Until We Meet Again
Aura resistance material: the Commander's Essence.
With this, even Aura Knights won't scare me!
I let my imagination run wild — the Goltikmu Trio, no, the Valhalla Skeletons themselves, marching forward with aura resistance. Before that kind of force, even an Aura Knight would be helpless.
Of course…
"This is… a bit tricky to work with."
[Of course it is. You're trying to equip something with aura resistance. If that were easy, every knight would already be in a coffin.]
Honestly, it was a shock. Something this prodigy Khtun couldn't do?
Never mind extracting the essence and transplanting it — I can't even undead-ify the material as it is.
I tried wrapping the essence in mana and pulling it free a few times.
Thung!
The moment I got it partway out, it sprang back with a bizarre elastic force. It felt exactly like trying to pinch a piece of rubber wedged perfectly into a gap — no handle, nothing to grip.
Undead conversion was no different. I performed a textbook corpse revival exactly as written in On Death, but all I felt was that same strange resistance.
In the end, putting the essence to use would have to wait. Not that the whole effort had been fruitless.
[Still, you've improved since the first try, haven't you?]
True enough.
At the start, I hadn't been able to draw the essence out even this far. So I decided to keep the bone fragment that held the essence on me at all times. Practice in the gaps, and someday it would work.
With that, the matter of the essence was set aside for now.
"So tomorrow's finally the day?"
[That it is.]
I counted the days. Nearly two weeks since we'd arrived at Hadion Castle. By the season, late autumn — the leaves were falling. Time to go home.
I was gazing up at the night sky when—
Knock, knock.
Someone had come looking for me.
"Who is it?"
"It's me, little brother. Fancy a drink? I've got something to talk about."
It was Ren.
I opened the door carefully.
"Something to say?"
"Yeah. Feels a bit awkward standing here like this — mind if I come in?"
"Ah, of course."
Ren took a seat at the table beside the bed. Somehow he'd come armed with a bottle and glasses, and with the ease of long habit he poured himself a drink.
"Shall I pour you one?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Really? This is good stuff. Lifted it from the Viscount's cabinet."
"Hmm."
Maybe just one glass…
The thought lasted only a moment. I wasn't particularly in the mood, so I declined. Completing the Blood Awakening Ceremony meant I was legally an adult, so that wasn't the issue — I'd simply never been much of a drinker.
And so began an awkward little gathering.
"……"
"……"
Ren tipped back his glass while staring out the window. I watched him and waited in silence.
After a while—
"Alright. I've worked up the courage to say it."
"Have you?"
"Yeah. Honestly, this is a hard thing for me to talk about."
What kind of story would make him say that? The answer didn't take long to arrive.
"Rebecca. You remember her?"
"Yes — the cultist."
Rebecca was the name of the worshipper who'd appeared the day I first showed off my "click" in Boderan village.
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't under any wrong impression."
"Wrong impression?"
"Yeah. If you're not, then good. Either way — Rebecca was like a little sister to me. We weren't related by blood, but we grew up under the same master."
"Then why is she…?"
"Why did she become a cultist, you mean?"
"Yes."
At my question, Ren took a sip and turned his gaze back to the window.
"Because I killed our master."
"What?"
"Exactly what I said. I killed him. At the time, he was walking a path he shouldn't have been. But… haha. Who'd have thought Rebecca would follow that same path."
"Hmm."
There was clearly a story here. I kept quiet and listened.
What followed was, if anything, a fairly familiar tale.
Ren's master, Silvanis. Like any mage, he had been honest about his hunger for knowledge and his drive to explore. But then—
"One day, he started researching something strange. Completely different from anything he'd studied before… a bizarre kind of research."
Sensing something wrong, Ren had secretly searched his master's laboratory — and come face to face with a truth he never wanted to see.
"Black magic."
"……"
"He was practicing black magic."
People often confuse black magic with necromancy and the like, but true black magic is magic derived from demons or the demonic realm — the art of wielding the wicked, insidious power of that world.
"So then…"
"After that, well — I tried to stop him, and he wouldn't listen. Someone had to put an end to it. Soft-hearted Rebecca could never have done it. So the job fell to me."
And so he killed his master. Rebecca left, hating him. Overnight, Ren lost his family and half went mad.
Then, by chance, he learned something.
"My master's obsession with black magic… wasn't natural. A demon had a hand in it, and there was an accomplice inside the Magic Tower."
Who?
The names were unfamiliar to me.
"Belorian, Master of the Green Magic Tower — and the Apostate Rohan."
According to what Ren had uncovered, Belorian — jealous of his master — had arranged a meeting with the Apostate Rohan. And Rohan, with demonic cunning, had seduced Silvanis.
After that, Ren left the Green Magic Tower swearing revenge, dreaming of the day he would raise a Magic Tower of his own, cast Belorian down, and tear the Apostate Rohan apart.
I couldn't help asking.
"Why a Magic Tower, of all things?"
"Because once the theory my master was developing is complete, the magic Belorian stakes everything on becomes worthless garbage. That was what he feared most — so revenge has to take that form."
I see.
But another question followed.
"And the reason you're telling me all this now…?"
"First, like I said — so you don't get the wrong idea. Second… I need you to pass a message to the Baron."
"A message?"
"I think I'll have to hunt Rebecca for a while. Keep her from crossing any more lines."
