Chapter 73

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Translator: Ace

Chapter: 73

Chapter Title: A Massive Evil in the Black Wasteland

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As usual, Priest Nashim tilted his head while guarding the temple. Someone was stumbling toward them from far away, running for dear life.

"What the... who could that... Gasp!"

Soon Nashim's eyes went wide. It was a face he knew.

"S-Sir Thomas!"

"Huff! Huff! Sa... save...!"

He barreled toward them panting, and Nashim was shocked even further. Thomas's condition was beyond words.

His head was matted with blood, his once-white breastplate not only stained red but covered in dents and scratches. His clothes weren't just ragged—they were shredded, exposing flesh, and even that flesh looked dire.

"Heavens above. What in the world happened?!"

"A... evil... discovered a massive evil... Gahk!"

"Don't talk! Inside, now!"

They supported him into the temple. Priests rushed over, unleashing waves of healing magic.

It wasn't easy. The wounds were far too deep. It took six low priests, including Nashim, pouring heals nonstop to finally seal the gaping injuries.

But his state was still poor. He shivered violently, as if freezing cold. It was the demonic energy.

"This vile demonic energy... Just how strong were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠those black mages?"

"Not black mages... it was... w-wait... huff... can't... catch my breath... huff."

"Speak slowly."

"Black Wasteland... I went there."

"Pardon?"

"I saw it there. A massive evil."

"The Black Wasteland? Why in the world would you..."

To the baffled priests, Thomas explained everything. He'd fallen behind during his mission and chased a black mage alone until he'd unwittingly ended up in the Black Wasteland.

And there, he'd seen an enormous undead army.

"It was evil. An evil too vast for me to handle. That evil was lurking in the cursed land of death."

"Undead armies aren't that unusual there. The Black Wasteland has always been like that. You were probably exposed to demonic energy for too long—your mind and body must be weakened. You should rest more..."

"No, that's not it. It was a real massive evil. Huff... it's driving me mad."

Thomas irritably scratched his head.

"Call the bishop—no, I'll see him myself. Is he on the second floor?"

"Yes? He's in prayer right n—Sir Thomas? Sir Thomas!"

Thomas barreled up to the second floor and flung open the prayer room door. An elderly priest, kneeling in prayer, turned his head.

"Who dares such rudeness... Hm? Sir Thomas! What is the meaning of..."

"Bishop. A massive evil has appeared in the Black Wasteland. An evil I couldn't ignore even if I tried... We must dispatch an investigation team immediately. We can't just sit on this."

The bishop, clueless about the situation, couldn't make heads or tails of it. One of the low priests who'd followed Thomas explained. After hearing it all, the bishop nodded slowly.

"You saw a terrifyingly massive evil. I understand."

"Glad you do. Please contact headquarters. Tell His Holiness the Pope and dispatch a team right aw—"

"No need."

"Pardon?"

"You wouldn't know coming from the capital, but the Black Wasteland is paradise for the undead. It's crawling with lost souls. What you saw was just a fraction of the countless undead there."

"No, that's not... Bishop, you're misunderstanding. This is different. I saw the massive evil with my own eyes, clear as day!"

"Of course. I know. I understand."

The bishop smiled kindly and patted Thomas's back.

"Yes, a massive evil. I know. Everyone says the same."

"Pardon?"

"Living here, you see survivors lost in the Black Wasteland like you from time to time. Their reactions are always the same. Terrified. Just like you."

"......"

"You're weakened. Mind and body frail. That place can shatter even the most devout faith."

"......"

"But you're not that far gone. Your faith is still strong. It's just... your reason that's crumbled."

The bishop peered into Thomas's eyes. They were glazed over, vacant. He clicked his tongue.

'He's lost it. Completely gone. How deep did he go to end up like this?'

No, just going deep wouldn't do this. This was the level of someone who'd fought desperate battles against hordes of evil.

Divine power depleted in the fight, demonic energy invading his empty vessel.

Weakened mind and body, judgment impaired.

He'd seen plenty like this. Too many. Textbook victim symptoms.

'I get the passion of a young, devout knight, but he needs to know his limits.'

Understandable zeal, but he couldn't just let a promising talent throw his life away.

"I'll handle things with headquarters. Rest up and return. Just report back to your captain."

He poked, but no response.

"Sir Thomas? Didn't you hear me?"

"Bishop. I'm truly disappointed."

"Hm?"

"I didn't think you'd grown so complacent. You weren't like this at headquarters."

His eyes sharpened.

"Evil hordes are swarming. And you're just going to stand by? Huh?"

"Sir Thomas, that's not—"

"I'll go back myself and make the case. Beg for an investigation team—no, I'll join it myself."

"Haa... what a headache."

"I'm leaving."

"Sir Thomas. Look at me."

"What? More to say?"

"You don't grasp reality."

The bishop stared into Thomas's eyes. A smile played at his lips, but his gaze was ice-cold.

"Listen well. Where there's light, there's shadow. That's the way of the world."

"Pardon?"

"Evil can't be eradicated completely. It must coexist inevitably. His Holy Light knows this, which is why there's no revelation commanding us to conquer the Black Wasteland."

"What are you saying?"

"Rashly trying to conquer it would only bring backlash."

"Bishop. You're saying we saw the evil and pretend it doesn't exist?"

Stubborn expression. Wouldn't listen. The bishop shook his head.

"Fool. Why flip over a bucket full of filth? Don't you know overturning it spreads the muck and stench everywhere?"

"Enough. Now I know reason won't work with you. I'll head back to the Holy Kingdom at once."

Thomas stormed out. The bishop watched his back, then shook his head.

Couldn't be persuaded. Best to let him do as he pleases.

It was just one holy knight's opinion anyway. Nothing major would come of it.

'No anomalies should arise, but if one did...'

