Chapter 213
Chapter 213
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 213
Chapter Title: The Wandering Lizardman
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When Pils and the other agent raised their guns toward the Lizardman, Sarcho thought there wouldn't even be a fight.
Sarcho's thinking was correct.
Just the winner was different.
Before the triggers could even be pulled, the Lizardman charged forward, swinging his sword. Two streaks of lightning struck the two agents.
It was a weak current, faint enough to produce only a sizzling sound as it scorched the air, but it was more than enough to stop the two men in their tracks.
The Lizardman slid forward, slicing their throats one after another in quick succession. Even with light swings, the blade cut deep enough to pass between the vertebrae.
Sarcho said,
"...You?"
The Lizardman said,
"Are you asking what I do? Or my name?"
"Both."
The Lizardman sheathed his sword and said,
"Tricky. Even if I told you what I do, you'd have a hard time accepting it, and if I gave my name, you wouldn't know who I am anyway."
Sarcho habitually smoothed down his hair, which had stood on end from tension.
"I need to know what kind of person you are to understand why you helped me, and I need your name to express my gratitude to the benefactor who saved my life."
The Lizardman pulled out a pipe with a familiar motion.
He expertly crammed herbs into the pipe, sparked a flame at his fingertips, and lit it.
The Lizardman took a long draw from the pipe and exhaled smoke.
"Have you heard of the Wandering Lizardman?"
"Pardon? That's just a folktale passed down..."
"Or so it's known. Not all the stories are about me, of course. But the Wandering Lizardman in some of them is. For example, I once told old tales to a one-armed Halfling."
Sarcho took a deep breath.
'A figure from legend, right in front of me?'
The Lizardman said,
"Oh, and my name is Owen."
Sarcho followed Owen into the back alleys of Shubanel.
"Not sure if it's because of the revolution, but some empty houses have popped up."
"I've heard some nobles left Shubanel after the revolution. We're investigating those vacant places, but we haven't had the time..."
"Then it's fine if I borrow one."
The house Owen led him to was the third floor of a building.
Dust covered the floor, as if no one had entered recently.
Owen sat in a chair by the window and said,
"I have a guest, but regrettably nothing to offer. I do have some jerky if you'd like to chew on some."
"No, I'm fine. More importantly, I have questions. Actually... a lot of them."
Owen pulled a piece of jerky from his pocket and put it in his mouth.
He chewed noisily and said,
"This might take all night. Ask away."
Sarcho thought for a moment.
He had tons of questions, but he wanted to start with the important ones.
"...Are you one of the 'Chosen Ones'?"
Even Sarcho, who had never seen battle, couldn't fail to recognize the lightning Owen had used.
The infamy of the Chosen Ones—followers of the Demon God Yacheon—was well-known even in Shubanel, far from the front lines.
Treated almost like saints, the Chosen Ones were Yacheon's butchers who had steadily appeared since Apostle Rakrak, incinerating enemy armies with lightning on the empire's front lines.
There were even tales of soldiers who survived encounters with Chosen Ones on the battlefield going mad on stormy nights, begging the Demon God for forgiveness.
Owen said,
"That's right."
Even though it was obvious just from watching, hearing it confirmed from the man himself made it hard for Sarcho to breathe.
"Then as a follower of the Demon God, why did you save me?"
"Hm."
Owen scratched his chin.
"That phrasing has some issues, young friend."
Sarcho didn't respond, just looked at Owen with doubtful eyes.
Owen said,
"I didn't save you as a follower of the Blue Insect God. Of course, I still follow His will, but... hmm, how to put this..."
After pondering, Owen nodded lightly.
"Ah, right. Aren't you friends with Dain?"
"I prefer 'comrade,' but yes."
"Then you've heard the stories he told."
"Ah, yes."
"Those are my stories."
The tale of the Lizardman tribe suffering under the Froglin tribe.
Sarcho remembered it but interjected,
"We've been free from tribal life for nearly 300 years. There might be some tribes like that somewhere, but I took it as an old story."
"Exactly. That's right."
"Pardon?"
"That it's nearly 300 years ago, and an old story. Both true."
At Owen's calm response, Sarcho's expression slowly shifted from suspicion to shock.
"Are you saying you've been alive from then until now?"
"Yes. How old do I look?"
Sarcho gazed at Owen in the moonlight.
