The Vampire's Demise and the Priests' Greed
Though the vampire had been stirred by the noble air radiating from Kaisent's bloodline, he had still been looking down on the boy for how young he appeared—and now he could not hide his shock.
Again and again he tried to cast his curses, and again and again they were dismantled by the very same methods he himself had used.
Impossible! He's that young!
It had taken him more than seventy years to reach this level. And yet Kaisent, who looked younger and weaker than him, was unraveling his spells?
It felt like living through a nightmare that made no sense at all.
In that case—!
Unable to transform into any other form beneath the shadowless sunlight, the vampire pressed his robe down hard and shot forward with everything he had.
The moment Kaisent saw the vampire racing toward him faster than an arrow, he flung his bow aside and seized the arrows in his fists.
Fast! I can't answer this the ordinary way!
Standing atop the carriage, Kaisent hurled the arrows with both hands and unfolded the profound principles of the Soul-Chasing Butterfly Art.
The arrows traced elegant, butterfly-like arcs as they flew toward the vampire.
The vampire simply chopped the shafts aside with the edge of his hand.
Physically and magically superior to humans, a vampire was a magic swordsman by the mere fact of existing.
Got him!
As he swatted the arrows away and locked eyes with Kaisent, the vampire smiled.
Submit to me!
Every vampire possessed, as a birthright, magic eyes that could dominate any being of lower rank. Just as he had beguiled the mercenaries moments earlier.
A boy who looked so young would be simple to crush—that was why he had charged in.
Now the power of the magic eyes that had slipped into the boy's mind would put Kaisent's consciousness to sleep…
Crack!
"…Ah?"
At that instant something shattered, and the vampire's vision went black without warning.
What? Why can I see nothing but darkness? No—is this even "darkness"?
A noble of the night unable to see anything in the dark?
Sensing something wrong, he reached for his own eyes—
Zzzzzzt!
"Gyaaaaaaaaaah! Aaaagh! Kieeeeeek!"
A hideous agony that set every nerve ablaze from the eyes outward dropped the vampire where he stood; he smashed his head against the ground in torment.
Pain so absolute he could not even think.
The magic eyes that interfered with another's mind had rebounded with a force beyond comprehension and seared every nerve in his body.
The "darkness" that had fallen over him was the darkness of a man whose eyeballs had burst and left him blind.
What—what the hell is this?!
He knew that if the magic eyes failed, the backlash would strike him. He had suffered it a few times before.
But pain enough to rupture the eyes and set every nerve on fire could not be explained by mere strength of will.
Only races of a completely different order—beings who stood overwhelmingly above even vampires—could produce a rebound of that magnitude.
"You… what in the world are you…!"
"??"
Kaisent had merely swatted away the unpleasant sensation of something trying to crawl inside him; he had no idea why the vampire had ended up like this.
But the man was an enemy who had attacked the Wolf Mercenary Corps and tried some strange trick on him.
Kaisent summoned his bow with a mage's hand, nocked an arrow, and loosed it with all his strength, blowing the vampire's head clean off.
"Guhk!"
The impact of the arrow punching through left a massive hole centered on the vampire's brow.
A higher-ranked vampire could regenerate even a destroyed brain, but this one had never reached that level; his consciousness faded and he collapsed limply.
Whoosh—hissssss—
Sunlight poured in through the hole the arrow had made, began burning the vampire from the head down, and in moments reduced him to ash.
"Hoo~"
Having successfully dealt with the vampire, Kaisent let out a long breath of relief at having passed a major crisis.
With this, the comrades he beguiled will come back to themselves… wait. If that happens—!
"Huh? Where am I? Why am I—? Uwaaaagh?!"
"Gyaah! H-help me!!"
"Hyaaagh!"
The moment the one who had commanded the undead and brainwashed the mercenaries vanished, the mercenaries who had been attacking their own comrades alongside the undead found themselves surrounded by the now-uncontrolled horde and under assault.
Kaisent hurriedly strung his bow, but even if he dropped a few zombies this way he judged he could not save every comrade.
Magic? He had no area spell that could distinguish friend from foe.
Undead control? He had never tried to command this many at once.
What do I do? What am I supposed to do? At this rate the people who were controlled will die… wait. Controlled?
Kaisent sprinted toward the vampire he had just finished off.
The black streams of mana that linked every undead were steadily weakening.
Will it work? No—whether it works or not, I have to try!
