If There Is a God (7)

The purification of a priest—and one who bore the title of Hero, no less—struck true. Under the cascade of golden light, the black liquid burned away as if set aflame.

It was a sight both repulsive and sacred.

"Whoa. Second time I've seen that, and it still takes your breath away. Still—how the hell did they show up right on cue?"

That aside, Dev had a point. I had no idea how they'd gotten here.

Well. They had the funds to hire a ship, and it wasn't a route that demanded some rare talent like a dragon-gate pilot. It wasn't an impossible place to reach…

But to know where we were, they would have had to go to Zakrati and dig for information. And the Yabad Region seemed to despise the Temple with a passion.

That was where my doubt came from. How had they broken through that hostility, found our location, and come all the way out here?

"……"

As I looted the pirates' lodgings, I kept stealing glances at Baramson beside me. His face—the same face that had just been peeled off a priest after a collar-grabbing scuffle—was deeply unsettled. More precisely, it kept swinging back and forth.

He looked ready to strangle every priest on the spot, and at the same time, you could feel the grit of a man forcing himself to endure because they had, after all, helped.

"Ugh. Nasty."

The adventurers, who had no particular grudge against the Temple, were focused on something else entirely: the corpses of the pirates who had been swallowed by the black liquid before the Inquisitor arrived.

"What kind of curse is this…?"

"One that turns a body black?"

"Even if you rolled them in charcoal dust, it wouldn't look like that."

They poked and prodded the jet-black corpses with their weapons, arguing among themselves. From the perspective of someone who had a fair idea what it was—the Black Death, right?—it was a rather chilling display.

I was in danger just standing at this distance… and they were making contact like that?

Maybe they figured it was fine because the mages were already collecting samples, crowing about research material?

"It's a plague curse. Judging by the symptoms, something like the Black Death."

Fortunately, the Archmage drifted over and shared the knowledge. At the words "Black Death," the adventurers jolted as if struck and leapt back.

"What?!"

"Thankfully it doesn't seem to be a curse that turns the living into sacrifices on the spot… but it's still a mess. We break the disease open and the curse spreads instead."

"Turned into sacrifices while still alive—what does that even…"

"If it's the Black Death, shouldn't we not even be standing here?"

"That part's fine. The priests are present, are they not?"

The Archmage shrugged. What he said next made my brow twitch, just a little.

"With the Inquisitor having purified on this scale, the chance of infection is nearly zero. And even if someone does catch it, a purifying baptism will take care of it."

I'd thought it before… this really was a convenient world.

In another world, you had to fight things like this with hygiene and pure medicine alone, and twenty million people died. Witch hunts, too—killing people wholesale without any clear standard.

"Still scary as hell, though…"

Not that I envied this place.

Even with magic and Holy Power as substitutes, the technology was painfully low. Human rights were in the gutter, and plenty of it made a modern sensibility want to gag.

I still preferred my original world. Not this one.

"Hmm. What frightens me more is the mere existence of this thing. For now it was only used in a pirate den, thank the heavens—but if it were unleashed on a great city? And those zombie infections that spread in an instant…"

"…Y-yeah."

"I have never heard of a curse or an object like this. It was almost certainly developed on this soil. A lamentable business. Bipurit—does that man even understand what he has done?"

The Archmage kept clicking his tongue. From the content alone, he had every right to.

"If he'd understood, he wouldn't have helped corrupt a dragon, either."

"What?!?!"

"Ah, you wouldn't know. It has been confirmed that the dragon's corruption was the work of demon worshipers. Our pursuit also revealed that it began in the Yabad Region."

That tracked—but the dragon's fall was a chain reaction of what was happening here?? No wonder both the dragon and the Yabad Region felt way too big for side quests. Was this main story all along?

"Considering that Montata Island fell entirely into the hands of someone allied with demon worshipers… I suspect the unclean rite was performed using the people of this island as sacrifices. Still only conjecture, of course."

At that point it wasn't conjecture so much as near certainty. My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠long years of gamer experience were screaming that he had it right.

Everyone present grew unsettled.

"Hey."

Then Baramson opened his mouth. It was the first sentence free of cursing since the Magic Tower mages led by the Archmage and the Temple priests led by the Inquisitor had appeared.

Ah—thinking about it, not quite the first. He hadn't cursed when he ordered the fleeing pirates caught, either.

Or when he told them to cut the throats of everyone except the ones who looked high-ranking among the captives.

"I think it's time we talked. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I get that the incident's gotten this big. But how—and by what right—did the lot of you come here?"

I'd wandered off into a digression.

Back on track: even as I examined letters and plans in the pirate den, I kept my ear on the exchange between Baramson and the Archmage.

I couldn't step in, but the atmosphere was anything but ordinary. One wrong move and I might get to watch Baramson put a blade into the Archmage's gut.

"This is bad…"

See? Even Dev was muttering like that.

"As for how—the Inquisitor exerted herself on that front."

"……!"

