A Smooth Journey
The journey was proceeding smoothly. With such a large group, we couldn't move at breakneck speed, but that was all the better for it. I'd felt it before on the trip to the capital with Jayke, but traveling as a human was a far cry from drifting as a soul. The horse's warmth seeped into my thighs, and I'd squint against the gentle sunlight only to welcome the cool shade moments later. When the wind tousled my hair, it carried the scents of nature and people alike.
Fully immersed in the sensation of being alive in this human body, I was riding along the quiet road when Jayke pulled up beside me.
"There seems to be some suspicious group nearby."
I knew that already. We were close to the capital, and even on a main road, it wasn't entirely safe. Bandits popped up now and then, along with magical beasts. But look at our entourage—nearly a hundred knights in gleaming armor. Who in their right mind would tangle with us? If anything, the other side was probably the one quaking in fear.
That "suspicious force" Jayke mentioned? They looked like bandits, but they were really just refugees who'd fled their fief and turned to banditry out of desperation. Not that they were all saints, of course. Desperate folks like that sometimes crossed the line into true outlaws.
"Scare them off if you can. No need to kill them all."
"Understood."
Jayke moved to relay the order to Joseph Timuria, the heretic inquisitor in charge of the group. My relationship with him had warmed, but that didn't change the fact that he and his direct subordinates were a massacre unit. Without a heads-up, any whiff of trouble and they'd slaughter every last one without mercy.
Not long after, the vanguard halted. I knew why. I urged my horse forward slowly.
About a hundred people who looked like refugees were blocking the road, all prostrated on the ground.
"Please, spare us, Saint!"
The apparent leader was at the front, slamming his forehead into the dirt until his voice grew hoarse.
As I stepped forward, Joseph tried to block me, but I waved him off to signal it was fine.
"Raise your heads."
They must have heard rumors of my passing. With a group this size moving slowly, word was bound to spread. The leader lifted his bloodied face from the ground and stared at me. He seemed momentarily taken aback by my appearance—probably not what he expected—but quickly bowed again, shouting,
"Our lives may be worthless, but we can't die like this! Please, help us!"
"Explain slowly. What happened?"
The man raised his head and began his tale. They were people who'd fled a tyrannical lord's exploitation. Afterward, they'd retreated deep into the nearby mountains, scraping by with slash-and-burn farming. Common enough story in this world. But recently, a plague had swept through their village. It wasn't instantly fatal, but it caused rashes all over the body—intensely itchy ones that drove people to claw at their skin until it peeled off, leading to a slow, agonizing death.
Desperate for a cure, the uninfected had ventured out, to no avail—until they heard I was coming.
"Is anyone here afflicted with this disease?"
The man shook his head. Only the healthy had come out, so probably not. That's what I figured—until someone in the corner raised a hand. A young woman.
The moment she did, those nearby spat curses and scattered like lightning.
I dismounted and approached her, with Jayke and Joseph swiftly flanking me as escorts.
"Show me the symptoms."
Blushing, she lifted her top slightly. The rash was a cluster of black chrysanthemum-like blooms.
Nothing like it in my knowledge. Either a new disease I'd never encountered, or not a disease at all.
I raised my hand and invoked the power of healing. As expected, it took effect on her, but the rash remained unchanged.
Not a disease, then. So what was it? Simple: a curse.
Most assumed curses came from black mages, but the causes were far more varied.
"This looks like a curse, not an illness. Sir Joseph, try healing her."
"Understood."
I could use some divine power, but not on his level. Joseph approached and channeled his, and the rash began to fade. But even after a prolonged effort, it didn't vanish completely.
Joseph's divine power was immense. For the curse to resist it meant it was extraordinarily potent.
After a moment's thought, I turned to the leader.
"Are you the village head?"
"No, I'm his son."
"Is the head afflicted?"
"Yes."
He bowed his head again after answering, avoiding my eyes.
"Then why aren't you?"
"I... I don't know."
Fair enough for a disease—no one knows why they dodge one. But a curse? That's different.
"Strip him."
At my command, several holy knights rushed forward and tore off the man's clothes. He put up a feeble struggle, but it was pointless against them.
"Gah!"
The onlookers recoiled in horror.
Sure enough, the rash covered his body too.
"Take us to your village. Lead the way."
With the hundred-odd refugees in front, our group changed course.
"Saint, there must be a reason, but you needn't handle this personally. I'll send word to the Church."
Joseph rarely addressed me directly. Even after spending time together in my territory, it had only happened a handful of times.