His heart wavered for a second, then he steeled himself and poured power into the fading mana still connected to the vampire.
"Stop! Attack no one!"
The instant he poured his will into it, every undead that had been assaulting the mercenaries froze like mannequins.
"Guh… wh-what…?"
"This is…?"
"W-we're… alive…?"
Confirming that the undead had all stopped, the mercenaries turned their gazes toward Kaisent, who had clearly given the order.
"It… it worked…."
Having seized control of the mana linked to the undead, Kaisent wore an expression of pure relief.
Whoooosh—
Obeying Kaisent's command, the undead walked into the pits and burned themselves to nothing.
The mercenaries split into teams—one destroying the charred corpses and searching for cores, the other collecting the gear the undead had been using.
Thanks to Kaisent's quick thinking there had been no fatalities, and they had even secured the undead's equipment safely. A far more serious problem remained, however.
"Guh… gaaaaah…!"
"Ah… it hurts… it huuurts…!"
"M-mom…."
Every mercenary freed from the beguilement had been wounded by the undead, and death energy had seeped into their bodies.
Others had been injured while holding the line, but those men had at least had a chance to minimize the damage; these ones had been focused on and given no such opportunity.
"Wound Heal!"
Kaisent restored the wounded men's injuries for the moment, yet all he could heal was external damage.
"It's no good! The wounds close, but the energy that got inside won't go away!"
"Clear out one of the carriages! We're loading the wounded!"
The free-handed mercenaries hurriedly emptied a carriage and loaded the injured along with escort troops just in case.
"Fredrick! Take the wounded to a priest!"
"Understood!"
Fredrick accepted a purse of money from Lillian and prepared to depart.
"Kaisent. Just to be safe, you go with them as well."
"Yes!"
With Kaisent—who served as the Wolf Mercenary Corps' problem-solver—along, most physical threats could be handled without trouble.
Thus Lillian stayed behind to clean up while Fredrick set off for the nearest city with the carriages carrying the wounded.
"Damn it. What the hell is all this?"
"Vice-Captain Fredrick said the one controlling the undead was a vampire."
"A vampire? So the Saryeong Kingdom is pulling strings?"
The mercenaries riding as escorts while transporting the wounded vented their rage at the vampire who had turned a smooth mission into a disaster.
"Fucking filthy undead bastards."
"The civil war's part of it, but isn't the reason undead keep showing up because the Saryeong Kingdom's been working behind the scenes?"
"Obviously. They're starting to stretch their hands into the Halrot Kingdom now."
The mercenaries poured out their instinctive loathing of the undead.
On top of that, a vampire had been controlling them—that was why their comrades were suffering like this.
If Kaisent had not at least healed the external wounds, the added agony of torn flesh would almost certainly have killed several of them.
"I'll go ahead!"
"Yes, sir!"
Once the carriages had reached a steady pace, Fredrick sprinted out in front.
He needed to speak with the city guards in advance and summon the priests.
As Fredrick vanished into a speck at a speed faster than a horse, the remaining mercenaries scanned the surroundings with tense faces.
If an unexpected enemy appeared here, they would have to hold it off with their own strength alone.
Fortunately they met neither undead nor bandits taking advantage of the civil war's chaos, and reached the nearby city without incident.
Fredrick had clearly arranged things well; he and the city's priests were waiting at the gate to receive the carriages.
Those people have threads hanging from their heads too.
Kaisent could see the threads attached to the priests' heads.
They wore clean-looking caps, yet the threads passed straight through the fabric and continued upward.
"Ahem. We shall begin the purification now."
A priest of imposing build and solemn bearing—apparently their representative—fluttered his voluminous robes and began walking slowly toward the carriages.
What are you doing?! Move faster!
Right now comrades were suffering in agony inside those carriages.
If a medic who was supposed to treat wounded soldiers moved that leisurely, the allied side would have every right to be furious enough to "accidentally" kill him.
Kaisent was about to voice his dissatisfaction at the slowly approaching priest when a nearby mercenary clamped a hand on his shoulder and pressed down hard.
"Calm down, Kaisent. In our world this is normal."
"……."
In a world where clergy could display the miracles of a god and a world where they could not, the treatment of priests was bound to be polar opposites.
Having lived in the latter, Kaisent simply could not grasp how this world—the former—regarded its clergy.
Fine. Calm down. Everyone's suffering, but none of them are about to die yet.
