Episode 80 — The Knight Sets Out Once More (2)
Even a man with no fear in him has, at the very least, one living thing he cannot stand.
Some people loathe rodents, or parasites. Others recoil from soft, writhing creatures that look like they were never finished. There is nothing wrong with that. Disgust of the flesh is an instinct, no different from the values a life lays down as it is lived.
In that sense, Lee Han had a creature he hated on reflex—something his whole body rejected.
Spell-mongers.
The things more politely called mages. And they were revolting past all reason.
How revolting, exactly?
If he said a boiling mass of maggots looked cute beside them, and that a spell-monger was the more horrific sight by far, would anyone believe him?
…There was no helping it.
He had lived as a mage's test subject from an age before a self had even taken shape, and what came of it was a snarl of shock, terror, and loathing. He was better now. Shameful as it was to admit, there had been a time when the mere sight of that race called mage was enough to make him jump, and not rarely.
Hated as they were, Lee Han was still a civilized man. He did not go about scorning spell-mongers, or exterminating them. Had he not spared the mage professor who picked a fight with him, back in his days as an instructor? That alone was proof of what a fine, upstanding citizen he was.
Today, though.
Ah. The phobia's about to flare…
The disgust he had thought cured was threatening to break out all over again.
And no wonder.
"That thing's a spell-monger."
The kind he hated worst of all.
It squirmed.
"Rather harsh, isn't it? I haven't even introduced myself, and you come straight in swinging. Is that any way for the Mercenary King to behave?"
Human, or monster? The creature that forced the question opened its mouth.
Only a moment ago, the mage's body had come apart like scraps of meat under Caesar's blow. Now it was putting itself back together.
It was not regeneration.
If one had to name it—
"These were only spares, mind you…"
—it was closer to hatching.
Eggs were packed tight along the torn faces of his severed limbs. Cut a fish open and you find hundreds of tiny eggs, don't you? Those eggs were hatching, and they were rebuilding the mage's arms.
And then they went further.
Eggs spilled out of him, pattered to the ground, and swelled, taking on form. What tore through the membranes, cracking and crunching free, were monsters shaped like cockroaches.
Even people who knew monsters would never have seen anything so hideous, and watching dozens of them multiply in a breath was nothing short of horrifying.
…By any ordinary standard.
"What, you don't know it's common sense not to dump your garbage on a mountain?"
Thud.
A knight whose face held not a scrap of fear stepped forward, and the moment that unhurried stride carried him on—
A rush of air.
[Krr!?]
[Kaa…!]
Something strange bloomed from the monsters all at once. Stems and buds of unbearable color rustled into being and lashed around their bodies in an instant.
Lotuses opened.
Lovelier than anything.
"Ho. An interesting art. A technique that blooms lotuses."
"It isn't finished."
The day before, the technique had only succeeded because a Sacred Relic and a heap of luck had piled on top of each other. Now he was unfolding it with nothing but the energy he had named the Prajna Great Ability.
He still could not force a great flower open. Even so—
"Well. Unfinished or not, it's more than enough to clean up trash like them."
Light flared.
A finishing art drawn from the nine lotus steps of the Buddha's birth. Lotuses surged open and swallowed the swarm whole.
Lee Han's own martial art unfurled, and dozens of monsters died where they stood, buried under the flowers. It was nothing short of an overwhelming evil-breaking power, the kind that seemed made to annihilate anything that belonged to darkness. And at the last—
Crunch!
"!!!"
—it tried to swallow even the man who had worked the trick.
"Ho. It means to devour the host as well."
"So it could do that…"
"You didn't know?"
"I do now."
"Heh."
Even the man who had cast the technique could only marvel that it had such a function. A person was on the verge of being erased, and the two of them were perfectly calm. Just as pain drowned the mage and his sight began to blur—
—the arm that had been turning into a flower was sheared clean off.
"Pathetic. I told you not to provoke him for nothing."
"Ghhh…"
The mage twisted in agony, but the one who had taken the arm wore no expression at all. If anything, his face said the survivor ought to be grateful he was still alive.
Then he went on.
"Forgive the rudeness. I was late, and this fool took liberties. I will make amends for that, so I ask you to put away the killing intent. We only wished to meet you because we needed to talk."
"……"
"Will you give us the chance?"
"…Where do these monsters keep crawling out from."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Lee Han shook his head, sick of the whole business.
