Chapter 41
Chapter 41
Episode 41.
Under the full moon's glow, Aiden sat atop a high watchtower, letting the cool sea breeze wash over him.
The faint echoes of Yuriel's hymns drifted through the night.
The gentle melody healed wounded bodies and soothed injured souls. Crowds of people sat encircling Yuriel, their eyes closed in reverence.
Four days exactly. Without rest, she had tirelessly comforted the people, striving to convert even one more soul.
As Aiden quietly observed this scene—
Clang! A chain shot through the air, embedding itself into the watchtower with a metallic thud.
"D-Deril, wait— Aaah!"
Deril and Yuron appeared in Aiden's field of vision in an instant. They soared high enough to eclipse the moon before abruptly dropping onto the watchtower where Aiden sat.
Deril landed in a crouch, then slowly straightened up, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
"Ah, milord, my apologies. Tried to land smooth as a cat, but this one's heavier than expected—couldn't quite control the momentum."
"Deril! Using me as an excuse again— Ugh, never mind."
Yuron bowed deeply toward Aiden.
"Forgive the interruption."
With that, Yuron handed Aiden a wooden mug. Deril chimed in.
"Compared to the West's brew, it's nothing special, but it goes down well enough."
It was beer—common among this world's inhabitants, though it never quite suited Aiden's palate.
Still, even the blandest beer could stir nostalgia now and then. Tonight, Aiden accepted it without hesitation.
"We've something to discuss. May we sit for a moment?"
Aiden nodded.
The two settled across from him, exchanging furtive glances before speaking.
"Speak freely."
Yuron hesitated, then began.
"It's about our abilities. We feel... inadequate to serve you properly. After much deliberation, we came to ask—"
Deril, unusually solemn, nodded in agreement.
By any standard, the two were now capable warriors—more than enough to hold their own anywhere.
Deril had always been skilled, and Yuron, after meeting the Sword Saint, had trained relentlessly, sacrificing sleep to hone his abilities.
But the path Aiden walked defied common sense—a reality beyond what they could handle.
No ordinary follower could endure it.
Yuron and Deril understood exactly why Aiden hadn't taken them to the Abyss.
They might have died.
Aiden spoke calmly.
"Do you wish to leave?"
They shook their heads vehemently.
"I want to serve you until my last breath."
"Same here. You've still got my dagger, don't you?"
Aiden arched a brow.
"Get to the point."
Yuron cleared his throat.
"If you'll permit it... we'd like to stay in the North for a time."
"Grinding under the old man's heel might just make proper men of us yet."
They wanted to be sent to Sword Saint Gielran.
Aiden felt a flicker of pride.
After a brief silence, he smiled faintly and nodded.
"The old man could use the company. I'll arrange your transfer officially. Make sure you drain him dry."
Yuron bowed at a perfect right angle. Deril grinned.
"We won't disappoint."
"We'll suck the marrow from his bones and return stronger, milord."
Their refusal to succumb to weakness, their burning drive to improve—it was admirable.
Though Aiden couldn't fathom why they'd abandon comfort for this thorny path, their unwavering loyalty moved him.
Somewhere along the way, characters who'd barely merited a mention in the original story had become his comrades.
He hoped they'd return stronger—strong enough to survive what was coming.
Deril cautiously raised his mug.
"Shall we toast? If it's not against decorum."
Aiden chuckled softly and clinked his mug against theirs.
Deril bellowed:
"For the Liberator—!"
His voice, thunderous as ever, echoed across the night sea.
As Yuron moved to join in, Aiden raised a hand to stop him.
He gestured toward Yuron.
"Don't disturb her."
Deril grinned sheepishly and gave a slight bow in Yuron's direction—though the Saintess, lost in song, didn't notice.
Aiden took a sip of the now-lukewarm beer.
"We head ashore at dawn."
They couldn't linger at sea forever. Most had already converted, and supplies were nearly exhausted.
Some tribesmen still clung to their beliefs, but they were beyond persuasion.
They'd choose death first.
Deril and Yuron stood.
"We'll inform the captain."
Aiden nodded, scanning the gathered crowd.
The Inquisitors sent by the Church would already be waiting.
He had no grounds to interfere with their judgment.
He could only hope Yuriel's efforts had saved as many lives as possible.
And he knew he'd face inconveniences soon enough.
This mission had been purely unilateral—no room for excuses, even if it led to disciplinary action.
His movements would be restricted for a while. But he'd acted knowing the consequences. The fallout was manageable.
