The Burrow Ducal House (6)
Tick. Tock.
A single set of rough footsteps swept across the corridor, where the only sound was the hands of a clock grinding their slow circles.
None of the servants tidying the hallway moved to check that violent, decidedly un-noble stride.
Not because the one making it was someone they were bound to serve.
It was true that the culprit of the disturbance was their little young master, but even if he hadn't been, the servants would never have said a word.
To eyes dulled by endless repetition of the same chores, the little master's thunderous footsteps simply didn't register.
And so, making a grand show of his presence, the little young master arrived at the door of the room where the master of the house was staying.
Even the sole heir of a great family owes courtesy to its current head — but he showed none.
He flung the door open with a bang, strode inside, and slammed it shut behind him with a crash.
"Aren't you being rather loud, when the Duke is trying to sleep?"
It was not Duke Burrow who chastised him.
The Duke, who had looked hale and sound when the guest visited only moments ago, had already sunk into so deep a sleep that his breath came slow and easy.
The warning came from the man standing beside him, dressed head to toe in black.
The man's bloodless eyes were threatening enough to plant fear in anyone who met them, but the little young master felt not a flicker of it.
"And yet he hasn't woken."
Instead, he replied airily and simply took a seat wherever suited him.
"True enough."
Despite the sheer rudeness of it, the man offered no complaint — only that same unsettling smile.
"So? How were they? Your friends, after so long?"
"Friends? Did I have friends visiting today?"
"Then let me put it differently. How were your enemies?"
At the man's question, the little young master — Jackal Burrow — called to mind the people he'd met that day.
The Saintess. The Partran heiress. The third prince of Soladin. Some nameless brat. And that damned heiress of House Aln.
The very people the Jackal of the past had once envied, seething with inferiority.
"Every one of them has grown far stronger than before. Especially Lucy Aln — that damned woman is beyond ridiculous. What in the world runs in the Aln bloodline?"
They clearly hadn't rested on their talent; they had trained without pause, over and over again.
Not a single one of them could be compared to who they'd been before the break.
Lucy Aln was the worst of the lot. Even before the break she had been more than strong enough — and now her sheer presence alone was enough to crush him where he stood.
"Ha. I can hardly disagree. Her divinity has already surpassed most of the holy knights at the heart of the Church. As expected of one beloved by God."
"Hardly something to admire."
"No — it is exactly something to admire. The brighter the light an opponent carries, the deeper the darkness that will be felt when it finally gutters out."
And the euphoria you'll savor when you strike them all down, it goes without saying.
At the man's words, Jackal ground his teeth.
He'd thought it from the moment they first met — the man never knew when to shut his mouth.
Jackal had first encountered that ominous man not long after the Academy's final exams.
Stripping out rest. Stripping out sleep. Stripping out meals.
He had offered everything up to the exam, and even managed to score higher than before — yet his rank had only fallen.
It was then, with Lucy Aln shining ever brighter as time went on while he himself was buried deeper and deeper in shadow.
It was then, drowning in despair, wandering the dark backstreets with no destination in mind.
That the man had come looking for him.
Bearing an absurd promise: that he would grant Jackal whatever he wished.
'Grant my wish? Ha. Fine, then. Make me an omnipotent, omniscient god.'
At first, Jackal had naturally dismissed the man's words as nonsense.
'No. That is not the wish you carry.'
But there was something in the man's voice that defied explanation in words.
'You resent this house, trapped in the day your brother died — and yet you are more bound to it than anyone, young lord of Burrow.'
'...You.'
'Do you not wish to take back your family's lost time? And your own?'
'...'
'If only...'
"The preparations at the estate are nearly complete. In a month or two, we will be able to move beyond these walls in earnest."
Jackal's reminiscence scattered at the sound of the man's voice. Returned from the scenery of the past to the present, he looked at the man wearing that same unpleasant smile as always.
"Look forward to it. Everything you desire will come to pass then."
The clock on the far wall went on ticking, but as if broken, its hands only circled the same place, over and over.
The Evil God of Darkness, huh.
I chewed on it with my arms crossed.
There's no way the Evil God of Darkness herself is reviving already.
That one ranks among the mightiest of the evil gods. The power she originally held was so immense that recovering it takes ages.
On top of that, Nakrad — the very apostle who was supposed to help her resurrect — did nothing but screw around for the entire first semester at the Academy before fleeing. There's no way she could come back faster than she did in the game.
Which means the one operating inside the Burrow estate has to be the apostle of the evil god who vanished from the area around the Academy. Nakrad.
So how did that guy get his hooks into Duke Burrow?
Having scrapped with Nakrad all through the first semester, I have a rough sense of how much power he actually has.
