A Grand Escort
Aum blinked, stroking his chin as if deep in thought. A few seconds later, a smile crept across his face.
“Ahh, this is a problem. I need to send word...”
He dramatically clutched his forehead and glanced sideways. The spot where the skeleton had stood was now empty.
“But there's no one to deliver it!”
“...?”
As everyone stared at Aum Linia's awkward, theatrical display in confusion, he turned to Kudan Raguna with a grin.
“Kudan.”
“...?”
“Assemble the Berserk Warriors.”
The Berserk Warriors. The unit formed under Loki's command when Asgard was founded. Aum Linia's direct subordinates and the elite force created from Loki's skillbook. Every one of the hundred members could wield a Divine Gift, making them humanity's strongest troop.
“Why them...?”
“To greet him, of course. Who else could I entrust with such an important task? I'll have to fetch the Constellation myself.”
“...Aren't you just trying to run away from work, brother?”
“Quiet! I'm on the verge of burnout! Besides, if we make such a grand show of it, even the Constellation won't be able to refuse coming back. No matter how willful he is, he can't ignore the elite Berserk Warriors mobilizing, right?”
Who's the willful one here?
Everyone gathered in the hall shared the same thought.
Shaman stepped forward and addressed Aum.
“What of our duties?”
“Hans should awaken soon. He'll help.”
“Even he alone would struggle.”
“Then you'll assist him, Shaman.”
Shaman blinked in bewilderment.
“Me? As you know, my eyes...”
“Just listen to the reports and stamp the seal. Per can't write, but he can read well enough.”
“... .”
Shaman and Per froze at his words. Per, suddenly feeling like an arrow had been aimed at him, racked his brain and blurted out,
“B-Brother! Didn't you say Asgard's existence must remain hidden? If we move the Berserk Warriors...”
“A hundred men is mid-sized for a mercenary band. Plenty to pass as one, no?”
“... .”
“Besides, we don't even need to hide. This is the perfect time to show our strength. And...”
Aum Linia licked his lips.
“...we've grown enough to go on the offensive, not just defense.”
The nation was stabilizing. They'd already prepared against invasions. In fact, they'd bolstered enough to 'invade' the neighboring Ronia Kingdom.
“Kudan. Your thoughts...?”
Kudan swallowed dryly, eyeing the towering stack of documents.
“...Fine. I'll prepare at once.”
He nodded quickly, wary of any sparks flying his way.
“Good. The lineup: me, Kudan, and Kankun too.”
“My niece as well?”
“It's the best way to welcome him.”
Kudan found himself nodding unwittingly.
Aum flashed a sly grin and slammed his seal onto the parchment. Murderous intent gleamed in his eyes.
“Just wait a little longer. I'll come fetch you myself, Constellation!”
“...?”
Loki rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head.
Just my imagination?
A chill had run down his spine for no reason. Shaking it off, he looked ahead.
A long path stretched out—not carved by human hands, but worn by countless footsteps. Crowds lined up before the checkpoint, laden with packs or pulling carts. Their appearances varied wildly, but they shared filthy clothes and haggard, exhausted faces.
Refugees displaced by Ronia's civil war between east and west. They gazed at the checkpoint with anxious, desperate eyes.
“...Has the war's shadow reached even this backwater now?”
Ash, draped in rags he'd scrounged somewhere, muttered beside him.
The guards scrutinized every entrant, pulling aside anyone suspicious. Harma Territory was neutral but far from safe—a prime target for either Ronia faction. It had survived unscathed thanks to its position at the Kelp Mountains' edge, offering no strategic value worth claiming.
Knowing this, refugees flocked here.
When Loki's turn came, the gate guards eyed him warily. A man in a crow mask and rags, with a hooded girl... an odd pair indeed.
They paid the girl little mind but blocked Loki and Ash.
“What... brings you here?”
Loki was inwardly surprised by the tense soldier's question.
He's just a kid?
Maybe sixteen or seventeen. Yet he wore standard-issue leather armor topped with a green surcoat, his leather helmet pulled low, hand hovering near his longsword at his belt. The other guards—sturdy adult men—watched Loki just as intently. Unlike the other refugees, he looked truly suspicious.
“Herbalist. Here to rest and sell medicine in the territory.”
It wasn't a lie. Loki didn't need sleep, but he preferred avoiding the open wilds. The forest weather was fickle; rain could strike anytime.
“Herbalist, huh?”
The guards exchanged glances.
“Says he's a herbalist.”
“Then we should let him...”
“No, we can't trust just anyone, even in a pinch. You know how many died yesterday from that con artist posing as one?”
Loki stifled a chuckle at their reaction. Clearly, a fake herbalist had caused havoc recently.
