There Is Still Hope (6)
I had already sensed something rotten about the Martial King, but my companions knew nothing of it. The moment word reached them that morning, they scrambled to secure tickets for the match between Red Mane and the Champion.
An opportunity to witness the Champion’s martial prowess firsthand—of course they would.
“We managed to get the tickets, at least.”
The problem was that both men ranked among the city’s top ten in popularity. Worse still, the bout had been scheduled not for some distant day but for this very afternoon.
Securing seats had become about as easy as plucking stars from the sky.
Between the Magic Tower and the temple pulling every string they had, and Dev racing about with the information guild’s help, we ended up with exactly two tickets. Only half our party could attend.
“My lord, you’re banned from the premises, so even with a ticket you couldn’t go in… Still. What about the remaining seat?”
Dev spoke as though the identity of that “remaining person” had already been decided. It was glaringly obvious he believed the seat belonged to him.
“I should take it, right?”
See? He didn’t even consider the possibility of stepping aside.
“No. I think it would be better if I sat this one out.”
The situation veered in an unexpected direction. The Inquisitor volunteered to withdraw.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I can enter another way.”
She had no intention of staying away entirely.
“The colosseum requested medical personnel in case of emergency. Ordinarily they prefer not to call on us, but the fighters today are among the strongest in the city. For the sake of preserving their assets, the temple decided it had no choice but to send someone… I can go in that capacity. I can heal, after all.”
It was a solid plan—though the one proposing it looked rather sour about it.
“Frankly, I would have preferred they simply accepted a donation. Stepping in ‘to protect their assets’ feels… inequitable to me. But I suppose we have to make allowances.”
“Hmm. In that case it would indeed be best for the Inquisitor to enter as medical staff while the two of us attend as spectators. What do you think? Acceptable?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. I’d rather watch.”
Having been on the verge of giving up his chance, Dev answered with visible reluctance when fortune suddenly swung his way.
“But… if it’s turning out like this, wouldn’t it be better for my lord to go instead of me? We could always try to get the ban lifted if we pressed a little harder.”
Apparently sitting in a seat when someone else had to be left behind felt awkward to him. After all the trouble of securing the opportunity, he was tossing it back to me again.
Or maybe the colosseum was simply too hot and he didn’t want to go. With no roof, you were left completely at the mercy of the sun depending on the hour.
“Unnecessary.”
But why would I bother…?
I was curious about what the Martial King looked like, how he fought. Still, my gut told me this was not someone who would ever join our party.
An acquaintance that would end the moment the match finished. Was there any real need to watch? And if my suspicions were correct, the man was a criminal.
Yeah. No thanks. I’ll pass.
“He says no.”
“Well, if that’s how it is…”
In the end, watching the Martial King face Red Mane fell to the other three, excluding me.
I had been left with no choice, yet I was rather pleased. Today would be spent resting indoors! Yahoo!
“My lord… will he truly be all right?”
“The temple reported nothing unusual. We must remain somewhat concerned and keep watch, of course… but he should be fine.”
Deathbringer scratched inside his hood at the Archmage’s reply.
That had not been the intent of his question.
“No, I mean…”
Yesterday, while the rest of them confirmed talent, the Demon Knight had stayed quietly at the temple. It could not have been remorse for the trouble he caused at the colosseum; he had simply been mindful of the demon…
If one considered only the demon, yes—there had been nothing amiss. According to the priests who watched him, there had been not the slightest sign of rampage. He had even attended Mass diligently—something thoroughly out of character for him, yet not strange enough to raise alarms.
But that was not what concerned Deathbringer. He did not fear the Demon Knight being consumed by the demon…
“Never mind.”
He recalled the Demon Knight drawing a bath and washing before they had even returned to the colosseum, then going to wash again the moment Mass ended.
The man had always been fastidious, yet never the type to bathe twice in a single day. And after Mass—an event that involved neither blood nor sweat—there was even less reason.
“…Is there some other problem?”
“No. That’s not it.”
Then why had he felt the need to scrub himself clean a second time?
“That’s not it.”
Why?
“Very well. Still, if something weighs on your mind, speak of it.”
…He already had a fair idea of the reason. And he knew there was no way to stop it.
“I’ll be going now.”
“Good work, Inquisitor.”
“Yes.”
It was a familiar helplessness.
“Ah, here we are.”
Deathbringer wiped away useless fretting. Brooding over things beyond his power would only torment him further.
Instead he quickly located their seats and sat. The tickets had been hard-won, but the view of the arena was decent enough.
“Found them in no time, thanks to you.”
“Think nothing of it.”
There was still time before Kankan and the Martial King clashed. Deathbringer popped a piece of the dried, pickled camel meat he had bought outside the colosseum into his mouth. Salty and sweet—surprisingly good.
“Oh, right. About that matter you asked me to look into yesterday.”
