Chapter 202
Chapter 202
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 202
Chapter Title: In a Certain Village
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In a certain village,
under the blazing sunlight, an old man dozed off with a single blade of grass clamped between his lips. Half his face was hidden in the shadow of the grass blade, but the other half was getting scorched by the sun.
He probably hadn't intended to photosynthesize just half his face, so he'd started out properly seated under the shade, savoring his leisure. But as the sun shifted, so did the shadow, leaving him in this ridiculous predicament through no fault of his own.
Clop clop.
A carriage swept past him. It wasn't particularly large, but a closer look revealed it was a luxury model.
The noble young lady peering out the window at the scenery spotted the old man and let out a faint smile. In just an hour, half his face would stay pale while the other half turned pitch-black—a comical sight.
Unless some kind-hearted passerby woke him up, or he stirred on his own.
If the lady had the authority to halt the carriage... she might have paused their journey for the old man's sake, patted his shoulder, and suggested finding a broader patch of shade.
But the lady held no such power. She wasn't on a trip; she was being banished far from her family by them. She didn't even have the right to offer a tiny kindness.
Clink.
Disguised prettily like jewelry, but these were mana-suppressing restraints locked tight around her. The lady couldn't wield even a scrap of power.
Farewell to her homeland, where ice sculptures glittered.
Farewell to the reindeer casting gentle gazes at the bustling humans trudging through the snowfields, farewell to the coniferous forests thrusting proudly skyward even in the bitter cold, farewell to it all.
Far away, so very far—to a place known only to the goddess herself. In a remote, secluded little monastery on the borderlands. There, the lady would breathe her last.
No regrets.
Born into blue blood, she'd savored all the finest things. The rest of her life would be daubed in joyless, sorrowless gray... but the sparkle of those fifteen years in her homeland would shine forever in her heart.
Though, that was unlikely to change.
What if a prince on a white horse chanced by to rescue her?
Clop clop.
The carriage bore the lady onward.
The old man, pretending to doze, slyly cracked his eyes open in an instant. Beneath his wrinkled lids gleamed malice sharp as a honed dagger.
He'd never truly slept—not for a second. His job was picking out prey.
The carriage was upscale but bore no family crest. No knights in sight, and the coachman looked like some bookish type who'd never swung a blade.
The lone mercenary riding shotgun beside him seemed competent enough with a sword. But the crystal orb in his pocket floated just a single star.
One-star realm. Bronze-plate mercenary.
Those who earned metal plates instead of wood were the real elites. A solid fighter, sure—but this village had a Holy Knight who'd reached the flawless three-star realm. No contest.
Worth a shot, then. This was a dim forest path few ever trod. One carriage could vanish without a whisper. The old man signaled.
"Pull the rope."
Twang!
The rope strung across the path snapped taut in a flash, high enough to snag a horse's knee.
"Wha—whoa...?!"
By the time the coachman noticed and yanked the reins, it was too late.
Neighhh!!
Crack, crash!
The horse collapsed with a agonized scream, and the carriage lurched wildly before flipping on its side. Inside, the lady—who'd been lost in memories—tumbled and slammed against every surface.
The shock hit so abruptly that even the pain lagged behind. When she came to, her whole body throbbed. An ambush. An ambush? But why?
Locking her away in a monastery... wasn't that enough to ease their minds?
"Ugh... hng..."
Her vision spun, dizziness overwhelming. Had she smacked her head? Staggering, she poked her head out of the carriage.
The poor coachman lay dead, neck snapped. She felt a pang of pity but forced her eyes away. Right now, she needed to ID the attackers. Who were they?
She looked up.
There, villagers gripping tridents and hooks had formed a circle around her. And then—clang! Clang!—metal rang out.
Mountain villagers turning bandit wasn't unheard of, but she'd never imagined it happening to her.
To keep her exile a secret, the coachman had chosen this secluded forest route. And that had sown the disaster.
The carriage had a guard... no, a watchdog. A decade in the mercenary trade, he'd said. He could handle these ragtag villagers with their makeshift arms.
That hope shattered in an instant.
A man in his mid-thirties, pushing two meters tall with a body packed solid with marble-hewn muscle, was toying with the hired mercenary like a child.
Mana reserves, control, melee prowess—an overwhelming gap. The mercenary was cornered in seconds, left arm severed. His face twisted in confusion, he wailed.
"Th-this sword style... a Holy Knight in a mountain bandit crew—?!"
"Can't leave a witness, then. It's all for my noble goddess—don't curse your death."
The Holy Knight hefted his massive greatsword. Beneath its looming shadow, the mercenary spat his final words, face smeared with rage and humiliation.
"You never... planned to let me live... from the start... guk."
The mercenary was bisected at the waist alongside the trees in the blade's path—so effortlessly.
Thud. The severed trees toppled onto the gruesome corpse, crushing bone and flesh alike into a fresh mound of earth.
The villagers hauled the lady—frozen in shock—to her feet by force. Prey secured; time to drag it back to the nest. She struggled.