In other words, he was leaving. But why now? He'd clearly known for some time that Rebecca had become a cultist.
The reason became clear soon enough.
"So tell the Baron for me."
"Tell him what?"
"That the cultists are plotting something massive. The southern demon uprising, what happened in Hadion — those were probably just the opening moves. He needs to prepare."
With that, Ren drained what was left in his glass. Then he added:
"I'm leaving right away, so take care of yourself. Give Bill my regards too."
"Ah — yes."
I watched him turn to go, then called him back.
"Sir Ren."
"……?"
"See you again."
"I've grown pretty fond of Palaon myself. So I'll be back. The Baron did promise to build me a Magic Tower, after all."
And with that, Ren left — a reunion already promised.
And the next day, we left Hadion as planned.
"Truly, you have my gratitude. Give the Baron my regards."
"Yes."
Ah — and for the record, the Viscount of Hadion was still very much the Viscount of Hadion.
What do I mean by that?
Well, that morning I'd overheard him in council with his retainers.
Something along the lines of—
"—Tell the soldiers to rest and recover, and send letters to the neighboring territories. I will not forget that they abandoned the bonds built over generations and turned their backs on Hadion."
"—If Your Lordship is considering a territorial war, our current situation…"
"—I've no intention of going that far. But to restore lost trust, a show of sincerity is required, is it not?"
There it was. The Viscount meant to squeeze the neighboring territories dry to cover the damages from the demon incident!
But will it go the way he hopes?
[Will what?]
The Viscount. He's trying to shake down the neighboring lands.
The Ancestor considered for a moment, then answered.
[Well, that's his business. Though from where I sit, I suspect he'll be trading rather heavily on Palaon's name.]
Ah.
So what then? Just leave it?
The Ancestor was of the leave-it-be school of thought.
[He's not a man without shame. Whatever he manages to extract, he'll pay the name its due.]
If this had been a game, a little notification might have popped up right about then.
Palaon's vassal state 'Hadion' has class-changed to Thug!
…Something like that.
Well, from our perspective, it wasn't a bad arrangement.
The more money, the better.
And so—
"Company— attention! To the heroes of Palaon, salute—!"
"Loyalty!"
"Loyalty!"
We set out to Hadion's thunderous farewell. Unlike the journey in, we traveled with three carriages. One of them carried the cores taken from this battle, along with personal gifts the Viscount had prepared for us.
Thus began a far more leisurely journey than the one that had brought us here.
Along the way, we ran into some welcome faces.
"Young Master Khtun!"
Shuren, the Hadion page who'd been preparing to return from Boderan village.
"Ohh, Young Master Khtun! You're safe! We've heard the stories!"
And Vilders, the manor knight who governed Boderan.
The two of them — Shuren especially — clutched my hands and wept for a long while. Thank you, they said. Thank you so much.
We stayed a day in Boderan as well.
"Thank you, heroes of Palaon!"
"Khtun! Khtun! Khtun!"
"May the gods' blessing rest upon the Demon Crusher—!"
Just as at Hadion Castle, we left Boderan to roaring cheers and took to the road home once more.
Strange, isn't it?
[What is?]
Hadion. Who would have guessed it'd turn out like this?
During the territorial war they'd been mortal enemies — and now they were a solid ally?
[Take it to heart. There are no eternal enemies, and no eternal allies.]
Yes, sir.
On the road back, I practiced extracting the Commander's Essence from its bone fragment whenever I had a spare moment.
But—
Is this actually going to work?
I was practicing steadily, and the progress was painfully slow.
Beyond that, there was plenty waiting for me at home. The Valhalla Skeletons lost in this battle alone numbered over four hundred — those ranks would need rebuilding. Then there was the question of how to put the Giant's Core to use.
And above all—
—Tell the Baron for me.
—Tell him what?
—That the cultists are plotting something massive. The southern demon uprising, what happened in Hadion — those were probably just the opening moves. He needs to prepare.
We'd have to prepare for a vast conspiracy of demon worshippers that could strike at any time.
The one silver lining…
"Brother James."
"Yes?"
"You really are a reassuring presence."
"……? I don't know what this is about, but I'm glad to be of use."
Yes — Brother James himself. His mere existence made him a natural enemy of demons. And according to what Bishop Philos had told me, his status was no ordinary thing either!
Brother James is a Cardinal's disciple!
[That is surprising.]
How high a rank is a Cardinal, you ask? Directly beneath the Pope. Of the five ranks — Priest, Bishop, Archbishop, Cardinal, Pope — he sat at the fourth.
According to Bishop Philos, Brother James had been a rather beloved disciple.
No wonder I thought he had an air of refinement from the first time I saw him.
[I agree.]
With such idle thoughts, we pressed on for some time — and at last arrived at our territory.
Instead of sending a messenger ahead, I walked in on my own two feet and called out proudly:
"Father—!"
I've returned! Your holy Khtun is home!
But something was off. The one who came to meet us wasn't my father — it was some old man.
"You there? The Baron's second son?"
Who was this sour-looking old man?
"And you are…?"
"A guest. I came to see the face of my idiot disciple after all this time… ah, there he is."
The old man strode straight past me and stopped in front of Brother James. Then he bellowed:
"You rascal—! James! Have you been well!"
That settled it. He was the Cardinal.
No wonder — I thought I sensed a holy presence about him.
[Aren't you embarrassed?]
Excuse me? Why would I be?