Chapter 208
Chapter 208
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 208
Chapter Title: A Brief Rest for Advancing Six Spaces
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Bacchus, the god of wine and revelry.
According to the tales, he wasn't originally a god but a human. More precisely, a demigod with blood that's half divine and half mortal.
Of course, having even half a god's blood in your veins was seen as an enormous blessing in this world.
Just that fact alone meant they wouldn't live ordinary lives—they'd rise above others in whatever they did.
Take Hippolyte or Antiope, who both claim to be demigods. Look at the glamorous, splendid lives they lead.
No doubt Demigod Bacchus lived a dazzling, magnificent life too.
Fuck, you spoiled rich bastards.
Anyway, in life he commanded throngs of followers, and in the end, he ascended to the throne of the high mountain Hypos. That's the god of wine and revelry, Bacchus.
That said, there are plenty of legends depicting him as merciless and cruel—quite at odds with a god of wine, festivals, and fun.
It stems from the essence of "wine" that Bacchus symbolizes, which harbors humanity's brutal instincts and madness.
Thus, followers of the wine god can become followers of the god of madness.
That's why people fear them for their dual nature of revelry and savagery.
In that sense, the man I was set to meet—Weiss Vine—was someone to approach with caution.
From what Antiope had told me, he was a fervent devotee of Bacchus and an outstanding inquisitor who hunted heretics.
That was all the info from her, so the rest I'd have to confirm with my own eyes.
Fuck, but an inquisitor?
Heretic interrogator, right?
The image popping into my head was folks in tall conical hats strapping people to torture wheels and spinning them round and round.
And those types usually didn't like me much. I was a dark-haired outsider, the kind this world shunned.
"Um, if you head to the banquet hall, Lord Vice should be waiting for you."
So the day after playing that board game with everyone.
Before arriving at the meeting spot Weiss Vine had set, I'd seriously debated turning back.
Why the hell did he want to see me?
Was there something in the newspaper about traces of necromancy? Had he figured out it was me using it?
With those thoughts swirling, I followed a pretty young girl to what looked like a wide open plaza.
This was Bacchus's banquet hall in the heart of Little Gomorrah.
They said it was where the wine god's followers handed out drinks to the crowds during city events and festivals, turning it into a riotous party.
It was out in the open plaza, so I'd worried about the heat, but luckily the ceiling was thick with grapevines casting plenty of shade.
And beneath that shade—even with the sun still blazing high—were people tilting their cups and chattering noisily.
Those were the rowdy drunks.
Bacchus's devotees.
Fuck, guzzling booze in broad daylight and rolling around on the ground. Made me jealous as hell, but somehow that was their way of showing faith.
"Excuse me."
They didn't stop slouching in their chairs or occasionally staggering to their feet and shaking their bodies, even as I approached.
Men and women, kids and elders—eyes glazed, faces flushed without exception.
"I'm looking for a man named Weiss Vine."
Standing among the drunks was awkward enough, so I figured I'd wrap this up quick and head out.
"Huuuuh, heeeeh."
"Uuuungh-."
Maybe they were too wasted to hear me; folks just lay around languidly everywhere.
The sharp booze scent was enough to muddle my head.
Honestly, I wasn't big on drinking, let alone getting smashed, so the whole scene felt uncomfortable.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Weiss Vine. I heard he was here. Isn't he?"
So I asked again.
Swoosh.
A guy sprawled on a chair in front of me raised a hand and pointed to one corner. There sat a pool in the middle of the plaza.
What the hell kind of pool?
Curious, I looked over.
A group of men and women had stripped down and were half-submerged in vivid purple liquid. What kind of pool's that color?
The bitter smell suggested it was filled with booze. A cold pool of wine, bobbing with ice, grapevines, and leaves.
Fuck, talk about extravagant.
I get shaky hands just floating ice in lemonade.
"Are you Weiss Vine of the temple knight order?"
I called out to a man with women draped over both arms, head thrown way back.
