Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Trista's Gates
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"Thank you. Thank you so much…."
Whoosh.
The specks of light scattered on the wind, gradually fading away.
Before Kallias stood the corpse of a child, torn apart by the claws of a beast from the nearby forest—it, too, had vanished.
[Artemo's Corpse – Completed]
[Technique +1]
「Kallias von Jervan」
「Occupation」 – Pilgrim.
「Divinity」 – Rank 4
「Holy Power」 – 2371/3251.
「Talent」 – [Bard’s Blessing - Supreme]
「Traits」 – [Corpse Grace] [Noble’s Duty] [Count Family Wastrel] [Death-Time Insight] [Church’s Black Sheep] [Big Eater]
[Stats]
Strength – 22+(10)
Agility – 15+(10)
Technique – 7 > 8
Vitality – 15+(10)
Faith – 21
Forest near the great city of Trista.
He had raced here, turning every pitiful corpse he came across into a carcass to complete quests.
Fortunately, there were no difficult requests, so it felt like casual busywork as he cleared them, and his stats had risen considerably.
Strength, Faith, and even Technique—which rarely budged—had gone up.
Just a single point, but it felt like his technical finesse had improved.
Of course, he’d know for sure once he tested it in real combat. Even so, Kallias nodded in satisfaction and asked Artemo’s parents,
"There were a lot of beasts around here. Why live in such a dangerous place?"
"You wouldn’t know, Pilgrim, but there are many like us poor folk. We’ve made herb gathering our life’s work since ancient times, so we can’t leave…. What else could we do to survive if we left this place?"
"……But you could die. Wouldn’t it be safer to move to the city, away from the beasts?"
But Artemo’s father shook his head, insisting it was anything but.
Compared to the North, they were scarce here, but beasts did exist.
There were plenty of cases where ordinary animals devoured humans and turned into beasts, so this place was no different.
"No, sir. If we became Trista citizens, the heavy taxes would crush herb gatherers like us…."
"……."
Of course. Becoming a Trista resident would cost money upfront, and the taxes they’d collect afterward would be enormous.
For these people, it was more peaceful to live outside the city, in the forest.
Whether crushed by nobles inside the city walls or ambushed by beasts outside, it was all the same to them.
"Very well."
"Ah, yes. We won’t forget this kindness."
It was time to part ways.
But Kallias stood still, as if sensing they had more to say.
"Ah! Pilgrim! Are you headed to Trista, by chance?"
"Yes. I am."
"Then please tell Cedric of Trisi that you’ve come to collect Herbalist Armo’s debt on his behalf!"
"……Cedric of Trisi. Speak of the devil."
"Pardon?"
"No. Tell me the details."
"Yes! He owed me money once before. He said he’d repay me properly if I ever came by! We poor herbalists have nothing to offer a Pilgrim like you, so this is the least we can…."
"That’s not necessary."
He answered firmly, but it was mere pretense.
A glint flashed in Kallias’s eyes. Cedric of Trisi.
That was the reason he had crossed this cursed forest path, scoured for child corpses, and completed quests.
"Pilgrim! If you send away your benefactor like this, even Artemo’s spirit won’t rest! Please accept my token of gratitude!"
"If you insist so strongly, I have no choice. I’ll pay Cedric of Trisi a visit."
"Thank you! Thank you!"
Parting from the herbalist, he left the forest behind. A plain stretched out before him, and beyond it lay the city. The city of pleasures. Trista.
"Cedric of Trisi. Excellent."
Cedric of Trisi.
A heavyweight in Crasion, the underworld organization that spanned not just Karpe but other nations as well.
"Cedric might help procure the sub-materials for holy water."
Cedric was belligerent and hard to befriend.
But once you earned his trust, he maintained good relations for a long time.
There were plenty of advantages to befriending him.
‘He’ll provide all sorts of information.’
From underworld dealings to the most trivial gossip, he handled it all. Kallias might learn the news he needed.
For his survival and goals.
Befriending him was the right move.
"The line… it’s too long."
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he spotted the endless queue leading to Trista.
People of all sorts stood waiting to enter: simple travelers, merchant caravans with mercenaries in tow.
‘Even nobles.’
And unnamed ones at that.
In this era with few entertainments, Trista brimmed with amusements and spectacles, always teeming with crowds.
Kallias had no choice but to join the long line.
* * *
The midday sun had begun to tilt.
Had two hours passed already?
The line ahead had thinned, and it was nearly Kallias’s turn.
Thud.
"……What’re you lookin’ at?"
Someone shoved Kallias’s shoulder.
"……What’re *you*?"
"Aw, my shoulders are just too broad, y’know? Sorry ’bout that. But hey, why’re your eyes so wide, pal?"
He’d bumped shoulders out of nowhere and was picking a fight.
Short hair, muscular build.
A foul-mouthed thug with tattoos covering his body.
He looked like a local street punk.
Kallias stared in disbelief for a moment, and suddenly jeers erupted from the crowd around them.
"Hey, what’s this? If you’re not goin’ in, step aside."
"Oi, if you’re gonna fight, take it somewhere else. Causing trouble in Trista just brings headaches."
The guards responsible for entry shot them irritated glares.
As Kallias stood there dumbfounded, the thug suddenly raised his fist.
"Argh! So damn annoyin’!"
That was when it happened.
"You scum!"
Clang!
Knights from a noble house suddenly charged in, swords drawn on the thug and Kallias alike.
‘What the hell.’
The thug who’d started it smirked mockingly, and from amid the knights strode a young noble, haughty and entitled.
