Chapter 98
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: Psyche
A cloud of dust approached at high speed. Allen scanned the area with his senses and spoke slowly.
“It seems we’ll have to deal with that first.”
“…I understand.”
She seemed to agree that dealing with the bandits was the priority and nodded obediently. However, Iliana still hadn't dropped her suspicious gaze toward Allen.
Allen offered her just a single piece of advice.
“While I’m dealing with them, why don’t you take a look at yourself.”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t you feel something different from usual?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then her expression turned to one of utter shock.
“Wait, Young Master, surely you didn’t…!”
“We’ll talk in a bit.”
Allen ignored her demand for an answer and ran forward.
「Aren’t you a bit too cunning? You told her now on purpose, didn’t you?」
‘Did it seem that way? It must be a coincidence.’
「I’m sure it was.」
‘Isn’t it better to clear up misunderstandings quickly?’ It was just that diverting her emotions elsewhere was the best way to quell her anger.
There was another reason Allen had the leisure to chat with Vestla.
Simply put, his opponents were beneath his notice.
Chimera users, giant test subjects, corrupted divine beasts, black mages, ancient monsters…
Compared to the enemies he had faced until now, the bandits were opponents who didn't even require him to make a move.
The only reason Allen moved was to give Iliana a moment to think.
Allen stopped when the bandits were reasonably close.
‘The Call of the Cradle could be dangerous for Iliana as well, so…’
Allen closed his eyes. The magic he was using this time was a new one he wanted to test.
Threads began to unravel from his core. It was pure magic, something he hadn’t used in a long time. That was the impression he got, having used his sword so much lately.
The threads gathered quietly under his control.
‘This feels good.’
Each time he learned a new instrument, there was much he needed to understand to recreate it with magic.
A superficial knowledge of the instrument wasn’t enough. Could he play it properly? How familiar was it to his hands? Could he picture it even with his eyes closed?
It wasn't a difficult task. He had done it tirelessly before his regression, and with so much repetition, he had a knack for it.
Only one thing was important.
‘How well did I understand the instrument?’
The threads in his embrace were woven into an earth-colored instrument, similar to a cello but half its size, with a square end.
The horse-head fiddle was an instrument of the prairie.
An instrument that captured the endless grandeur of the wide horizon and the delicate, breathing life within it.
That was why it could be as tempestuous as the thundering hooves of a horse, yet also flow like the wind rustling through short grass.
If one understood this, even without the perfection of a true musician, their performance would hold life, like a beating heart. It would become alive.
“The name… yes.”
He channeled these things into his fingertips.
With the sensation he had first learned in his Orchestra (I) class.
“Freedom’s Madness.”
Two strings resonated, and a single spell stretched out toward the figures who had now come close enough to be seen with the naked eye.
The air swept over them like a breeze, passing by as if it had no effect at all.
“Th-the magic has no effect! Get closer! Quickly!”
“Once we’re close, it’s nothing!”
“Hurry up-!”
The sound continued to wash over them. Their speed gradually increased. Then, one of the charging bandits fell.
The dismounted man died with a broken neck. No one looked at him.
“A little more! A little faster!”
“Gold coins, I have to find my gold coins! More, more!”
“I’m, I’m number one!”
Before long, their eyes had turned red. Not just them—even the horses they rode had bloodshot eyes and snorted heavily.
All the bandits began to run without any regard for their stamina.
As they ran, a bandit at the back threw his sword at the companion in front of him.
*Shunk-*
“Out of my way, I said get out of my way! I have to get there first, I have to!”
Another one died. That was the beginning. They all started swinging their swords to get ahead of each other. Allen had become an afterthought.
“You lowly bastards! Move! My gold is over there!”
“You get out of the way, old man! You gold-crazed old… guh!”
Two died, then three.
With each pluck of the strings, their actions grew bolder, more uninhibited.
They stabbed their comrades in the back to rush forward, and even after being unhorsed, they tried to grab at others’ ankles.
By the time Allen’s spell ended, only one person had reached him.
“Die! Die! Now, for my gold, for my gold coins, just die!”