It could bring a storm of blood across the continent.

He prayed it wouldn't.

With those thoughts, the bishop gazed endlessly at the blue sky beyond the temple.

"Huh?"

What was that all of a sudden?

Arkbon's infamy shot up out of nowhere. And his faction's favorability dropped.

'Did they catch us?'

"Arkbon. You busy?"

-A little busy.

"Something happen?"

-Fighting right now. Whoa, it died.

"......"

-Wait a sec. Respawning.

What an incredible guy. Saying he died so casually.

'Anyone'd think it was a game.'

But it was real death.

'Guess it's nothing major.'

He was deep in faction wars, after all.

'Infamy rises naturally.'

Fame's hard to earn at first, then gets easier. Infamy's the same.

Hard to start the rumors, but once they catch, they spread endlessly. Rumors gonna rumor.

Hmm, man, it's noisy as hell.

Group chats are great and all, but this is the downside.

Good thing there's a mute function—turn it on and off as needed.

'Time to work.'

Ian cut off the mana supply to the consciousness network. The creations' voices faded.

After goofing off with research the past few days, work had piled up. Defense magic arrays needed checking, a Magic Bureau meeting, and a White Tower visit for research collab stuff.

He was prepping for the array inspection when his office door opened and a servant entered.

"What is it?"

"His Majesty summons you."

"His Majesty?"

Ian tilted his head. No reason to call.

"Got it. Be right there."

"Yes, sir."

Ian straightened his clothes and headed to the audience chamber.

"What business brings you to summon me, Your Majesty?"

"Do you recall when I said I wished to reward you?"

"Yes, I do."

"It's about that. I called to ask what you desire."

"Ask away."

"What do you want?"

The emperor's profound gaze bore down. Ian lowered his eyes.

"I desire nothing in particular. The graces Your Majesty has already bestowed are more than enough."

"Huhu. You're lying. No greed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠means not human. Speak your heart plainly."

Ian hesitated—not from indecision, but the suddenness.

Anyone'd be stunned if suddenly asked their deepest desire.

'What's with this guy all of a sudden?'

A glance up: eyes full of meaning.

Suspicious...

'If desire... work-life balance?'

Proper work, proper hobbies, in balance... Nah, too tone-deaf.

Even with his thick skin and shamelessness, not before the emperor.

Might rub him wrong if he acted out.

'Gotta play it safe, rack up points.'

"It's true. Though I do have one desire."

"Speak."

"To make the Empire great."

Before the emperor could respond, Ian pressed on.

"I'm proud to be Imperial. Proud it's the strongest nation, the world's only empire. Proud Your wise Majesty is my sovereign."

"......"

"If such a Majesty values me and employs me nobly, I'd gladly follow any decision."

"I see."

Silence fell. The emperor stroked his chin with a faint smile, lost in thought.

'Crap. Too much flattery? And so cliché.'

Way too "loyal retainer" vibe.

Not "Ian" at all.

The real Ian would've demanded cash or fewer hours.

But asking for less work now? Awkward.

True work-life balance was equilibrium, not slacking off.

He already had plenty of leisure. Cutting more? Nah.

'Should've just asked for gold? Money's always good.'

Or an elixir?

Rumor had it the palace treasury brimmed with priceless ones.

'Items would've been fine too. Bet there are legendaries in there.'

Too late for regrets now.

Couldn't say, "Oh yeah, Majesty, actually I do want something—a legendary elixir or item maybe?"

"I've heard your loyalty well. Never dreamed you harbored such pure patriotism... So steadfast."

Might be his imagination, but the emperor's voice seemed misty.

A peek: eyes brimming with emotion.

'What?'

Why the waterworks?

"You know? From great ministers to the lowliest, none escape my gaze. Among them was a young talent in the Magic Management Division."

Like reminiscing, the emperor continued.

"That talent graduated top of the Imperial Magic Academy, future bright as day, yet chose hardship willingly. A task all shunned, vital to the Empire's safety—he took it on himself."

Eh? Imperial Magic Academy? Top grad?

"That young talent roamed the Empire's vast reaches, day after grueling day of life-risking missions, yet never once showed distaste. As if it were his solemn duty, he simply carried on quietly."

"......"

"Truly unique. Recorded a miraculous 100% mission success rate, yet never boasted—instead passed merits to juniors and bowed out. How could one not call that singular?"

'Wait, that's me.'

"I suspected that odd talent. Believed some hidden agenda lurked behind those peculiarities. Humans are humans, after all."

"......"

"Humans are greedy by nature. Surely he hid some greed too, whatever it was. Like other officials cloaking avarice in loyalty."

"......"

"But no."

The emperor's voice rose.

More fervent now, words poured out.

"That one truly cared for the Empire. Spared no dirty work for it, yielded all glory."

'Huh?'

That wasn't it.

'Just no need to take credit...?'

And "dirty work"? It was manageable.

"Even as court mage, freed from commoner status, he shunned wealth and thought only of the Empire—that steadfast loyalty! Could've lounged as a saint, yet chose the Empire—that admirable loyalty!"

"......"

"Now I see. I was the fool. Slighted a true loyal subject unknowingly. Ahh..."

The emperor rose, approached, and clapped Ian's shoulder.

"Sir Ian. I know your heart now. I can reward you gladly."

"Pardon?"

"Your heart mirrors mine—truly fortunate. With such a loyal vassal aiding the Crown Prince faithfully, I can ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pass the throne worry-free."

The emperor stroked his chin, beaming unusually happily. Ian could only scratch his head, bewildered.

Not long after, shocking news spread through the palace.

The news rocketed across the entire capital in moments, everyone buzzing about it. Ian was left utterly stunned.

'A title? No way.'

That was no small thing.

Count rank. Hereditary nobility. How could anyone take that lightly?