Black That Flowed from the White Prison (3)
Elang finished his duties at the monastery and climbed into the carriage bound for home.
With the money he had gotten from selling Luchika not long ago, he expected he could finally buy the latest volume of that novelist his daughter had been begging for—the one currently all the rage in the capital.
The author was an extraordinary success story among the “black-haired barbarians” summoned to the Empire. That a summoned hero—or rather, barbarian—could possess such talent had left even noble society stunned.
Elang himself would curse the books as vulgar trash out loud, yet he could never stop himself from hunting down the next installment. It was that kind of devilishly addictive novel.
“Cathy! What are you doing not opening the door?”
Even after he rang the mana bell, no one came, so he used his own key and stepped inside. Waddling into a house steeped in an unnaturally chill air, he shouted again.
Cathy, the maid who was always supposed to be there, was nowhere in sight.
“What is this…?”
The house was far too quiet. His daughter Lizbeth and his wife Seleta were nowhere to be found either.
“Honestly, the master of the house comes home and no one even bothers to come greet him.”
He stroked his thick belly as he made his way toward his room. The creaking of the stairs seemed louder than usual today. Caught in a strange unease, Elang hurried toward the warmth of his private chambers.
Surely Cathy didn’t forget to light the mana stove…?
The silence of the house felt completely cut off from the outside world, and it sent a shiver through him.
Just as he had feared, the room was freezing. The window was even wide open. At least the noise from outside drifted in, which brought him a faint measure of relief.
Muttering curses under his breath, Elang shut the window. Then, panting, he sank into the plush sofa.
In that instant, silence closed in around him.
“Hah… hah…”
He was sitting comfortably enough, yet for some time now his breath had felt strangely tight, and cold sweat kept pouring down his body.
“My, Father Elang. Climbing a few stairs is enough to leave you so winded?”
“Gah!”
He froze, breath catching in his throat. A heavy metallic chill had pressed against his neck.
“We only parted a short while ago. There’s no need to look quite so startled, is there, Father Elang?”
A pale hand slipped from behind him and casually stroked his plump chin.
“As soft as I expected. Very satisfying.”
The girl’s languid, unhurried voice raised gooseflesh all over Elang’s body; sweat cascaded down him like a waterfall.
It was Luchika.
“Y-You… Sister Luchika! H-How is it that a sister who departed on pilgrimage is… is here?”
However she had gotten free, the slender girl now held a blade to his throat. Flustered, Elang forced the words out.
“You’ll understand soon enough, Father Elang.”
She leisurely kneaded the fat of his chin, then wrapped her thin arm around his neck from behind and squeezed.
“Ghk!”
The instant the air was cut off, Elang’s vision darkened. A ringing filled his ears, and his consciousness sank into pitch-black darkness.
Kaln was a man who gave without holding back.
Uh, how much was it again?
Thirty-one gold coins. A decent pile of silver. I didn’t count the copper, but there was a lot of that too.
And he had generously provided daily bread for Black as well.
On top of that, I managed to pick up some fairly high-quality armor—or clothing, rather. I didn’t fully understand it, but it was magic armor that automatically adjusted to the wearer’s size. He had carefully hidden it deep in the safe along with the money. It didn’t smell, but I still gave it a quick purification spray so it smelled nice. Knowing it might have been something Kaln used to wear made me feel a little gross inside, but it was still better than the white monastic habit, so I put it on. The color was black, which I liked. There was even a matching hooded cloak in the set.
Anyway, there were all sorts of documents and other goods. I scraped everything clean, stuffed it into Black, and picked out a weapon of suitable size. A short sword, I think they call it? It looked pretty decent too. Well, in a medieval-style world you were supposed to walk around armed, right? If I ran mana through it, I could probably use it as a pretty fine lightsaber.
You look beautiful even dressed like that, but wouldn’t the skirted monastic habit suit you better? That outfit makes you look far too much like a back-alley thief.
Uh, Auntie. I’m already a full-fledged murderous robber, you know?
Whatever my daughter does, she remains my daughter. That will never change.
By the Goddess’s standards, a mere change in the ownership of a life apparently didn’t count as a problem.
Anyway, I had already forgotten his name, but the scarred man had given me a great many things without stinting.
Hmm.
Before we parted, I left Father Elang a very small gift. I never expected the day would come so soon when I could repay him for it.
I was absolutely delighted.
I could feel the faint connection I had left with Black. Hmm. Quite a distance, wasn’t it?
I pulled the black hood low over my face and slipped out of the scarred man’s base. The exit path had been cleaned up very thoroughly, so it was extremely quiet.
The “merchandise” in the basement would probably figure out how to leave on their own. I hadn’t seen them, so I hadn’t bothered cleaning up.
The last colors of the sun were slowly sinking, and the night air rose cold around me. I moved quickly, sticking to places where the shadows clung thick. Whenever the flickering orange of a streetlamp or a patrol of the city watch appeared, I held my breath and sank into the darkness against a wall.
Black smacked its lips a little, but I soothed it and allowed myself a faint smile. It had been a long time since I last enjoyed this sensation.
I was used to avoiding people’s eyes, so I reached the place where I had left my mark on Elang without much trouble.
Heeh. Pretty respectable-looking place, wasn’t it?