The old man who had been commanding the band of marauders.
The man, who had caught Allen’s eye for being unusually fit for his age, crawled toward him, screaming despite a pierced thigh.
‘An old man resorting to banditry? Is there a reason?’
Allen didn’t give it any more thought. Whatever the old man’s circumstances, whatever his reasons, he had attacked Allen and threatened his life. That was a fact.
That was all that mattered.
Just as Allen was about to kill him and turn back, a word that should never have left the man’s lips came out.
“The Apostle’s seat! It was supposed to be mine!”
“What?”
“I was so close! If the original plan had gone through…!”
Allen quickly knelt before the old man and grabbed him by the collar.
“What? What did you just say…?”
At that moment, immense magical power erupted from the old man. Allen instinctively backed away. The necklace around the old man’s neck began to glow brightly.
“Save…”
*CRACK!*
The old man’s head shattered, splattering blood and flesh everywhere.
He died without being able to utter a single proper sentence. The situation was utterly unnatural.
Allen rushed forward to glean any information he could from the corpse. But before he could take a single step, the space before him rippled.
*Flash-*
An old man appeared in front of the corpse.
This man was different from the one who had just died; he was thin and frail, and a faint smell of alcohol hung about him.
The situation was strange.
Who was the dead old man? And who was this one who had just appeared? Was the Apostle the dead man spoke of an Apostle of the Cycle Cult?
‘The Apostle’s seat was promised to him?’
Allen’s mind raced.
The sudden appearance of bandits, and among them, an old man claiming the Apostle’s seat was meant for him. His head exploding just as he was about to reveal information, followed by the appearance of another old man.
The timing was too coincidental.
Something Allen didn't know about had interfered here.
And it had been happening even before Allen took the seat of the Apostle.
That was the only conclusion he could draw.
‘But can I be sure that’s correct?’
Who were these people, and what was their original plan?
Allen cut off his increasingly deep thoughts and looked up. Before him, the skinny old man was staring at the corpse with a stiff expression.
“So.”
The old man turned his head.
“Who are you?”
At his words, the old man seemed to snap back to his senses. He straightened the simple suit he was wearing and bowed his head to Allen.
“First, I would like to apologize to you, Young Master, for being startled by this unexpected accident.”
“I asked who you are.”
As Allen stared at him unwaveringly, the man introduced himself without delay.
“I am Bleim, the Kairan branch manager of the central information guild, Psyche.”
“Can you explain what’s going on?”
“Yes, of course I can.”
Contrary to Allen’s wariness, he smiled gently and pointed a finger at the dead old man.
“First, this man is an information vault that escaped from our guild.”
“Information vault…?”
His tone, as if referring to an object rather than a person, was as flat as before.
“Yes. The amount of information that flows into an information guild is immense. However, the amount that can be stored at each branch is limited. The solution to that is the information vault.”
When Allen remained silent, as if willing to listen, he continued his explanation.
“Since the amount of information that can be physically conveyed and moved is limited, we consolidate it into one person who then serves to update the information at each branch. This man was one of the information vaults we have cultivated for decades.”
“Then what does that have to do with him attacking me?”
He shook his head with a look of regret, his expression clouding over.
“His expiration date was up.”
“…‘Expiration date was up.’ That doesn’t seem like a term to describe a person.”
“However, there is no other word that can properly explain this matter, so I ask for your understanding. Allow me to explain…”
The dead old man, Kofis, had wandered the continent for decades serving as an information vault, and his final destination was the newly established Kairan branch.
But over the long years, the strain on his mind and the frailty of old age had driven him mad.
“Can you imagine, Young Master? To wander the continent for decades with information equivalent to an entire library stored in your head.”
“Then what about what I heard? He said the Apostle’s seat was originally his…”
“That is also the same.”
He claimed that because the last piece of information Kofis memorized was about the new Apostle of the Cycle Cult, he had said those words.
That was how Kofis knew Allen was an Apostle and was able to find him here.
“His head exploded at the end because he tried to divulge information himself… and my being transported here is part of the same mechanism.”
