Deepening Confusion #50
Purancer Duraton, approaching forty, was a man of rugged features and imposing build—the siege captain of Rosel Territory.
Rosel Territory was home to many commoners who had risen high. Among them, Duraton stood head and shoulders above the rest. Especially considering that back when Rosel was still a minor barony, he had been the leader of a bandit gang that launched a night raid for plunder. It was an extraordinary rise.
The raid hadn't been meant for raping the territory's people, arson, or murder. What strength could a mere gang of twenty or so muster to invade even a small barony? It had simply been a desperate grab for food from Rosel after monsters made hunting ever harder. Back then, there'd been no way to survive without plundering. Travel between territories was rare, with monster-infested roads keeping merchant caravans at bay.
They'd planned to snatch some grain and flee, but they got caught. The whole gang was captured.
That was when he first laid eyes on Rosel.
To Duraton, who had been born in the mountains, built a bandit gang, and lived a life of endless hardship and peril, the young Baron Rosel looked like a fresh-faced boy. A weak, slender noble house head. Sure, he was a new noble from common stock, but that only made him seem easier prey.
So Duraton attacked, aiming to take him hostage and escape. But he couldn't even get close to the apparently frail youth. Instead, he ended up with a massive scar across his back.
A man who'd lived his whole life by the sword ended up with a shameful back wound from a single display of Rosel's overwhelming swordsmanship—a disgrace for any blade-for-hire.
"Kuh...! Kill me!"
"...Ten silver coins per head."
"What?"
"I'll give you two options to survive."
"Wh-what options?"
"Not all of you can live. Sell your men to me as slaves for ten silvers a head and save yourself alone, or have one of them cut off your head, and I'll let the rest go free."
"...What?"
Rosel offered those two choices—live alone or die alone to save the rest—and Duraton was dumbfounded. But they were vile plunderers with no right to quibble over shit or piss.
And there was no reason to agonize over the options.
"Hey! Lenos! You cut my head off!"
Duraton picked Lenos because he saw himself in the man—someone who could make bold decisions when it counted. Of course, a bandit gang spouting manhood nonsense was laughable, but at least the Crimson Lotus Gang under Duraton's lead never stooped to arson, rape, or murder like other mountain bandit crews.
They were just outcasts of fate, ignorant of wise ways to live, drawn together because no one else would take in thief-spawn. They'd eked by on minimal plundering, but after the Demon King's descent, trade caravans dwindled, leaving them starving. Wild game fell to monsters, so they'd padded their hunger with grass until desperation drove them to Rosel Barony.
But they got caught. Rather than sell his life-bound comrades for ten silvers each and scrape by in misery, Duraton chose death.
"If I die, you'll really let them all live?"
"I promise only to flog them and release."
"...Fine. Lenos! Get out here and cut my head off!"
Lenos emerged, face grim, axe in hand.
"C-Captain."
"Quit sniveling and chop my head off. We're bandits. Ditch the false chivalry and find your own way to live. Hurry up!"
Duraton bellowed that, bowed his head, and Lenos gripped his axe handle tight.
"Th-then, forgive me! Captain!"
He squeezed his eyes shut and swung with all his might. But at that instant—clang!—a harsh metallic ring echoed, and the axe flew from Lenos's hands, soaring upward instead.
Whirrr!Thud!
The axe flipped in midair, plunged back down, and embedded in the dirt beside Duraton.
Rosel had flicked it upward with his sword.
He glared down at the stunned, frozen Duraton with murderous eyes.
"You're the first in ten full tries."
"T-Ten tries? What do you mean?"
Rosel sheathed his sword and surveyed the gang.
"From now on, I'll teach you how to live like humans. I'll feed you, house you. But no pay until your debt is paid. Any objections?"
"...."
"Good. In pairs, you'll watch each other to prevent foolishness. If your partner breaks the law, you share the punishment. Depending on the crime, it could mean execution. Remember that."
"...."
The bandits fell silent as graves. None argued, objected, or showed any will to flee.
Duraton's thick black brows twitched as he stared at Rosel. Somehow, the man's presence loomed even larger than his own.
"Wh-what does that mean?"
"You're the first gang to pass on the tenth test. So I'm giving you a chance—to see if you can act like people."
"...Act like people?"
As monsters proliferated, bandit raids grew frequent. While other territories executed them out of necessity for defense, Rosel recruited the survivors as labor for expansion—but only after rigorous tests. The Crimson Lotus Gang was the tenth try, first success.