“Hm? Ah, the ones the Inquisitor found suspicious?”
“Yes.”
He should have mentioned it earlier while everyone was together, but hunting for tickets had exhausted him so thoroughly that he forgot.
Besides, it was not something the Demon Knight or the Inquisitor absolutely needed to hear.
“Nothing… particularly strange, really.”
“Is that so?”
“There were a few odd points, but digging into them led nowhere.”
“Hmm. And those odd points?”
“They suddenly got stronger.”
At first he had wondered. Fighters who had languished in the lower ranks for ages suddenly rocketed into the mid-to-upper echelons overnight.
Knowing what demon-contractors were like, it was only natural to be suspicious.
“But if they had contracted with demons…”
“The temple would have noticed.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem.”
He had investigated every fighter whose skill had spiked so dramatically. They did not frequent the temple in ordinary times, yet almost all of them received treatment for their injuries there. That would have been impossible for a demon-contractor.
“Plus, you said demon-contractors can’t attack demons.”
And crucially, whenever demons swarmed out of the desert, these men joined the city’s defenses. They even killed demons in the process.
That, too, was something a contractor could not do. Therefore they were not demon-contractors.
“So it truly is nothing of note…?”
Suspicious, yet nothing concrete emerged. The Archmage sank into the same troubled silence he had carried since yesterday.
“It seems this is something we cannot unravel for now. Better to request the Magic Tower’s cooperation.”
“Yes, sir.”
If the temple knew nothing, calling in the Tower was only logical. The church excelled at detecting demon energy, but for nearly everything else the Tower’s analytical prowess was superior.
Thus Deathbringer closed the matter. It was out of his hands now.
“More importantly, when does the match start?”
“Still a while yet.”
“I’m itching to see the skill of a man who’s held the championship for five straight years.”
“As the city’s finest, I doubt he will disappoint.”
“Still weaker than our knight-lord, though.”
The Archmage did not answer. He merely smiled faintly, as though no reply were necessary.
“Who do you think will win? Before the Martial King claimed the title, they say Kankan was every bit his equal.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
And that was not all. Further digging had revealed that Red Mane Kankan and the Champion were longtime friends. Even after the Martial King took the crown, they had remained close—or so it seemed.
“Yes. They’re even friends, apparently. Though things have cooled between them lately.”
⌈The rumors of servants and acquaintances dying or staggering out injured from the Champion’s residence are true. One of those acquaintances was Red Mane himself.⌋
There were hidden facts as well. Even as he spoke, Deathbringer wrote the truth across the Archmage’s forearm.
The reason he had only just learned this was simple: the city lord, who so adored the Martial King, had personally suppressed the matter, and the information guild had kept its mouth shut.
Had he not visited as a night guest rather than a guild member—irritated by how uncooperative this branch was compared to others—he would still be in the dark.
“They say the Martial King is quite the surly sort. Could that be why?”
⌈And ever since that day, surveillance has been placed on Red Mane. Both the people the city lord assigned and the merchants who invested in the Champion.⌋
He continued writing on the Archmage’s arm. Whether the old mage was keeping up was uncertain, but the lack of questions suggested he understood well enough.
“You may be right. When a man is vicious or small-minded, friends drift away.”
Yes—he had definitely understood.
“I wonder if that is also why Red Mane suddenly issued the challenge. What do you think the reason is?”
“Well. Probably the same thing you already suspect, mage-lord.”
⌈Red Mane tried to report it several times, but was blocked every attempt. Considering that, he might be trying to kill the Champion in the arena. If things continue this way, more victims will appear.⌋
“Do you think he can win?”
“How would I know? But most are betting on Red Mane’s defeat.”
⌈He’ll lose. One hundred percent.⌋
They exchanged ordinary conversation with their mouths and secret intelligence with written words while surveying the steadily filling stands.
“So. Do you think there might be an ‘accident’ today?”
⌈If the Champion has no intention of atoning, then of course. Opportunities to legally kill both victim and witness don’t come often.⌋
The match had not yet begun.
“Still, with that fellow standing there, surely no one will actually die?”
Yet the outcome already seemed decided.
The Inquisitor dropped into the assigned seat. The air was sweltering, but the chill radiating from her armor made it bearable.
“Cheers! Our Champion, the Martial King, enters!”
At last the match began. Of the two, the Martial King appeared first.
He was a Qyurty—one of those people with animal ears—yet only a single earring adorned one of the ears atop his head. He was a Qyurty built on a scale that rivaled most Shagi.
“He’s huge.”
The Inquisitor felt a flicker of envy. She had never considered herself small, but when faced with frames like that she sometimes wished she could match them.
In a fight, size itself was a weapon, so the wish was natural.
“But something feels… off.”
The vague sense of wrongness she had brushed against several times since entering the city now seemed magnified.