"And as for the matter of right…"

"Don't tell me, you bastard—!"

"Did you call for me?"

The Archmage's wording was far too ambiguous, and at the absolute worst possible moment, the Inquisitor wandered into the middle of it.

Baramson's eyes went red as he jumped to his own conclusions.

Clink.

In the next instant, the cloth adornment over the Inquisitor's chainmail was clenched tight in Baramson's fist, and he had her by the collar.

"……?"

"You—what did you do when you set foot on this land?!"

"Pardon?"

"What did you do to my city?!"

"The city… you mean? I only spoke with people. I—I did nothing else."

The Inquisitor answered blankly through it all. Forget the flip-flopping between casual and formal speech—Dev slapped a hand over his own face at the sheer, oblivious calm in her tone. Or rather, at her total lack of social awareness.

Oddly enough, the other priests only watched without making any move to intervene. The mages, meanwhile, had settled in for a fine show and were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

"Lies! There's no way they would have talked with the likes of you willingly!"

"It's true that most of them refused conversation quite firmly."

Ah, good old steadfast Kimchi Dumpling. She affirmed that without a shred of hesitation.

"Then you really—!"

"Whoa, whoa! Calm down a bit, Lord Baramson!"

Whether the Inquisitor's clumsy words had finally pushed Baramson toward explosion, Dev shot forward in a panic and held him back.

"Let go! I'll deal with that bastard right now!"

"Aigoo, grab onto your head properly, my lord. You really think she did something like that?!"

"What did I say wrong?"

"You—just keep your mouth—!"

Haha. This was a complete disaster.

Even while thinking that, I didn't stop searching. After more rummaging, I finally found something that could pass for a map.

The objectives for destroying the base and clearing out the pirates had updated and vanished long ago, and the mission that had appeared after that was wiped out the moment I found the map. In their place sat a new movement objective.

I took the map and turned. The situation I had only been tracking by sound finally came into view—and it was even more of a mess than it had sounded.

"Calm yourself."

"Do I look like a man who can calm himself—!"

"The catastrophe you imagine did not take place. I can swear to that."

"……!"

Thankfully, the Archmage's firm words finally stopped Baramson from thrashing. The crewmen who had been hovering indecisively did the same.

"Not a single citizen of Zakrati was harmed. There was no material damage, either."

"…Then how did you get here?"

"We merely held a conversation."

"Lies. There's no one in Zakrati who would talk with the Temple!"

"That much is true. Everyone avoided speaking with us. On the ships that approached us at sea, and in the city we only reached with great difficulty."

"Then how in the world—!"

"And yet we still spoke. That is all we did."

The Archmage carefully stroked his staff.

"If one takes up arms simply because words will not pass, is that not merely a repetition of the past?"

Baramson's body jerked.

"What right do the likes of you have to even speak of that day—!"

Hmm. It wasn't that I had no sense of it at all, but without knowing the exact situation, Baramson's rage didn't quite land.

Even if it had, the odds were higher that I'd ignore it for the sake of the concept anyway—but still.

I shifted the hand holding the map and drew my sword.

If it had only been the Archmage and Baramson working it out between themselves, maybe. But the crew had drawn steel as well, so there was nothing for it. Worse—they were blocking the direction I needed to go!

KRAANG!

So I split the ground with the drawn blade. The stone floor right in front of Baramson, still held by Dev, tore open as if ripped apart.

"……!"

Silence dropped over the clearing.

"Whether you settle old grudges or do whatever else—that is none of my concern. But if you stand in my way, I will cut every last one of you down."

In that hush, only I spoke, dry and flat. Wherever my gaze touched, faces twisted. Mostly the Zakrati natives.

The Temple side clenched their teeth more than they twisted.

"They—! Forty years ago, they slaughtered the people of this land!"

And at last Baramson howled, thrashing as if it were all he had left.

"The ones who'd become zombies, the ones who hadn't yet, the ones who never would—all of them! Mad butchers who burned everything whole!"

His voice, scoured by the harsh sea wind, came out rough and salt-bitten.

"So how—how are we supposed to accept them?!"

Ha. Fuck.

The moment I understood Baramson's words, I started ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swearing inside. That was all that came out. The situation was that fucked.

"If it were the mainland, fine. But not this land! By what right do those people set foot here?! The wounds they left have only just started to fade, and new shoots have only just begun to grow—the ash-stink of that day has only just left the soil! By what right?!"

No—when the word massacre came out and the hostility toward the Temple was this raw, I'd already half expected it… but hearing it confirmed with my own ears left me feeling…

And forty years ago was only a little more than a generation. This was, this was…

Aaaargh. I don't—I don't know. I can't take a side here. Having the priests' help right now is a good thing, yes—but how am I supposed to tell the victims to accept the organization that once massacred them?!

I can't! I'm the last person with any right to speak!! I'm a third party!!

"So. What of it?"

Crying rivers on the inside, I jammed the concept into my mouth.

