Necromancer Of The Black Bible (36)

Ray Blackleaf.

It was a name Sanchez knew well.

As a senior investigator of the Kallios Theocracy, he was well informed about most trading caravans.

Moreover, the Black Leaf Caravan ranked among the top ten on the continent.

He recalled reading about it in classified documents from the intelligence bureau.

‘Cain Blackleaf’s painless finger.’

The phrase “painless finger” was a derisive way people referred to kin one wished could be cut off without pain.

And indeed, that was the case.

Cain Blackleaf, the septuagenarian head of the Black Leaf Caravan, had five sons and four daughters, most of them brilliant and outstanding.

But Ray was not.

The fourth son, Ray, was timid and frail compared to his siblings, always a burden.

Even entrusting him with tasks was difficult, as his competence was remarkably lacking.

He was said to be so incapable that even his younger sibling, three years his junior, surpassed him, leaving him on the verge of being cast out of the family.

‘And yet he set out on this caravan journey.’

Sanchez’s gaze sharpened.

The caravan master Cain Blackleaf was known as a man who relentlessly pursued pragmatism.

And yet, such a man had pushed his incompetent son into this trade expedition.

To Sanchez, something felt off.

Then Raiernov spoke.

“Sanchez, what are you brooding over? We’ve saved people—now we must move on to the next task.”

“The next task…? Ah! We must find the goods!”

Snapping to, Sanchez began scanning the area again with Mobin.

“From what I saw yesterday, the wagons were dragged that way. If they didn’t take them, they should still be there.”

But Sanchez suddenly froze.

A thought crossed his mind.

‘Would the wagons really still be there?’

If the bandits had relocated, they surely wouldn’t have left the wagons behind.

But from behind, Raiernov tapped him and said.

“Worry later—let’s go see first.”

It was as if he could see right through his thoughts.

With a startled look, Sanchez took the lead toward the place he remembered.

And then he found them.

The caravan wagons, along with many others, all lined up.

In the stable beside them, the horses that pulled the wagons were still securely tied.

‘How can this be…?’

At the absurd sight, Sanchez stood dumbfounded, mouth agape.

Ray Blackleaf, who had been following behind, cried out with joy and ran to their wagons, his men following.

After rummaging around for a while, they reported to Ray, who then hurried over to Raiernov and said.

“Father! Truly, thank you!”

“Have you checked all the goods?”

“Yes. Fortunately, not much is missing. Aside from some meat and spices, most things remain intact.”

“That’s good.”

Raiernov chuckled lightly, but Sanchez was still dazed. How could this make sense?

Then Mobin approached and said,

“Investigator, we found our wagon too. The cargo is intact, and the horses are all there.”

“Ah, I… I see. I see.”

Sanchez looked as if he had seen a ghost.

He glanced at Raiernov standing beside him.

His gaze was as deep as ever, as though he knew the whole truth.

So Sanchez asked him.

“Father, what on earth happened? Why would the bandits leave all this behind?”

“Well…”

Raiernov smiled gently and continued.

“Perhaps they all had nightmares last night?”

“Nightmares?”

“Maybe they dreamed of a dragon suddenly appearing, or saw ghosts. Either way, perhaps that’s why they fled.”

At Raiernov’s sudden joke, Sanchez was left speechless.

Raiernov patted his shoulder and spoke again.

“What does it matter? We’re alive, we lost nothing, and things turned out just as you prayed for.”

“Ah…”

Prayer.

Before intervening in this affair, Sanchez had prayed silently while approaching the bandits.

That they would surely be saved.

He had not prayed aloud, yet it was as if Raiernov had read his very heart and known everything.

Raiernov once more stood beside Sanchez, watching the Black Leaf Caravan ready their wagons.

Ray, with a determined expression as if to redeem his past failure, issued commands to his men, who diligently prepared for departure.

“I prayed to Lord Kallios to hear your prayer. It seems God has answered us.”

“…Father.”

Sanchez was overwhelmed with emotion.

Since becoming an investigator, never had his heart swelled so.

In truth, such interference was rarely permitted by the Church. Its doctrine explicitly warned against rashly meddling in others’ affairs.

But Raiernov had reminded him of another passage, encouraging him.

As a result, everything Sanchez had hoped for came true.

He could not know what had happened, but the outcome was so miraculous it could only be divine intervention.

Sanchez knelt before Raiernov and bowed his head.

It was the most devout bow one could offer a priest of the Theocracy.

With his forehead pressed to the ground, Sanchez cried out.

“Thank you, Father! Because of you, I have witnessed proof of God with my own eyes!”

At his cry, Mobin, Ray, and the others all turned their eyes toward him.

Mobin knelt behind Sanchez and bowed in the same manner.

Ray did the same.

As he knelt and bowed, the rest followed suit.

They all thought the same.

That Raiernov was truly a priest—a saint beloved of the God of Light.