"Don't disappoint me, Duraton."
"...."
With that, Rosel turned away. Gellion approached with a worried look and whispered,
"M-My lord. Is this really wise?"
"They just don't know how to live wisely. In an era where manpower is national power, where else would I find such hands?"
"But they're criminals..."
"That's why pairs. They'll watch each other. Station knights for the first week to oversee them."
"...Understood."
Expanding the territory required hands. Nobles in neighboring lands rejected requests because he was a commoner-born upstart.
Duraton glanced at his men, then bowed deeply behind Rosel's back.
"Th-thank you!"
That was Duraton and Rosel's first meeting.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
Rosel, lost in admiration of Choi Yoon-seo's portrait, hastily stowed the papers in a drawer at the knock, then sat in the sofa's head seat.
It was Duraton. He bowed politely and took a seat.
"Did things go well with Grand Duchess Rusillan?"
"She'll depart in a week."
"A week? Later than expected."
"She wants to take Roden with her."
"What? Roden? Why...?"
"She seems quite taken with him. Probably to hold as a hostage, ensuring I don't pull anything."
Duraton nodded as if it made perfect sense. Alliances between houses often sealed with engagements for the same reason—hostages as shields.
But choosing Roden was unexpected. Rosel asked,
"Didn't you say you had a report for me?"
"Ah, yes. There's a rumor circulating in the territory."
"What rumor?"
Not just Rosel Territory—rumors spread across lands everywhere. Monsters weren't decreasing in number. Despite adventurers and subjugation squads dispatched to hunt them in nearby areas, their numbers strangely held steady.
"And two days ago, a subjugation squad from Count Shlan's lands witnessed monsters spawning anew."
Rosel nodded. Unlike Duraton's grave expression, his face showed little change.
Monsters spawning anew meant the Demon King hadn't perished—or some incident was afoot. Seeing no reaction from his lord, Duraton asked puzzledly,
"...Did you already know?"
"Monsters spawning anew... There's only one reason."
"What...?"
"The Demon King hasn't vanished. What else?"
Duraton's thick brows shot up in shock at Rosel's calm words. Rumors already whispered as much—that the Demon King lived, so monsters persisted. But they'd been dismissed as ravings from Demon King cultists. Hearing it from Duke Rosel made it no mere conspiracy.
"Th-the Demon King didn't perish...? H-how? Didn't the hero party subjugate him, and the saintess confirm it?"
The hero party had indeed subjugated the Demon King. The saintess simply lost her divine power afterward and couldn't foresee the future.
Rosel thought of Saintess Yuria and said,
"A saintess without divine power can't see ahead."
"...The saintess lost her divine power? But the Holy Church hasn't announced a new saintess yet...?!"
Duraton's massive jaw dropped. His thick black beard quivered.
When a saintess's power waned, the kingdom announced it, and the Holy Church dispatched a replacement. An ancient, ironclad system.
But his lord denied it outright. Duraton could scarcely believe his ears.
"We shall make the world prosperous through saintesses. Establish the Church and dispatch saintesses to the kingdoms."
Hundreds of years ago, that prophecy from the Holy Empire's first saintess, Selcia, founded the Holy Church. Since then, the Holy Empire had dispatched saintesses to kingdoms at the god's behest. After dispatch, management fell to the kingdoms.
Church intervention would mean "indirect rule" and "internal interference." So the Empire limited oversight to "sending divine power tests every six months." The system had held for centuries.
It had to. Spent saintesses returned to the Church for lives of plenty. Kings had no need to keep them around to self-destruct, so even a lax system endured.
The Empire knew the flaws—medieval barbarism bred many. Yet they didn't reinforce it. Tradition aside, a kingdom abusing a saintess would give perfect pretext for intervention, turning it into a vassal effortlessly.
Kingdoms couldn't hide it anyway. A power-lost saintess was exposed in six months flat. Exposure meant blasphemy: instant execution for her, downfall for the royals. What thickheaded king would risk that? Abusing her doomed the kingdom to chaos and self-ruin.
So Duraton couldn't buy it.
"That's why they spread the false prophecy that the hero would rebel."
"N-no. Why would they? What fool king would abuse a saintess?"
A foolish, idiotic king. Rosel pictured Brikal, likely half-crippled in bed by now.
"...A king who wants his kingdom in chaos could."
Duraton's confusion only deepened.