Doubts at Dusk, Dagger in the Dark
While waiting, Eden had teased Fran in jest a few times, but even he found the situation off. He glanced up at the towering bell tower. The red sunset was deepening into twilight. Dusk was nearly upon them, yet the bell remained utterly silent. Church bells were supposed to ring several times a day—a fact Eden knew from his limited common knowledge. They had to signal prayer times to the townsfolk. But since Eden's arrival, Mordelan's bell tower hadn't chimed even once. All that echoed was the grating caw-caw of ominous crows.
By Eden's standards—or any medieval one's—the naive and innocent Fran seemed content to simply wait for the absent priest's return.
"It seems the priest is quite busy. Best to come back another time."
That was all the church offered: scripted lines. This was the third time they'd heard it today. Eden was starting to seethe just watching from behind; Fran's state, in the thick of it, went without saying.
Yet Fran silently traced the sign of the cross over her chest and nodded. "...I see. Then I'll return tomorrow."
"Suit yourself."
And just like before, the church door slammed shut with a thud.
Fran's gaze lingered on the closed door. Her expression was hidden behind the dented visor, but Eden figured it matched the twisted metal well enough.
Of course, Fran wasn't an idiot—just naive. She knew full well something was wrong. But a paladin of the Sun God couldn't very well raise a ruckus in a church. Which meant she could only gape in horror at the barbarian hoisting his foot like he meant to kick the door down.
"Wh-what do you think you're doing!"
"We're at church. Time for worship."
Even northern barbarians (or those who looked the part but weren't) weren't above faith in the Sun God. Eden had seen barbarian slaves praying to him on the battlefield. This godforsaken world found it more shocking for a barbarian to worship the Sun God than for dwarves or elves to do the same.
The point was, there was no grounds to bar a barbarian seeking worship. Still, Fran had no choice but to block him with all her might.
"Why smash a perfectly good door!"
"It won't open. What else is there?"
"J-just wait till tomorrow. Didn't they say the priest stepped out?"
Eden let out a small sigh. Should've busted in before she stopped me.
026. While waiting things out, the group arrived at an inn called the Golden Duck.
"...Welcome."
Things hadn't gone according to plan—if they had, they'd be resting comfortably at the church. A paladin who'd failed after three polite visits had no choice but the city inn. They had coin enough, no need to sleep rough on the streets.
The bald octopus—Cotton—had recommended it with pure intentions, it seemed, as the place was spotlessly clean. Behind the counter stood a brass-like golden duck statue. As the group entered, a plump woman who looked like the innkeeper plunked a mug of beer down in front of Eden without asking.
Is this racial profiling or what? He hadn't even ordered.
"It's not real gold, of course. But you keep at this business long enough, maybe one day I'll make it the genuine article."
She had a cheeky wit about her.
"Might get pinched by thieves first."
"Pfft. If it were real gold, I'd stash it safe at home. What're you on about?"
She showed no fear even facing a barbarian. Quite the spirited type. Inn staff taking over the family business was common enough, so Eden didn't dwell on it.
Perhaps because evening was nigh, the inn—more pub than anything—was packed. It felt like every drunk in this small city had crammed in here. The giant barbarian, the armored knight, and the stunning beauty drew the room to a hush for a moment, but it didn't last. There was too much booze left to gawk at every odd traveler.
The group claimed a table. Eden held the mug the landlady had handed him. It was a decent dark ale, to his taste. He wiped foam from his lips and turned to the sullen Fran.
"So, what's the plan now?"
"......"
Fran had no answer. It was the first time in her career as a paladin that she'd been turned away from a church despite her commendations.
At that moment, a server named Joan from the Golden Duck approached their table.
"C-can I get you something to eat?"
Her eyes and voice trembled. Unlike the landlady, she clearly lacked experience serving barbarians, knights, and beauties. Still, professional to the core, she swallowed hard and pressed on calmly.
"We've got some fine venison fresh in the kitchen. Good in soup or grilled on its own. And our signature dark ale is dee-licious... oh. You're already having some."
A despondent paladin and a worldly-ignorant goddess weren't about to order in a tavern. In the end, Eden fielded it.
"Doesn't matter what's on the menu—six meals. And another beer."
"...Right away."
And the food came quicker than expected. Eden tore into a grilled venison rib with his bare hands. It reeked of game, but nothing unusual.
"This goddess craves a spicy kimchi stew..."
The goddess, already corrupted by modern MSG, grumbled. Eden itched to flick her forehead. Kimchi jjigae talk is foul play right now.
