Chapter 74
Chapter 74
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: S2. Resentment Brushing the Stars -5
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The execution date was July 14th.
So, what did the group need to do before then? There wasn't enough information for Tara and Niore to form a solid plan. They couldn't pinpoint exactly what was being plotted, so the best idea they had was to get ahead of it somehow.
That's when Bennett spoke up.
"...Do you remember the report? The brand the investigators found."
[...The one that was carved?]
Niore skipped saying "on Abraham's forehead too," but the meaning got across anyway. Tara's expression flickered like a candle flame for a moment.
"Considering the location of the brand and everything that's happened so far... I think they're preparing a magic circle like this."
Bennett pulled out a map and drew lines on it.
The shape of the brand emerged.
"...It lines up?"
[Too coincidental to be chance.]
"A massive magic circle built by leaving brands across the entire city. The Silver Twilight Church plans to summon their god with it. So, what we need to do during the preparation period is destroy this magic circle."
If Bennett's guess was right—and if the church had hidden the massive circle the same way the black mages had—there were eight brands left in the city, one at each point. To disable the circle, they'd need to destroy at least 50% of them.
So.
"The conclusion is we need to erase at least four of these brands from here."
As Bennett pointed to the points on the map with his finger, Tara tilted her head.
"But can a magic circle really work like that? It's like just dotting a bunch of points and connecting them to claim it's a magic circle."
"It's connecting each brand with mana lines. Drawing invisible lines like that. I've seen it activated that way before, so don't argue."
"Where'd you see something like that...?"
"......"
Bennett averted his gaze. He was clearly reluctant to answer, so Tara didn't press him. No matter how prickly he acted, she trusted him to some extent because he ultimately cared about her.
[......]
Meanwhile, Niore was peering intently at the map.
"Find something?"
[No, just... Doesn't this brand look like a goat?]
"...Where?"
[Here, this is the eye.]
Niore scribbled lines on the whiteboard, drawing a picture.
A crudely drawn goat. Tara let out an exclamation.
"...You're really bad at drawing, huh?"
"She probably just drew it quick because there was no time. The point got across, didn't it?"
[...I did my best!]
Niore rubbed out the goat drawing with her sleeve, embarrassed. Bennett found the goat image nagging at him oddly, so he racked his memory. There had definitely been some mention of it.
It was an unpleasant memory to recall, but at the moment Abraham was sacrificed, the blood-written text had said:
'You have given us a female goat without blemish, and we offer thanks and sacrifice accordingly.'
This couldn't all be coincidence, so Bennett asked Niore. If the brand and magic circle symbols really evoked a goat, it would hold major magical significance.
"Is the symbol of that vice-king a goat?"
[No. But it's indirectly related. Among the outer gods, there's one called the 'Black Goat that Birthed Madness,' considered the vice-king's wife.]
"Wife...?"
"Not a wholesome god either, I bet. The name's ominous already... If it's a wife, do they have kids too?"
[Yes. Most notably, the rotting twin gods...]
Bennett clamped his hand over Niore's mouth to stop her from spilling more horrific, blasphemous knowledge. It wouldn't be pleasant to hear, and it wouldn't help anyway.
Of course, it didn't stop her hands, but it was enough to convey 'stop explaining, Niore.'
With Bennett's strong insistence, the group's plan was set.
First, they'd erase the brands scattered around the city to ruin the magic circle. Even wiping out the entire Silver Twilight Church wouldn't matter if the evil god descended—they'd lose the moment it happened.
And that descent could serve as a foothold for the evil god to worm into their world. It needed to be stopped first and foremost.
Abraham's research materials were stored in the safe house. Calculating the alpha value could provide a powerful weapon to reverse-summon the outer god, but preventing the descent altogether meant they'd never need it.
So Bennett argued to prioritize destroying the circle over processing the materials.
Tara poked at him just to see.
"Didn't someone say there's no need to care so much about some other world that's not even ours?"
"...There's a reason."
"Then spit out the reason."
"......"
Bennett clamped his mouth shut like a clam.
He was still conflicted. Whether to reveal his identity or not, stuck between the two choices without committing to either.
"So, where should we start?"
[Carter Street brand first. No reason not to hit the one right under our noses.]
They didn't pry. It felt like subtle probing, but they didn't dig deeper. Maybe they already suspected his identity was blown. Or perhaps they saw him as the enemy already, no need to learn more.
But their eyes said otherwise.
"Why the blank stare? Bennett. This is your plan."
[Let's do our best and make it work.]
Goodwill.
That lukewarm silence was consideration. Bennett's dilemma deepened oddly.
The situation where they trusted him without prying was ideal. No risk, all reward. It was enough to keep going like this.
But the urge to tell them about himself—to speak out—kept growing.
July 13th.
The slums seemed deeply infiltrated by the Silver Twilight Church; the difficulty was two levels higher than other areas. Too many enemies and twisting alleys made even finding the brands a challenge.
The group steadily whittled them down with hit-and-run tactics while scouting bit by bit.
Being the aggressors helped—Tara's outfit pulled aggro like the Pied Piper just by walking.
After another skirmish thinning their numbers, they ducked into a nearby building for a short break.
