"Did You Sleep Well?... Though You Look Exhausted"
Morning tea in hand, Alex gazed at Salat, who had pulled her hood low over her face, his expression puzzled.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and they were bloodshot. She had spent the night in Loki's room since dawn but hadn't slept a wink.
In contrast, Loki sipped his tea leisurely, showing no signs of fatigue. Even now, he was absorbed in a herbal compendium, flipping through its pages with keen interest.
That sight stirred something peculiar in Alex.
"Forgive me, but you seem quite taken with herbs... Are you perhaps a healer or an apothecary?"
Alex felt a spark of curiosity toward Loki. He had spotted at a glance that the man was a Nod—Nords wore the skins of their hunted prey, but while wolf and bear masks were common, a raven mask like this was a first.
It reminded him of the beak masks lately favored by healers and apothecaries, so he couldn't help wondering if Loki might be one himself.
Loki closed the book and met Alex's eyes.
Truth be told, his interest in herbs stemmed purely from curiosity about what effects they might yield if used to craft potions via his combination skill—the one that let him brew potions.
"I've developed a bit of interest, that's all."
"Ah, I see."
Alex shook his head, a touch disappointed.
"What a shame. Had you been an apothecary, we might have discussed the plague that's been spreading lately."
"...You're speaking of the Worm Pest."
At Loki's words, Alex sat across from him and nodded. Clasping his hands, he regarded Loki with a grave expression.
"Yes, I've been quite interested in it lately."
'Though really, it's been ages.'
Alex kept that last thought to himself.
This time, it was Loki who perked up with interest. To him, this peculiar 'disease' was an intriguing anomaly.
"A monk like yourself takes an interest in such maladies?"
Alex looked surprised.
"Of course. We worship and follow the Constellation Azelan, purging all that harms humanity. We mediate conflicts and banish evil. Plagues fall under that purview as well. That's why monks study and research healing extensively. In truth, we are healers."
'So that's how it works in this world?'
Much like the old medieval eras, it seemed the continent's monks and clerics doubled as healers. Alex was no exception.
"And lately, I've been researching the Worm Pest specifically."
"Researching?"
Alex flinched slightly at Loki's question, then gave a wry smile.
'Having someone to talk to makes me blurt out things I shouldn't. Well, no harm done—monks researching the Worm Pest is hardly unusual.'
Still, it might invite complications. Alex quickly devised an excuse.
"Yes, well... A small village near the monastery might get hit by it. I'm seeking ways to treat them if it does."
Loki crossed his arms, tapping his elbow with his fingers.
"I've heard there's something called holy water?"
Loki recalled the holy water given to him recently by that mage named Pol.
"Ordinary holy water is useless against it. Only the holy water made by the grand bishops in the Holy Church's royal capital works—so we must seek alternatives."
"...I see."
Loki frowned at the mention of the Holy Church. From what he knew, most monks on the continent belonged to that faith.
Which meant the monk before him was likely of the Azelan sect under their umbrella.
'If he's with the Holy Church, he might know what I'm after.'
Loki studied Alex's face, gauging the mood before speaking.
"I have a question."
"Please, ask away."
"...Do you know of the Angel of Death?"
"......"
Alex's eyes widened in shock—as if he knew exactly what Loki meant.
That reaction made Loki's grip tighten.
The Holy Church hunted the 'Angel of Death.' Surely they knew something about her.
Depending on Alex's response, Loki would decide his next move. In the worst case, he'd have to eliminate him—and leave no traces. That included the peddler Yuan from the general store he'd met recently, and even the nearby 'village.'
If what the frozen wasteland guards had said was true, better to clean up thoroughly. Leaving loose ends might paint a target on his back from the Holy Church.
'Harsh, but no choice.'
For three years in the frozen wasteland, Loki had lived without strife or threats, his days quiet and peaceful. His temperament had softened, reverting toward his old self.
But his avatar's core remained the demon god Loki, who reveled in 'destruction' and 'play.' Wiping out a single village was child's play.
Alex fell silent for a moment before speaking.
"The Angel of Death..."
"......"
"...still exists?"
