Chapter 247
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 247
Chapter Title: A Simple Counterattack (1)
A pall darker than any before hung over the capital of the Lucaonia Empire, the holy city of Lucaon.
Soldiers who had marched off to war never returned. Commoners who failed to meet their tribute quotas were burned alive. Beggars who had filled their empty stomachs at the victory feasts were stripped naked and impaled on spikes. Half of the Decagram had perished, and vicious rumors spread that the 'Star that Pierces Truth' had apostatized.
Unsurprisingly, public opinion toward the Elga Church, which had ignited the war, had soured to an extreme degree.
Though open criticism was stifled by the Heresy Inquisitors' crackdowns, whispers of resentment boiled over in places free of listening ears. The banner of Elga's glory had fallen to the dirt, and the slogan "All for the light" rang hollow as an empty echo. Whispers began to circulate discreetly among the imperial family and nobility, discussions on how to rein in the Church's recklessness.
Yet even in this dire crisis, one man smiled with unshakable faith.
It was none other than Archbishop Erensko, the linchpin of the Church that had sparked the holy war.
"May the Guide of Light bless us—the affairs proceed smoothly."
In the memorial garden where Elga's agents rested after fulfilling their duties. Here, where the number of tombstones had recently swelled, the archbishop gently curled the corners of his mouth.
Beneath his mournful brows radiated compassion, and behind him shone the unchanging halo. Yet it was hard to call his demeanor devout. For he sat upon a memorial stone honoring Elga's fallen stars as if it were a chair.
"Seats 9, 8, and 7. Three stars fulfilled their missions as planned and returned to Elga's side. Through their sacrifice, the darkness blanketing the world has grown vaster, and the bright starlight to oppose it shall shine all the brighter."
"[......]"
"Yet perhaps because I've grown old, I find myself fretting endlessly."
Erensko's bony fingers trailed over the engraved names on the stone. They paused at the name of the 10th Seat, 'Star that Illuminates Sleep,' who had met her end not at the hands of a demon but a mere servant.
"The 10th Seat's pathetic death is regrettable, to be sure... but hardly worth fretting over. The 3rd Seat, Sir Hendark's defection, however—that I cannot so easily overlook. I never imagined he wouldn't die fighting the demon even after I held his disciples hostage."
"[......]"
"The demon's 'rank' will fall somewhat short of our original plan... but is that truly acceptable, Sir Cassius?"
The black-iron knight who had remained silent lifted his gaze. Cassius, 2nd Seat of the Decagram and 'Star that Devours Darkness,' replied with crimson eyes aglow.
"[It matters not. That demon has already transcended and begun forming a 'divinity.' Even if we send out the remaining stars to dispose of it, it will still be prey ample enough to devour.]"
"......"
"[More importantly, what of the 'relic' retrieved from the Demon Realm? Have you found a way to extract the soul bound within?]"
His impassive chin jerked toward his breastplate. Erensko promptly drew forth fragments of metal that quivered with black malice. So vicious was their aura that even swathed in dense holy power, his forearm trembled uncontrollably.
"Destroying these to release the soul is no great feat. We need only offer prayers to Elga and summon 'Heaven's Judgment' at will. The problem lies in reassembling the shattered soul. Fail to unify it properly, and even if summoned, it will be naught but a troublesome wraith."
"[Hasn't the war supplied us with overflowing 'pain and despair'? Use that as nourishment to mend it.]"
"That comes later. Do you think feeding a corpse torn limb from limb will restore it to its original form? To fully restore this soul requires a grand ritual beforehand."
"[......]"
A flicker of light leaked from the helmet's slit. Cassius gripped his black-iron greatsword and growled in a chilling tone.
"[Your loose tongue grates, Erensko. What have you been doing instead of commencing that ritual?]"
Killing intent spread like poisonous mist.
Hard to say which was more ferocious—the aura from the metal fragments or the black knight's glare. Any ordinary man would have fainted or gone mad under the pressure, but Erensko was no ordinary soul.
"I have done all that you have not. Exterminated the unbelievers and heretics. Fattened the demon, that beastly vanguard, into a tasty morsel. Adjusted the war's pace to prolong it. Elevated the sublime glory of Elga..."
"[......]"
"Do not strut as if your feet already tread the heavens. You are but a half-baked lesser god who cannot even catch the heel of the Forgotten God, let alone Elga. And should I but reclaim the 'stigmata'—you shall remain a lesser god for eternity... Kghk!"
Grrrk—!
A shadowy hand surged forth and seized his throat. Erensko's body floated into the air. Cassius cast off his gauntlet and thrust the palm bearing the 'stigmata' toward the archbishop's face.
"[Reclaim it, then.]"
"Ghk, kghk, grk..."
"[Reclaim it. Enough prattling with that meager tongue of yours—try reclaiming it, if you can.]"
Bloodshot veins bulged in the old man's sunken eyes, his face turning a sickly blue. Toward the archbishop thrashing in lost composure flowed a monotonous chant.
"[Do not mistake me for your subordinate just because I wandered the Demon Realm and played escort at your behest several times. No being on this earth surpasses my 'rank']."
"Gh, grk, grrrrr..."
"[If you do not wish to see that withered carcass torn asunder and your cherished squire's soul cast to the abyss's depths, best not wag that tongue so insolently again. Leave the trivial tasks to your underlings henceforth and focus solely on the ritual to mend the soul.]"
The shadowy hand hurled the archbishop aside. All the layered protective blessings proved worthless; a black handprint bruised his throat. The black-iron knight donned his gauntlet once more, hefted his massive near-slab of a greatsword, and departed without a backward glance.