"Hah, does Trista let riffraff like this through its gates?"
"……Who might you be?"
His clothes and demeanor screamed nobility, so even the guards rolled their eyes, gauging the situation.
"The eldest son of Viscount Lutens, Baldwin de Lutens."
"Ah, Sir Baldwin. Forgive us for not recognizing you."
He nodded as if it were only natural and began to speak.
"My father sent me to Trista to broaden my horizons, and I traveled far without complaint. Yet no sooner do I arrive than I witness this disgrace. Must I clean up such messes myself?"
"Our apologies. Hey, drag them out already! What’re you waiting for!"
With the knights’ swords at his throat, Kallias was now hauled away by the guards.
An absurd situation.
Only then did Kallias realize the thug and the noble were in cahoots.
‘Even nobles have to queue for entry in Trista.’
But that bastard had forced a debt on the guards by “resolving” their problem for them.
"You know my father has claimed victory after victory in battle. Promotion to count is just around the corner."
"Yes, yes. Of course."
"But you plan to keep me waiting here? The sun’s blazing."
"Perish the thought! Please, enter at once."
His guess was spot on.
Kallias, who’d waited two hours, was dragged away—while the noble who’d just arrived strutted right into Trista.
Veins bulged on Kallias’s forehead.
"Outrageous."
*Right under my nose.* The phrase came to mind. Utterly ridiculous.
The sheer absurdity left him too stunned for anger.
"I’m a Pilgrim of Valterus. You think you can treat his son this way and get away with it?"
"Valterus?"
He’d hoped it might work, but no such luck.
"What, gonna draw that sword? Let me warn you, Pilgrim. Might fly elsewhere, but in Trista, pulling steel won’t solve a damn thing."
"Kehk, draw it if you want. Even if you somehow got in after dying and resurrecting, you’d never set foot here again. Go on, try it. Even Gerald of the Valterus Church, lord of this city, can’t bend Trista’s laws—they’re ironclad."
Frustratingly, he was right.
The Valterus Church had long lost the people’s trust. Even Gerald, who’d risen to Master within the Church and ruled Trista, offered no favors to Pilgrims. If anything, he despised them.
That was Trista.
A city of pleasures. And because of it, its laws were enforced all the stricter, more rigidly. Cause a scene once, and you’d rot in jail—or worse, be banned for life.
Once banned, you were never let back in, so no one dared stir trouble here.
And for good reason: Trista’s master was Gerald Gestaff, a figure of immense influence in both kingdom and church—one of the five Paladins hailed as Masters.
‘Judgment’s Gerald.’
No high noble would dare cause a ruckus in a city cherished by a Paladin Master of the Church’s iron fist. And Gerald had even earned the honorary rank of marquess from the kingdom—what more need be said?
"Heh, let go already! I’ll head out myself!"
The thug shook off the guard’s grip, and Kallias was shoved far from the gate alongside him.
"Pal, just think of it as steppin’ in shit. No strength? Use your brains. No brains either? Then shut your trap—that’s life."
Jingle, jingle.
The thug shook a coin pouch from his pocket, his words a mocking mix of taunt and “advice.”
"When you got neither, at least keep your ears open and pocket the cash. Hahaha!"
"How much?"
"Huh? What? Oh, that noble? Filthy rich bastard tossed me five gold for this pittance. Score! Kehk."
The thug laughed heartily at Kallias’s blank stare on the pouch, then flicked a silver coin his way.
Kallias caught it, his lips twisting.
"Thanks to you, I made a killing—so here’s my thanks. Catch ya later if we cross paths!"
As the thug turned to leave—
Grab. Kallias seized his shoulder.
"Don’t you think that’s a bit light?"
"What? You ungrateful shit—I tossed you silver out of pity, and it’s not enough? Keep starin’, and I’ll make you regret it!"
*Silver from my charity, and the bastard acts entitled!*
The thug balled his fist.
But he was a step too slow.
Thud!
Kallias’s punch landed first.
"Argh! What the—?! You hit me?!"
Kallias raised his fist again, eyes ice-cold, as the thug howled.
"If you profited from me, shouldn’t you hand over gold, not silver? That’s only logical."
The thug drew a dagger from his coat at Kallias’s matter-of-fact tone.
"You fuckin’ prick, almost had me there. You really wanna die?!"
"No. I want *your* money."
"You mad bastard!!"
Grab, smack! Whoosh! Thud!
"Argh! Fuck!!"
The thug swung the dagger, but Kallias twisted his wrist.
The blade clattered harmlessly to the ground, and a backhand slap sent blood gushing from the thug’s nose.
It was one-sided, like a child facing an adult.
"Hand it over, or take more? I’m fine either way."
Shing!
Kallias drew Arsando.
The thug gulped at the blade’s keen edge.
He sized up the situation quickly.
"I-I’ll give it!"
The effect was immediate.
Kallias pocketed five gold coins.
Now he had fifteen gold and one silver.
"W-Well, then I’ll be—"
"Who said you could go?"
"I’ve got no money left! Let me go!"
Kallias shook his head.
"I’ve got no cash, and m-my life’s worthless, sir Pilgrim! Even if you make me a carcass sword, it’d be some shitty blade!"
"You don’t know that."
"Spare me! I’ll do anything!"
*Anything.* Well said.
"I suffered the greatest insult today. From that Lutens scum who dared toy with me."
Until he tracked him down—
"You have no freedom."
The thug Brans thought,
*This guy’s a lunatic—eyes and moves scream it. And I’m proper fucked, caught by a madman.*