Things known only by seeing them.
Things known only by seeing them. At the western edge of the Lion Duchy, right before the Red Wolf Forest, there existed a village without a name. It was a settlement built by immigrants unwelcome anywhere else, self-sufficient in all things and almost completely cut off from the outside world.
Mass was there.
His original destination had been the Red Wolf Forest. But upon arriving here, Mass had realized something: venturing into the Red Wolf Forest alone would mean certain death.
The reason these unwelcome immigrants lived here was the extreme danger of the monsters emerging from the Red Wolf Forest. They served as a breakwater, blocking those monsters from spilling into the duchy, so the duchy left them to their own devices.
Thanks to that, Mass could stay.
The village was only mentioned in passing in the original novel, but Mass found himself more welcome than expected. Or rather, no one asked why he'd come here. That made it easy to fit in.
Beyond the presence of the powerful monster known as the Red Wolf, monsters had been crossing into the duchy more frequently lately. Hearing about it, Mass decided to stay put for the time being. Until he could enter the Red Wolf Forest and obtain the herb he sought.
"Not sure if I can pull it off."
Sitting on a rock, Mass swung his lame leg idly and gazed up at the sky. His poor physical condition made even the thought of entering the Red Wolf Forest daunting. Having been stripped of his high priest position and punished with blocked meridians, he couldn't draw on holy power anymore. Mass was just a frail human—nothing more, nothing less.
"Ma~ ss!"
Someone poked her head out from behind him. A girl with light blue hair fluttering to her shoulders like the sky itself. Her sparkling wall-eyed gaze and mischievous smile at the corners of her mouth hinted at her playful personality.
"Irin."
Mass muttered her name, and the girl called Irin puffed out her cheeks.
"So cold~!"
"What is?"
"Greet me properly! Like, 'Hi, Irin!' Something like that~!"
Mass let out a slight sigh at her unnecessarily bright demeanor. Thanks to the village's unwritten rule of not prying into why people came here, Mass didn't know Irin's backstory. Nor did he care to.
Still, Irin had shown interest in him from the moment he arrived—a grateful soul. Thanks to her, he'd learned about the village and even gotten a small house similar to the cliffside cabin he'd lived in before.
Yet Mass couldn't treat her casually because...
She's too similar.
Irin's eyes resembled Yuria's from their childhood. Even the hair color was close enough to unsettle him.
Mass had come here to forget everything and start anew. Anything that stirred memories of the past felt like a heavy burden pressing on his shoulders.
"Irin."
Before stray thoughts could multiply, Mass cut to the chase.
"Any luck today?"
"Oh, that? Hang on!"
Irin set down the bundle on her back.
"Mostly mushrooms today... but take a look."
Mass examined the bundle she spread out. It contained various mushrooms and herbs.
"You're a herb gatherer—why so many mushrooms?"
"Mushrooms are tasty."
Mass let out a dry chuckle at her response and checked if the herb he'd requested was among them.
"None."
A spirit herb that bloomed with red flowers straight from the root. Known locally as Magodara, it was also an ingredient in spirit elixirs. Mass needed it to heal his leg.
"Isn't this it?"
Seeing his disappointment, Irin held up a root plant with red berries from the corner of her bundle.
"No. That's just a weed."
"So mean~!"
Irin pouted.
"I tried to find something close, at least."
He was being harsh. But Irin was the only one in this village—the naive gatherer—who would search for herbs at his request.
"Well, thanks anyway."
Irin beamed at his curt gratitude.
"Hehe, that's my Mass. You know how to appreciate it?"
"Doesn't mean you have to brag about it."
"I haven't even bragged yet~? Look forward to it today! I'll make a huge pot of mushroom soup and brag all I want!"
"......"
Her one go-to dish was always mushroom soup. As Mass grimaced, another person approached.
"Mass."
A thick, solid baritone. Looking up, Mass saw a burly man in his thirties, his unkempt beard adding a wild edge.
"Village meeting."
The village meeting took place in the assembly hall of a settlement housing just over three hundred souls, with only about thirty attending in person.
"Low turnout."
Irin, who'd come with Mass, muttered.
"Everyone's busy tending fields. Unlike you, just picking mushrooms."
"Eek, Mr. Bern, you're too harsh."
"Too harsh? What's that mean?"
"Short for 'your words are too harsh.' Mass says."
The man called Mr. Bern sighed and glanced at Mass.
"Mass, don't teach Irin useless crap."
"Irin snooped through my old notes on her own. And if you hate useless things, start by stopping her from making mushroom soup."
