Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Devil, Witch, and Demon Sword (3)
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It was a smell that an ordinary person would struggle to detect. But the senses of someone who handled Qi were inherently far sharper than those of a commoner. It might not compare to the beast-like instincts of the Eustaine Clan, but even so, picking up the scent of blood roughly washed away with soap was no challenge.
'What reason would a pastor have for reeking of blood?'
Ban pondered as he followed the pastor. He hadn't brushed off what Brown had said. The tale of those people worshiping around a corpse... and the pastor among them.
"May I ask something?"
"Ask away."
"Is there... only one church in this city?"
"Grueling labor and unchanging lives push people to extremes. Either fanatically devout or utterly irreverent. Thanks to that, our church's followers seek God more than anywhere else... but sadly, their numbers aren't great."
"So just the one."
Considering the city's size, you'd expect several churches. But what mattered now was that the odds of this pastor being tied to something demonic had just risen.
Ban placed a hand over his clothes, feeling the dagger hidden in his bosom. Even without his Huando Greatsword or Longsword, he was confident this single dagger could protect him.
"You said you've been starving. If cold potatoes and soup are fine..."
"A feast fit for a king."
"Heh heh... don't tease me. You're thinking I'm a stingy old miser at heart, aren't you?"
"Free food doesn't taste any less delicious for it."
"You've learned well."
The pastor smiled kindly.
While eating, and as he was shown to his bed, Ban kept his guard up, watching the pastor closely. If Brown was right, this man might stab him in the chest, turn him into a corpse, and offer him to a devil.
But nothing like that happened. He fussed over Ban's comfort from start to finish and even kept him company in conversation.
"So, do you believe in God?"
"...I went to church now and then as a kid. They had good sandwiches there."
"So you don't believe."
"I've seen a devout believer meet a gruesome end."
Serifa had been quite pious. Ban shrugged.
"But I've survived just fine without giving God much thought."
"...That's often how it goes. Faith isn't about expecting something in return, but... to give nothing but love to one who gives nothing back, not even a whisper? That's too vague."
"Uh... no offense, but that doesn't sound like something a pastor should say."
"My only virtue is not pretending to have all the answers."
The pastor chuckled. It was still a kind laugh. Ban found himself smiling faintly in response. It wasn't forced.
"Seems that way. Your words aren't boring, after all."
"Either way, pretend to believe while you're in this sanctuary. At least today, it was God who served you those potatoes and soup."
"Food's always been the source of my faith."
Ban grinned and bit into a potato. He glanced at the pastor's face and broached the subject casually.
"What's the source of your faith, Pastor?"
"Me...?"
He looked caught off guard for a moment. Once the surprise faded, contemplation settled on his face. After a long silence, he spoke.
"Retribution."
"Retribution?"
"Payment for good deeds. Payment for evil ones. I believe—no, I want to believe—God settles them all. That what I serve you today will one day ease my own hunger and pain... and that those who trample the kind will pay the full price at the end. Yes. A life where actions bring fitting reward... only God could make that real."
"...Dunno. I haven't thought much about that."
Ban scooped up the last spoonful of soup. It was an odd conversation. He seemed devout, yet oddly radical in places. He spoke of God as the world's only hope, but with a tone that blamed Him too.
'Do you serve God? Or the devil?'
The pastor had treated Ban warmly throughout.
That night, Ban lay awake till dawn, wary of an attack from the pastor or his followers. But none came.
§
"...So, the pastor's suspicious? Or not?"
"He's suspicious. Suspicious, but... he didn't strike me as a bad person."
"Doesn't make sense."
Yeoryeong crossed her arms and frowned. Ban sighed, understanding her reaction. Jeo turned to Anya.
"What about you? You tailed the client all day. Anything shady?"
"Not really... he just seemed mentally off."
Muttering to himself, glaring at nothing, trembling... Anya added one more thing.
"He kept looking around like someone was watching him."
"Devil worshipers think they've been made?"
"No. It was different... like, 'You, is that you? No. Don't show yourself. I-I'm fine. I'm okay!' Stuff like that."
Anya mimicked Brown's voice. Ban looked dubious.
"We came all this way on his request... this isn't gonna end up being a bust, is it?"
"...But the city's definitely fishy."
Yeoryeong replied. She spoke in a subdued tone.
"I couldn't find that witch woman yesterday. Got lost."
"...Lost?"
Everyone stared at her in disbelief. For anyone else, it wouldn't be odd. But Yeoryeong? The academy taught more than just getting stronger. Reading paths and committing them to memory, navigating mountains and forests—every skill imaginable.
For them, "getting lost" didn't happen.
"...There's really a witch? In those woods?"
"Dunno. But witch or whatever... something's off. That's why, Anya. Stick with me today. No spell can stand against your White Flame."
"Ugh, witches creep me out..."
Anya grimaced but nodded reluctantly. Jeo's turn last. He shook his head.
"Nothing on my end. The mine was empty... no sign of anyone holding a rite."