Then he noticed Fran hadn't touched her food. To Eden, raised in a Confucian society, it wasn't proper table manners.
He watched her a moment, then called back the busy server. His massive frame drew eyes without effort.
"Oh, did you need something?"
Eden pulled a few silver coins from his pouch—more than a day's wage—and set them on the table.
Joan eyed the sum in shock, glancing nervously at the crowd.
"S-sorry, but..." she whispered. "We don't offer that kind of service here... If you head down that alley, there's a place that specializes."
Eden's face soured naturally. What the hell?
But Joan misread his scowl entirely. Steel resolve in her eyes, she clenched her fists.
"B-but if you insist, I could sneak up to your room without the landlady knowing..."
She stole a glance at the barbarian's forearm—thick muscle rare in this protein-scarce medieval world. She awaited his reply with a strange fervor.
"No, no, that's not it. Just wanted to ask about the city."
Joan's face flushed beet red. You crazy girl—plenty of other things to misunderstand. And there were women at the table! Self-reproach hit her. Though for a split second, the woman's golden eyes had seemed to turn pitch black.
Oblivious to the chill in the air, Eden tried easing her embarrassment.
"Just the one church in town?"
"...Ah, yes."
Joan snapped back from her daze and answered.
"And it's operating normally?"
"...Operating? Oh... yes."
She tilted her head at the odd word for a medieval church but caught the drift and nodded.
"Though, yeah, even I think the church has been weird lately."
She wasn't alone. The townsfolk felt it too. Joan glanced covertly at the paladin and whispered.
"Y-you're not here to arrest me for badmouthing it, right...?"
Eden answered for the crestfallen paladin.
"Nah, we're investigating that ourselves."
A white lie, of course. Eden and Neb had come to learn why "Neb" was branded an evil god. Fran sensed evil god vibes from non-worshippers and sought answers. Ignorant of that, Joan bought it with wide-eyed agreement.
"Ahh... figures."
It might not have worked without the paladin present. What Joan had noticed:
"Services used to be several times a day, but past few months? Maybe once a week."
"Priest's face is rare now. Not totally gone, but the devout are grumbling."
"Suspicious folks? Hmm... not sure. Too many travelers."
Eden mulled it over. Priest isn't missing, then. One possibility down. Simple as that: priest was just absent. He scooped up the silvers and handed them to her—a thanks for holding her up during rush hour.
"Definitely shady..."
But no solid leads. Sounded like a lazy priest, nothing more. Eden regretted not smashing in again. A few slaps to that rude bastard inside might've clarified things.
Timing mattered, though. They'd missed theirs. ...No helping it. Tomorrow, we go inside for real.
Too late anyway; dinner wrapped the day. They took two rooms. Eden and Neb shared, naturally—not the same bed, but he couldn't leave the goddess-in-human-flesh alone. She was his only ticket home.
"Tomorrow, back to the church."
"...Understood."
"Lighten up a bit."
He tossed it lightly at the gloomy paladin—and meant it as such. No x-ray vision for that helmeted face. Fran stifled a chuckle from within at the barbarian's joke. A faint sound only his barbarian senses caught.
Eden watched her retreating back and thought: A typical paladin wouldn't drag this out. They'd have kicked the door in themselves.
Whatever. He entered his room. Neb was already lounging on the bed, lifting the covers with what she deemed a sultry look.
"Come hither."
"Take your shoes off before getting on the bed."
"...Ah!"
Eden ignored the suspiciously otaku-fluent goddess and lay on the other bed. Made sense—she'd read his memories. He eyed her scrambling to remove her shoes like she'd erred, then slowly closed his eyes.
And some hours later.
The locked door creaked open—ever so carefully. The bolt had long since fallen loose. A figure shrouded head to toe in thick robes. A sharp blade glinted between the folds.
The assailant thought: ...Better take the barbarian first.
They glided silently to the barbarian's bed. The raised blade plunged for his vitals.
"...?"
No familiar give. Puzzled, the assailant tried yanking the dagger free. It wouldn't budge. The blade was pinned mid-air—in the barbarian's bare palm. Not a drop of blood.
Eden rose slowly from the bed, smiling down at the intruder.
"Guess we don't have to wait till tomorrow after all."
Five slaps. That's how many it took to loosen the assailant's tongue. But what spilled out wasn't quite what Eden expected.
"Not from the church?"
"...Y-yes."
Then who the hell are you? Eden stared in disbelief.