Episode 101

“Count Lantarique has been fascinated by the Prophecy of Jupiter since his youth. Because, in truth, the Light of the Crown is fading.”

“What nonsense!”

Although Sir Zebec’s position as a Holy Knight was precarious, his faith remained unshaken. Yet, hearing such blasphemous remarks from the old man in front of him made it impossible to contain his anger.

“Is he mocking me as a Holy Knight?”

Under normal circumstances, he would have executed the man on the spot for daring to insult the King’s Church. However, Zebec was not in a position to punish anyone right now. More importantly, he could instinctively tell that the old man was speaking the truth.

‘At least, he genuinely believes it. And he’s claiming that Count Lantarique shares this belief.’

The fury in Brand’s voice was too intense to dismiss as mere ramblings of a senile old man.

“For what reason does Count Lantarique believe in such a grim prophecy?”

“As a Holy Knight, shouldn’t you already know? According to ancient records, all Holy Knights of the King’s Church could once wield healing magic. But now, only the Heavenly Kings—the ones seated on the throne—can perform such miracles, and only by spilling their own blood. It’s not just that. The Light of the Crown truly is fading.”

“……”

“Count Lantarique Garnahaer knows this. He’s a high-ranking noble in a position to recognize it. And it’s not just him. The royal family, the high clergy, and the senior Holy Knights of the King’s Church—they all know. The Light of the Crown, the foundation of the King’s Church, is weakening, and the bloodline of the Yaegas God tribe is thinning. This is an undeniable fact.”

Zebec found Brand’s open criticism of the King’s Church’s high-ranking officials excessive. However, recalling Sir Ject’s involvement with dark magic made Zebec question things.

‘Could it be that Sir Ject turned to dark magic because he’s aware of this? Trying to grasp at another power since the Light of the Crown is fading?’

This suspicion crossed his mind, but Zebec shook his head.

“That can’t be true.”

“Hmm. You’re quite the upright Holy Knight.”

Brand’s tone was difficult to interpret—whether it was sarcasm or genuine admiration.

“Many high-ranking nobles, including Count Lantarique, who are watching the twilight of the Yaegas God tribe, have resorted to dark magic or inbreeding in desperate attempts to restore the purity of their bloodline. Count Lantarique has tried both.”

“Inbreeding… you mean?”

Azadine clicked his tongue. Inbreeding referred to selective breeding or incestuous unions aimed at reviving the ancient traits of a rare lineage.

Could the Yaegas God tribe have engaged in such practices?

“Yes. The Count’s basement is filled with the remains of countless children. Failed experiments in inbreeding, buried in secret.”

“As a Holy Knight of the Church, this is an intolerable blasphemy. Do you have proof of this?”

“I did. I had been collecting evidence and fleeing Count Lantarique’s territory because of it. But I was caught by Doneor, one of the Count’s agents, and the evidence was taken from me.”

“So, you’re saying there’s no evidence now?”

“But there are duplicate records in Lantarique.”

“You’re suggesting we go retrieve them?”

“That’s fine, but could you warm-blooded creatures keep it down a bit?”

Shati grumbled as she examined Azadine’s injuries. His broken ribs were tightly wrapped in bandages, which had caused some inflammation, but the most serious injury was from the Shadowsteel Blade.

When she unwrapped the bandage, pus and blood were still oozing from the wound.

“My goodness. With a body like this….”

Zebec was shocked that Azadine had not only been walking around but also fighting with such severe injuries.

“Tsk.”

Shati soaked a cloth in strong liquor to clean Azadine’s wound, pricked her own finger, and smeared her blood in a circle around the injury.

“Queen Cobra Debyslin, grant your humble servant strength.”

As she prayed to Debyslin, the goddess of the Nagas, a green magical force activated, and Azadine’s wound began to heal rapidly, forming a scab.

“Ohhh.”

“Amazing.”

Everyone watching was in awe.

“All this attention is making me uncomfortable.”

Azadine, lying with his chest exposed, gave a wry smile.

“You know, the last time I healed you, you went right back to fighting and tore the scab open again. Do it again, and I won’t heal you. Regeneration magic doesn’t strengthen the wound—it just speeds up the healing. You’ll still get the same complications.”

Shati’s warning made Mediam scoff.

“Really? A prisoner giving orders as if they have a choice? Just do as you’re told.”

“Prisoner? Me?”

“What else? You think you’re a guest?”

“Why is this warm-blooded creature picking a fight with me? Feeling inferior because I’m better-looking?”

“What!?”

As Mediam and Shati started bickering, Brand interjected.

“Healing with white magic is restoration—it erases the scars completely. But green magic is regeneration—it speeds up the healing process. Ah, am I explaining magic to magicians now?”

Brand grinned mischievously.

“This is proof that white magic is weakening. In the past, the magic used by the Holy Knights of the King’s Church was far stronger than the magic of the Kurt tribe.”