She stopped envying his physique and studied the Champion—white hair, black skin—with a steady gaze. Part of her longed to flood the area with Holy Power just to see if anything snagged on it.
“Is something the matter?”
“Just… a subtle feeling, that’s all.”
She restrained herself. As the Archmage had said, if Holy Power would have reacted, the temple would never have remained silent all this time.
The possibility that he simply never visited the temple was almost nonexistent. He had held the championship here for five years; it was impossible he had never once been injured.
“A subtle feeling?”
“Nothing worth concerning yourself over.”
In the end it was probably only her imagination. She slumped a little and checked the next entrant. Red Mane Kankan.
“And facing him—Red Mane Kankan!”
Perhaps because they had aided him—if one could even call it aid—she found herself rooting for Kankan.
Even if this was nothing more than a meaningless duel fought for prize money, glory, and ranking, that remained true.
The colosseum’s existence had not grown any more pleasant, yet once she understood its purpose her distaste had faded, and Kankan himself left a good impression. Cheering was allowed.
However…
“Stop! Stop this at once!”
“T-the winner! Martial King!”
“Emergency treatment, hurry!”
“I’ll handle it!”
She abandoned her cheering on the spot. More than abandoned it—she began once again to doubt the very purpose of the colosseum she had only just come to understand.
Even when the gap in skill was obvious, to toy with the opponent and inflict greater, more grievous wounds… Entertainment or not, it was far too cruel, far too dishonorable.
“D-damn it…”
“Don’t speak.”
She poured Holy Power into the man on the brink of death from blood loss. Having gone so long without expending her power, the effort cost her almost nothing.
In exchange for a faint throb at her temples, the man who had been teetering on the edge of life and death began to live again.
New flesh sprouted; Holy Power surged through every cell in place of blood, delivering nourishment in its stead. A miracle.
“So I really can’t do it… With my strength alone, I can no longer…”
Yet within that miracle the man showed not a shred of joy. He simply pressed the arm that had nearly been severed against his eyes and wept.
“I do not know what grieves you so, but you fought splendidly.”
She could not share his emotion, yet she knew Red Mane had given everything. The Inquisitor relayed her honest impression and withdrew her hands.
The healing was finished. A gentle warmth rose through her body in exchange for one life saved, but compared to fighting at full strength it was less than a sting.
She rose, pressing the heat down with the cool of her armor.
“So stand up. You still have a future, do you not?”
“…I tried everything I could and still failed. And you say I still have a future?”
“Well. Did you truly try everything?”
The Inquisitor extended her hand.
“Then try again. The one who taught me said that succeeding on the first attempt is actually rare. If you try once more, you might succeed, might you not?”
“……!”
He did not take her hand at once, but he hesitated just before refusing.
“…And if even then I fail?”
“Will you give up?”
“That’s…”
“I do not know your circumstances. Therefore I will not condemn you if you abandon this. But when you do abandon it—can you accept that yourself?”
“…No.”
“Then challenge it again. Until you find a reason that can persuade even you.”
The Inquisitor waited patiently through that hesitation. Red Mane’s expression twisted.
“Ha. I thought you were just some greenhorn fighter-priest, but turns out you’re a silver-tongued cleric.”
“Do I speak well?”
At the unfamiliar praise her cheeks flushed pink. Compliments about her speech, at least, were brand new!
Even if most of what she had just said had been borrowed from the priests who trained her.
“…Thanks for saving me.”
“It was my duty.”
“…Like you said… yeah. I’ll try one more time.”
The Inquisitor finally closed her hand firmly around his and pulled him to his feet. The larger man stood and brushed off his clothes.
His gaze was fixed across the arena, where the Martial King still stood savoring the stares of the crowd.
“Even if it kills me… I’ll stop him.”
The Inquisitor could not quite follow. Challenge, she understood—but “stop”? Did he mean stop the Champion’s unbroken winning streak? And was that connected to the earlier warning not to meet the Martial King?
“Stop what?”
“……! No, it’s nothing.”
“Staking your life is nothing?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“……?”
Kankan floundered, adding more words that clarified nothing.
Then, for a moment, her eyes found the stands. The Archmage was waving; Slicker sat beside him looking sullen.
“What I mean is, forget it. This isn’t something a priest needs to worry about…”
“Perfect timing!”
“……?”
“I was just hoping to hear more about the Martial King. The treatment is finished, but you still need proper rest. Why don’t you come with me to the temple?”
“What?”
Any desire to recruit the Martial King as a companion had vanished the instant he began toying with a weaker opponent.
At the same time, the wrongness she felt from him had sparked a wish to investigate.
If she delivered this man to those two, they would wring far more information out of him than she ever could.
“This way!”
“Wait—Priestess?!”
She grabbed Red Mane without further discussion and marched out. The match was already over; no one tried to stop them.