Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: Arena King (1)
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The road from Galentana in the heart of the Free City Alliance to Agon.
The fields were stealthily shedding their fresh green skin.
Now, the yellowish-brown earth caught the eye more than the blue-green hues. The scorching midsummer kiss that brought all things on the land to vibrant life had transformed here into a dry sizzle that heated the gravel and sent up yellow mirages. The parched wind, like a madman seeking a spring, churned up dust and raced wildly across the roadbed.
A land where nature's overflowing blessings had withered away. An island within the isolated continent. A place that harbored drought and solitude instead of abundance and growth.
The Agon region was the Free City Alliance's sole wasteland zone.
"Huff... huff..."
Duncan panted like a dog, shouldering the black bag. Even though it was the same summer heat, the lack of shade made it feel far more sweltering. Beads of sweat slid down his jawline, soaking the goatee that dangled like a billy goat's.
In contrast, his companion Kadim was relatively calm. This level of heat was tolerable. Compared to the blistering wilderness beyond those mountains—the homeland of the Atalans, where the air tore at the skin and boiled the blood.
As he trudged along the rough dirt path, Kadim fell deep into thought.
"......"
The events in Galentana had been utterly unforeseen.
The Forgotten God and its followers were a faction barely mentioned in passing in the game and his first playthrough, with almost no real weight. He'd assumed it was just some buried foreshadowing... but who would have thought he'd encounter them as both saboteurs and allies after 300 years.
At least he'd figured out why they were targeting him and why they helped.
[...The warrior who has donned pitch-black armor shall return. He will dye this land in profane blood and cast down the halo rising in the heavens.]
The prophecy from the Forgotten God.
He couldn't fathom why the wasteland shamans hadn't received it instead... but the content was roughly understandable. After all, he had a track record of slaying a great demon alongside the Hero's party. As a veteran Great Warrior of Atala, it made sense they'd take notice.
But that only deepened the shadows looming in his mind.
The sun in the sky as the eye watching the world. And Elga being a fake.
The questions spawning from those premises were endless.
If that's fake, where's the real Elga? What the hell is that thing doing, ignoring the demons while tormenting humans? And yet, why does it faithfully grant power to Elga's priests and holy knights? Could his drop into this world or the demons' rampage be connected somehow...?
If he'd asked his first-playthrough comrade Gordon all these questions, he might have answered something like:
'Hahaha, Brother Kadim! Never doubt the gods! Their will is more profound than the deepest abyss, beyond the grasp of mere mortals like us...'
The hearty voice surfaced unbidden, drawing an inward chuckle.
But that was an answer possible only with faith intact. If Gordon truly realized Elga was fake, shaking the very roots of his devotion—after sacrificing body and soul to the god—what reaction would that devout priest have?
Or maybe Gordon had already realized it?
'...I have no idea. First I've heard of it. Ugh, slaying a great demon? If you'd achieved that, there'd be monuments in every cathedral...'
If Gordon learned the truth after Kadim vanished, and got excommunicated and erased from records for exposing it, then the places that priest might go afterward...
"...Huff, huff, m-master... Master...?"
A sudden panting voice pierced his reverie.
"...What is it?"
"Huff... How about... huff... resting a bit under that rock over there?"
Duncan's face was deathly pale, as if he'd drop dead any moment. Kadim nodded and headed that way.
There were still many unanswered questions. But he couldn't forget to keep his feet on the ground while gazing at the distant sky. He needed to steadily build his strength, track his comrades' traces, slaughter demons, and tackle what he could right now.
This body of Kadim, the merciless berserker who knew no mercy.
Before it was swallowed by bloodlust and brain-rending madness.
...For now, the priority was reaching Agon and reclaiming the Judgment of Atala.
The shade under the rock was refreshingly cool. Duncan pulled a canteen from his inventory, gulped it down, and sprawled out flat on the ground. Kadim took a sip too and sat to cool off.
But as Kadim lifted the bag to set it aside, he sensed something off.
'...Hm?'
This black bag warped space to hold ample cargo and halved the weight. Still, it didn't eliminate the burden entirely. Packed full, it weighed around 60 kilograms now—light for Kadim, but heavy for most to carry long.
Yet Duncan had shouldered it alone for three straight days already.
"Huff... huff..."
"......"
Thinking back, there were other oddities.
The cart piled with demon heads—even a sturdy guard captain barely pulled it briefly before collapsing. Yet the scrawny Duncan had dragged it nearly a week solo.
Back then, he'd chalked it up to greed-fueled superhuman effort... but now, it was clear no mere willpower could manage that. When they first entered the Golden Highway, hadn't this merchant nearly puked and died after a short jog?
Searching his memory for any event that could drastically boost his stamina...
It came to him.
There was one. An incident.
After fighting Agon's Furious Horn, Duncan had absorbed a massive amount of Kadim's blood through the Mosquito.
"......"
It was absurd. That was just emergency aid to save his life. As if his blood—some demon or dragon essence—could miraculously enhance stamina.
But nothing else fit. Kadim eyed the bearded face intently.
"You alright, Duncan? How's your condition now?"
"I-I'm dying, master... Please, just a bit more rest..."
"......"
Since he had breath to answer, he was fine.
Anyway, it wasn't bad. Not on par with his first-playthrough comrades, but Kadim already saw this merchant as a companion. More utility from someone he couldn't just discard was welcome.
"Rest a bit longer. I'll wake you when it's time. Get some shut-eye."
"Phew... Th-thank you, master..."
