The Saint of Rags
Raon and Dorian rested a day in Motrun City, then set out for Lokan, the great southwestern metropolis that housed the Sepia Merchant Guild.
Motrun sat so far off the beaten path that they were camping from the first night, settling on a hill that rolled like ocean waves.
Raon dug a pit for a makeshift hearth and started a pot of garlic chicken stew. A sweet, mellow fragrance rose in wisps from the milky broth, and saliva gathered unbidden in his mouth.
"The seasoning! Check the seasoning first!"
Wrath waved his little hands at the pot. It was exactly like watching a fluffy puppy beg for dinner.
"It's not even done yet. Wait."
"Then turn up the heat! The fire in that core of yours exists for this very moment!"
Skipping lunch on nothing but hard bread had apparently driven Wrath completely around the bend.
Raon watched drool spill from the cotton-ball's mouth and shook his head.
He's completely lost it.
The idea that the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, left behind by the First Patriarch of Zieghart, existed for the sake of cooking... no matter how generously he tried to look at it, the only word that came to mind was insane.
"Let This King taste it already! That savory smell is unbearable!"
"Shut up."
"Urgh!"
Raon kicked Wrath, who had been rolling around on the ground in his impatience, and nudged the makeshift hearth a little hotter.
This should do it.
Thanks to the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames advancing a realm, he could now read not only his own heat but the heat of the world around him as if it were his own. Which meant he could instinctively find the perfect temperature for cooking.
"Hah..."
The first time he actually felt what it meant for the art to have reached the fifth star... was while cooking. The sheer absurdity of it drew a hollow laugh from him.
Raon slowly stirred the stew as it came to a boil, then tasted it. The broth, rich with generous chunks of chicken and the sweet-bitter melt of garlic, wrapped softly around his tongue.
"Hooo!"
Wrath shot to his feet with a gasp of wonder.
"This is camp food?! Madness!"
His eyes had gone wide with genuine shock.
Not bad.
"Nngh..."
Just as Raon nudged the heat a little higher to finish the stew, a groan drifted over from Dorian. He turned. Dorian was wiping cold sweat from his brow, staring at a piece of pork with an expression of the utmost gravity.
"What are you doing?"
"I-I can't tell if the meat is cooked through..."
"Haa..."
Same as ever.
True to his timid nature, Dorian couldn't bring himself to trust that the meat was done, and he'd cooked it far past the point of reason. The fat had rendered completely out of the pork. It looked like a strip of dried bacon.
"That's enough. It's going to turn into a cracker."
"R-right."
Dorian nodded stiffly, plated the overcooked meat, and brought it over.
"Yep. That's a cracker."
Raon snorted at the pork, which looked like it would crunch if you so much as breathed on it.
"You imbecile!"
Wrath charged Dorian and rapped him on the skull.
"Ruining meat this fine—you are garbage! Do not even think of setting foot in a kitchen for the next hundred years!"
This was not a kitchen in the Demon Realm, and Wrath was not the head chef. It was a threat as meaningless as it was ridiculous.
"You eat first."
Leaving Wrath to stew over the ruined pork, Raon ladled the finished chicken stew into a bowl for Dorian.
"Thank you for the meal. Huh?!"
Dorian bowed his head, accepted the bowl, took a single bite—and his eyes flew wide.
"W-what is this? Why does it taste this good?"
"This is what cooking is! Watch and learn from now on!"
Wrath planted his hands on his hips and snorted as if he'd made it himself.
"I just managed the heat well."
Raon took a bite of the stew. The rich chicken broth and fresh vegetables came together in a clean, savory depth that filled his mouth.
"Khhh! Delicious! This King says it every time—you have more talent for cooking than the sword. Did you pick up the wrong blade?"
Wrath smacked his lips and patted Raon's shoulder.
"If you wish it, This King shall take you as his personal chef! Stop swinging a sword in that frail body of yours and pick up a kitchen knife instead!"
You...
Raon narrowed his eyes at Wrath.
For someone who loves food this much, your descriptions of flavor are painfully simple.
"W-what are you talking about?!"
"People who actually love eating are usually good at describing taste. But no matter where we go, all you ever say is Delicious! This King wants more! Extraordinary!"
"Th-that is not true! This King can do it perfectly well!"
Insisting otherwise, Wrath told him to eat the stew again. Raon nodded and ate the stew and the pork in turn.
"Mmm..."
Wrath crouched with his eyes closed, as if savoring every note. Then they snapped open.
"The pork has a fine crunch, and the stew is pleasantly rich! Delicious!"
Raon looked down at Wrath, who had drawn himself up proudly, with an expression of pure pity.
That's it?
"Then what else is there supposed to be?!"
"For a simple example—this grilled pork was cooked over an open flame, so a sharp, barbecue-like char tickles the nose. Because all the fat rendered out, the salt concentrates into something deep, and the crunch is like a cookie. That's how you talk about it."