Part of me was even grateful the concept already had the answer decided—and another part wanted to just pass out from the sheer ugliness of what I was doing.

As a Korean, with similar history of our own, it hit even harder. If I'd been in Baramson's place, I'd already have filed a formal complaint.

"What?"

"If you want them dead, kill them. I never told you to accept them."

"……!"

No, no—the concept is not a blessing! The answer is complete garbage! Hwaaaaargh.

"Or do you not even know what revenge looks like?"

Even so, the concept had to continue…

"If you truly do not know—then tear their flesh, crush their bones, and rip out their hearts. Hunt down every last person involved, take their heads, and grind them underfoot."

With the heart of a man swallowing bitter medicine through tears, I walked toward Baramson one step at a time.

To meet the eyes of a man shorter than me at close range, I had to tip my head a little.

"That is revenge."

A fabricated, blood-red madness spilled out as if I were possessed.

"But if you lack even that courage—then do not get in the way of mine."

Ahhhk. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I built this concept as a moral wreck.

But even if I hadn't, I don't think I would have had anything useful to say. How do you just casually stick your mouth into a problem this raw?

And right now the situation is!! People are dying in droves—too many for "just get lost, perpetrators" to work!!

"……"

I left the silent Baramson where he stood and turned away. My chest felt like it was being torn open, but I couldn't gather back the words I'd already spat out.

The crewmen in my path quietly stepped aside.

"Hey. Demon Knight."

Whether it had been a long while or not—when my steps had carried me out of the stronghold to the top of the hill, to the cliff's edge—Baramson parted his lips.

His voice was small, but the surroundings were so quiet and my hearing so sharp that I caught most of it.

"What did you lose to a demon?"

And more than anything, it was the content that did it.

"You, at least, still have a hometown."

I put a hand on my conscience and answered this one properly.

If you asked whether it was truly proper—well, no… but it was better than "none of my concern," wasn't it?

Originally I should have said that. Stretching it to eleven syllables was already the maximum kindness I could offer.

In exchange I'd have to watch my back from now on, but that would work out somehow.

Even if it didn't, I chose to believe it would. Otherwise it was just a backstab ending. Tahhhk.

"You, at least, still have a hometown."

Baramson lowered his head at that dry, downward-cast voice. Something heavy and unpleasant—and yet a terribly clear sense of kinship—boiled and sizzled in his throat.

Or else it was sympathy, pity, the kind of thing one almost dared not lift up.

"Captain…"

"Goddamn it…"

If his heart had its way, he would do exactly as the Demon Knight had said—tear their flesh, crush their bones, rip out their hearts. Drive from this land the ones who had killed his father, burned his neighbors, and ruined his entire childhood whole.

But—but…

"Goddamn it!"

The Demon Knight was right.

He still had a hometown. He had a hometown. There was a hometown.

A hometown—his city—the world he loved—still existed.

The love that might fall into danger if things went on like this still remained…

"…Answer me."

Ah. How wonderful it would be if he could say that with the Demon Knight here it would be fine, that even without the Temple his sword-strikes alone would break Bipurit's faction.

But Baramson was not a fool.

A Demon Knight could be the force that won a war—but he could not be the protagonist of every battle breaking out at once.

"Did you really, truly come here with nothing but talk?"

That was why. That was why…

He swallowed his rage and forced the question out at last.

"We did."

"They actually gave you permission?"

"This, you mean."

"How? How did you get them to allow it?"

"…We prepared our arguments and opinions, and persuaded them with all our strength."

"You joking right now?"

"I am not joking in the least."

Baramson looked at the religious person spouting goddamn nonsense.

And damn it all—those eyes were far too upright. Eyes that resembled someone he loved.

"There was no formal grounds for the Temple to intervene in this matter. Hence, arguments and opinions."

The eyes of the woman who had saved him when he had lost everything—who had saved the children of that city, its people—had looked exactly like that.

"And the people of Zakrati chose to hear out even that willfulness of mine."

Ah, Mother.

I still can't leave those days behind. Even now, after you saved me and took me in and raised me, I can't shed that one past.

"They decided to give us one chance."

But I don't have to leave it behind, do I? Right?

"So I beg of you. Please."

You can grant a chance even without forgiveness, can't you?

"Give us one chance."

Because I cannot bear to lose even all of you.

"A chance, this time, not to commit a sin. Please."

And that is why you allowed it too… isn't it?

"We will not forgive you."

He chewed and swallowed his tears. From one corner of his chest, the urge to tear them apart right then and there howled.

"We will never forgive you."

But.

"…So this is the last time."

Because Zakrati mattered more than that revenge. Because the forty years of life built afterward were too precious to trade for thirteen years of grudges burned down to the roots.

Because his brothers, the mother who had taken him in and raised him, the land where they lived… were too dear to him.

"Fuck. Use that fancy power of yours and kill those bastards."

In the end, he decided to grant the chance.

"Kill them—and please, save this land…"

Doing whatever it took to protect one's treasure—that was the nature of every pirate.