It was hard to guess other races' ages, and Lizardmen didn't show aging clearly.
"I don't know."
"I'll be two hundred and ninety-eight this year."
Sarcho interjected,
"But... Lizardmen die around eighty, no matter how long they live. Even long-lived Elves struggle past 120."
"There's always exceptions."
"No one lives that long."
"Can you say that for sure?"
Sarcho couldn't answer immediately.
Owen said,
"The world is full of powers we can't understand, isn't it?"
Sarcho understood.
Owen continued,
"I was a wanderer by nature. Even after getting on in years, I couldn't settle. So I figured I'd see as much as I could before dying. I crossed the Great Ocean, the end of the world as I knew it then, and came to this continent."
Owen took out another piece of jerky and chewed.
"Places with people are all similar. The occasional divine messages from Him stopped coming, and I wandered aimlessly. Then I found ancient ruins. I pushed through the lame traps, and at the end was a small glass vial. Thirsty as I was, I thought it perfect and drained it. Well..."
Owen chuckled.
"I thought it was just water for about thirty years after. Figured I was just fated to live long. But as the years piled on, my vitality didn't fade, my limbs stopped aching in the rain like in my youth, firm and strong. My mind cleared and sharpened. Looking back, the only unusual thing was emptying that vial."
Sarcho, flustered and hesitant to fully believe, asked,
"Can you prove it?"
Owen shrugged.
"Even if I did, would you confirm it? King Rakrak always placed his Go stones from the center. I'd tell him he couldn't win that way, but he'd stubbornly insist it was just for fun, his way. Amusingly, he'd still beat me in a few games despite that. And I'm pretty decent myself."
Sarcho decided to just believe it.
"I understand that after coming to this land, you lost sight of the Demon God's will. But then why save me?"
Owen said,
"You might not know, but back in Heukrin, they called me a storyteller."
"Storyteller?"
"Wandering around, telling tales in exchange for meals. Not just any stories, though. The one I told Dain was mine, and the Lizardman who helped me in it was Rakrak."
"...Ah."
Sarcho belatedly realized why the story felt familiar.
As a priest, he studied the Demon God and his followers. He recalled a similar tale from the early days of Yacheonism.
Owen continued,
"I owe Rakrak, Him, and the others who died because I lacked courage. When King Rakrak saved me, I vowed to live my life for that... but my sins must be great, since I'm still alive."
Sarcho could tell Owen's emotions had dulled and worn over the long years.
This old Lizardman seemed unshakable, humbly accepting whatever happened before him without surprise.
But that didn't mean he lacked heart.
On the contrary, his will, layered and hardened over time, couldn't be eroded by mere passage of years.
"...But I don't believe in your god. I believe in the Enraged One."
"I know. But didn't I say it once before? Our interests align."
"Wasn't that when you were disguised as a Fang agent?"
As Sarcho understood it, yes.
Fang agents naturally followed the Enraged One, so blocking Dain from allying with the Lubeil revolutionaries would serve their cause.
But if that Fang agent was actually an old Lizardman follower of Yacheon, it changed things.
If this Lizardman still followed Yacheon, wouldn't he want the Collegohton Independent Republic to adopt Yacheon?
"No."
Owen denied it.
"If the Lubeil revolutionaries contact the Collegohton Independent Republic, they might gain Yacheon's protection, but it would also give the Enraged One cause to intervene directly. Of course, He'd thrash the Enraged One as always. But your comrades in this city would suffer in the meantime, right?"
Sarcho nodded slowly.
"...Yes."
"So our goals are the same. It's not about religion. It's about how to save more lives."
Sarcho said,
"...Is that your will? For more people to survive?"
Owen glanced out the window briefly.
Owen said,
"Hard to put it that simply. Just being alive isn't enough, is it? Better to live free and happy. Sometimes that means betting everything. Nothing says you can't stake your life on it."
"..."
"But we can't entrust that to everyone. Can't force those who don't want to. So what I did was find people suited for it and ignite their desires. People with everything prepared, just needing a push. Understand?"
Sarcho said,
"...But I don't get it. By stopping the Lubeil revolutionaries from entering Collegohton, aren't you thwarting the Demon God's greater will?"
Owen nodded as if it sounded plausible.
"But there's an old saying."
"An old saying?"
Owen said,
"'Some warriors of the Black Scale Tribe will defy the tribal chief's orders if they deem it necessary.'"