While the priests continued their leisurely approach, the mercenaries unloaded the wounded from the carriages and laid them out for easy treatment.
"Hm? The wounds?"
The priests noticed that the injuries of those attacked by the undead had already been healed, and rapidly exchanged glances.
"Hoo. So someone healed the wounds with magic."
"Indeed. That may be fine for the moment, but in the long run it is a dangerous thing."
"What do you mean by that?"
Fredrick asked, puzzled by the priests' lament.
"When wounds are closed by the power of magic, the mana used in the process melts into the death energy and torments the patient all the more."
"And the amount of death energy we must purify increases by the same measure."
"What? What are you talking about?"
Listening to them, Kaisent found himself speaking almost as if he were challenging them.
"Hey, Kaisent."
"And who is that boy?"
"It's nothing, he—"
"I am the mage who healed these people's wounds. The mana used in healing melts into the death energy? I checked the condition after I treated them, and I never saw the death energy grow larger."
A nearby mercenary tried to stop him, but Kaisent—already irritated by the way the priests swaggered while the wounded suffered—refuted the claim that the death energy had increased.
"Haha. To have healed this many wounds… truly a talented young mage."
"But it seems experience is still lacking. Well, at that age one can hardly be expected to understand such complicated matters."
"Mages are always locked inside their own knowledge; it cannot be helped."
"What…!"
The way they praised him on the surface while pinning him down with "you're young, so you don't know" twisted Kaisent's face.
"Our apologies, Your Reverences."
"The boy is still young and seems to have reacted too strongly to his comrades' injuries."
The surrounding mercenaries pressed down on Kaisent's head and shoulders and apologized to the priests.
"Kaisent. The more of a scene you make, the longer those guys suffer."
"Kh…!"
He wanted to insist their claim was wrong, but the faces of the suffering wounded made him lower his head and keep silent.
With the small disturbance settled, the priests began purifying the death energy.
"O holy light of the dawn, deliver us from curse and corruption."
"Keep ever pure and sacred the children upon whom Your light falls."
As they recited the prayer, light began to shine from the hands they laid upon the wounded—light so bright it should have hurt the eyes, yet instead felt gentle and endlessly watchable.
"Khh…! Kh… hoo… hoo…."
As the light flowed into their bodies, the black energy around the wounds faded and the mercenaries' faces gradually grew peaceful.
Those threads… they started glowing when the priests prayed.
Unlike his earlier anger at the priests' behavior, Kaisent had been watching the tops of their heads and confirmed that the threads fixed to their crowns shone in time with the prayer.
Strangely, even though light radiated from the threads, it had no effect on the surroundings at all.
I heard that priests pray to a god and receive miracles. In other words, those threads must be the channels through which the miracles are granted.
He wanted to examine them.
He wanted to take those threads and study them closely.
But how?
He could hardly ask them to let him touch their heads.
I don't want to ask those people for anything in the first place.
As the one who had treated the mercenaries, he could say with confidence that his healing had not amplified the death energy.
So why did they tell that lie?
Since investigating the threads was realistically impossible for now, he moved on to the next question.
Why inflate a nonexistent fact so dramatically?
Kaisent focused on the fact that they had exaggerated the symptoms after confirming the wounds were already healed.
"Excuse me."
"I know you're unhappy, but stay quiet—"
"It's not that. What's the standard priests use to calculate treatment fees?"
"Priests have a set grade that determines how much miracle power they can manifest. That's why a price is attached to each miracle."
After confirming the standard with the nearby mercenary, Kaisent finally understood why they had said what they said.
I healed the wounds, so they lost a chance to make money. That's why they deliberately made up something that wasn't true—to charge a higher treatment fee.
"Oh, and priests call it a 'donation,' not a 'treatment fee.' Remember that carefully—it's important. Unless you want to get arrested for blasphemy later."
"…What a pain."
The mercenary also warned him of something that looked trivial but was actually critical.
After a while, most of the mercenaries finished their treatment.
He still disliked the priests, yet seeing his comrades improve lightened his heart a little.
I still want to examine the priests' threads.
Having come this close to the clergy, Kaisent did not want to waste the opportunity to investigate the threads fixed above their heads.
If I tear those threads off, in the worst case they might never be able to use miracles again. But with people like them…
They still had to eat, so charging for treatment itself did not bother him.
People who, knowing there was no alternative to themselves, could casually lie just to earn more money—people like that he could strip of their threads without a shred of guilt.