The Scent of Jet-Black
They weren't boarding the holy train today.
They had crossed several mountain ranges since dawn, ridden a cargo wagon, and taken teleportation twice — the fatigue had piled up, so they decided to rest for a day in this village where the train station was located.
"We could just pick any house in this village and stay there."
Lethe said as they walked side by side, sweeping back her snow-white hair.
"Taking in a Priest — an apostle of the Goddess — into one's own home is a great grace and an honor."
Simon blinked at her words.
"That's not a burden to them?"
"Ah, well... showing up out of nowhere might be a bit much, I guess? But that's just how things work here. You saw the farmers earlier, didn't you? They feed us, put us up, receive the Goddess's grace in return — it's a win for them too, isn't it?"
Simon shook his head firmly.
"Still a burden. I'd rather quietly check into an inn."
"Fine, if you insist that much, there's nothing I can do about it."
The two of them entered a reasonably large, clean-looking inn in the center of the village. The ground floor was a tavern, the upper floors an inn.
The walls were covered with crosses, sacred symbols, and displayed relics. It felt less like a tavern and inn and more like stepping into a devout family chapel.
The people seated at the tables were busy enjoying their drinks and food, wrapped up in their own conversations.
Simon and Lethe walked to the counter. The innkeeper, a man with a bushy beard, was swamped setting out dishes for the packed crowd of customers.
"Laus! May the Goddess's blessing be with you. Would you happen to have any vacant rooms?"
Simon greeted him. The innkeeper, distracted mid-carry with an enormous platter of food, gave the two of them a cursory sideways glance.
"A man and a woman? One room with a big bed do?"
"Have you lost your mind?"
Lethe, standing beside them with her arms crossed, growled.
"Whoops!" The innkeeper set the food down with a flourish and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
"Oh come now, young folks — if the answer's no, just say no, no need for such a filthy mouth—"
Only then did the innkeeper's gaze land properly on Lethe. The moment he saw her white academy uniform, tailored from sacred cloth, his mouth fell open in disbelief.
"L-La-La-Laus!"
The innkeeper scrambled out from behind the counter with a crash and immediately threw himself at Lethe's feet, pressing his forehead to the floor.
"May the great Goddess's blessing be with you, Priest!"
The customers who had turned around wondering what the commotion was all rose from their seats in unison, chanting Laus.
"See? Told you."
Lethe let out a long sigh and brushed back her hair.
"Everyone, raise your heads."
The innkeeper shot up, his face etched with sheer terror.
"I f-failed to recognize a Priest of Efnel! I have committed a sin worthy of death!"
"Enough. Two of your best rooms — and put mine as far away from this human's as possible."
"Y-Yes, right away!"
The innkeeper darted upstairs to prepare the rooms. His family, who had been in the kitchen, came rushing out chanting Laus as well, ushered the two of them to a table, and brought out dishes.
Food arriving without anyone having ordered it meant the dishes meant for other customers were being diverted their way.
Lethe spoke up.
"We already ate. Please take these back to their rightful owners."
"Yes, of course!"
But then the rowdy drinkers around them kept stealing glances at Lethe, unable to take a single sip. Some even pretended, out of nowhere, to be praying in the Priest's presence.
"See that?"
Lethe rested her chin on her hand and smiled, making a show of it.
"I said let's just go into some random house. Then we'd only be burdening those people. But now that we've come here, how many people exactly are we inconveniencing?"
"..."
"When in the Federation, following the Federation's culture is best for everyone — us and them alike. From now on, you'd better listen to what I—"
That was when Simon rose from his seat.
"A good evening to you all, brothers and sisters."
At some point, every eye in the room had shifted from Lethe to Simon. Flustered, Lethe stammered and gestured frantically for him to sit back down, but Simon only smiled as if to say leave this to me, and spoke.
"My name is Ska Seraphino, an Apprentice Priest. If it pleases you, might I offer a prayer on your behalf?"
At his words, everyone stopped what they were doing and, as if they had only been waiting for it, began clasping their hands together.
Simon, who had seized control of the atmosphere with practiced ease, folded his hands and began to pray.
He kept the prayer to things everyone could relate to.
Health.
Good fortune.
And happiness.
Each time Simon drew breath to speak, murmurs of Laus rippled through the room.
