Omens (1)
Word that Ludwig had sparred with Ggobongi and the Fast Tree Sloth spread like wildfire—not just across the Gallery, but throughout reality, reaching the ears of the people in the Holy Kingdom with astonishing speed. While figures like Ash, Kadir, and Asella enjoyed immense renown, the realm boasted far more luminaries than one could count on both hands. Yet whereas the Hero had always felt like a distant, symbolic figurehead, Ludwig was different. He was the Guardian of El Dorado. He had dedicated his entire life in service to his homeland and the Goddess Aris, and countless souls across the realm were indebted to his grace.
"He seems to be holding up well, thank heavens... but is he truly stranded in the Forest of the Four Seasons?"
"How many times do I have to tell you? That damned Papal Palace forced him in there!"
"Shh! Keep your voice down! What if someone hears and drags you off?"
"Let them try! Now that Sir Ludwig is gone, there isn't a single true paladin left in this wretched country!"
A middle-aged man bellowed at the top of his lungs, clearly deep in his cups despite it being broad daylight. Normally, such drunken shouting in a public tavern would have drawn stinging glares and sharp rebukes, but not a single patron moved to silence him. Such was the prevailing mood across El Dorado. The bitter lament that no true paladin remained struck far too close to the bone.
"How on earth did even Sir Ludwig end up like this..."
"I'm telling you, the Pope is the root of it all. He purges anyone who doesn't kiss his ring."
"Shoving him into the Forest of the Four Seasons and calling it 'missing'? What a sick joke."
Even without the drunkard's outburst, grievances had long been festering in the hearts of the common folk. Had this tavern been in the capital rather than a provincial city, the patrons would have taken to the streets in protest hours ago.
"What's the word from the capital?"
"Utter chaos. Feels like it could blow at any second."
"Has the Papal Palace issued any statement?"
"As if! At best, they'll dismiss it as baseless rumors spawned on the Gallery and claim none of it can be trusted."
"I'm sick to death of them blaming everything on the Gallery."
Public sentiment toward the Holy See had plummeted straight to rock bottom. A long succession of scandals and cover-ups had steadily packed the powder keg, and Ludwig's firsthand testimony had finally lit the fuse. The barrel was destined to detonate from the faintest spark—and even without one, an explosion was inevitable. The state propaganda dismissing the revelations as fabrications from the Gallery failed entirely to sway the masses. Things had deteriorated so severely that public editorials openly declared that just as Ludwig had severed his gangrenous foot, El Dorado needed to do the exact same thing. The rot, of course, was the Papal Palace—an analogy amounting to a direct call for the regime's head. The administration stood teetering on the precipice of total collapse.
Considering the sins the Papacy had accumulated over the decades, the reckoning was long overdue. Yet alongside the fury lingered a profound dread.
"Who knows what madness the Pope will resort to next..."
"Indeed. The man chops off the head of anyone who gets in his way."
Nobody could predict what a cornered Pope might do. Until now, he had concealed his foulest deeds by maintaining an iron grip on information through state-controlled media. Yet out of nowhere, from the impenetrable depths of the Forest of the Four Seasons—and through the Gallery, of all things—the ugly truth had been dragged into broad daylight. The Forest of the Four Seasons was an untamed hellscape that even the supreme pontiff could neither conquer nor control. To make matters worse, Ludwig had broadcast his exposé directly from its heart, boxing the Holy See into an inescapable corner. A cornered rat was vicious enough to bite a cat to death. Now that the Pope had seized absolute control over the military by purging Ludwig, there was no telling what horrors he might unleash upon his own people.
"If only the Hero were here at a time like this..." someone murmured under their breath.
The quiet remark cast an immediate pall of silence over the room. The Hero. It was a title that stirred complicated, agonizing emotions in the heart of every citizen. What was the Hero, after all? The living emblem and supreme pride of the Holy Kingdom. Generation after generation, Heroes had marched against Demon Kings to preserve continental peace. The Previous Generation Hero, in particular, had sacrificed his life in mutual destruction alongside the Undying King. Even if that sacrifice had been coerced by the ruthless extortion of the Holy See, its inherent nobility remained undiminished in the hearts of the people.
"Do you... do you truly believe the Hero will destroy our nation?"
"Wasn't that the prophecy?"
"What if the Holy See fabricated it?"
"Come now! How could anyone fabricate a divine prophecy? If they had dared, divine retribution would have struck them down on the spot!"
"Besides, countless people witnessed the revelation with their own eyes. There are far too many testimonies."
Yet the current Hero was different. Her fall from grace had been just as startling and catastrophic as her radiant reputation. The Hero of this era shall bring about the ruin of El Dorado. Such was the prophecy handed down from the heavens. In its wake, branded a traitor, the Hero had fled into the shadows—taking the sacred Holy Sword, Revolution, along with her. Faced with such a crisis, the citizens could not shake the suffocating dread settling over their land.
"Still, a prophecy is just a prophecy, isn't it? If you ask me, it looks like the Pope is the one leading our country to ruin."
"That may be true, but... it's unnerving all the same. We're talking about total destruction here, of all things."
