So Garson went back to Ray and asked,

“You heard that?”

“I did.”

“What should we do?”

Ray pushed up his spectacles and thought.

Then he spoke.

“Sixty gold for one crossing is too much. Even if we succeed, this trip will be a loss.”

“Then what will you do…”

Garson asked cautiously, and Ray met his eyes.

“Garson. Isn’t your swordsmanship said to be among the best in the continent?”

“…That’s true, but—”

“Then surely you can handle mere bandits like these?”

Garson couldn’t deny it.

After all, his salary at Blackleaf was the highest in the trade.

Thanks to his fame as one of the top ten swordsmen in the continent.

‘So it’s come to this.’

Garson gave Ray a warning.

“Even if I win, we’re still outnumbered. We’re only twenty, they’re over a hundred.”

“They’re not trained soldiers, just bandits. Kill their leader and they’ll scatter. Our men are well-trained, aren’t they?”

Ray’s expression brimmed with confidence.

He trusted what he’d seen of his guards at home.

Garson nodded and stepped before Volg.

And shouted,

“Volg! Face me one-on-one. If you win, we’ll pay your toll. If you lose, you let us pass freely.”

Honestly, it was absurd—but it was the best Garson could offer.