Left alone, Erensko clawed at the ground. He scratched his throat until blood welled and retched bile, but only for a moment.
Suddenly, he traced the stigmata and burst into maniacal laughter.
"Heh, heh heh... Hahaha, hahahaha! My thanks, my thanks, O Elga... for letting me hear such clumsy threats... for making this wretched old husk one upon whom threats can work..."
He had thought himself a body with nothing left to lose since losing his favorite. But now he had gained a new opportunity. Through the star chosen by Elga, aspiring to the heavens, he had obtained a chance to avenge himself on the demon and reclaim what was lost. From one with nothing to lose, he had become one with something to lose.
Erensko straightened his back. He straightened his robes, crossed the dustless tombstones, and approached one that bore more traces of time.
"All for the light."
As he read the inscription, the facade of gentle radiance faded, replaced by a murky sorrow in his eyes.
"And all for you."
Linton Pelliferus. Born a squire, become the archbishop's nephew, died as a holy knight—the name gleamed pristine atop the stone.
Whoosh—a sharp dagger sliced through the air...
Plop.
...and fell in a parabolic arc like an old man's piss stream.
The ambitious throw didn't even near the target. Yet from the spectators encircling the training ground erupted cheers like a volcano.
"Incredible! You nearly hit the target!!"
"Indeed! At this rate, you're sure to hit it before the day is out!!"
"Kyaa!! So cool!! Truly amazing!!"
"......"
The thrower, his face uneasy, drew the next dagger. Gripped the hilt firmly, took careful aim with utmost concentration, and flung it swiftly.
But the result was the same as before.
Plop.
Piss-stream parabola, volcanic cheers.
"Unbelievable! Your form is even better than last time!"
"My word, such astonishing growth! I've never seen anyone master throwing daggers so quickly!!"
"Kyaaa!! How can you throw so gallantly..."
Time passed, but nothing changed. No—the dagger's trajectory grew ever more pathetic, while the cheers burned hotter. The thrower finally paused mid-draw and spoke in bewilderment.
"Uh... everyone? Could you perhaps stop with the insincere praise now?"
"What do you mean, insincere? Everything we've said has been pure, heartfelt truth!"
"Exactly!! We couldn't tell a lie if we tried!"
"Then from now on, preface your words with 'I swear by Remillion'..."
"“......”"
The stands fell deathly silent in an instant. After a few more pathetic throws, a boy finally spoke up haltingly.
"I s-swear by Remillion, you throw daggers far better than my little brother..."
"......How old is your little brother?"
"A b-bit young... He's turning six this year..."
"......"
Having received praise for being better than a three-year-younger child than his own son, Duncan wore an expression of utter bafflement.
And so the martial arts demonstration of the 'Savior of Untana' fizzled out. Though it offered little spectacle, the citizens didn't mind. Even after it ended, Duncan endured a throng desperate to touch even the tip of his beard, escaping the training ground only under the protection of garrison soldiers.
A hero was a panacea for consoling war-weary citizens. Enrico Turis, the disaster relief officer of Delutana, knew this well.
Delutana currently boasted two renowned heroes: the 'Demon Slayer' and the 'Savior of Untana.' No savage reeking of bloodlust would mingle amiably with the populace, so naturally, the merchant had been roped into the task. In the end, all the event left him was humiliation and an inexplicable sense of déjà vu...
'There was definitely a time just like this before...'
Duncan recalled it immediately. Ah, when he awoke amid dark elves in the great forest, endlessly marveling at how 'strange' he was...
Truth be told, showing off his handling of 'Distortion Holes' instead of his toddler-level dagger throwing would have been quite the sight. But risking 'Heaven's Judgment' just for a bit of entertainment was out of the question. He hadn't forgotten the warnings from the Forgotten God's followers.
'Sigh... If only that sun weren't there, I could use that holy art more freely even in broad daylight...'
Grumbling at the sun blazing mercilessly down, Duncan slipped into the shade. Then swiftly donned his Nightshadow Mantle.
"......Huh, what? Where'd Duncan go?"
"D-Duncan, sir? Duncan, sir? Where are you? Are you still here?"
"......"
Duncan vanished completely, his presence concealed, and slipped away from the procession.
Hero life, it turned out, wasn't all that great. Being recognized and fawned over wherever he went was nice, but the problem was being recognized and fawned over everywhere.
Central square, relief office, even dingy back-alley taverns... No matter where in Delutana, crowds swarmed like bees. Enjoying fame lasted a day or two; constant harassment made him nostalgic for his days as an anonymous peddler.
To make matters worse, things had escalated recently. Rumors spread that touching his beard ensured the safe return of family from the front lines.
Citizens with kin at war clutched his beard like a lifeline upon sight. Several strands of his prized goatee had already been yanked out by those desperate hands. Duncan seriously pondered wearing a mask daily or shaving it off entirely... but for now, settled on sneaking about cloaked.
After cautiously scanning for onlookers and creeping through alleys, he finally reached his destination. Duncan wiped sweat from his brow and shed the mantle.
"Phew..."
The place was an elegant old mansion. It looked like the home of some wealthy city notable, but appearances deceived.
"Yulia, it's me. Where's Dunsen?"
"Oh, you're here, Duncan? Dunsen's out back, playing with the kids."
"......"
Yulia nodded toward the window. As she said, Dunsen was playing tag in the backyard amid running children, their chatter and laughter unending.
Including the ones playing apart, there were about a hundred kids. It seemed heartwarming at a glance, but Duncan couldn't hide his troubled expression.
These children were all orphans who had lost parents to the war, or...
"Sigh, Remillion..."
...orphans from the Gospel Flesh incident, who had become Gospel Flesh and slain their own families.