"...Brown said it was a rite around a corpse."
Jeo paused, then frowned in realization.
"No corpse, no rite?"
"No need to fixate on the 'rite' label. It points more to something done with a corpse. And... as you know, this place has fresh bodies from the serial killings lately..."
"...And no better spot to snag them than the church."
Jeo nodded, piecing it together. Serial killings produce bodies, sent to church for burial, and in the mines, rites around corpses...
'...All suspicious signs. That pastor.'
Ban didn't want to peg him as the enemy, but the situation left no room for doubt. He looked at Jeo.
"Jeo. You take Brown today."
"...And you?"
"I..."
"Kyaaaaaaaack!"
It came then. A sudden scream from outside. Ban and the others rushed to the window and leaped onto the roofs. Tracing the source didn't take long. A dim alley. A blood-soaked sack, a pallid arm dangling limp from it. Ban muttered quietly.
"...We've got a body."
Tonight, after ages, a rite would be held.
§
The corpse was taken straight to the church. The funeral proceeded without delay. For the nameless, it couldn't be grand—just a few tears from black-clad mourners and the pastor's prayer, the height of luxury.
The body was buried. Or seemed to be. Ban didn't let his guard down, perching on a branch out of the sunlight, watching.
As dusk faded into night, torchbearers stirred. They dug up the grave, extracted the coffin, and stealthily moved the body, scanning their surroundings. No surprise. They'd known from the start—rites needed corpses.
'...No pastor.'
Ban tailed them silently through the trees. Trouble hit at the mine entrance. Narrow, multiple torchbearers—slipping in unnoticed seemed impossible without Jeo's camouflage.
If he couldn't sneak... only one way.
Ban hid near the entrance tree, eavesdropping on hushed exchanges.
"We're here for the rite."
"Password first."
"The tattling heart."
"...Enter."
Their whispers were barely audible from afar. But Ban, trained to listen, caught it fine.
Wrapped in a robe, he approached slowly. Guards eyed him, frowning.
"...Easterner? Don't recognize the face."
"Sent by the pastor. Here for the rite."
"Password...?"
"The tattling heart."
"...Go in. Don't try anything stupid."
Ban smiled and moved. Without his Huando Greatsword or Longsword, they sensed no threat.
'...Pastor’s definitely involved.'
If they'd feigned ignorance at the mention, knocking them out might've eased his mind. But they let him in. What did that mean? Ban would learn soon enough.
They were mid-hymn. An eerie one. No reverence for God—just venomous resentment and sorrow. Yet the melody rang holy and bright, like any hymn...
"Brothers and sisters. We've walked a far, arduous path to this mine."
The voice echoed through the cave. Familiar—the pastor's. Torchlight flickered, shadows shifting on his face. Lit, he seemed God's angel, pious. Shadowed, a devil's servant, sinister.
"Today, one of our brothers lost his life again. His life bloomed with joy at times, withered under misfortune's flowers too. But today it ends. Joy embraces him no more, nor sorrow torments. And... his husk will now stand by us, our sword and shield of happiness."
Some burst into tears. Among them, a delicate beauty sculpted from porcelain, a hairy brute seemingly devoid of tear ducts. Their pasts or futures didn't matter now.
God does not extend His hand first. Unless we grasp His robe, He turns not to us.
And today, this lowly shepherd gathers the hearts of young and old sheep in prayer. That the 'night' He bestowed be reborn as our judge...
The pastor's voice trailed as torches flickered wildly. Dark mist seeped from the walls. Not mist. Ban's face hardened, glaring.
'Wraith...!'
Like when the Wraith Lord etherealized. As Ban instinctively reached for his dagger sensing the Wraith's aura, the mist-shrouded pastor flinched and barked sharply.
"Someone's here! Who dares enter this sacred rite uninvited!"
— That one.
A voice heavy with night resounded. Damp, dark, bottomless. The pastor's eyes bulged toward Ban. People murmured, backing away. Soon, no one ringed him.
"You..."
"...Your preaching's impressive. Came to hear the rite... didn't know permission was needed, Pastor."
Ban smiled wryly. The pastor glared, eyes churning confusion and rage.
"Mine owner's spy? Here to watch us?"
"Thought you were deeply faithful."
Armed with spears and axes, they crept to encircle him. Ban, hand in bosom, frozen, looked ripe for the kill. The pastor bit his lip.
"...Call me a liar if you must. But this is all for a greater good..."
"No need to justify. I've got my secrets too."
"What?"
Instead of words, Ban drew his dagger. They snorted at the short blade. Think that could fight them? Laughable. Wraith mist veiled their faces. Bloodshot eyes blazed to tear him apart.
Before them, Ban assumed a stance. As if gripping not a dagger, but a greatsword. Carefully.
No Huando Greatsword. No Longsword. From first sword to fourth, nothing usable now. But it didn't matter.
With just a dagger, one sword became possible.
The Invisible Sword.
His fifth sword.