Only his upper body showed above the purple liquid, but the well-toned muscles marked him as a temple knight, probably.
"..."
No reply from him.
"Lord Vine, looks like a guest."
The women fawning at his side just stroked his face tenderly. Were the women going in naked too?
I'd heard Bacchus followers had loose morals when it came to chastity.
Seeing it up close was something else. Felt like I'd paid for a diamond VIP room or whatever.
Is this how the rich, popular assholes partied?
"Lord Vine-."
"Ah, must've dozed off there. A guest, huh? Ladies, mind stepping out for a bit?"
"See you later for more fun-."
Giggling, the women splashed out of the pool.
Glancing at their languid, dripping bodies swaying about pissed me off somehow. Fuck, is this the winner's life?
Actaeon was a pretty-boy rich kid too, gay as they come, but his exhibitionist perv side made it tolerable. This guy? Too damn enviable.
As I stewed alone, the man spoke.
"Care to join? It's Holy Week, so we absorb the undrinkable wine this way."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
Even imagining grape-stained skin getting sticky turned my stomach. No way I'd hop in without getting paid.
"Not a fan of booze?"
"I drink now and then. But you wanted to see me, right? What's this about?"
Scurry.
I dragged over a nearby chair, set it down, and sat.
No desire to chat long with drunks, so pure business vibe. Even wasted, he'd get that I was rushing.
"More urgent than I expected. No time for a drink in life? Fair enough. Nothing tackier than forcing booze."
Splash.
The man rose from his seat.
Shorter than me by a head, maybe.
No interest in describing his naked body.
Lean build, muscles honed to a razor's edge—like a sharp dagger.
Yeah, a dagger.
No match for my club, Terror Crusher.
Asshole.
Score one for me.
As I smugly gloated, he peeled grape leaves from his drenched purple hair, then loosely draped a white robe over himself.
Then he dragged a chair over and sat facing me.
Thin, sharp features—like a snake.
Strong guy, plain as day.
Level around 40, I'd bet.
So this was he: Bacchus devotee, ninth seat of the temple knights, Weiss Vine.
"I read about you in the paper, Samaritan."
His demeanor and speech were so polite it put me more on edge.
I'd pictured a hairy, boozy slob. Instead, a refined intellectual. Clean-shaven. Hell, handsome even.
The man said,
"In that dark cave, you took down nearly a hundred goblins at once, they say. True?"
"More or less."
"Makes sense up close like this. So, straight to it since you're busy: Did you run into the goblin of greed, Gogrid, in there?"
"The huge fat goblin?"
"Probably. He's a minion of Gigass, Mezayer—the one I've been hunting. Hear anything about him while you felled him? Or see the undead with blue-glowing eyes?"
This fucker-.
In my view, people in this world were stingy with info.
Knowing more let you exploit others, widen gaps for better lives, manipulate foes.
Hence the underground info brokers.
But Weiss Vine dumped a ton of intel at once, approaching me coldly despite just crawling out of a booze bath.
Suspecting me?
Hard not to think so.
Toyed with playing dumb, but that'd look worse. So I leaked some info back.
"Gigass, yeah. Heard something about him surfacing."
"As expected. Hell's minions climbing up is the problem."
"Fucking huge problem. Hope every last hellspawn drops dead."
Thinking of the vicious bastards who might target Luna, I spat real venom.
"Hell's-. Hellspawn-?"
Caught him off guard; the man's blank stare twitched faintly between his brows.
"Ah, sorry. Heretic shit just boils my blood."
"Hoh, more interesting than thought. Heard you racked up kills against cultists. Got some grudge or tie to them?"
"With my black hair, I get misunderstood a lot."
"I see. Makes sense. Samaritans were rumored tied to Pluto back in the day. Just rumors, of course."
My excuse landed; tension eased from his eyes. No way he knew I was the blue-eyed necromancer.
Faithful types feel massive guilt badmouthing their gods, even falsely.
Me? No such qualms.
