Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Episode 6
The late-night mountains were neither dark nor silent.
Aiden's holy armor illuminated the surroundings, and the wails of the undead echoed from all directions.
Aiden and the recruits sprinted along the foothills, pursued relentlessly by the undead. Zeras still hasn't caught the necromancer. Instead, he had left traces in the forest for Aiden to follow—burnt weeds, trees blackened by scorch marks. Aiden tracked those signs, closing in on Zeras.
"Keep pushing!"
The recruits ran until their muscles screamed, but the distance between them and Aiden only widened.
There was no time to slow down for them. Aiden channeled divine power into his blade and scraped it against the ground, leaving a luminous trail in his wake—a guiding path for the recruits who would struggle to find Zeras' marks in the dark forest.
Then, without hesitation, Aiden surged forward. He scaled a shallow ravine, dashed up a steep slope, and emerged onto rolling hills—a wide expanse of gently undulating terrain. The trail ended here. His gaze swept the area.
Far ahead, at the edge of the hills, two silhouettes stood.
As he approached, the situation became clear—and it wasn't good.
Behind the necromancer yawned a sheer cliff. The man pulled something from a vial, raising it to his lips—only for Zeras' flames to melt the glass before he could drink.
"Suicide? The gods are watching. There is no greater blasphemy."
"My faith lies with a different god. This is devotion to Him."
Zeras spotted Aiden and clicked his tongue.
"How are you here? Hah, did you actually defeat the Dark Warrior?"
For a freshly ordained paladin, merely surviving against a Dark Warrior would have been impressive.
But Aiden had done more. Two years of relentless training had borne fruit—though even that might not be enough for what lay ahead.
"I managed. More importantly—why is the situation like this?"
"Shameful. You pulled through, but I've had no luck here. As you can see."
The necromancer would rather leap to his death than be captured. As he took a step back toward the cliff, loose pebbles clattered into the abyss.
He grinned bitterly at Aiden.
"What a waste. To think I'll never get to mold a vessel like you. Truly regrettable."
His hollow eyes flickered with greed.
They always coveted strong bodies—ripping out souls, imprisoning them in cores, then binding them back to flesh to create puppets.
Rotting marionettes that moved regardless. The necromancers of this world were truly vile.
Aiden grimaced at the man's gaze.
"I have many questions. Not that you'll answer."
This man had clearly been waiting for Aiden at the graveyard. Who had told him? Why wait? Even if Bishop Forel was behind it, his motives remained unclear.
Consorting with heretics? In the game, the bishop was antagonistic—but not an apostate.
"I have no obligation to answer your questions."
Aiden almost scoffed. Obligation? Fanatics were impossible to understand.
"Can you make him talk?"
"String him up on the rack, and anyone will spill the truth—assuming they're still alive by then."
The necromancer smirked.
"Sadly, that won't happen. O Dark God, I offer you my soul—"
He spread his arms and threw himself backward.
"Tch. We've lost him. Without him—"
Before Zeras could finish, Aiden bolted forward.
He drew his lance and hurled it with terrifying force toward the falling man.
THWACK!
The projectile pierced through the necromancer's shoulder, pinning him to the opposite cliff face.
"G-GAAAH!"
Zeras stared, speechless.
"What in the— Are you some saint sprung from scripture?"
Aiden remained impassive.
"Help me get this off."
Still stunned, Zeras moved behind Aiden and unfastened the holy armor's clasps.
"There's no time. Head to the bishop's location immediately, Master. I'll bring the necromancer and regroup."
The bishop had said he would strike when the Dark God cult began their sacrificial rite.
Too much time had been wasted on the Dark Warrior. By now, the bishop might already have extracted the children—or worse, the cult might have started the ritual.
The latter would be catastrophic.
"What are you planning?!"
Aiden stepped back from the cliff's edge. His thighs tensed—then he launched himself forward in a explosive sprint toward the abyss, kicking up dust in his wake.
"See you later."
Aiden soared through the air, hurling himself into the dizzying chasm.
Midway down the opposite cliff, he crashed into the rock face—well above where the necromancer was pinned.
His gauntlets scraped against stone, sending debris and gravel flying into his face. The impact echoed through the gorge. Protruding ridges shattered under his grip as he slowed his descent, grinding against the cliffside.
Finally, his speed waned.
He reached the rock he had marked earlier. Drawing his holy sword, he drove it into the wall.
The adamantine-forged blade sank effortlessly into stone.
His fall halted the moment his feet touched the outcrop.
Aiden turned his head.
The necromancer gaped at him, dumbstruck.
"Y-You—"
"Shut up."
CRACK. Aiden's fist smashed into his jaw.
When Aiden yanked the lance free, the unconscious man awoke with a scream—only to be knocked out cold again with another punch.
Aiden hoisted him over his shoulder and began scaling the cliff. Since he had crossed to the opposite side, he would need to circle back to reach the sacrificial site.
He ran.
Aiden fashioned a crude gag from tough vines and stones—lest the necromancer bite off his tongue upon waking.