Being a priest must pay pretty well after all.
Daughter. One who cannot use Holy Power is no priest.
Ah, of course I know that, Auntie.
I vaulted lightly over the low iron fence and landed in the garden of what I presumed to be Elang’s quiet residence. The coordinate I had marked on his clothes was on the second floor, I thought.
I extended Black naturally along the wall submerged in darkness and hooked it onto a second-floor window. This, too, was familiar work. Hanging from the sill, I casually pushed Black inside and opened the window.
Daughter? Is it merely this mother’s imagination that you look far too practiced at this?
Hmm?
Right in front of me stood a woman with orange hair holding cleaning tools.
I had been talking to Auntie and failed to notice her.
I spoke to the woman as naturally as if nothing were wrong.
“Hello. Is this Father Elang’s residence?”
“A… a thie—!”
The startled woman tried to scream, so I flicked my hand. Black brushed across her throat and produced silence in an instant.
The woman clutched desperately at the blood gushing from her neck, flailing her hands as she swayed and collapsed. Black, oozing slowly from my shadow, rode the blood and began crunching and swallowing the fallen corpse.
“Hmm. The man himself isn’t home yet, is he?”
“My, have you finally woken up?”
The girl in black leather armor spoke without even looking at the now-conscious Elang. She sat perched on an old iron table, reading the book he had bought as a gift for his daughter—I Was Reincarnated as the Youngest Daughter of a Duke.
No light entered the room, so Elang could not see her properly.
“Mmph! Mmph!”
At the sound of her voice he thrashed, but his mouth was gagged; only muffled noises escaped.
His pre-marriage hobby. The filthy secret he had hidden from his family. The concealed basement of the house where his family had once laughed so happily together.
The girl now knew perfectly well where darkness flowed, and finding a space like this had been all too easy.
Elang was bound to a torture chair inside it.
“Father Elang seems to have practiced his faith with considerable fervor even in places where light never reaches.”
Luchika spoke mockingly of the familiar stench of blood that had soaked deep into the room.
In the past Elang had bought cheap slaves and tortured them to death in this basement as a hobby. It had been a recreational activity conducted under the names of heretic interrogation and purification. Because it also served as training for holy magic, he had thrown himself into it even more enthusiastically. He had stopped after his beloved daughter was born, but there were still times he longed for those younger days.
Luchika lightly slid her hips off the table and walked toward Elang with little tapping steps. She conjured a golden light source and allowed her expression to twist ever so slightly. Even then her eyes never left the book; she remained absorbed in its pages.
“Mmph?!”
Elang stared at her in shock. While she had been at the monastery she had never once been able to use holy magic, yet here she was calling light without chant or medium.
If he had known, he could have recommended her to a hero party and collected a sacred-service stipend. Compared to that sum, the money he had received from Kaln would have been pocket change. Elang’s throat bobbed greedily.
Luchika paid him no attention whatsoever and simply turned another page.
After a long silence, once Elang had stopped his muffled struggling, the girl lightly brushed her hand and cut the gag free.
“Lu—Sister Luchika! W-What is the meaning of this?!”
“My, I believe Father Elang already knows perfectly well why I am doing this.”
Elang’s face, slick with cold sweat, was desperate. In contrast, Luchika—bathed in the gentle afterglow of golden light—looked every inch a saint. Even her hair, soaked in the gold radiance, shone like her original platinum blonde.
Elang deliberately raised his voice, but the moment he realized where he was, despair swallowed him. No matter how loudly he shouted, not a sound would escape. He had designed it that way himself.
“S-Sister Luchika. W-Was there some… some problem on the pilgrimage route?”
He quickly changed his tone, speaking softly now.
“My! So that really is what a ‘pilgrimage’ means, is it?”
“Th-That… external matters are beyond my knowledge! The pilgrimage is a sacred affair under the Goddess’s purview. I-I merely guide people to it, Sister Luchika.”
“Hmm. I see. But it seems the Goddess doesn’t particularly agree with that statement.”
Luchika glanced at him with mild disinterest and promptly sank back into her book.
A heavy dizziness washed over Elang.
Why was that book—which should have been in his daughter’s room—here?
It was Lizbeth’s treasured volume. A limited edition with the author’s handwritten signature on the cover, something he had spent three gold coins and every connection he possessed to obtain. The book he had forbidden anyone to touch after giving it as a gift—why was it here?
“S-Sister Luchika?”
“Yes, Father Elang?”
Her voice was peaceful and merciful.
Elang swallowed the beads of sweat that had run into his mouth and forced the words out.
“Have you… by any chance… seen my family?”
“Hmm? Is your family the one with the scarlet hair?”
“N-No. My wife Seleta is blonde, and my daughter Li-Lizbeth has bright brown hair like mine.”
“Ahh!”
Snap.
Luchika answered in a bright voice and closed the book with a sharp sound. Then, smiling so hard her eyes curved into half-moons, she walked back to the table with light steps and arranged several round objects for display.
One, two, three.
“You must mean these people, then?”
Lined up neatly on the table were the carefully severed, yellowish heads of Seleta, Lizbeth, and Cathy.
At the sight of his beloved daughter Lizbeth’s head, tongue lolling long from her mouth, Elang vomited.