To prove I'm no cultist, nothing beats trash-talking Pluto and hell's forces. Works every time.
Then a brilliant idea hit.
This guy's a temple knight who smashes anything hell-magic related. Luna's enemies are hell's hellspawn.
Pit them against each other, let them wear themselves out. Win-win for me either way.
I railed to Inquisitor Weiss Vine about how evil cultists were, preying on honest folk.
"They're probably planning to invade the surface using famous monsters' bodies."
"Famous monsters? Hassan, are you saying hell's lords will possess strong named beasts?"
"Could be."
"Valid point. We've discussed that in the order..."
"So smash every monster and cultist."
"Quite right, quite right."
My speech pleased him; he even smiled.
Didn't care if the guy cried or laughed, but him dropping his guard was a relief after that shady tension.
Then the smirking man awkwardly grimaced.
"Guess I owe you an apology, Hassan."
"An apology to me? What for?"
"I suspected you of necromancy in that burrow."
"Oh?"
"Circumstantially, you were the only one who entered. And seeing you now, you give off a vibe like the cultists I've seen."
Temple knights indeed.
Sharp instincts.
Nailing it from the start.
I played it casual.
"Probably this necklace. Got it off a cultist, Koma."
"Star of Kalan. Could be. A warrior like you wouldn't be a necromancy suspect anyway."
"Really? Why?"
"Necromancers handle not just hell-magic but share their life force with undead, so they end up gaunt old men. You, on the other hand-"
His sly, narrowed eyes scanned me quick.
"You look pretty healthy, Hassan."
Matched what Gogrid said.
My build didn't fit a necromancer.
Fuck, bulked up enough to pass.
"The blue-eyed necromancer's probably some scrawny geezer. From our probe, the necromancy there was on a scale of hundreds. That kind of forbidden art drains life force—makes even youths look ancient."
"Got it. Suspect the old folks then."
"Anyway, sorry for the suspicion. Actaeon vouched, but yeah—you're no necromancer."
He trailed off with "polite fellow too-", probably weirded out by my "barbarian" look and honorifics.
I shrugged it off.
"Sure, line of work makes you paranoid. But if you catch the perp?"
"Summary execution."
"Reassuring words."
Acted nonchalant, but I wanted out fast.
Talk too long, a slip might show. This guy'd pounce without hesitation.
Smack.
Throat felt dry suddenly.
Spotted a pitcher, chugged whatever was in it. Weiss Vine's eyes widened.
"That's ten-year steeped sorghum liquor. Downing the whole pitcher? Ho-ho, bold as brass. No bad folks among heavy drinkers."
"Is it."
Didn't notice while gulping, but my mouth burned now. Not booze—industrial alcohol. Fuck, thirstier.
That impressed him plenty; his wariness melted completely.
"Hassan, as thanks for Gogrid info and apology for suspicion, here's key cultist intel."
"Intel? What?"
"Soon, a small subjugation squad forms. I'm not just after Gogrid, goblin king. Join, and it'd be the highest honor."
"Tied to Gigass?"
"Naturally."
"Then count me in. Just call."
"Music to my ears. Won't keep a busy man. Next time, drinks in the evening."
"Sure, I'll head out then-."
With that, I escaped the booze-reeking banquet hall.
I got a souvenir bottle worth 20 silvers, so my mood was decent, but I felt a decade older after that,like I survived a tiger's maw.
My life force was drained for real.
Hope I never cross paths with them again.
Maybe paranoia was fine, but Weiss Vine felt like he was testing me the whole time. Somehow it seems like I passed.
Said he cleared his suspicions, but after years of grilling cultists, he might've sense that vibe on me.
Fuck, now I'm starting to feel like a real cultist.
With those thoughts, I returned home to Luna. But the yard crawled with folks I hadn't seen, thronging the doorstep.
It seems like potion orders had been slow lately.
Have the backup customers come all at once?
Nah, these didn't feel like the usual regulars.
What the fuck.
"Who're you lot?"