The unexpected question deflated Loki.
"I see. She still... exists, then. I've been cut off from the outside world lately, so I wasn't sure, but... the Angel of Death, huh? Makes sense you'd wonder. They say she spreads plagues. Though there were tales she drove them away, too."
"...You know of her?"
Of her?
Alex shook his head.
"Not much. What I heard was from about fifty years ago—back when Hanes fell."
Salat startled at the name Hanes. As a native, it was a sore spot.
But no one paid her any mind.
"That's when the Angel of Death supposedly appeared, or so the rumors went. But honestly, she was likely just a hallucination born from the plague back then. Healers and apothecaries searched far and wide for her, clinging to that sliver of hope... but I've never heard of any confirmed sightings."
The tension eased from Loki's hands. It seemed Alex knew nothing since fifty years ago.
And he assumed Loki's interest in the Angel of Death was mere curiosity about the Worm Pest.
"I see."
"If you're hunting the Angel of Death, it'd be a fool's errand. They say she appeared as a beautiful woman back then... but it's all illusion. She's probably just a metaphor for the Worm Pest, and the 'healing' tales are hopeful fabrications by someone desperate."
Loki slipped a hand under his mask, massaging his temples.
'A bust.'
He'd hoped a monk might know something... but no such luck.
Nothing more for him here.
"Then I'll be off."
Alex's heart sank.
"...Already?"
His voice carried a hollow ache. A conversation partner had finally appeared...!
"Leaving like this! Stay a bit longer, please. At least a day—no, two, or three... a week? A month?"
"It's only going up."
"...Forgive me. Living alone in such isolation, I get like this sometimes."
Alex sighed. Life in the monastery was lonely. Some stretches passed without a word spoken; he'd nearly forgotten how to talk, teetering on mental fracture.
Only Yuan's bimonthly visits kept him sane.
"Th-then, at least have a meal..."
"...Sorry. I'm in a rush."
If anything, Loki wanted out of the monastery now.
Desperate, Alex impulsively grabbed his hand.
"You said you were interested in the Worm Pest! Let me show you my research right—"
Alex clamped his mouth shut. Loneliness had stripped his reason.
"...Your research?"
Loki's spark of interest made Alex's eyes waver.
'...Is it okay? If I show him?'
His mind screamed no, but his mouth betrayed him.
"Yes, I'll show you. My research...!"
The words out, Alex closed his eyes in despair. No turning back now.
So...
'...It's fine. Just show him the notes. As long as he doesn't go in there, he won't see it.'
Convincing himself, Alex nodded weakly.
"Follow me. I'll show you the research."
Alex led them to a small log cabin behind the monastery graveyard.
Crudely built by hand, it held herb mortars, dried plants, stacks of books, a worktable, and glass cases displaying red plants.
"...You really sure you don't want one?"
Alex offered Loki a beak mask. The Worm Pest didn't spread through air, but better safe.
Loki refused, so Alex turned to Salat.
"...And you, miss?"
Salat froze at the proffered beak mask. It resembled the ghost's face from last night.
Realizing her mistake, she flushed with wounded pride and shook her head vigorously no.
"Very well. We have spare holy water, and nothing too dangerous... but it still feels off."
Ignoring him, Loki surveyed the room. Nothing but brewed decoctions and potted plants under glass.
Oddly, the plants stood rigidly upward without soil, as if self-anchored.
What connection did they have to the Worm Pest?
Loki examined them closely. Roots coiled spirally over the pots' rims, sharpening into spikes like pinecones—or unbloomed buds.
As Loki studied the red plant, Alex approached with a bitter smile and pricked his index finger on one spike.
Skin tore, a drop of blood welled.
He let it fall onto the glass.
Tang!
"......"
The bud burst open—not into a flower, but a blade lancing upward at blinding speed, battering the glass in frenzy for the blood.
The sturdy pane held firm.
As Loki stared in shock, Alex wiped the blood with a cloth. The plant retracted.
Its movement was far too swift for mere flora. Loki was stunned.
"This is...?"
"The Worm Pest."
"...?"
"That's the plant itself."
Loki went rigid at Alex's words.