“Do you have proof of identity?”
“Proof of identity?”
As if such a thing existed. He considered a bribe, but...
“...Bribes won't work.”
The guard gave a knowing glance. Loki clicked his tongue.
What now?
He glanced at Ash, who looked equally stumped.
As Loki pondered, a well-dressed middle-aged man and child approached for inspection. The child, worn out from travel, stumbled and fell hard. Fabric tore; his knee skinned red.
“Waaah!”
Salat flinched at the cry and hurried over. She pulled herbs from her pouch, applying them to the knee. The father, startled, scooped up the child and shouted,
“Wh-What are you doing?!”
Salat shrank back under his glare. It was just a kind act for the injured, but he didn't know that.
“N-No, I just...”
As Salat retreated, the sniffling child tilted his head at the salve on his knee. The pain ebbed away. Noticing, he looked at Salat—and spotted her long ears peeking from the hood. His eyes sparkled in wonder.
“...Fairy lady?”
“...?”
“Daddy! My leg doesn't hurt! It's magic! The fairy fixed it!”
The child pointed at Salat, who yanked her hood deeper. She knew how ordinary humans reacted to her kind.
The father hadn't seen her ears but noted the green salve.
“This is...”
“...Herbs. Eases pain, prevents scars.”
Realizing his mistake, the father's face paled. Medicine was precious, especially fast-acting stuff fit for nobles. Refugees who'd fled with nothing couldn't afford it.
“W-We have no money! Who asked for treatment? Hey!”
Salat scowled at the ingratitude.
This is why humans suck!
Help them, and this is the thanks? She hadn't wanted money—just pitied the crying kid!
Fuming, Salat reached for her Divine Gift when someone ruffled her hair.
“...?”
“What did this one do wrong?”
It was Loki. The father recoiled at the crow mask.
“N-No, it's...”
“She helped, and you snap at her?”
“I didn't ask for he—”
Loki looked up. Red eyes gleamed from the mask, staring down with killing intent. The father bowed in terror.
“S-Sorry!”
He fled with the child. Salat watched them go, lips pursed. Then she realized her recklessness and peeked at Loki.
“Um... sorry. For using the herbs without asking...”
“They're yours. I'm in no position to dictate to a lender.”
“... .”
“And you did well.”
“...?”
Was that praise? Salat gave him a puzzled look.
“What now?”
Ash sidled up, asking Loki. He hated lingering too, but mental fatigue was mounting. A proper rest—reality be damned—sounded like bliss.
“No choice. Camp and head straight to Roden Territory.”
No real rest; camp and push on.
Then a guard approached.
“Sir...”
“...?”
“We saw it. You really are a herbalist.”
“Yes.”
Not really.
“Then, could you do us a favor?”
“...?”
The guard glanced nervously.
“Sell your herbs in our territory.”
Loki gained entry to Harma Territory. They searched him for contraband, but upon finding Alex's conversion token—a wooden piece marked [木]—the guards recoiled in shock and waved him through without further fuss.
“Forgive us! We had no idea you'd received conversion from a Holy Church holy knight! Please excuse our rudeness!”
Quite polite, too.
Handy thing to let through.
Loki eyed the token Alex had given him. Ash, walking beside, swallowed hard at the sight.
“A Holy Church token. From a Black Judge holy knight, no less!”
“Impressive?”
Loki had no clue of its influence.
Ash gaped and pointed.
“You don't know? It's a pass for unrestricted travel anywhere—even royal palaces.”
Not just that; it earned holy knight treatment under the Church's name. Seeing Loki's ignorance, Ash smirked meaningfully.
“...Stolen?”
Loki pocketed it.
“A friend gave it.”
“Friend? So you're with the Holy Church too?”
“I'm an atheist.”
“... .”
Ash was speechless at Loki's brazen declaration. Any Church member hearing it would brand him heretic and burn him on the spot.
Loki surveyed Harma Territory, his first continental city. Stone houses crammed tightly. Streets muddy with filth and refuse; alleys hid gaunt folk huddled or collapsed. A rotten stench hung heavy—a lifeless scene.
Was Pol lying?
Pol's group had said cities were well-managed by lords: clean streets, dedicated cleaners.
Yet this...
War's aftermath?
Loki looked elsewhere.
“Huff... huff...”
A beak-masked figure breathed raggedly, examining the fallen at a crossroads and dispensing medicine. Crowds gathered, but the apothecary shook his head—no more left. Desperate coughs; some begged, grabbing his collar. Patrol guards intervened.
No Worm Pest, but disease spreads unchecked.
Loki turned to Salat.
“Do me a favor.”
“...!”
A favor?! Her ears perked up. First time he'd asked her nicely.
“Teach me pharmacology.”