Chapter 187
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 187
"Lansler, I'm hot."
After a month, he had grown accustomed to this life, but it was still restrictive in many ways.
Pesil stretched out both arms, as if to say she couldn't change her clothes on her own. He undressed her and wiped the sweat from her skin with a damp towel—just as the village grandmother had once done for him when he first arrived.
Only a few months ago, he had been the one being cared for; now, he was the caregiver. The only difference was that Pesil showed no signs of embarrassment.
"You're not getting excited, are you?"
"..."
Deciding it wasn't worth a response, he lightly slapped her on the back instead.
"Ow!" Pesil cried out, flailing her arms toward him. It was a truly blind attack, with no chance of ever connecting.
After dressing the pouting Pesil again, Niphrim removed the cloth covering her eyes.
The inflammation was gradually subsiding, and the pain had faded to almost nothing. Her sightless eyes, however, showed no signs of recovery.
"..."
He stared into their cloudy depths. Pesil didn't even seem to realize he was looking at her.
Paralytic.
Most Orcs simply killed or ate humans, but structured organizations with clear hierarchies, like Nilkumbal's tribe, sometimes engaged in human trafficking. War funds were crucial, and it was likely their most lucrative business.
The drug used on Pesil was a paralytic, meant to be applied in tiny amounts to numb sensation. But the brutish Orcs had simply slathered it all over her eyes.
"You don't have to worry about it."
Pesil's voice was soft, as if she had read his mind without even seeing his gaze. "I'm just glad to be alive, Lansler. Don't push yourself so hard for my sake."
He wondered how she knew, but his hand, which had been disinfecting her eyes, had frozen mid-motion.
"I won't," Niphrim replied stiffly as he finished changing the cloth.
Feeling more comfortable, Pesil flopped onto the bed, only to sit right back up and call out to him.
"I'm going to sleep now. It's scary not being able to see anything. Could you… just reassure me once?"
Are you a child?
Even as the thought crossed his mind, he couldn't bring himself to refuse. Niphrim gave Pesil a light hug and waited until he was sure she had fallen asleep before stepping out of the inn.
The inn, as if to boast its marquisate-level quality, had a separate resting area for subjugation squad members on the rooftop. Of course, it was poorly maintained, so no actual members ever used it. It had become Niphrim's private space.
He went up to the rooftop as usual and sat on a chair.
Shedding the gentle expression he wore for Pesil, he stared blankly into the distance with cold, vacant eyes.
A sigh escaped his lips.
"..."
He was a little… confused.
There were no other survivors from the mountain village that was Pesil's home. By some miracle—or perhaps because Chieftain Kaltum had hoped to cross blades with him again—Pesil was the only one left alive.
At the time, he had been simply glad. So glad that his only thought was to keep her safe, no matter the cost.
Coming to the Koenigsk Marquisate hadn't been part of any plan. With no decent map in the village, he had simply walked east and kept walking.
If I keep going, a town will eventually appear.
This was merely the first place he had found. Geographically, it was about a month's walk from Hastin.
"What… should I do?"
His first priority upon arriving had been to help Pesil recover her health. His next was to heal her eyes.
The doubt had first surfaced while he was wandering through the town's clinics and apothecaries, searching for a cure.
Why am I doing this?
A wave of self-loathing washed over him.
I am an evil person. I am fully aware of this.
He had submitted to unethical experiments and had lost count of the number of humans he'd killed in the laboratory alone. He had eaten human flesh. The subjugation squad—the only people he could call comrades, the only ones precious to him—had all been lost in the Primordial Core.
Am I allowed to do this?
Do I have the right to pursue happiness?
For some stubborn reason, Pesil insisted on calling him Lansler, but Niphrim was Niphrim. He could never wash away his sin-stained name.
"..."
His head ached.
For now, he decided to rely on his instincts. If he abandoned the blind Pesil here, the agony of it would be its own kind of hell. He would heal her eyes, and once she could stand on her own, he would leave.
But healing her eyes…
"Sigh…"
Niphrim groaned softly.
If it were merely a matter of damaged optic nerves, it would have been simple. The Empire, surprisingly, had many competent doctors. And where doctors failed, mages could often succeed.
But just as with <Cure>, there were clear limits to healing magic. A severed arm could be reattached if the limb was intact. An arm that was lost or blown to pieces, however, could not be restored.
Her situation was similar.
If even a fraction of her vision remained, there would be a chance. If they had sought treatment sooner, she could have recovered easily. But her eyes had gone untreated for over a month. He had visited countless mages and doctors in the Koenigsk Marquisate, and not a single one believed they could heal her.
It is already too late.
They all said the same thing.
"..."
To be honest, it wasn't that there was no way.
Weren't there two fields of study known to the world as miracles? Magic and alchemy.
Though the latter was often shunned by the public, both were capable of the miraculous. In the realm of magic, one of the 'Sages'—or perhaps the 'Hero' Sian himself—might be able to heal Pesil's eyes over several weeks. The problem was that meeting the Hero was practically impossible.
That left alchemy.
The Imperial Magic Society, 'Third Eye'.
"...Ha, what am I thinking?"
He knew it was a suicidal idea. He knew how foolish it would be to return to them after barely escaping their grasp.
Besides, while he cherished Pesil more than anyone, if asked whether he would risk his life to protect her, he wasn't sure he could answer. …No, that wasn't right. If giving his own life would make Pesil whole again, he would do it in a heartbeat. Niphrim had no particular attachment to his life.
His only fear was being forced to suffer there again, to commit those same inhumane acts.
"For now…"
He had realized one thing for certain: staying here and doing nothing would change nothing. If the most skilled doctors and mages in the marquisate couldn't heal her, the result would be the same no matter which territory he went to.
