The Pilgrims’ Ordeal (4)

Because the Emperor’s gold coin circulated at a high price on the market, many people thought that if they used one, they could order a messenger around like some stupid demon from an old folktale.

“As the name ‘Emperor’s messenger’ implies, we are merely messengers. Once we have delivered the voice and conveyed the will, our work is done. If you want to use me more, bring additional coins.”

“That’s….”

Izmilla was flustered. She had produced an Emperor’s gold coin, yes—but it had been given to her by her patron. It was not something she could obtain again now.

“From the look of it, you don’t have any more coins. Then as an Emperor’s messenger, I’ll stop here.”

The young man named Azadine said that and drew his longsword.

“Huh?”

The archivist stared at the blade in shock.

“Why?”

“It-It’s a ceramite longsword. A sword only the Order can obtain—how is it in the hands of a blasphemer? Unless it’s a fake… but it looks unmistakably genuine.”

“What’s that?”

When the female thief asked, the archivist answered.

“A ceramite longsword is an alchemical metal made by mixing silver with an angel’s blood. It is exceptionally effective at destroying evil, and in the hands of a rightful Rescue Knight it emits heavenly flames, burning evil down to the bone. Also, the blade has a life-like strength, so even if it is damaged, it gradually repairs itself. Some say the blade’s raw strength and sharpness are inferior to azure steel and a bit duller than a well-made steel treasured sword, but thanks to its self-repair and heavenly fire, its value as a weapon is considered the highest. Above all, it is produced and held only by our Rescue Knights Order, so no one can possess it freely. In all our history, only one hundred and fifty ceramite longswords have ever been made.”

“…….”

Hearing that, Azadine examined the ceramite longsword in his hand. He had not been impressed by its sharpness or strength, but was it truly that extraordinary?

“Thank you for the detailed explanation. Then shall we proceed from here as brothers of the Rescue Knights Order?”

“What?!”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I want to join the Rescue Knights Order.”

“…….”

“What?!”

Archivist Macdogal and trainee knight Izmilla were aghast at the outrageous thing Azadine had just said.

“Join the Rescue Knights Order? You?”

“Yeah. Why? Is it not allowed?”

“The Rescue Knights Order is not a place just anyone can enter! It is a fellowship of honorable, righteous knights!”

The archivist protested fiercely—only for the female thief beside him to cut in.

“You dragged in tribe riffraff and criminals from prison, and now you’re saying ‘not just anyone can join’? That’s pretty ugly.”

“Th-That….”

The archivist, usually too talkative, fell silent.

They had not planned to “recruit” them as members—they had planned to use them as serfs. But he could not say that. The official pretext for bringing people in during the annual pilgrimage had been recruitment.

People lacking the proper qualities had “inevitably” become serfs working on the Order’s farms. One could hardly declare outright that they were short-handed and were hauling in slaves, could one?

“Why do you want to become a Rescue Knight?”

Izmilla asked, curiosity winning out.

“I heard that under the virtues of wisdom, courage, and benevolence, anyone can become a member of the Rescue Knights Order if they are sincere. Ever since I heard the story that the Triune Archangel descended for the people of this land, exhausted all their power, and yet remained on this earth to save them, I have admired them and wanted to be a Rescue Knight. Why?”

“N-No, that is….”

An absurd legend that even Rescue Knights no longer believed was spilling from the mouth of a soulless blasphemer.

Even Izmilla, who was naïve about the world, felt that Azadine’s words sounded less like sincerity and more like mockery.

“W-What should we do?”

“Absolutely not, Sir Izmilla. This man is—”

Soulless blasphemer. The words rose to the archivist’s throat, but he barely swallowed them back.

If they thought about it, without this man’s help there was no way for the pilgrimage band to return alive. No—if they refused now and he turned hostile, what then?

“Why not just let him join the pilgrimage band for now? You’re the commander right now.”

The female thief cut into Izmilla and Azadine’s conversation.

“Even if he joins the pilgrimage band, whether he becomes a knight is something you decide after, right?”

“Th-That…”

Izmilla felt flustered at the thief’s claim that she was the pilgrimage band’s commander.

She still lacked experience in every respect. And now she was supposed to lead this tiny cluster that was too pathetic even to be called a pilgrimage band?

“A-All right. Then, Azadine of the messenger bloodline. I will accept you, for now, as a member of our pilgrimage band.”

As the band’s acting commander, Izmilla had been forced into making this dangerous choice.

“Hah… My future looks pitch-black.”

Azadine felt thrown off as he saw the trainee knight’s distrustful expression.

Soulless blasphemer.

The weight of that term stung anew.

The Aragasa were complete outsiders in Hubris—and untouchables besides.

Even in the Rescue Knights Order, which stood opposed to the King’s Church that served the Yaegas Heavenly Kings, treatment of the Aragasa could not be called good.

“I thought the Rescue Knights Order would be better since it competes with the King’s Church, but… I guess it’s because they’re still Hubris folk. And from the look of it, it doesn’t seem like what happened in Vthuma has fully spread yet.”

Even though it seemed the story had not fully traveled—that the Aragasa had carried out a great massacre in Vthuma and joined hands with wicked forces—the hostility was intense.

In a place like this, could he really join the Rescue Knights Order and stand with them?

Should he just give up?

