Chapter 40
Chapter: 40
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>Translator: penny
>Chapter: 40
>Chapter Title: Predator (4)
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The slash-and-burn village, with bright torches burning here and there until late at night, looked just like a festival was underway.
Except that the ones carrying those torches were bloodthirsty bandits.
“We've divided into squads and are conducting a search, but their tracks are elusive. From the general direction they moved, it seems they're heading toward the Carthago Pass to the north, but we're not certain.”
“They veered off the path early on, so tracking them isn't easy…….”
Jerome, who had been listening to the reports with a cold expression, spat out his words as if chewing on them.
“We've sent out every search squad, and not one of us has run into them yet? Does that even make sense?”
“One of our search squads was attacked by them, boss. But it was shortly after they fled, so they're probably long gone from there by now.”
“We've got one search team member who's gone missing too. Maybe he was ambushed as well…….”
“It's too dark now to pick up any trails. Even if we send in the trackers, we'll have to wait until dawn tomorrow.”
Rodrigo, standing beside Jerome as he listened to the reports, suddenly glanced toward a corner of the hut.
There sat Kaien, more subdued than usual, clutching his head and huddled on the floor. To anyone watching, he looked like a young son devastated by his mother's death.
But Rodrigo, who knew him fairly well, was aware that Kaien wasn't the type to dwell on such things. For some reason, though, the boy didn't seem quite right at the moment.
And his hunch was spot on. Ever since Marta died at the base of the cliff earlier, Kaien had been suffering from excruciating headaches. That suspicious devil worshiper had done something to the boy.
‘My head hurts…….’
Kaien bit his lip.
He had simply tried to finish devouring the soul of Marta, whom he'd been nibbling on for so long, before she died completely. Souls of the fully dead just didn't taste good.
[Uwaaaaaahhh Kaiieeen—]
[Why me! Why me! Why me!]
[AslanAslanAslanAslan……. ]
Strange wails echoed from beyond the mountains. Sounds that only Kaien, here in this place, could hear.
They used to amuse him, those idiots crying out, but now they were only making his headache worse.
The soul fragments he'd scattered across the mountains were precious things, wasted by dying before he could finish them off. He'd resolved not to be so wasteful anymore, but then that unexpected intruder had interfered.
‘What was that guy……?’
At first glance, he'd seemed ordinary, but the soul that briefly appeared before Kaien's eyes was surrounded by an extraordinary glow. Kaien had never seen light so brilliant and overwhelming.
And right after that soul revealed itself, Kaien had been plagued by strange auditory hallucinations and severe headaches. Even attempting to interfere with someone else's soul made him want to vomit.
Rodrigo hesitantly approached the boy, who was groaning and sweating coldly. He was one of the souls Kaien had been diligently devouring lately.
His weakened soul had become little more than a puppet carrying out Kaien's commands. Unlike the sensitive Marta, Rodrigo was too dim and obtuse to even notice the unnaturalness.
“…Head to the Carthago Pass, Rodrigo.”
Kaien gave the order without even looking at Rodrigo's face.
No matter which path they took, those guys would have to pass through the Carthago Pass eventually. With that alcohol-soaked old geezer in tow, they couldn't hide out in the mountains forever.
“Kill them.”
Rodrigo shuddered involuntarily at the eerie madness gleaming in the boy's three-white eyes. It was a terror etched deep into his soul without his knowledge.
“Kill them all, Rodrigo.”
* * *
Aslan woke at the crack of dawn.
He'd heard what sounded like a quiet conversation nearby.
“…I see, you've arrived. Must have been tough making it on time. Tell Enrique the rendezvous point too.”
“So, what about Mores?”
“That was a bit hasty, I think. Was there really any need to rush?”
What? What are they talking about?
“You mean that thing underground. The way he tried to use it the moment I stepped away, it doesn't seem like it was that important a card to him.”
“…No, it wasn't that he avoided it on purpose…….”
“…Sorry. It wasn't like I ran off because I hate playing chess.”
Ah, that was Bart's voice. But it wasn't a conversation—he was talking to himself.
“Alright, then. Chess twice a week for the time being…….”
“…I said it's not that I hate it…….”
Whatever it was, he really seemed to hate it. His voice was getting quieter and quieter.
Aslan opened his eyes and called out to him on reflex.
“…Bart?”
He could see Bart leaning against the cave entrance. He was clearly alone, so who had he been talking to?
But with sleep still clouding his vision, Aslan spotted something odd. Two hazy, smoky figures—one pale pink, the other pale blue—hovered in front of Bart.
Ghosts? Those shadowy forms……
Aslan blinked, and the strange shadows vanished in an instant. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but Bart was alone at the cave entrance.
Had he seen things from exhaustion?
But more captivating than some half-dreamt ghost was Bart's face. Silently gazing at him, Bart's features felt strangely unfamiliar.
Aslan asked hesitantly.
“Um, Bart. Was your hair always that color? It feels a bit darker…….”
What he'd thought was dark brown now looked noticeably darker, even in the faint morning light.
His face seemed subtly changed too. Before, he'd been handsome with even features but a somewhat vague impression; now it felt sharper, somehow more refined? Huh?
The only thing unchanged was those silver-gray eyes that occasionally gleamed with an odd luster.
Bart tugged at his hair, inspecting it this way and that, then nodded.
“It's been a while since we've been here. The synchronization rate must be rising gradually.”
Synchronization rate? What does that mean?
