The Borrowed Name
“If it had been me, things would’ve gone much better. They wouldn’t be treating me like some stray the way they do now, calling me the Summoner of Deception or the Second-Best Strategist.”
At his words, the stag shook its head as if to say there was no reasoning with him.
-Don’t even think about saying that in front of Lady Elena or Lord Kainaxnus. No matter how much of a prized disciple you are to Lord Kainaxnus, it won’t end lightly if you do.
The stag’s remark drew a light laugh from him.
“I just can’t understand why Master and Elena hold that guy in such high regard. If he’d done his job properly in the first place, we wouldn’t have to go through all this.”
-The two of them couldn’t participate in the last war because of the pact. They had to leave for another world while countless people were dying.
“Master took two thousand people with him! Our village was completely surrounded by the demon army. If Master hadn’t arrived when he did, everyone would’ve died!”
-That doesn’t matter. They feel guilty. They believe they owe a debt to Lord Anak, who fought on the front lines as a summoner more than anyone else.
“Right. And he couldn’t even manage a single decent achievement?”
At his gesture, letters floated in the air and a massive griffon materialized. The creature, with the body of a lion, the head of an eagle, and enormous wings, bowed its head deeply toward him.
“In the places I’ve been, one out of every three people had never even heard the name Anak or knew he existed. If they couldn’t name Master or Lady Elena, we might as well have just operated as ‘nameless summoners.’ It wouldn’t have made any difference to the plan.”
-You’re wrong, Geil! Without the title of the hero’s companion, no matter how many good deeds you performed, people wouldn’t have paid attention! They wouldn’t have been so welcoming either! To many regions and people, the word “summoner” is still a name that must be stamped out!
When the stag called Duran raised its voice, the one named Geil irritably looked away and climbed onto the griffon’s back.
“Enough, Duran. Go back now. I have to head to another village.”
A return portal appeared before Duran. The stag glared at him once before stepping into the circle.
-Don’t forget. We’re using his name out of necessity. Even if it ultimately raises his reputation, we must not cause him even the slightest harm.
Once Duran vanished, Geil irritably closed the portal. With a powerful beat of the griffon’s wings, they soared into the sky.
* * *
In a dark underground cave, flames burned in a brazier atop a small stone altar. More than a dozen people stood in a circle around it. Their eyes flickered with a tangled mix of fear, conviction, and doubt. A few of the older ones startled at their own shadows cast by the firelight and immediately glanced toward the entrance.
“Brothers, there is no need to worry.”
A moment later, a man emerged from the depths of the cave. His body was gaunt, his face so hollow it resembled a skull. He walked unsteadily, as though he might collapse at any moment. The group naturally focused on his every step. He accepted their stares and stepped onto the altar.
Even as the flames surged right before him, he didn’t so much as blink.
“Brothers. We are all the chosen. We are the ones who can connect with the gods far more deeply than any other priests. Our gods have promised us glory worthy of that connection.”
His voice trembled at the edges and carried a gloomy tone, yet something within it drew people in.
“But we turned our eyes away from those great gods. That is why we lost all that glory and were driven out. The insignificant ones oppressed and despised us, and stole our name!”
His voice rose as if he were running out of breath, and the flames responded by flaring higher. The red light seemed to engulf his body, yet he showed no sign of feeling the heat. His thin clothes bore no scorch marks; instead, they appeared to absorb the light and glow with it.
“We must reclaim our original name! We must reclaim the glory that was once ours! We must return to our great god, Urshus!”
At his cry, several people dropped to their knees. Doubt and fear vanished from their eyes, replaced by tears of joy and ecstasy. Others shone with anticipation.
Yet some turned their gazes away in fear at his words and the reactions of the others, looking toward the entrance instead. The more the man on the altar spoke, the deeper their fear and anxiety grew. A few lowered their heads and closed their eyes, unable to cover their ears.
“Of course, I know you are still afraid. I was the same.”
Seeing their expressions, the man on the altar lowered his voice. Unlike before, his tone was calm and composed, yet it echoed more clearly through the cave.
“But remember, brothers. Remember the unjust treatment you received. The contempt. We did nothing to them. Yet what did they do to us? What did they force upon us? They demanded we turn away from the blessings given by the gods and obey their petty laws.”