It was fortunate that things had wrapped up so neatly.

Knowing Sanchez’s personality, I expected him to pester me endlessly, but with a vague excuse he instead became moved and accepted it wholeheartedly.

[Humans are weak. That is why they believe in gods. If we use their faith wisely, we can continue to take advantage of them.]

I nodded slightly and gazed at the scenery.

Since the morning mist had been thick, the midday sun was now especially harsh.

Even with the black veil Equinox had once cast over my vision, the glare still stung my eyes.

When I closed my eyes, Nocturne spoke up.

Seems like you’ll need a tool for this.

[A tool?]

Something to block out the glaring sunlight.

[There’s such a thing?]

You’ll likely find it in the Theocracy. I saw it not long ago—priests with poor eyesight wore something on their noses. Among them were items that softened strong light. I know where, I’ll guide you.

I couldn’t immediately picture what it was.

So Nocturne added.

Remember the item Ray wore earlier?

[Ah, that. He called it “glasses,” right? Something to help vision.]

Exactly. Some of those glasses have tinted lenses.

Oh. So that’s what it was.

Dark glasses—that made sense. If I wore them, everything would appear dimmer.

‘At any rate, I’ll be arriving at the Theocracy soon.’

Despite all that had happened, I had managed to get this far in this form.

Having won the favor of Sanchez, Mobin, and Ray, no one would suspect my true identity.

[Still, you must be careful.]

[Careful about what?]

[Food.]

Equinox, having brought up something cryptic, paused before continuing.

[Your sight will only sharpen with time, but your taste, like your need for sleep, will grow dull.]

[Ah, is that so?]

Suddenly I recalled the soup I’d eaten at the bandit camp.

The first bowl had been well-seasoned.

But the next had tasted bland.

So I had added more salt—but could that be a problem?

[When you eat alone, it’s fine. But when you serve food to others, it could become an issue.]

At Equinox’s point, I recalled having served soup to Sanchez and Mobin that very morning.

‘They may have found it overly salty.’

And with that, I understood what Equinox meant.

For now I could adjust flavor with a spoonful of salt, but as time went on I’d need far more.

Only then would my dulled palate register the food as tasty.

If I served such food to others, they would surely notice. And if it kept happening, the consequences could be dire—for in the Theocracy, ever wary of demons and demon lords, I could be branded a heretic worshipper in an instant.

[You’ve grasped it quickly. That is correct.]

[Then… should I eat more blandly from now on?]

Once inside the Theocracy’s monastery, I’d have to eat at every meal. The thought of having to endure tasteless food every time was unappealing.

Even in my past life, while on the run, my master had emphasized the joy and dignity of good food.

Still, meals must be had.

Treasure each meal. Without even a single meal, life becomes too miserable.

Mm. This taste! Now I can die without regret.

If I could eat just one meal before dying, I’d want you, Demian, to cook it.

Perhaps that was why.

The desire for delicious meals was still lodged deep in my heart.

Since my regression, while hiding in the mountains and surviving only by absorbing life force, I hadn’t noticed. But now, while traveling and camping with the investigators, my craving for flavor had returned.

The strongest yearning had been last night.

When I added ingredients to a pot and cooked myself, memories of my past life came flooding back.

So once I reached the Theocracy, I wanted to cook for myself.

Raiernov was a high priest—surely I could ask for some cooking utensils in my quarters.

Don’t call them cooking utensils. Say something… loftier. Like… experimental tools?

[That sounds too much like a wizard.]

Ah, true. Not “experimental,” then maybe…

[What about culinary tools?]

That doesn’t quite fit either. Ah! This is good—call them medicinal-preparation tools.

Oh. A fine name.

After all, nourishing food is no different from medicine.

Nocturne continued proudly, as if pleased with his own idea.

Raiernov already keeps many vials in his room for preparing remedies. Herbs too, hung along the walls.

Perfect.

Priest in name only—his habits were no different from a mage.

In my past life, I too collected herbs and poisons, drying them whenever I found time.

Such was the daily routine of mages and warlocks alike. For powerful spells, those ingredients were indispensable.

‘When I arrive, I’ll ask for medicinal-preparation tools.’

As I made this decision, Equinox added.

[I won’t stop you from cooking, but you must sharpen your sense of taste as much as possible.]

[Sharpen?]

[Taste is a sense too. Though it will dull, if you focus your mind, you can still heighten it.]

A good suggestion.

Until now, I had only honed sight and hearing, as they were vital to survival.

But I had neglected taste.

For there was no need to be vigilant while eating good food.

‘But from now on, I must stay sharp in this regard too.’

Suddenly, I thought of my master.

If my master had known that becoming a true necromancer meant losing one’s taste, would he have pursued this path?

‘I’ll ask him when I meet him soon.’

In the distance, the gates of the Theocracy loomed.

The thought of meeting my master as he was in this era made my heart race.