After securing it, he headed toward a small pioneer village nestled in the mountains—the site Bishop Forel had identified for the ritual. Zeras had already scouted it, so there was no doubt about the location.
Only about what was happening there.
The bishop was a man who sated his desires with children—girls as playthings, boys stripped of their identities to become his personal guard.
In the game's mid-stages, those castrated soldiers were a thorn in players' sides.
Cutting him down before his influence grew was undoubtedly good.
But if he was tied to the Dark God cult? That was anything but fortunate.
It meant this world's difficulty had skyrocketed exponentially.
Such thoughts ceased when a small village encircled by mountains came into view.
Aiden's expression twisted.
At the village entrance, a villager lay sprawled, blood pooling beneath him. Dead. His pupils were unfocused. Aiden rushed inside.
The interior was a wasteland—as if bandits had swept through. Houses stood open, belongings strewn about, corpses littering the streets. Damn it.
When he reached the village center, he froze in shock.
Forel knelt, bound—his castrated guards charred black beside him.
Dozens of children were safely guarded by recruits who had joined Zeras.
So far, so good.
"You're already here."
Before Zeras stood a pyre—a child tied to a wooden stake atop a pile of straw, sobbing.
With a detached expression, Zeras snapped his fingers.
WHOOSH.
Blue flames—azure fire—engulfed the straw. Zeras' divine power: holy flames that incinerated the condemned in an instant.
No way—
Aiden's guard dropped in his shock. He had forgotten—Zeras was a fanatic who burned people without hesitation.
Messages flooded his mind.
"Damn it!"
Aiden clenched his teeth and lunged into the rising flames.
Aiden was not a good person.
Every altruistic act since his transmigration had been for growth—to survive the brutal late-game and avoid living as prey in this dog-eat-dog world.
He had masqueraded as righteous.
Was this any different? He questioned himself repeatedly but found no answer.
"What absurd vitality."
A soft voice brushed his ears. Struggling to lift his eyelids, his blurred vision caught the sway of platinum-blonde hair.
A familiar face. Yuriel? One of the Church's six holy maidens.
"Are you awake?"
A jolt—the carriage's movement—sharpened his awareness.
"...Where am I?"
"In my carriage."
Memories flashed—the moment he had leaped into the azure flames. Aiden immediately sat up.
"W-Wait! You shouldn't move yet—"
"Zeras. No—the kid. What the hell happened?!"
His abrupt movement startled Yuriel, pressing her against the carriage wall.
"Th-The child tainted by miasma— Wait! I saved your life, and you can't even say thanks?"
Frustration twisted Aiden's face. Seeing her flinch, he exhaled deeply.
"My apologies. But Holy Maiden, I'm in a hurry. Please, explain. What happened?"
"I'm not a holy maiden yet, and I don't want apologies. Ugh. Fine. The boy was purified. The inquisitor took the bishop and necromancer to the Church headquarters. Satisfied?"
The child lived? Aiden had shoved him off the pyre before the flames rose—but Zeras would have just put him back.
In the game, out of countless routes, Zeras sparing a condemned soul was exceedingly rare.
Aiden couldn't comprehend it.
"Is that the truth?"
"...Hard to believe, but yes."
Aiden opened the carriage window.
A vast plain stretched outside. A massive procession—guarding a single carriage—marched in formation.
He spotted a banner: the lion crest. A familiar house. House Sachilier. Meaning Yuriel wasn't yet a holy maiden—once ordained, she would forsake her family.
Aiden turned back to her.
"Why am I here? Where is this procession headed?"
"If you're just going to demand answers, I won't reply. You need rest—"
"I'm fine."
Come to think of it, Yuriel had said Zeras went to the Church first.
Meaning this procession was also Church-bound. A Yuriel-related route flickered in Aiden's mind.
He usually ignored it, but some players chose to join this military escort to earn her favor—either protecting her en route to her ordination or, as Dark God followers, attempting assassination or abduction.
The latter was impossible.
The vanguard was led by a knight known as Sword Saint—one of the world's strongest.
So whether players chose escort or attack, they couldn't alter events.
A scripted route. Most players just admired Yuriel's beauty.
Aiden had no time for such frivolities.
"I'll head to the Church separately."
Staying with this slow-moving procession would drive him mad. He needed answers about the bishop and Zeras.
He flung the carriage door open—wind rushing in.
Yuriel's face paled with alarm. Aiden met her gaze.
"Men will approach under false pretenses. Do not let them near."
This had nothing to do with demons or heretics—just political strife between noble houses.
Normally, it would end without incident. But with the difficulty set to hell, who knew?
If the holy maiden died, the late-game would become even harder. Hence the warning.
"Lastly—I will repay you for saving me. I'll hear the details at headquarters. For now, I must go."
He leaped from the carriage. Yuriel could only stare, stunned, at his retreating figure.
From the rear ranks, Yuron's voice called out.
"P-Paladin Aiden!"
Yuron looked as if he'd seen a ghost—then sighed in relief.
His cart carried Aiden's holy armor. Petra walked alongside it.
Suddenly, Aiden's holiness and purity stats spiked sharply.
"Yuron, get over here."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
For now—pass.