He had no intention of confronting the Third Eye head-on, but he had to get closer to them to find a treatment.
He actually felt somewhat confident, and the reason was the Orc meat. He'd discovered that eating the flesh of other creatures, not just Orcs, produced a similar effect, and with no side effects. With this power, he didn't think he would be captured so easily again.
To Riaze.
Power gathered around the Emperor. Rumors claimed that the Emperor was not dead. The same was said of the Hero. If the Third Eye was still active, they would be near the Emperor. Since they had fled from Riaze, they were likely still somewhere near Riaze. Magic or alchemy, it didn't matter. He had to get close to where the Emperor was.
To Riaze. To Riaze.
It was as if his subconscious was pounding the command into his conscious mind. Having organized his thoughts, Niphrim stood up.
He would have to stay in the marquisate a little longer. The journey to Riaze would be arduous, so he would need a carriage. And to hire one, he needed money.
The innkeeper's earlier reminder to pay his bill echoed in his mind.
Yes, he had to earn money first.
Niphrim made his way to the subjugation request counter. He gave the guard inspecting badges a vague excuse about looking for an acquaintance. After receiving a heavy pyrite badge designating him as an unofficial member of the subjugation forces, he stepped inside.
He scanned the numerous requests posted on the board. Monster invasions had increased since the fall of Riaze, and requests were piled up everywhere. For someone like Niphrim, who had no other marketable skills, this was the easiest way to make money.
"Excuse me, what is your rank…?" a young woman who looked like a receptionist asked as he browsed.
After a brief hesitation, Niphrim answered. "I'm a Proxy."
"I see."
By law, only official subjugation squad members or those with equivalent ranks could accept monster subjugation requests. 'Proxies' were what people called illegal members—those who weren't official or who wanted to enter a dungeon above their rank, borrowing the name of a qualified member to do so.
The Proxy would receive the earnings from the subjugation, while the member who lent their name would gain honor and a small commission. Even the agency got a little hush money. Though clearly illegal, Proxies were so common they had become a pillar of the system. Outside of Riaze, which was under the Imperial Family's direct supervision, no territory had a reason to stop them. The lords didn't care what happened to those operating outside the law. A Proxy's death was their own responsibility.
The receptionist didn't even blink. To her, a Proxy was just another customer.
"What kind of request are you looking for?"
"...Something high-level."
Normally, 'high-level' meant A-rank Dungeons, just below the Great Evil Caves. The receptionist gave him a suspicious look before bringing over a few request sheets.
"...Ragged Ghoul."
When Niphrim's eyes fell on one of them, the receptionist shook her head. "I wouldn't recommend that one."
"Why?"
"Part of it is that I don't trust your skills—you'll probably die. But the bigger issue is the potential for conflict. The Cult has had its eye on that monster for some time now."
The Cult.
Niphrim faintly searched his memory. The talkative innkeeper had mentioned them. A suspicious group had recently entered Koenigsk, nicknamed 'The Cult' because their attire resembled that of a religious order.
He recalled hearing they came from Hastin. A few months ago, a plague had swept through, and the few who survived now held a grudge against the world, worshipping some evil god… or something like that.
"They're a strange bunch," the receptionist continued. "I heard they always wear gloomy black robes and relentlessly hunt the undead. They probably came here for the Ragged Ghoul dungeon."
"...Where are they now?"
He had barely finished the thought when a group dressed in black robes entered the agency. There were just over ten of them, but it didn't seem to be their entire group. Hadn't the innkeeper said there were over a hundred? Then again, the man was prone to exaggeration.
"..."
Watching them silently, Niphrim's gaze fell on the girl at the very front of the group.
Even beneath the black robe, her pink hair stood out.
*
"...Are you sure you want to choose this one?"
"Yes."
"You know there might be conflict, right?"
"Yes."
He didn't care about anyone else's circumstances.
The receptionist tried to dissuade him several more times, but Niphrim's decision was firm. Her concern wasn't for his safety, but for the potential fallout if a clash between him and the Cult complicated things for the agency. And even if she genuinely did worry about him, he had no reason to care.
Besides, in his current situation, the Ragged Ghoul was the best option. Undead classified as 'Elders' were notoriously difficult, and even squad members of the same rank tended to avoid them.
He glanced at the bottom of the request sheet. Where other A-rank requests had several lines of strategy notes, this one was completely blank. It meant either no previous subjugation squad had challenged it, or they had all died trying.
Killing a monster like this out of the blue would draw some attention, yes, but far less than snatching a popular target everyone was clamoring to hunt. Niphrim wanted to avoid making any unnecessary noise.
"I wish you a safe return."
He took the request sheet, accepted her superficial well-wishes, and stepped outside. The sky was already aglow with the setting sun.
The request is scheduled for tomorrow.
The Ragged Ghoul's dungeon was deep in the wilderness, so he would have to leave early in the morning. That meant he needed to return to the inn by nightfall to take care of Pesil.
Which meant he had some time until then.
His only equipment was a longsword. For provisions, a waterskin and a few loaves of rye bread from the inn would suffice. He didn't need any other preparations.
After considering his options, Niphrim set off once more.
He headed toward the plaza at the east gate of Koenigsk. As a marquisate, Koenigsk's territory was vast; aside from the Lord's Castle at the north gate, there was a plaza at the east, west, and south gates. The east gate plaza was known as the street of guilds.
Passing through a narrow alley and onto the main street, a spacious open area came into view. Buildings circled a central fountain, each decorated with the colorful flags of its respective guild.
Following a side path that led underground, Niphrim stopped before the door of a tavern tucked away at the very end of the alley.
The door opened with the jingle of a bell, and several employees habitually turned their heads—