As Aslan stared blankly, Max the old man stirred behind him, opened his eyes, and yawned.
“Kuhhh. Roughing it at my age. But oddly, my aching back feels fine every morning, and I can manage.”
He didn't seem to notice anything unusual about Bart. Was the change too subtle?
Aslan tilted his head in confusion alone when Bart stood, brushed off his robe, and spoke.
“From now on, it's a race against time. They'll eventually chase us to the Carthago Pass, so we'll stop worrying about leaving tracks and aim to reach the pass as fast as possible.”
So he'd been mindful of tracks until now? Aslan had thought they'd just been fleeing headlong.
As Aslan gaped dumbly, Bart quirked up one corner of his mouth.
“If they try to track us by the book, they should get a bit lost.”
Alright, then. Time to get moving.
Soon, a waterfall of holy power cascaded over their heads, heralding the forced march ahead.
Surprisingly, by noon they reached a well-maintained road. They'd crossed the rugged peaks of the western mountains in just one day, even with an elderly man in tow. Of course, it was hellish—chewing hardtack while walking, constantly cloaking themselves in holy power.
Their bodies kept recovering, so physically it was fine, but the mental toll was immense.
Now, just follow the road down, and in a few hours they'd reach the Carthago Pass. Relief flickered across Aslan and old man Max's faces.
“Don't let your guard down yet. If they rode hard along the maintained road since yesterday, they might catch us by a hair.”
Even Bart, saying this, looked pale.
Aslan eyed him with concern. His body still couldn't activate aura, making him unsteady at any moment, and the cloth under the handcuffs he'd been swinging around was soaked in blood in places. Of course, unwrapping it would reveal unharmed arms.
Above all, was it really okay to keep pouring out holy power like that?
Bart staggered to the roadside and sat on a large rock.
“Time's tight, but we have to wait here for our contact.”
“Contact?”
“We can't sneak through the pass.”
Ah. Aslan and old man Max's expressions sobered.
It was the reality they'd been trying to ignore. Even if they reached Carthago safely, how would they pass the gate with uncertain identities?
Fortunately, Bart seemed to have a solution. He murmured into the empty air in a detached tone.
“This fellow better not be too late…….”
At that very moment, someone suddenly appeared before them, gliding down silently. On the open road, they materialized without a sound—ghostly.
He was a man in head-to-toe black attire, with a long scar running from his mouth to his jaw. Aside from that, he had the mild-mannered look of a scholar.
The man glanced at Aslan and old man Max, who flinched back in surprise, then approached Bart and knelt on one knee.
“Your Majesty.”
He knew Bart.
Your Majesty? The unexpected title froze Aslan, but Bart faintly quirked his lips.
“My senses have dulled so much I didn't even notice you arrive, Enrique.”
“I'm No. 21, Your Majesty.”
“…….”
Bart fell silent at the man's curt reply, sensing something amiss.
Sure enough, the man soon unleashed a rapid torrent of stiff complaints.
“What in the world is going on? You ordered me to investigate the merchant caravan and the slash-and-burn village, and the next night I hear you've shown up at the Assassin branch? Do you know how shocked I was? If you just wait like before, I'd bring you the news myself. What was so urgent this time?”
“Sorry about that, Enrique. My instincts were just off about this one…….”
“I'm No. 21, Your Majesty. Thanks to you, the guild's central branch is in chaos! You drop a bunch of tricky, cryptic orders and vanish, leaving us underlings to fend for ourselves—how are we supposed to handle that?”
“Well…….”
“And that's not all? You notify me out of nowhere to meet you beyond the border? Even the fastest couriers on the continent couldn't move like that! I've been riding nonstop from Delcros here over the past four days without proper sleep, and I…….”
The man trailed off. Even in his flat, emotionless tone, his barely contained fury came through vividly. Aslan just blinked, watching the two warily.
Bart seemed to sense the intensity of his rage too. He glanced slyly and tentatively reached toward the man's forehead. A brilliant light emanated from his hand, and the man's dark under-eye circles vanished in an instant.
But the man focused on something else. He snatched the handcuffs dangling before him, eyeing the bloodied bandages and Bart's face alternately.
“What's this?”
“Woke up like that in the Assassin branch. At first I wondered, but it's proven useful for smacking people in emergencies.”
The man's expression turned strange.
“You don't expect me to believe they put these on you to use as a weapon?”
“…Hm.”
Bart's face visibly darkened.
“Tell the Assassin branch chief that if he has complaints, say them to my face.”
“I'll try, but who knows. With how many grievances there are, he'd probably insist you hear them in person.”
“…….”
“With Your Majesty unable to use aura right now, who else around here could cut just the handcuffs with an aura blade without lopping off your arm but him?”
Unexpectedly, Bart lifted his head with a slightly brighter expression at the blunt words.
“I had something in mind anyway. I was hesitating to ask that young child…….”
No. 21—Enrique's gaze sharpened.
“I can guess what you're thinking. Something like, 'Just cut the handcuffs; the severed arm will reattach itself,' or 'Even if the arm falls off, we can stick it back on.' Is that it? Sorry, but I can't slice through iron chunks like that in one go either.”
“No, more than that…….”
“You're not seriously asking me to just chop off your arm, are you? I'm not doing it.”
“…….”
Wow, with recovery like that defying common sense, even his thinking is on another level.
Aslan, listening to their exchange from the side, swallowed hard without realizing it.