True, I didn't have to do it myself. Handing it off would be easier. But how would the Church handle it? Send a swarm of priests to heal them... or brand them heretics and wipe them out.
Either way, it wouldn't solve the root problem.
"There's something I want to check. Our schedule isn't that tight anyway."
It wasn't. Kutula wasn't going anywhere, and the world's end wasn't looming in a few days. I had no intention of fixing every problem in existence. Still, whims struck now and then.
Refugee villages were rarely as deep in the mountains as imagined—especially a large one that had sent out over a hundred people. Total isolation made survival impossible.
Half a day later, we arrived at a village larger than my Akasha Territory had been before I took over. But it was in ruins. Traces of pyres dotted the area, and not a soul stirred outside, like a ghost town.
Upon arrival, the refugees scattered to their homes. Wails soon erupted from some houses—dead inside, no doubt.
"I want to see the village head."
Led by his son, we found the head on the verge of death. His appearance was horrific. Exactly as I'd predicted. What surprised me was that he was still alive. And the rest matched too: a blackened soul, swarming with resentful souls. But they weren't the curse's source.
I used the power of healing. His external wounds closed, and his condition improved. I sent Number One to scout the village perimeter.
"Village head, can you hear me?"
"Wh-who are you?"
His wounds were healed, but the curse ran deep.
"Father, this is the Saint from the Church I brought."
Seeing his father's improvement, the son helped him sit up, beaming with relief.
"What did you do?"
My cold tone and expression made the head and his son stiffen. Jayke and Joseph tensed nearby.
"N-nothing! We're just ignorant villagers who fled the lord's tyranny and settled here quietly."
I snorted at the excuse. Since when did rural peasants wander with dozens of resentful souls?
Then Number One found something. I headed outside toward it.
It was behind the village, disguised as a vegetable patch. But it was a front. I summoned an earth spirit and had it unearth what lay buried.
The ground churned, revealing a mass of bones—at least several dozen.
The head's son, who'd followed me, waved his hands in denial.
"These are just graves for those who passed in the village."
"Tell the truth!"
Anyone could see it was a lie. Furious, Joseph bellowed, and the son collapsed, kowtowing in terror.
"Forgive me! Spare us!"
The holy knights and battle priests were on the verge of erupting—occupational hazard.
Then Number One spotted something else.
"Seal the village. No one leaves."
"Yes, sir!"
The knights and priests, radiating bloodlust, affirmed and encircled the village.
With orders given, I moved toward Number One's new find. Joseph, following, spoke up again—rare for him.
"Saint, how did you know?"
"A saint's got to know that much, right?"
"Ah... Juno preserve us..."
Joseph fumbled for words, then made the sign of the cross. Jayke smirked and offered advice.
"Our lord's always been like that. Don't try to figure it out."
Joseph shook his head.
Soon, Number One's discovery came into view: a girl about my apparent age, collapsed on the ground. She wore rags barely qualifying as clothes, her emaciated frame topped with disheveled hair.
I approached and used the power of healing, but she didn't wake. She hadn't eaten properly in ages.
She had an extraordinary soul. And immense mana. No formal training, surely. Sometimes, innate talent plus dire circumstances led to magic-like phenomena—often bizarre deviations from true magic. When women triggered it, the world called them witches.
A witch was here. Likely the curse's origin.
"Sir Jayke, take the girl."
"Yes, understood."
Jayke scooped her up, and we returned to the village center. Some villagers gasped at the sight.
"Witch! That girl's a monster—kill her!"
"She murdered my mother!"
Foaming at the mouth, they screamed—until the girl opened her eyes.
Regaining her senses, she thrashed in Jayke's arms but couldn't break free.
I approached, meeting her gaze.
"I am Saint Germain Akasha, Viscount. On my noble honor, I will deliver just judgment. Tell me what happened—truthfully."
Her eyes shook violently, deep distrust flickering within.
"Speak!"
Joseph's shout made her shrink further. I waved him off.
"Aren't you hungry? Let's eat first."
I cooked for the first time in ages. An impromptu outdoor meal, but as I unpacked my pot and prepped ingredients, Joseph and the holy knights gawked. Jayke, knowing my skills, looked expectant.
It was simple: chicken and vegetable porridge. But once the aroma wafted, everyone stared at the pot—including the girl, who drooled uncontrollably.
I ladled a heaping first serving and offered it to her.
"Eat. You need to live. And to live is to avenge."
Tears streaming, she devoured it.
After the meal, as sated bellies settled in, the girl finally spoke.