Nearly three years. The results had exceeded expectations. He'd secured all the divine relics and powers he needed.
With the expedition disbanded, manpower would be freed up. The frontier no longer required attention.
Aiden drained his mug and descended the watchtower toward his cabin.
The harbor was packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
Residents of Ilyas prayed the ships on the horizon carried no humans—desperate to deny their kin had been devoured.
Many imperial citizens from other territories had flocked here too, hoping to shake hands with the scripture's legendary hero—misguided by myths of ascending to heaven.
Clergy from nearby dioceses stood ready, debating whether to arrest Aiden. No orders had come from the Church.
Ilyas' lord controlled the harbor with his private soldiers, his devastated expression plain. His territory's finest export had been humans. He sighed deeply when someone shouted:
"P-People! There are people aboard!"
The cry rippled through the crowd.
Soon, a dozen ships emerged into view—and with them, eyes widened in shock.
Every deck was packed.
Cheers erupted. The harbor thrummed with energy.
But screams of despair rose too, a dissonant harmony beneath the celebration.
Conflicting emotions surged toward the ocean.
Aiden watched from the prow, noting the sharp rise in his Sanctity and Divinity gauges before turning to the tribesmen.
They stared blankly at the world.
A realm without ceilings or walls.
Where sea met sky had vanished, but beyond, land and heavens pressed together again.
No matter where they looked, the world stretched endlessly. No barriers obstructed their sight.
Their chests felt hollow. The subtle suffocation they'd always known melted away into liberation.
Some collapsed weeping. Others gasped in awe.
Yuriel approached quietly. Aiden glanced at her legs.
"Get treatment as soon as we return."
She smiled faintly.
"Will there be time? Investigations come first."
"Claim you heard divine revelation. That should suffice."
She shot him a playful look.
"Such blasphemy."
Aiden turned forward without reply. The ships were docking now, crews extending gangplanks.
Disembarking the hordes would take time. Aiden helped Yuriel ashore first.
The city erupted in cheers fit to shake the skies.
Scripture recorded history through heroes' eyes—so for 200 years, the Empire had stood still.
But history had begun flowing again.
People swelled with pride merely witnessing it.
Maybe if they cheered loudest, their names would earn a footnote too. Such thoughts mingled in the crowd.
Cries of Aiden's name quaked heaven and earth.
Then, Church clergy shoved through the masses onto the pier.
Three paladins, dozens of priests, and several deacons with armed acolytes.
A man in sacred armor stepped toward Aiden.
"Paladin Leoric. An honor to meet you."
"Aiden. Likewise."
They clasped hands. Upon releasing, Leoric's face turned stern.
"I'll show respect. No shackles—but cooperate."
Yuriel and Aiden remained impassive. They'd expected this.
Aiden nodded.
"I'll cooperate. But respect the Seirun tribe's rights. No unnecessary cruelty during transport."
Leoric frowned.
"They're heathens."
"Divine Grace has absolved their sins."
"Understood. But until conversion is confirmed through trial, they have no rights."
"That's beyond your jurisdiction."
The air chilled slightly. The crowd sensed it, quieting gradually.
Leoric suppressed his irritation.
"Unbecoming words from you."
"Hence my cooperation. But—are you acting on separate orders?"
Matters like this usually fell to the Holy See.
"I'm fulfilling my duty."
"Understood."
No point arguing. It meant others would take over.
"Let's go."
Aiden guided Yuriel forward. Leoric was deeply displeased.
As they moved to depart, the murmuring crowd suddenly stilled—as if doused in cold water.
BOOM. The sound of metal striking stone followed. Fear spread. The crowd scattered.
The western gate opened, revealing approaching figures.
The Church's executioners, clad in black.
A masked figure dragged a maul. A petite woman with twin halberds grinned. A man swathed in bandages bowed. A giant advanced, holding an open scripture.
Behind them—a hundred more troops flooded the harbor.
Siron waved cheerfully at Aiden. The woman who enjoyed crushing skulls.
At their center stood a man in immaculate white robes.
The executioner who'd raised more pyres than any. The judge who bound his law books in apostates' skin.
People trembled. Where the Flame Demon walked, the stench of burning flesh never faded.
Yet Zeras smiled, satisfied, as he strode toward his disciple.
Someone intercepted. Paladin Leoric bowed.
"Inquisitor. We were just preparing to escort them."
(Note: The text ends mid-scene, cutting off before Zeras' response.)