Money Is a Serious Matter
Kriel reflected that money was a grave concern. When he played the role of a knight, he took just a single coin for the sake of honor, but as a mercenary in his usual line of work, he scraped together every last bit of the contract fee. What other reason could there be?
[I'm gonna lose it for real. I can't tell where your knightly act ends and the real you begins, you blockhead.]
[Are you doubting your lord's reverence for knightly virtue, you vulgar wretch?]
[Yes, yes, my apologies... Wait, no. Even if I'm vulgar, am I more vulgar than an abyss-forged demon sword?!]
Morgina and Armed, who had been listening with a strangely deflated air, both replied that they had no interest in compensation. Fair enough—one was a saintess, so the church would surely provide some stipend for maintaining her dignity, and the other had the wealth and savvy to handle money-losing endeavors like the Abyss Prevention Society.
That meant, out of the three of us barging—er, visiting—the Gavi Merchant Guild, I was the only one hung up on the cash. Maybe I should've just asked Mazhar for a fat payout. Kriel felt a twinge of regret.
"By the way, Orishin. What did Armed's diagnosis say?"
[Pretty much the same as Morgina's. Tried all sorts of purification magic on natural beings, spirits included.]
Orishin's recap carried a thick undercurrent of exhaustion—even getting "splashed with water" and run through the laundry on his blade. In the end, it matched Morgina's assessment: 'No clue why this won't come off, but the grime just won't budge.'
[I can't accept this reality! For my pure white mane to be tainted by the abyss?!]
[Didn't a quarter of that mane get lopped off? You're just a head now.]
[......]
"Eh, chin up. Mages and priests failed, but we've still got a spiritist on deck."
Orishin, who had hung his head at Tuon's merciless verbal barrage, soon rallied his spirits. Kriel nodded in satisfaction at the sight. When he returned to the Western Front, he'd need at least three expert opinions to submit. Spiritists were even rarer than mages, so if anyone asked, 'What took you so damn long to report back?' he could reply, 'Haha, hard to find a spiritist with the rapport and knowledge to diagnose someone else's spirit, y'know?' Perfect excuse.
The military never bought a single expert note anyway. Needed about three before they'd think, 'This guy's for real.' He wasn't planning a full discharge, but for extending a mission, more opinions were better. 'Say each one took a couple months to track down—fills half a year lounging around before heading back to the Front?'
A brilliant plan. The moment he got back, snag that backlog discharge paper and return to civilian life.
They were unexpected guests. Mazhar Gavi stared in bewilderment at the group before him.
Kriel was anticipated—he'd declared yesterday that he'd return. What threw Mazhar off was Morgina and Armed.
Can someone of saintly rank really move so freely?
Barring massive churches, a saint was premium manpower—one per order. More precisely, one living saint. Those marked by a god's stigmata while still breathing were rarities: one per generation, if that. Only the shadow of the Demon King War had birthed a mythic surge of them. Before that, you might never see one in a lifetime.
Even though Kriel had boasted he'd bring her, Mazhar hadn't been certain Morgina would actually come to help. She was a strategic asset, better deployed on church priorities.
He could see how a saint might meddle in rigging a duel trial if it involved her champion's engagement—something the church couldn't ignore. Still, Mazhar hadn't anticipated that most of these "strategic assets" prioritized doctrine and faith over church gain. Stubborn zealots, every one.
Morgina would rather smash abyss skulls alongside Kriel than make official visits to expand Eve Kaha's influence in a duchy. That explained the saintess's unusually benevolent smile as she bestowed healing miracles on the afflicted—a sight Mazhar now witnessed.
And then...
"What brings you here?"
"Managing trade partners."
Armed, her face etched with fatigue. Legally, Kriel was her fiancé, so her tagging along on any pretext wasn't odd.
Mazhar let out a hollow chuckle at the irony. Success in the engagement would've meant taking her to lift his father's curse—the only path he saw to restoring the family. After losing the duel trial, he'd figured it was over. Father's life fading, family fracturing. Siblings clashing over the corpse.
Yet here was a far better outcome than planned. Absurd, but hopeful.
"Haha, I'm grateful. Should've entrusted Father's checkup sooner."
"Yeah. No need for all that engagement nonsense—just be upfront."
"You think I could spill something like this? The Gavi Guild has as many enemies as assets."
Mazhar shrugged. He'd confessed only because Kriel had saved his life and played the omniscient hero card. Otherwise, he'd have buried the abyss curse forever.
Sister and brother oppose gathering experts for Father because of that, too...
If word spread that the guildmaster had stepped back not to watch his kids' rivalry, but because a curse left him helpless against attacks? Rivals wouldn't miss the chance. And suspecting the abyss as the culprit? Inevitable questions about what atrocity warranted it. The abyss sowed so much discord that a curse alone wouldn't trigger trials, but the guild's reputation would tank.
In the siblings' silence, Father withered. Mazhar couldn't allow it.
"Anyway, can he move?"
"With enough coin, most wounds heal easy. A short trip home from the duchy? Manageable."
"Then we leave now."
"...Now?"
"Loose ends?"
Mazhar pondered the guild's affairs. Most business here had been courting Armed Ket—now shattered. Only branch operations left, and even those were paused after someone torched a building.
No reason to delay.
"No, you're right. I'll summon the carriage."
Mazhar's wealth, enough to summon a carriage on short notice, was a boon for Kriel. Thanks to his champion's mark, riding separately in the carriage hid his Dark Knight essence enough that the horses didn't balk.
The trip was surprisingly pleasant.
"...First, before entering the estate, a few requests."
"Requests?"
"Seeing Father won't be hard. But you'll need to leave all weapons behind."
Armored to the teeth at a sickbed? Absurd. Kriel nodded silently.
"And please follow my lead. Brother Jaren and Sister Arshika rarely stay at the estate now, but if we cross paths, they might nitpick."
Of the Gavi siblings, eldest Jaren and second Arshika were the ambitious ones—eyes gleaming not at Father's death, but its aftermath. They'd sabotage any effort Mazhar made to prolong his life.
Kriel nodded agreeably. He was here to smash abyss, not pick family sides. No needless drama.
But while he wouldn't publicly back anyone, he might publicly smash someone.
"One question. If the curse traces to your family?"
Mazhar fell silent, swallowed hard several times, took a deep breath, then spoke.
"Brother and sister crave gold and power, but I don't believe they'd collude with the abyss for patricide. But if it comes to that..."
He bowed his head, sighing deeply. His words hung heavy.
"At least give me a heads-up. I need to prepare my heart."
"Horse."
"Pardon?"
Ten minutes after arriving at the estate.
Kriel raised his fist.