Finishing his prayer in a warm, gentle voice, Simon lowered his palms.
"What a joyful evening it is. Day after day, we live like this on the wine and food the Goddess has bestowed upon us. I believe faith is not some grand, lofty thing. It is our daily life. Our habits, even. Is devotion to the Goddess's grace not, in itself, a form of faith?"
Simon cast a sidelong glance.
"So that the faithful may devote this night wholly to the grace the Goddess has granted — what do you say, Priest? Might you grant your permission?"
Lethe gave a hollow laugh to herself.
Let everyone enjoy themselves without worrying about me, is it. In that brief span of time, he had picked up the languages of the Holy Federation, made them his own, and won over the locals completely.
The way he played the crowd with nothing but a three-inch tongue — it truly looked like the work of a seasoned Apprentice Priest.
...I hate to admit it, but you're good. I don't think we'll need to worry about being sniffed out by inquisitors on the train.
Lethe gave a small nod.
"Very well. Permission granted."
With that, Lethe raised her wine glass.
"In thanks for the Goddess's grace."
"To the Goddess's grace!!"
Everyone echoed the toast and took a sip of wine or water. The tension melted away like a lie, and the room roared back to life with chatter. At last, people were laughing and enjoying themselves freely again, no longer watching Lethe's every move.
Sitting back down, Simon asked,
"Well? How was that?"
"...Tch. I guess you're not bad."
Lethe had watched Simon's efforts for two weeks straight, so she didn't press the matter further.
"But how are you so good at praying when you don't even believe in the Goddess?"
"Health, fortune, happiness. Maybe it isn't faith, but universal human sincerity still reaches people."
Simon figured he'd gotten off to a solid start playing the part of a priest. Just then, the innkeeper came down and told them the cleaning was finished.
The two went upstairs and unpacked. Exhausted, Lethe collapsed straight onto the bed, while Simon asked her permission to go out alone to buy a few things.
She gave him a dubious once-over, then promptly buried her face in the pillow.
"Don't do anything stupid. Buy what you need and come straight back."
"Got it."
The points he'd earned with Lethe downstairs seemed to be working in his favor. Simon stepped out of the inn into the cool evening breeze.
First things first — secure some funds.
Asking around among the villagers, Simon found the village antique dealer and exchanged an ancient imperial coin, similar to the one he'd handed the broker, for cash.
The coin was worth less than the one he'd given the broker, but it was more than enough to cover his stay in the Holy Federation for the break.
The Holy Federation's currency was unified under a single unit — the Blanc. The rough exchange values were as follows:
1 Gold = 100,000 Blanc.
1 Silver = 100 Blanc.
The coin had just fetched him 20,000,000 Blanc — roughly 200 Gold in Dark Alliance currency. A very, very generous travel budget by any measure.
"Where's the market in this village?"
"Oh! At this hour, the night market should be open. Try down that road there."
"Thank you!"
Simon slipped naturally into the crowd of locals. Every now and then, when the awareness that he was a necromancer surfaced, a strange thrill ran through him at the fact that he was standing in the Holy Federation at all. Of course, as he'd proven at the inn, he had every confidence he wouldn't be caught.
Right. People live here too, same as anywhere.
It struck him that the real problem was how intense the hostility between the Dark Alliance and the Holy Federation was.
In the Holy Federation, children were taught that the Dark Alliance was a cursed land seized by wicked demons.
They said ninety percent of its territory was rotting away, denied the Goddess's grace; that not a blade of grass would grow there, let alone crops; that most of its citizens had turned into zombies, and the whole land was a pit of sin given over to debauchery.
The Dark Alliance's portrayal was little different.
They described the Holy Federation as a place where corrupt priests, all in the name of the Goddess, exploited and squeezed ordinary people to death. They claimed the streets were piled with the corpses of the starved like mountains — but the reality before his eyes looked nothing like that either.
In truth, if the two sides simply visited each other, they'd see how wrong all those stories were soon enough.
Whoa.
He'd arrived at the night market. Though it was night, exotic bright lights glowed everywhere, and countless stalls stood packed tightly together.
A stranger in a strange land, Simon roamed the lantern-lit market, savoring the feeling of travel for the first time in a while.
First, what I need to buy...
Simon stopped in front of a stall.