Plus, with improved stamina, training him to avoid recapture would be easier.
"And I've got new weapons ready, so before we go, I'll teach you some combat. We'll resume the journey after training."
"...!"
Duncan brightened, fondling his new steel sword and dagger. But recalling past "training," his face paled.
The barbarian's teaching method involved beating until the hide split, then offering advice.
*
Like tempering the parched earth, the wasteland night cooled the sun-scorched ground with pale moonlight.
The campfire sufficed as lighting. Kadim sparred with Duncan, offering pointers as before. Blade glints and staff afterimages clashed repeatedly. Naturally, Duncan with the steel sword was on the defensive, but Kadim was inwardly impressed.
Duncan's skill had improved markedly. He barely tired now, dodging three out of ten attacks with sharpened reflexes. Above all, he'd gotten adept at concealing his presence for ambushes mid-fight.
To wonder how he'd lost to weak cultists and gotten kidnapped.
Whoosh—!
Duncan, dodging instinctively and dazed, soon flashed a smug grin.
"Heh, I was just careless back then, master... But when serious, I, Duncan—who triumphed over Agon's Furious Horn—am no longer the same..."
Thwack—
"...Guh!"
Kadim upped his seriousness a notch. Duncan regressed to dodging once every hundred swings.
After the spar-masked thrashing, Duncan was a ragdoll, moaning as he collapsed into the dirt.
"Agh, ugh, uuuugh..."
The day's forced march hadn't fully faded, and now bruises everywhere—it was hell. He desperately wanted to pass out. But Kadim knew no mercy.
"Up, Duncan."
"...Pardon?"
"Didn't I say we'd leave after training?"
"......"
A surging urge to die.
Duncan briefly fantasized ambushing Kadim, knocking him out, and resting all day. But it ended with Kadim crushing his skull next morning. Even in fantasy, he couldn't win. Agon's Furious Horn was at least debatable...
"Uggggh..."
Duncan hauled his battered body up. Small comfort: Kadim carried the inventory this time.
The wasteland night road was desolate, devoid of travelers. Only their footsteps echoed. Kadim gazed at the horizon where dust rose like mist between the empty plain and black sky.
Then, as if it just occurred to him:
"Why did this place become a wasteland?"
"...Pardon?"
The phrasing implied it hadn't always been.
Duncan, not even 30 years old, had assumed Agon was always wasteland.
But Kadim knew. Originally, no wasteland existed in the continent's east. He hadn't passed nearby in his first playthrough, but he'd scoured the game map.
Under Kadim's piercing stare, Duncan squeezed out an answer:
"W-well, yeah... It's odd, right? The Alliance is mostly fertile plains, yet this spot's so barren... Climate's similar, so why? Um... Maybe ages ago, a dragon raged and burned all vegetation..."
"......"
Kadim let the nonsense flow past, deep in thought.
300 years wasn't short. But insufficient to fully transform plains to wasteland naturally. Without some event, impossible.
And unnatural events in this world usually meant intervention by 'some entity.'
Yet...
"...Or when the world was made, Atala accidentally dropped a chunk of 'wilderness' here..."
Expecting demons, Kadim pivoted at Duncan's offhand drivel.
"...What was that?"
"Pardon?"
"Repeat that."
"Huh? Oh, uh... Atala accidentally dropped a piece of wilderness..."
Repeating it, Duncan recalled Kadim's identity and panicked.
"S-sorry, master! Atala wouldn't err! I went mad with nonsense! Atala is the flawless God of War, never mistaken!"
"......"
Misjudgment. Atala's Great Warrior felt no offense at slights to his god. He'd just latched onto something.
'The wasteland shamans definitely wielded greater power in barren wilds... And Agon's Furious Horn carried that strange flesh-regenerating liquid...'
He furrowed his brow. Why that fiend impersonated 'Atala's Great Warrior' started faintly clicking. To uncover truth, he needed to confront him ASAP.
Thus, Kadim hastened toward Agon.
Duncan, startled by the quickened pace, scrambled after. Calf cramps and bruised thighs widened the gap hopelessly. Desperate after futile pursuit:
"M-master, I-I'm sorry... Please, wait just a mo..."
Kadim actually stopped.
Not for his companion.
A faint, fishy scent mingled in the gusting wind. He gripped his hatchet hilt and turned toward its source.
Undulating silhouettes afar. Red eyes flickered like diseased fireflies. Amid hyena-headed bipedal beasts stood a grotesque creature with a stump horn.
- ...Fresh meat after so long...
- ...Kehehehe...
Clearly a troll pack led by a mid-tier progenitor demon.
Kadim narrowed his eyes. Tough for average mercenaries or soldiers, but chum he could handle barehanded.
One issue, though.
- ...Kehehehek! Kek!
- ...Aaagh! Aaaaah...
- ...Run! Dodge first and...
Faint screams and voices mixed with monster cries. They'd already cornered prey. Too far—by the time he arrived unarmed, the hunt might end.
Duncan, catching up late, looked baffled. His dull senses saw only darkness.
"Wh-what's wrong, master? Something there?"
Not blind heroism. Kadim raised a brow. Among the monsters, familiar hair and face: someone he'd met before...
Soon, Kadim smirked crookedly. Activating his hydra tattoo, he handed Duncan the inventory.
"Carry that and follow slowly, Duncan. Demons ahead."
"Huh? R-real?"
"Yeah. And a welcome guest with them."
"...?"
No time for questions.
Like ink igniting in flame, red eyes cleaved the barren dark, surging forward unhindered.