He had known from the start that someone else was here besides the spell-monger. He had not expected anyone of that caliber.
Not a spell-monger. Not a swordsman, either…
One clean stroke, and the arm was gone. What stunned him was not the cut. It was that the stroke had severed the Prajna Great Ability's energy completely. And it had not been done with swordsmanship, or with magic. Power like that was plainly—
"…A shaman?"
Yes. Unmistakably the power of a shamanic art.
But not the common sort one saw on any roadside. It carried a monstrous weight that called to mind the freak of a spell-monger who had once stood at the head of the Magic Tower and borne the name of Tower Lord.
There's still something in the same league as that freak?
Archmage Tur.
On the brow of the blind shaman who brought that monster to mind, an eye like a jewel glittered.
"A shaman with a jewel of an eye set in his forehead… yes. I remember. The one they call the Great Shaman is said to have an eye like that. I thought it was only a legend."
Caesar's voice was low. The shaman gave a small shake of his head.
"A legend is nothing but an empty name. And is there not a greater man than some hollow title standing right here—the Mercenary King? I never imagined a figure of your stature would be in a place like this."
"Heh. Praise from the Great Shaman himself. Even my nose is getting higher."
"You are more than worthy of it."
"Ha! Well now. We understand each other. How old are you this year?"
"Eighty, exactly."
"An elder brother, then. Your junior wonders if he might offer you a drink."
"The thought is kind, but I do not drink."
"A shame! You're letting life's greatest pleasure pass you by."
The shaman and Caesar talked like old friends, smiling as if they had known each other for years. At a glance, their hearts seemed to meet.
And yet—
The air creaked. Stone split.
A fierce clash of presence erupted around the two of them, shattering rock and tree without mercy. It was not killing intent, and it was not a displayed momentum. It was the collision of two existences, and the shock they were giving off, moment by moment, would have crushed the bones of any great beast and reduced it to meat.
The Mercenary King and the Great Shaman. If two monsters who could each be called a strategic weapon ever truly collided, forest and mountain alike would be left a wasteland.
Perhaps that vandalism displeased something very much.
Rain hammered down beneath a bank of black cloud, and thunder rolled.
Vulcan was angry.
Angry at intruders who had barged in as they pleased, and angry at those who meant to break a part of the mountain itself. The ground began to shudder, as if to prove this wrath belonged to another order entirely, and Caesar and the shaman swallowed groans.
"Neither of us is eager to take the fury of the wild, I should think."
"I have no wish to die a pointless death before the goal is met."
If Vulcan's anger grew any further, nature's curse would be the least of it. The lives ahead of them would turn bitter besides. So they eased their wariness of each other, and their power settled by a degree.
Lee Han, on the other hand—
"It isn't raining over my head?"
"…Favoritism on this scale doesn't even stir my jealousy."
"…?"
"Never mind. More to the point, you are strangely popular with odd people."
"……Being popular doesn't make me happy in the slightest."
At that, Lee Han's face curdled where it stood.
Popular. What a joke.
"When ominous bastards like you take a liking to someone, people call it bad luck."
He looked straight at the shaman and the mage, let out a breath, and asked.
"…Start with your names."
As a rule, Lee Han tried not to drop his manners even with people he had just met. Right now he was nothing but hostile. He had roughly guessed who they were from the moment they appeared, and the hostility showed. The blind shaman's expression did not change.
He only said, flatly:
"…First, allow me to thank you for permitting a conversation."
More sensible than he looked. And then—
"Your name has come up often among my comrades, and yet I believe this is the first time we have actually spoken."
"……"
"Hm. A man like you has likely already grasped who we are, but I will introduce us regardless. My comrade the mage is named Kudan. He once had another name, but each time he dies, his memory fades. He is a deeply sinful man, no longer able to keep even his original name—or his personality."
"?"
"You need not understand. It is merely a private matter."
"……"
Lee Han wondered if the blind shaman was mocking him. There had been no explanation worth the name.
…And then, the next moment.
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Amos. I am nothing but a doddering old shaman, but within the organization they call me the Prophet."
Lee Han flinched.
The Prophet. The instant that name reached him, strength gathered in his fist of its own accord.
He was certain.
"Yes. As you guessed, I am the one who burned the Grand Temple. And also…"
A low thrum stirred the air.
WHAM!!
The words were barely finished before Lee Han's fist was already in the man's face.
Today, he had resolved, respect for his elders could go to hell.