Suddenly, the man removed his upper garment. In the firelight, his skeletal frame was revealed, covered in old wounds, scars, and still-vivid whip marks.
“They also forced pain upon us. Look. This is the punishment they gave me for refusing to abandon the blessings granted by the gods.”
At the sight of his wounds, several people unconsciously touched their own wrists or shoulders. Old scars hidden beneath thick clothing throbbed in response.
“But do not be ashamed of these wounds and this pain, brothers. They are proof that we did not abandon ourselves. Physical pain is nothing. That is why I have already forgiven their actions regarding these wounds and this pain. It is not a great sin.”
Though his mouth spoke of forgiveness, his eyes held none of it. Within them, rage burned like flames, and killing intent rippled.
“Their true sin is that they made us feel ashamed of ourselves. They made it so we could not speak our own name, so that even the petty name they gave us filled us with fear and shame. They made even us believe the gods’ blessings were a sin!”
His cry shook the entire cave.
“We will demand payment for that sin. We will hold them all accountable!”
“Stop!”
One of those who had been bowing their heads amid his cries and incitement rose to their feet. It was a very old man. His exposed arms bore ancient scars and wounds that looked as though they had come from whips, just like the man’s.
“I, too, was despised by people. I, too, suffered pain. At only twelve years old, I had to turn my back on my family and be driven from my home. I was angry. I hated them. And that feeling remained in this old body, like these scars, until it brought me here. But in this moment, I know for certain—this is wrong!”
The old man turned his head, quietly surveying the man on the altar, those who agreed with his every word, and those who remained silent.
“What they did to me was born of fear. Fear of all the things people like you have done! It was cruel and foolish, but beneath it lay the very fear I feel toward you now!”
At the old man’s cry, those who had been bowing with eyes closed lifted their heads to look at him. Those below the altar who had sided with the man rose, glaring at the elder in anger. But the man on the altar calmed them and spread both arms toward the old man.
“Oh, pitiful brother! Yes, what they possess is fear! Of course it is fear! But why did they feel that fear, brother? They are insignificant. Like rabbits fearing a lion, they feared us, who are superior to them, and so they feared and oppressed us! But there is no need to fear, brother! You are not like them! You are the same as us! You need not fear yourself, and therefore you need not fear me!”
The old man saw the eyes of those watching him waver. Knowing the hazy emotions behind that wavering, his own gaze grew darker with fear.
“We must reclaim our original name! We must return as proud Dark Priests, not as insignificant beings like summoners, sympathizers, or connectors!”
“No, you are wrong!”
The old man raised both hands. Letters appeared in the air beneath his gesture, and soldiers armed with spears soon materialized. Those near him quickly stepped back to make space, and the soldiers in white armor surrounded him protectively. Parts of their bodies were hazy, like mist, and at times sections of them turned transparent, like ghosts.
“Mist Soldiers. The guardians of the Fog Fortress. Not bad, brother.”
“Remember this, all of you! And think! Why did we abandon that cursed name in the first place? What do you hope to accomplish by returning to it now? What happened during the last great war under the name of the Demon King’s army, under the name of the Demon God!”
The old man’s hands trembled. His age was a factor, but Mist Soldiers were summons materialized by a summoner’s mana. In his excitement, he had called forth more than necessary, and his mana was rapidly depleting.
“After leaving my home, I traveled through many regions! And I learned something! Not everyone fears or hates us! Even those of you who were driven from your homes when you were younger than I must know this!”
At the old man’s cry, the emotions in people’s eyes gradually faded. Seeing this, he gathered the courage to draw out his final strength.
“If we return to being Dark Priests, we will only sow distrust and fear toward us once more! In the end, we will only repeat the tragedy and continue the false misunderstandings…!”
At that moment, a streak of dark red light shot through the cave. It instantly annihilated the Mist Soldiers surrounding the old man and pierced straight through his heart.
“……!”
The old man turned his head toward the direction the light had come from, unable to comprehend what had happened. Before he could even see its origin, flames erupted from the hole in his chest and engulfed his body. In an instant, he turned to ash and vanished.
-How foolish. How pitiful. You have soaked in habit for so long that you have lost your own light.
What emerged from the depths of the cave was a demon with two red horns and large bat-like wings. The man on the altar knelt before it.
“Welcome, First Blood of Lord Urshus—Lord Alsh Unak!”