He's strong, sure — but he doesn't make the ranks of the truly powerful.
Just look at how he got driven off by the combo of Karl and Alsaetin. I'll grant that I forced him into an unfavorable fight, but losing to those two is exactly the ceiling of his ability.
And on top of that, this is a guy who took a beating from Grandpa at the very end and lost most of his strength. How is he supposed to influence Duke Burrow?
By every scrap of common sense in my head, it made no sense — but reality was what it was. The origin of the anomaly was him; the scrub Chief God Himself had declared it.
"I couldn't say for certain. It just... struck me all of a sudden. If you sensed something different, Lady Lucy, then yours must be right."
What did she make of me, brooding away like that? Phoebe added, fidgeting anxiously.
No, why is she walking on eggshells around me when she's the one who came up with the right answer?
Is it because I'm the scrub Chief God's apostle?
Does she think I'm testing her, receiving divine revelations and all that?
'No, Phoebe. What you said is correct.'
"When did I ever say you were wrong? Why are you second-guessing yourself after giving the right answer? This is exactly why I call you a scrub, you know. You hopeless, useless little Saintess."
"Was I... right, then?"
'Apparently so, you say?'
"What, should I tell you you're wrong instead? Is that what you want — to be cursed at as a scrub, good-for-nothing Saintess? And here I thought you were just a scrub, but turns out you're a scrub pervert with twisted tastes?"
"N-no, that's not it at all! I just — I mean—!"
I left Phoebe to it — face crimson at being called a pervert, arms flailing every which way — and picked my train of thought back up.
That posturing beanpole definitely wouldn't have gone after Duke Burrow through any orthodox means. He doesn't have the strength for it.
Which means he must have pulled some sneaky, underhanded trick — just like his own beloved evil god.
Closing my eyes, I began sorting through the scenarios that had existed in the game.
All the countless scenarios tied to the Evil God of Darkness. And among them, I searched for the one that matched the Burrow family's current situation.
The method an apostle of an evil god used when devouring a target far stronger than himself.
The Veol manor scenario.
No. At that point the evil god's seal was already broken. I need the time when Nakrad's authority was all but spent.
The dominance scenario of the Devouring Dungeon.
Not this one either. That boss was strong, but far too dim-witted. Plus it trusted its lieutenants way too blindly, so it was easy to trick.
Not this one.
Not that one either.
I was striking X after X through the entries in the notepad of my mind when one scenario caught my attention.
To be precise, it wasn't a quest scenario at all. It was nothing more than a lore booklet explaining one of the many atrocities the Evil God of Darkness had committed.
But what was written there undeniably lined up with the present situation.
Far to the south of Soul Academy — the forest where the Spirit Queen dwelled.
When the Evil God of Darkness devoured the spirits of that forest, the method she used was to exploit the stealth of her own aura.
Through collaborators, she corrupted the groundwater flowing beneath the spirit forest with her power. Little by little, she made the entire forest her own.
However mighty the Spirit Queen was, once the countless spirits that formed the wellspring of her power and her forest itself were ruined, there was only so much she could do.
The Evil God of Darkness devoured the Spirit Queen without suffering so much as a scratch.
Now apply that exact playbook to the Burrow estate.
Think about it from Nakrad's position, and it's no hard task at all.
Taint the estate's drinking water with his aura, or contaminate the food stores — that would be plenty.
Getting inside would be tricky, if infiltration were even necessary — but the man had an inside collaborator.
The aura of the Evil God of Darkness is so stealthy that even Grandpa failed to detect it. However many talents the Burrow family keeps on hand, finding it would be impossible.
The reason Duke Burrow fell ill?
That explains itself easily enough too. Duke Burrow is a strong man. Strong enough to resist desperately even as the evil god's aura spread through him.
"Lady Lucy! I would never, ever harbor such wicked thoughts, I swear!"
Pulling myself out of my daydream, I threw a question at Phoebe, whose face was still flushed red.
Hadn't she sensed anything else strange in the Burrow estate? Even the tiniest detail would do — I asked her to answer me.
She couldn't wipe away her fluster in an instant, so she stammered instead of replying right away, but before long she gave me a proper answer.
"On the way out of the estate, after parting with Lord Burrow, there was a sort of... wrongness I couldn't place."
Maybe sensing the evil god's aura in the Inferior Young Master had made her sensitive to it.
Phoebe had begun picking up small wrongnesses in places she'd thought perfectly fine before.
In the estate's servants. In its many ornaments. And in the estate's clocks.
What her words implied was unmistakable: the Burrow family estate had already been encroached upon by the evil god's aura.
Put simply —
That place was already a dungeon.
One I knew nothing about.
One that existed only in this world.
A dungeon completed by the hands of Nakrad and Jackal.