"Laus! May the Goddess's protection be with you, traveler. Looking for anything in particular?"
Holy Federation merchants rarely engaged in loud hawking. Instead, the moment a customer paused to examine their wares, they'd hurry over, offer a greeting, and only then begin showing their goods in earnest once the greeting was returned.
"How much is this one?"
Simon had picked up a mask that covered the entire face. White-based, it was covered in black markings that traced crow's-feet around the eyes and across the cheeks.
He'd noticed while browsing the market that masks like this were fairly common. Even if someone bought one, it would be impossible to investigate every single purchase.
"5,000 Blanc!"
Roughly 50 Silver. Not bad.
Then which one should I go with?
There were so many similar designs that Simon found himself deliberating over which color to choose.
It smells.
There is a scent.
The man had caught it thirty minutes ago, and as if bewitched, he had turned his steps straight into the night market.
...
The market was crowded.
Where there are crowds, scents mingle.
But this repulsive stench — faintly scorched, reeking of burnt decay — cut through the sea of smells with perfect clarity.
The scent of Jet-Black.
The man walked.
Not by sight, but by scent alone.
He bumped into people along the way; they cursed at him or shouted, but he ignored them all, nosing after the smell like a madman.
Wandering the night market in a haze, the man flared his nostrils with a sniff.
The distinctive scorch of Jet-Black.
And the smell of a corpse.
The man was certain.
There's a necromancer somewhere in here.
He glanced wildly around as he moved.
The scent is strong.
The scorched stench burned his nose.
It was here.
He stopped abruptly and looked around.
Where? Where is he hiding?
And right beside the man as he whipped his head around, lost in the crowd, was Simon — browsing masks at a stall.
Simon picked out a mask he liked, paid, and started to walk away.
"You."
A hand seized his collar!
But the man had grabbed not Simon, who had just passed by, but the burly man standing next to him. The big man's face twisted as his collar was suddenly yanked.
"Wh-what the hell, you bastard?"
The man ignored him, seized the big man's shirt, and ripped it clean open. Then he buried his nose against the man's bare skin.
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
Nostrils flaring, he drank in the scent of the left chest.
Not the scorch.
Nothing but sour, rank body odor. Nauseating, but—
CRUNCH!
The big man's fist sent the man sprawling to the ground. The big man recoiled in disgust and shouted.
"You insane freak! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Murmur. Murmur. Murmur.
The marketgoers drew back, forming a circle around the two men.
"What's going on? A fight?"
"Whoa, look at the size of that guy."
Cracking his knuckles, the big man advanced with a vicious expression. The man staggered to his feet.
Damn it.
The bitter taste of blood crept up into his nose, drowning the scent.
Having lost the necromancer he'd had in his grasp, irritation surged through him all at once.
"O Goddess."
The man rose unsteadily and drew a holy sign across his chest. Then he began to murmur, in a small, cold voice.
"I have waited for the hour of Thy judgment. Today, too, I send Thy creature to the Goddess's bosom. If his punishment be light, gather him into Thine embrace; if his punishment be heavy, cast him into the hell of eternity."
"What the hell are you babbling about, you freak?! Haven't had enough yet?"
As the big man strode forward, the crowd quickly parted to either side. In moments, the big man bellowed and swung his fist.
Thud.
The big man's full-force punch came to a light stop against the man's raised palm.
Sweat poured down the big man's face as he strained with all his might, but the man didn't budge an inch. The fist didn't even slip free.
Crack!
"G-GAAAAAAGH!"
The big man's knuckles and wrist kissed bone. When the man released his grip, the big man collapsed to one knee, clutching his dislocated wrist.
"You."
The man crouched down to his level.
"Are you a heretic?"
At that single word, the big man's face drained white.
The people around him reacted the same way. Some clapped their hands over their mouths; some screamed. One man far in the back simply turned and fled.
"You made me lose him. You did that on purpose, didn't you? What's your relationship with that man?"
Behind the man's back, a subspace tore open.
Clang! Thud! KABOOM!
Torture wheels, guillotines, rack tables, great saws, iron mauls, spiked maces, frames of restraint — countless instruments of torture spilled out and rolled across the ground.
"Inquisitor Metin."
He took a mace bristling with spikes in his hand and raised it above his head.
"Your heresy interrogation begins now."