Would it be better to return the ceramite longsword he had received from Sir Plank and leave as if he knew nothing?

“But if I do that… what comes after?”

Nothing would remain but one wretched soul—one who had lost Aldis and let Arael die.

For what purpose had Arael arranged for Sir Plank and Azadine to meet?

Azadine thought of his sister, with whom he had scarcely even spoken, and slid the ceramite longsword back into its scabbard.

“Then I’ll take it that you’ve permitted my joining, Sir Izmilla. Since this was done in your name, I’d like you to keep this promise on your honor.”

“So long as you preserve the Order’s dignity and fulfill the mission. But where did you get that ceramite longsword?”

“Sir Izmilla, how can you ask that? He is the Emperor’s messenger—called a demon of the gold coin, a soulless blasphemer. Surely he killed a good and noble knight and stole it. Only holy knights recognized by the Order can possess a ceramite longsword.”

Archivist Macdogal whispered into Izmilla’s ear so Azadine would not hear—though Azadine had sharp ears and heard it all.

“But in our pilgrimage band, I was the only one with a ceramite longsword. And it doesn’t seem like any other knights nearby would have had one.”

Seeing their meaningless whispering, Azadine spoke to dispel their suspicion.

“I received it from my late master. Nothing like what you’re thinking happened.”

“Ah.”

“Get ready to move. Staying here isn’t good. Let’s change locations.”

“Understood.”

Izmilla, realizing Azadine had heard everything, felt embarrassed.

“He seems to have a sense of shame, at least… but that archivist looks like he knows something.”

Azadine watched the archivist closely—the one who seemed to know more than the trainee knight.

As dawn broke, the fog began to lift. The traces of a horrific massacre were strewn everywhere.

Most were the bodies of fleeing prisoners and peasants—the very people the pilgrimage band had intended to drag back and use as serfs. The knights, having horses, seemed to have escaped well.

“This…”

Among them were also the attackers’ corpses. Izmilla found one dead body, still bearing a bundle of throwing-spears.

A small-framed man lay there, his neck cleanly severed. Had this man really been the one firing those huge spears?

“A were-rat.”

Saying that, Azadine rummaged through the corpse and produced a seal. It bore the holy mark of Mezerry—god of the were-rat among the Kurt God Clan.

“Cultists? Why would cultists attack a pilgrimage band?”

“Less ‘cultists’ and more an assassin band disguised as cultists. That way it’s easy to pin the crime on them if anything goes wrong. Well, these ones are probably real cultists, but if you pay enough, you can hire cultists too, can’t you?”

While Azadine spoke, the female thief was looting the bodies for useful items and handing them to her brother.

Watching her meticulously take even a corpse’s belongings, Azadine could practically see how she had lived, and how she had ended up caught and swept into this place.

Azadine asked the female thief,

“By the way, you two don’t look like Order members. What are your names?”

“Me? I’m Camilla. My little brother is Kuntachi.”

“This lowly one is Bernard.”

“Good. Nice to meet you. So tell me—why do you think this attack happened?”

The female thief, Camilla, grinned.

“From the looks of it, that young lady is pretty highborn. Seems like they attacked the pilgrimage band for her.”

“To kill her?”

“No, not to kill, but—”

“Hold it! This concerns an important Order matter—how dare you speak of it to outsiders?! Do not forget that you are still a violent criminal in need of correction! This is exactly why the Order’s correction is necessary! A person who became a prisoner by shamelessly coveting others’ property now dares to blurt out the Order’s secrets in public!”

Macdogal, furious, tried to shut Camilla up. Then Camilla’s brother, Kuntachi, stepped forward.

“You… you insulted my sis. You did, right?”

“N-No, that is—”

“Anyone who insults my sis! I’ll teach you!”

Macdogal tried to answer, but the half-orc’s fist flew first.

“All right! Enough!”

Azadine stepped between them, caught the half-orc’s fist—strong enough to crush rock—with both hands, and kicked Macdogal back to create distance.

-Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon; Blue Sun Farewell of Kazas Grimoire.

He had erased the grimoire boiling within his body, so the power was not what it once had been—but it was enough to control the brute half-orc’s strength.

“Huh?!”

The force behind the punch redirected downward, and the half-orc could not check his own momentum, pitching forward.

Azadine grabbed the half-orc by the back of the neck and his collar, spun him around, and set the hulking man upright as if handling a kitten.

“Waaah. Sis. This guy uses magic. I’m scared.”

“O-Okay, just be quiet. You’re going to make me embarrassed.”

Everyone had no choice but to recoil at Azadine’s skill—handling that giant half-orc so lightly.

“So that’s an Emperor’s messenger. The term ‘regicide’ is not an empty boast.”

“Scary. He treats Kuntachi like a child, and once he goes wild no one can stop him.”

Even Izmilla, a trainee knight, felt uneasy about Azadine.

“And he keeps wearing that mask. It’s intimidating… he really is an Emperor’s messenger.”

Then Azadine threw a question at Izmilla.

“So what about you, young knight? Anything come to mind?”

Azadine decided to press the simple-looking Izmilla rather than the prickly archivist.

“There are suspicions that I am Bishop Sehnat’s illegitimate child. Perhaps they mean to use me to stain the Order’s lofty honor….”

“Pfft.”

Unable to hold it in, the female thief burst out laughing mid-sentence.