"I've heard she was an exceptionally gentle and righteous soul. Couldn't something have gone terribly wrong?"
For better or worse, El Dorado was bound body and soul to the Goddess Aris. A theocracy founded upon absolute faith could never casually dismiss a prophecy uttered in the name of the very deity they worshipped. Hence, the omen foretelling the destruction of their homeland hung over them like a leaden weight.
"Honestly, destruction might not be so bad. Let her wipe out the Papal Palace once and for all."
"If only 'destruction' meant just that."
"Sigh. Just drink your ale. The Papacy is rotten to the core, the Hero is a branded fugitive... what has become of this country?"
With nothing left to do but grumble, the patrons let out collective, weary sighs.
"Perhaps we were better off when we lived in blissful ignorance."
"Our minds might have been at peace, but our children would have inherited a living nightmare."
"We should count ourselves fortunate that the burden falls upon our shoulders first."
Information in this world traveled at breathtaking speed thanks to the existence of the Gallery. Though falsehoods and rumors occasionally muddied the waters, its sheer reach was staggering. In fact, the very institution of the free press had originated from citizens gathering to sift truth from fabrication on the forum boards. That was precisely why journalism had advanced so unusually far ahead of its era. It was also the exact reason why the Holy See fought with such desperation to throttle both the press and the Gallery. Obscurantism was their lifeblood; controlling information was the sole means of keeping the populace in chains. Indeed, they had successfully buried the truth regarding the Undying King for decades—until an entirely unpredictable variable appeared from the Forest of the Four Seasons.
"The whole realm is... in utter turmoil. Will we even be able to slip back into the capital?"
"..."
Seated in a shadowy corner of that very tavern were two figures experiencing this boiling unrest firsthand. Huddled beneath deep traveler's cloaks, the two women quietly absorbed the conversations buzzing around them. One was Rece, and the other was none other than Asella—the very Hero whose name sat on every patron's lips.
"...Sister."
"Yeah. Speak."
"Do you... do you think the Hero will truly bring about the ruin of El Dorado?" Asella asked in a subdued, crestfallen whisper.
They were currently en route back to the capital. Originally, their plan had been to remain on the run, continually evading the inquisitors, but a flurry of sudden developments had forced their hand. The decisive factor had been Ludwig's public testimony. Through his exposé, the innocence of Ludwig and his loyalists had been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. Furthermore, with the ominous storm clouds of civil war threatening to break at any moment, they were rushing back to prevent a catastrophe.
"The Hero? How would you even go about destroying it?"
Even so, discretion was paramount. The trackers had not abandoned their hunt entirely. At Rece's blunt counter-question, Asella seemed to ponder in silence for a moment before letting her mouth fall shut. As if expecting nothing less, Rece smirked faintly and took another slow sip of her drink.
"Don't dwell on it too much. It's just a prophecy, isn't it? The Goddess Aris must have her own reasons."
"Which means... you don't believe the prophecy is false."
"..."
Rece offered only a bitter, helpless smile. She couldn't deny the reality. The divine prophecies of Aris were infamous for coming to pass in one form or another. Historical archives even recorded instances where desperate struggles to avert a prophecy turned out to be the very actions that fulfilled it. Thus, Asella stood caught in the gears of an inescapable fate. It was a tragedy that broke Rece's heart to watch.
"Well... who can say? That's beyond anything I can answer."
"I see."
"Even so, you're going to protect El Dorado to the bitter end, aren't you?"
"...I will protect the citizens."
I will protect the citizens. That singular line laid bare the profound shift in Asella's heart. Previously, she had grasped at every conceivable excuse—insisting that it was all a misunderstanding, that the Pope had simply misjudged the situation, that things could still be mended. She had placed blind, unyielding faith in the Holy Father, but of late, seeds of suspicion had sprouted into bitter certainty. The tipping point was Ludwig. His public revelation had shattered the last vestiges of her faith in the Holy See.
If armed conflict erupts... must I be the one to stop it? Could a branded traitor step onto the battlefield to intercede? Would anyone even listen? Though she was hurrying toward the capital, the path ahead remained completely shrouded in darkness.
Just as Asella let out a heavy sigh—
SLAM!
The tavern door was kicked open with violent force. It was an ostentatious, heavy-handed entrance designed to command instant submission.
"What the...?"
"Why are paladins here?"
"Did they hear us badmouthing the church?"
The figures marching into the establishment in polished breastplates were holy knights of the church. After an initial ripple of alarm, the patrons settled into stony apathy. Now that even Ludwig had been purged, no true paladins remained in El Dorado. That was the consensus of every soul present.
"Attention, all of you! We have received credible intelligence that a traitor is harboring within these walls!"
"A traitor? You mean the Hero?"
"No, no. He must be talking about the Pope!"
"Haha! Spot on, mate!"
Coming from men drinking in broad daylight, sweet words were hardly to be expected. Nothing but venomous mockery bounced back at the knights. The paladins scowled, their grips tightening on their sword hilts, but their commander quickly forced himself to proceed with the sweep.
"We will now conduct an inspection! Remain in your seats and submit to questioning!"
"Inspection my ass! Cut the crap!"
"Why don't you march back to the capital and arrest the Pope, you useless lapdogs?!"