"Mass, is my soup bad?"
Ignoring Irin shoving her face in with a shocked look, Mass asked Bern, who'd brought them here.
"Anyway, Mr. Bern, what's this about?"
"Eh, nothing special. Monsters."
Monsters. Mutated beasts from the Red Wolf Forest. The prevailing theory was that they'd arisen when dark energy opposing the gods infused plants and animals, but it all remained a mystery. No one truly knew what monsters were. Most viewed them as mere disasters that appeared out of nowhere, like the Demon King the Holy Knights had supposedly vanquished.
Not entirely wrong.
Mass murmured inwardly, recalling the original story. Monsters were born when ancient priests, trying to amplify holy power, unleashed spreading dark energy. Power grown in shadows contrasting the light had seeped into flora and fauna, bursting forth.
Of course, whether true or not, that was the lore—and irrelevant now. What mattered to Mass and the villagers was that these increasingly ferocious monsters, generation after generation, kept trying to escape the Red Wolf Forest.
"Another dangerous monster's crawling this way. We hired mercenaries last time, but the village coffers are strained now."
Bern spoke with a troubled expression.
"The Village Head called this to find effective countermeasures, but who knows. Beyond us picking up arms, what else is there?"
The duchy ignored the village. Naturally, it took no responsibility. Their defensive line lay beyond this village.
"Even if we ask for help, they won't care, right?"
"We wouldn't even want to beg."
Bern shrugged at Mass's question.
"We're all fugitives here."
No matter how openly the duchy neglected them, no one wanted to draw attention. This place was full of people with heavy pasts.
"Mass."
The elderly Village Head slowly ascended the platform, drawing the eyes of the scattered villagers. Bern spoke up.
"Thought about it?"
He referenced their prior talk. Mass's eyebrow twitched slightly.
"Something in the Red Wolf Forest agitating the monsters to keep sending them our way?"
"Yeah."
Bern had suggested they investigate together. To find Mass's herb too.
"Wanna check it out with me?"
"Why me?"
"Well..."
Bern scratched his head.
"Feels like you've got some hidden skills."
"......"
Mass let out a blank hum.
Hard to hide everything, after all.
Impossible for no one to recognize him from his days with the Holy Knight Order. Even here.
If only I could live quietly.
Whatever it took, Mass hoped his secret could remain just that—a public secret.
The Holy Kingdom's Central Temple. A woman knelt on its floor. Bathed in light pouring from the open ceiling as she prayed, she embodied holiness itself. Her pale, almost translucent skin melted into the radiant backdrop. Each time her red lips parted in noble praise to the god, the surrounding priests unwittingly sighed, then hastily schooled their flushed faces.
The saintess, Rose.
She suddenly opened her eyes and rose.
"Today's prayer ends here."
It was half her usual time. The priests murmured as she headed somewhere.
"Saintess, today is for special prayers for the drought-stricken northern ducal house."
"The High Priest earnestly requested it..."
"My prayers' power isn't bound by time."
Rose fixed them with an icy gaze.
"Do you think faith is constrained by hours?"
"N-no, we..."
"If doubt doesn't plague you, then believe my steps carry the god's will."
Overwhelmed, the priests backed away. Rose left them flustered and exited the temple.
"To the Knight Order's training grounds."
At her order upon boarding the carriage, the coachman headed there without question.
A light rain fell on the training grounds, empty on non-training days. The carriage stopped at the entrance.
Drizzle pattered.
It should have been deserted, but one woman stood there.
Yuria.
Unaware or uncaring that her glorious blonde hair hung messily, soaked like melting gold in the rain, she simply stood with sword in hand. Around her lay training structures slashed mere minutes ago.
Slash!
As Rose alighted, the coachman hurried over with an umbrella. Rose walked unfazed through the instant mud.
She stopped behind Yuria.
"Yuria."
"......"
"The knights are asking for my help. They say the captain's lost her reason, swinging her sword wildly."
Rose's gaze went to Yuria's hand. She gripped the sword in her right.
Venting on something.
"......Don't care."
Turning, Yuria's eyes were shadowed dark.
"Go."
"......Yuria."
"I said go."
Yuria stabbed her sword into the ground. Thunderous impact echoed around.
Blood flowed from Yuria's hand. Rose turned wordlessly and remounted the carriage.
"What have you found out, Yuria?"
Rose closed her eyes. No voice from the god reached her ears, as if refusing an answer here.
"I, too, must see to believe."
Opening her eyes again, Rose told the coachman.
"To the altar."