He explained that normally, one wouldn't divulge information knowing their own head would explode, but Kofis seemed to have forgotten that in his madness.
His explanation was very, very plausible.
So much so that if Allen hadn't regressed, he would have genuinely believed him.
The old man’s words were that well-mixed with logical coherence and truth.
Which was precisely why Allen didn’t believe him.
‘The existence of an information vault itself is likely true. But everything else is a lie.’
Anyone with power would have at least heard rumors about the existence of information vaults, which circulated in the shadows. But the rest of the story was another matter.
Because Allen knew that the true Apostle of the Prophecy was about to appear.
Circumstantially, there was a high probability that the dead old man was that Apostle.
His existence, along with the situation from the first timeline, gave Allen an idea of what they had been plotting.
‘A schism in the Cycle Cult.’
Another reason was the existence of spatial teleportation.
It might seem common because of the academy, ancient ruins, and Rachel’s existence, but spatial teleportation as an artifact was extremely rare.
Even Allen, who had dealt with spatial magic for ten years, hadn't mastered teleportation. And a mere branch manager was using it?
With an artifact?
‘That makes no sense.’
It wasn’t something a mere branch manager could use, though perhaps the master of Psyche could.
If his head had just exploded and no one had appeared, Allen might not have discovered anything.
But the appearance of Bleim, as if to prevent Allen from searching Kofis’s body, only served to further support Allen’s suspicions.
He wanted to seize him right then and there.
He wanted to interrogate him, to ask what this Apostle’s existence meant and what the true identity of Psyche was, but…
“So why are you standing in my way? I don’t think I heard a reason for you to touch my spoils of war.”
Allen couldn’t do it.
He couldn't gauge the extent of their power.
To become an Apostle of the Cycle Cult, one needed to know the future in some form.
Allen could pretend to be an Apostle because he was a regressor. But them. How did they place an old man in the Apostle’s seat?
‘…If only I could have consulted with Lady Francisca.’
Allen remembered her saying she believed in prophecies. If so, there must have been a reason. Allen regretted not asking her for that reason in the past.
The more practical problem was that while only this old man was here now, he didn't know how many more would appear if he showed hostility.
“The body must be recovered because it contains our guild’s secrets. However, since it is also rightfully your spoils of war, Young Master… I shall offer you something else instead.”
Allen wasn’t one of the Eight Strongest, who could resolve most situations with sheer force, and given the enemy's capabilities, he couldn't deny the possibility that they could bring in someone even stronger than him.
“Then what can you offer?”
Thus, Allen took a step back.
“Is there anything you desire?”
“No, I haven't thought of anything.”
“In that case, I promise that any branch of our Psyche will accept a single information request from you, whatever it may be. How does that sound?”
“Hmm…”
After a moment of thought, Allen nodded.
“I accept.”
“Then we shall be on our way…”
“However.”
Bleim, who was about to collect the body, paused. Allen continued, unfazed.
“I will make my request now.”
“Now, you say…?”
“Why, is it impossible?”
“No, not at all. I personally said that any branch would accept it. That includes the Kairan branch.”
The old man, though puzzled by Allen’s attitude, straightened his posture in accordance with his own words.
“Several months ago, during the harvest festival in the Reinhardt domain in the western Libre Kingdom, bandits attacked through the underground sewers.”
What Allen brought up was something he had kept in his heart, having had no way to investigate it until now.
“My father, the Count, publicly declared a fallen noble as the one who hired the bandits and had him executed… but I know that’s not the whole story. What I want is simple.”
Normally, an information guild would try not to get involved in disputes between nobles unless they had a close relationship with the local powers.
Getting involved carelessly could earn them the ire of the noble whose secrets were exposed, as well as other powerful figures who would realize their own information could be sold.
That was also why Allen hadn’t been able to find out the true identity of the intruders until now.
But what about now?
“I want to know who the true mastermind behind that fallen noble was.”
Could he refuse, after saying he would grant anything?
“The intruders who invaded our domain, and the true master of those intruders—all of them.”
Allen smiled faintly as he watched the man, whose expression had darkened as if he were in quite a predicament.