A tilted cross, mostly smashed chairs. Plunder marks where anything valuable was stripped, yet a wooden confessional untouched amid the chaos.
[Religious facility?]
"Looks like it."
"Ah, that... isn't a confessional? Shape's a bit off."
Tara pointed to the least damaged part of the ruined church. A small wooden booth with double doors on either side. A place to confess sins before the divine and seek forgiveness.
Tara nudged Bennett's back.
"Hey, Bennett. Go in."
"What?"
"Stop scowling all day and go confess. I'll hear it. Niore, come here."
[Okay.]
Tara and Niore held hands and entered the priest's side of the confessional. Bennett hesitated, then opened the door and stepped in.
A cramped space for one. Sitting on the chair, a hole faced forward, screened by a thick curtain. Bennett had never done confession before.
Silence. The room was so still he heard his heartbeat. Even tiny sounds rang clear. Rustling clothes from beyond the curtain. A soft laugh.
Then, a pale white hand slipped under the curtain. With a cheerful voice.
"Whose hand is this?"
"...Niore's. Is this how confession usually goes? I heard priests can't tell what they hear to others."
"Niore's a priest too. Just appointed her saint privilege."
The protruding hand gave a thumbs up.
The saint spoke from beyond the curtain.
"Put your hand out."
"...Why?"
"Gotta hear what Niore says too. Priest Niore will write good advice on your palm."
"......"
Bennett hesitated with his hand on the table. Tara's hand shot out, grabbed his, and yanked it in. Moments later.
Niore's soft fingers tickled his palm, writing letters. Meanwhile, Tara played with his index finger, bending it.
[Can you read it?]
"...Yeah. I can. And stop playing with my hand, Tara."
"Calluses feel weird. Niore, wanna feel?"
"......"
Bennett rubbed his face with his free left hand. Heat flushed hot. He was young too. Girls toying with his hand was embarrassing and ticklish.
Tara fiddled with his thumb, then abruptly said,
"Okay, say what you want."
"What's that out of nowhere?"
"Seventy percent of saint work is counseling. Tons of people pay donations to confess and get absolution. Your face looked like you'd show up with a wad of cash."
[You looked like you had a lot to say.]
"......"
He prided himself on his poker face. Niore's monster perception was unavoidable, but Tara spotting it meant his facade had cracked.
Maybe the tension had melted away.
What if it was before they meshed? He'd have seen this as deadly dangerous. A dagger raised beyond the curtain could sever his right hand.
But bonds built up, seeing their laughs and tears, he'd melted unknowingly.
That made the fear greater. If confessing he was a black mage shattered this...
"...Ha."
"Not gonna say?"
"No, I will. If hearing it is your wish."
"Still bluffing to the end... Hey, I don't have to listen if you don't want?"
Smack smack. Tara slapped his palm. Niore followed with a light tap, amused.
Bennett burst out laughing, pondered briefly, then spilled.
"I'm a black mage. Dispatched to bring down the academy."
"...Huh?!"
His chest pounded with fear and anxiety. But he wanted to say it. To be accepted. Maybe just to vent to someone.
"It won't be long. The happy days I want to speak of... too much time passed, I forgot them."
He calmly recounted his life.
[So, chasing the mage with us, attending lectures...]
"Planned disruptions midway. Imperial succession chaos would rock the academy."
"......"
Bennett closed his eyes gently, like a sinner awaiting judgment.
Tara placed her hand on his, squeezing lightly. In her usual tone.
"You never used others' souls, right?"
"......"
"Black mages using souls leave residues that taint their own. Makes 'em feel ragged. You were clean."
"...You can see that?"
"Takes time together."
Tara cupped his hand with both of hers, tapped the back, closed her eyes to gather thoughts, then spoke carefully.
"Probably killed for black mages, huh?"
"...Yeah."
"But I think... you'd avoid it if possible. Excuses like 'more efficient not to' or whatever. Am I wrong?"
"Wrong."
"No, I'm right."
"......"
As Bennett froze blankly, Saint Tara pronounced.
"The sin of the pitiful youth who strove to save his sister... shall be remitted by saving the world. Got it?"
"Outlandish pardon terms... No more doubts?"
[We've watched Bennett long enough. Good work so far.]
Niore's hand layered on too. The warmth of stacked hands melted a long winter.
"Double agent cover, Bennett. Saint's vouch means no inquisitor grabs you."
"......"
"That settles the dungeon debt?"
Tara released and left the confessional. He'd helped her before Abraham; now she returned it. Family hostage wasn't huge sin.
Sole worry: fading holy power. Lose saint status, can't cover him. Run together then?
Niore emerged, stood by. Waited quietly. After five minutes, he came out composed.
"Cried?"
"Not a crybaby like you."
"Looked like it. Niore?"
[I'll keep it secret for Bennett!]
That's the answer. Bennett grumbled inwardly. Hand on longsword hilt, he strode ahead half a beat.
"Brands left. Move."
"Don't dodge 'cause embarrassed. Niore, let's go?"
[Yeah.]
Post-confession, subtle mindset shifts synced them better. Fully trusting backs widened tactics.
Minor injuries, but they found and erased the brand in the slums' communal laundry.
Slums brand erasure complete.
And—July 14th.
Isaac celebrated his birthday.