“And why is this warm-blooded creature picking fights with both the Holy Knight and me? I heal with the little magic I have, and they dare disparage Queen Cobra’s magic?”

Shati snapped at Brand as well. Azadine, now dressed after his treatment, stepped in to calm things down.

“Alright, settle down. So, you’re saying that Count Lantarique has been delving into all sorts of dark magic since his youth? Because he can see with his own eyes that the Prophecy of Jupiter is coming true and the power of the Yaegas God tribe is fading?”

“Exactly. Count Lantarique has been exploring various methods, and among them….”

“The Imperial Mint?”

“More than that. The Emperor’s Treasure Vault.”

“Wow.”

Azadine let out a low whistle.

“‘Treasure Vault’ makes it sound even more impressive.”

“It requires a physical key to open. And clues to find it. But my current state of mind isn’t reliable enough to trust my own memory. That’s why I need to return to Lantarique to retrieve the materials I’ve hidden.”

“Hmm.”

Azadine pondered over Brand’s words.

“For now, let’s eat, rest, and then cross the river. I can see some abandoned village ruins nearby—we can scavenge doors or wood to make rafts or float boards.”

Azadine’s group began camping near the Kora River.

“Beans are for feeding horses and goats, but there’s not enough food for people.”

Azadine had generously given away their food supplies to the refugees, leaving them short on provisions for themselves.

“Should we catch some fish?”

“Me?”

Ismail sighed as Azadine turned to him with the request.

“Yes, I’m asking you. I need to rest a little more. I overdid it.”

Though he had pretended to be fine in front of others, Azadine was exhausted from his injuries.

“Understood.”

“I’ll help too.”

Zebec volunteered to join.

“There’s no need.”

“Actually, fishing is my specialty.”

Zebec said this as he pulled a specialized fishing hook from his belongings.

“If we were at my family’s estate, I’d have my handcrafted fishing rod to use. Unfortunately, I don’t have it here.”

It became clear that Zebec wasn’t interested in the food but in the act of fishing itself.

“You must really like fishing.”

“It’s not that I like fishing—it’s that fishing likes me.”

‘This is serious,’ thought Ismail, realizing Zebec’s passion for fishing.

“You’re going to be disappointed watching me, then.”

Ismail tied a string to an arrow, aimed it at the water, and fired.

Thwack!

A large fish skewered on the arrow surfaced.

“……”

While Zebec stood stunned, holding his fishing hook, Ismail fired another arrow, catching another fish. Fish after fish fell to his shots, leaving Zebec visibly disheartened.

“Well, this isn’t fishing.”

“Exactly.”

Ismail reeled in the arrow, retrieving the skewered fish. As he was doing this, a patrol unit from Count Lantarique’s outpost—one cavalryman and four infantrymen—appeared.

“What’s going on?”

“Should we avoid them?”

“No, avoiding them would look suspicious. Let’s carry on as usual. I’m a Holy Knight of the King’s Church. What would I have to hide?”

Zebec and Ismail braced themselves for potential trouble, staying alert.

“Move aside!”

“If you don’t want to die, get out of the way!”

The patrol shouted loudly, yet their pace was sluggish, barely closing the distance.

“Well, if you want us to move, you should at least hurry up.”

The cavalryman’s horse was already foaming at the mouth, clearly exhausted. They were so slow it was almost pathetic. Even though Ismail feigned stepping aside, it took the patrol ages to reach them.

Their armor was damaged, and bloodstains suggested they had been through something serious.

“Huff… huff….”

“Damn it, I told you to move!”

“We did. In fact, a whole swarm of flies passed us before you got here.”

Ismail quipped sarcastically, but Zebec intervened to de-escalate the situation.

“I am Zebec, a Holy Knight of the King’s Church. What’s the matter?”

“A H-Holy Knight?”

“Thank goodness!”

The soldiers and the knight sighed in relief.

“The undead have attacked our outpost! We must inform Count Lantarique immediately.”

“Undead, you say?”

“Yes….”

“The residents in this area turned into undead. The Count was right! The villagers here were all heretics!”

“Heretics? Calm down and explain properly.”

Count Lantarique’s forces had crossed the Kora River and occupied a riverside village with a pier to secure a strategic foothold. In doing so, they massacred the villagers.

The Count’s goal was to gain an advantageous position in a territorial dispute. To achieve this, his troops were permitted to freely slaughter the native Salasma inhabitants, committing murder, looting, and arson. However, last night, the corpses of the dead began to rise.

“They were heretics, so we executed them. I swear, it wasn’t a massacre.”

The knight’s declaration only demonstrated how lightly oaths were taken.

‘They weren’t killed for being heretics; they were killed for loot.’

Zebec thought this but couldn’t outright dismiss the knight’s words without evidence, given his position as a Holy Knight.

“They weren’t killed for being heretics; they were killed for loot.”

Unlike Zebec, Ismail had no qualms about bluntly stating the truth.