"Let... let go of me...!"
"Come quiet-like, or you'll see hell. Or wanna crawl like a dog after a lashing?"
"Skin so lily-white, a spanking'll leave a perfect handprint. Heh heh..."
That crude insolence and blatant lust stabbed her heart with a sharpness she'd never known. Her strength ebbed away.
Even without the restraints, she couldn't dream of shaking that monster of a Holy Knight. No fighting back. No escape.
She was dragged kicking and screaming into the village and tossed into a filthy underground cell.
"Today's the day we score big—cheers!"
"Heh heh heh... cheers!"
The villagers gathered around the bonfire, raising their cups. The girl they'd nabbed screamed highborn at a glance—prime merchandise for a fat payout.
Lately, traffic on this route had dried up, slim pickings. But luck like this? Today was a banner day.
Or rather... the real lucky day was a week back.
In the festive mood, a village youth sidled up to the chief.
"Boss, so how'd that Holy Knight dude end up joining our little operation? I rack my brains and it still don't add up."
"Beats me, kid."
"Saw you two chatting alone. Hours of yakking and not one reason? If you don't wanna spill, just say so—don't leave a guy hanging."
"No, seriously. Everything he said as 'explanation' was gibberish. What'm I supposed to do? Here, you try making sense of it."
The bearish Holy Knight had rolled into the village a week ago from Elmust territory. The middle-aged chief panicked, thinking their flesh-peddling racket was busted. He scraped together every coin in town for a bribe.
But the knight said he already knew.
And that their human trafficking was a sacred deed that pleased the goddess to no end—so keep snaring and selling with all your might.
(The knight had layered on talk of the goddess purifying the world through pure souls and such, but that's how it landed for the hick.)
Then he ordered the villagers to help him prepare the 'goddess's flesh,' since he had business here.
"The goddess's flesh...?"
"Somethin' about the goddess dyin'. Big ol' bear bawlin' his eyes out over foolish believers fuckin' up and killin' her. Gotta revive her, he says."
"Goddess can die...?"
"Hell if I know. All I know's how to slip a noose 'round a neck."
The chief figured the knight had lost it—or maybe the world had.
But hey, their gain regardless. An unknown monster volunteering to boost the business?
Even fun, too. The knight needed a pinnacle of feminine beauty, so he tossed the mediocre catches to the villagers for free.
Just hand over the corpses if they died mid-fun, he'd said.
He knew the type: black mages, ripping souls and all that nightmare fuel.
But not as scary as the tales. Talked fine, teamed up smooth.
Sometimes he'd weep into a vial of some liquid, praying... muttering 'nest' and 'ecstasy'—that fanatic edge gave a little chill.
But ally now! A powerhouse one.
"That level checker the knight gave us? Snuck it on him. Three stars popped up. Three-star, gold-plate."
"Gold-plate merc... the kind nobles shell out fortunes for?"
"Yup. One-shots ogres, could wipe a village clean if he felt like it. Genuine freak. Might be the world's strongest."
"Ain't there stuff above three-star? Heard the Empire brags about some 'myth' types or whatever."
The chief snorted.
Myths were bullshit. No way. The knight was dream-level strong already—humans couldn't top that.
Just fearmongering to keep folks in line. Tall tales. One man shattering mountains or toppling suns? Kid's bedtime stories.
If true, those hotshot 'myths' could trash the world on a whim. Smash ten villages, a hundred solo.
Ridiculous.
The well-bottom frogs chugged their ale. Drunk on the romance of it all: snag folks, sell 'em, rake cash, repeat forever in this perfect loop.
Mid-laughter and chatter, a scout came sprinting back.
"Another carriage headed this way!"
"What'd the old timer say?"
"Uh, no stars showin'? Three women, all killer gorgeous. One guy's there but scrawny and half-starved-lookin'."
"Today's the day, boys! Quit stuffing your faces—grab the gear! Fetch the Holy Knight lordship!"
The chief bellowed with a belly laugh. Three women? Plenty to go around for the village. What a life!
They hustled toward the forest path.
Just like always, they timed the rope-pull perfectly as the carriage barreled in. The taut line snagged the horse's legs.
Horse screamed; carriage flipped and tumbled.
The Holy Knight stood frozen, arms crossed, as the villagers whooped and closed in. But...
Something was off.
From the overturned carriage came the most casual chatter.
"Told you to be careful. Told you."
"...No, I figured they'd spike the inn food with sleeping pills. Flip the carriage like barbarians? What if a hostage's neck snaps? Anyone with half a brain would've—"
"Dumbasses don't think ahead. You lost the bet. My command once! Wahahaha!"
"Ow... Fine. You wanna handle it, or me? Oh, Tower Master looks pissed? Flipped just ten minutes into the lap pillow? Aww."
Silence.
A beat of silence, and the villagers encircling the carriage felt ants crawling through their skulls. Then...
The world drowned in black. Utter black, so deep you lost track of your own limbs.
Nightfall in broad daylight.