"You've got plenty of spine to hunt down the Hero, but not an ounce of courage to collar the real crook in the Papal Palace, eh?!"
Raucous laughter exploded throughout the tavern—scornful, derisive, and utterly fearless. Pushed past his breaking point, the knight commander finally roared.
"Silence! How dare you slander the Holy Father! Do you not fear the wrath of Lady Aris?!"
"I'm far more terrified of my wife's wrath!"
"Hahahaha! Ain't that the truth!"
"I have heard enough! Arrest every last one of these insolent wretches! They have publicly defamed the supreme pontiff!"
At the commander's command, the paladins moved in with iron manacles. The commoners offered no resistance whatsoever, allowing themselves to be hauled from their seats with contemptuous smirks. Not a shred of reverence or trust remained in their eyes. Startled by the sudden escalation, Asella reflexively began to rise, but Rece clamped a vice-like grip onto her wrist beneath the table.
"S-Sister?"
"Not yet. Those people just bought us time. We run right now."
"B-But to be dragged away in chains merely for complaining..."
"They'll be released after a brief interrogation and a night in the cells. If you get captured, El Dorado is truly finished."
"..."
Yielding to Rece's cold, pragmatic logic, Asella braced herself to flee. Just as the guards were herding the drunken patrons toward the tavern entrance—
CRASH!
"Wait! Th-Those two over there! Seize them!"
"Damn it! Of all the times!"
The two women shattered the adjacent window frame and vaulted out into the alleyway. Spotting their fleeing cloaks, the paladins immediately broke into a frantic sprint behind them.
"Wait, what? Was the Hero actually sitting in here?!"
"Well, their outfits were pretty suspicious, now that you mention it."
With the paladins tearing off after the fleeing figures, the detained patrons were naturally left standing forgotten in the street. Watching the chaotic pursuit disappear around the corner, the commoners casually wandered back inside and reclaimed their tables as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
"Honestly, the Hero sounds like a much better option. The country might collapse, but it's not like we're going down with it, right?"
"True enough."
"Well, I despise the Hero."
Amid the chorus of casual support, a single voice rose in bitter condemnation. It was the tavern keeper, who had been loudly cursing the Pope alongside everyone else only moments before. Surprised by this sudden turnabout, the patrons turned to him in bewilderment. The tavern keeper rubbed his temples and let out a deep, aggrieved sigh.
"I'm going to hate her guts until she pays for my broken window."
"Mm... fair point, honestly."
"Tell her to compensate you once she takes the throne."
"Like hell she will."
While public sentiment across El Dorado plummeted in a vertical nosedive, what was the Papal Palace doing as it faced this gathering storm? Were the prelates preparing to step down and repent? Or were they contemplating an option far more extreme?
"Understood. So all we need to do is proceed according to this arrangement?"
"Yes, Your Holiness."
"And should it fail?"
To Pope Louis II's cold inquiry, the cardinal bowed deeply and answered without hesitation.
"We will have no choice but to mobilize the holy army. After all, we possess the righteous justification."
"Hmm."
"The Goddess Aris will surely forgive our resolve."
Mobilizing the military against one's own people—words a righteous leader should never utter lightly. By sacred decree, an army was meant to be raised only in defense against foreign invasion or true, treasonous rebellion. A military was the sword and shield of the citizenry; forgetting that foundational duty was the mark of a tyrant. Any sane, god-fearing ruler would have rejected the proposal on the spot.
"Very well. I grant my approval."
"Thank you, Your Holiness."
"What wouldn't we endure for the glory of the Goddess Aris?"
Men blinded by power rationalized their atrocities with terrifying ease, convincing themselves that the portents of an internal "rebellion" were already surfacing across the provinces. And so, the supreme pontiff brought his seal down with a heavy, final thud. Clack!
Shortly thereafter, the cardinal withdrew with the signed mandate, leaving Louis II alone in his cavernous audience chamber.
Ludwig... that wretched relic has finally brought ruin to my doorstep.
Louis II clicked his tongue in profound disgust. If only the old knight had died quietly in the wilderness, none of this turmoil would have erupted. At the very least, had he refrained from posting his poisonous accusations on that accursed Gallery, the Holy Kingdom would never have reached this boiling point.
What could he possibly be plotting right now? If he spouts any more nonsense to the public...
What was he doing?
"Hey! Not over there, put it down right here!"
"I already set it down."
"No! Why do you have zero practical common sense?! Aren't you supposed to be a veteran soldier?!"
The legendary Guardian of El Dorado had been thoroughly drafted into prime manual labor for Grylls. Was it a bit heartless to work a man who had just undergone an emergency foot amputation? Who cares? The bastard is infinitely stronger than me anyway. Such trivialities were completely dismissed; his arms and hands functioned perfectly, so he was more than fit for hard labor.
"Not human..." Ggobongi grunted from the side, wiping sweat from his brow.
"What was that? Get back to hauling timber! This is the shelter you're going to live in, isn't it?"
"Bad guy. Truly evil guy."
"No roasted meat for you tonight."
"Actually, kind master."
All things considered, life at the campsite was proceeding quite splendidly.