"Uh..."
Wrath stared at Raon with eyes brighter than they had ever been.
"Teach This King! That is what This King wishes to learn!"
"That's not something you can just teach. You just say whatever you feel..."
"Never mind that—teach This King! This King wants to do that too!"
True to a creature who took food with deadly seriousness, he genuinely wanted to learn how to describe flavor properly. The problem was that Raon had just strung together a bunch of words that sounded fancy.
I don't know either.
Raon swatted the charging Wrath away like a ball and turned his gaze. Dorian was eating his stew, watching him steadily.
"What?"
"Vice Leader. Are you going in with that hair color?"
He set down his stew and pointed at his own hair.
"That's the plan."
Raon nodded, running his fingers through hair as red as a harvest moon.
"If I go as myself, I won't be able to see how they actually treat you."
The name Raon Zieghart had spread far too wide. Especially so soon after the Six Kings tournament, where he'd earned the new epithet White Sword Dragon—if he walked in as himself, no one would dare pick a fight. If he wanted to see how Dorian actually lived and how he was treated, he needed to go not as the White Sword Dragon, but as just another member of the Light Wind Squad.
"Well... disguises don't always work, though. Someone as tall as you stands out a lot, Vice Leader."
"That's why I put on a robe and bent my knees a little before we got here."
When they'd left Robert Territory, he'd worn a robe and bent his knees, shaving more than four inches off his height. Even if Derus combed the place like he was hunting lice, he would never find a trace of Raon's passage.
"Y-you even faked your height? I had no idea..."
Dorian let out a stunned little puff of air.
"It's nothing special, really...
Hm?"
Raon was waving a hand, about to continue, when a small presence stirred behind him. Not a blade—a tiny living thing. He turned, and a flying squirrel came gliding toward them.
He lifted his hand, and the flying squirrel wrapped itself around his fingers, landing with perfect precision.
"Eek! That thing!"
Dorian's jaw dropped at the sight of the flying squirrel.
"What?"
"That's the one that bit my hand yesterday when you were cultivating and floated up into the air, Vice Leader!"
"Huu..."
Raon sighed at the flying squirrel. The moment he heard that, he knew what this creature was. Honestly, he'd known from the instant it came gliding in.
So I got help this time too.
Apparently it had made sure a startled Dorian couldn't interrupt his cultivation.
"The madwoman! The madwoman is here!"
Wrath had recognized Merlin as well. His shoulders shook with horror.
"Kiiik."
The flying squirrel lifted one of its own feet. A small knot of white paper was tied around it.
So she didn't come in person?
If Merlin had come herself, she would have approached when Dorian wasn't around and struck up a conversation. This seemed like a different kind of magic than usual.
Raon untied the note from the squirrel's foot, then took peanuts and almonds from Dorian and offered them. The creature stuffed the almond in its mouth, clutched a peanut in each paw, and waddled off into the woods.
"What is that thing? Are you actually opening a zoo?"
"My informant."
Raon smiled faintly and unfolded the note. Only a single line was written inside.
You'll get to see the children again soon, won't you?
"The children? You don't mean the ones from that orphanage?"
Dorian swallowed hard and shot to his feet.
"Are they all right now?"
"Are the children unharmed?"
Soft-hearted Dorian and Wrath asked at the exact same time.
"Yeah."
Raon burned the note the flying squirrel had brought and smiled.
"Because that person has gone to them."
The Owen Kingdom Exclusive Villa near Camelun.
No. 45, who had used the name Fyne on the outside, sat in the villa's training yard and stared blankly at the sky.
"Haa..."
I can't breathe.
Unlike the clear, high sky, her head felt unbearably tight. It was like she'd been stuffed into a tiny coffin too small to even move her fingers.
I can't do anything.
The demons who had tortured the children were dead. The training was gone. But her emotions and her body still refused to move as she wished. She had thought she'd found freedom, but her soul was still locked in that orphanage basement.
When will he—
The moment she tried to recall the swordsman who had come to the orphanage, cut down the demons, and saved them all, a headache like her skull splitting open slammed into her.
"Ahk..."
It's here again.
The little demons inside her head were gesturing. They ordered her to stab the knights standing watch over there. Ever since she'd left the orphanage basement, the seizures came countless times a day.
I have to endure it.
Those knights had come all this way to save the children, and they still treated them with such care. She must never attack them.
Go! Get out!
But no matter how she endured, the ringing in her head would not fade. It only grew louder, and longer.
Kill.
Kill.
Stab them to death.
The demon in her head repeated the kill order and even built her a plan for murdering the knights.
A murder plan she didn't even want to think about began to eat through her mind of its own accord. No. 45 bit her lip and shut her eyes. If she didn't look, maybe the orders would ease a little.
You can kill them.
But the moment her vision went dark, the demon in her head only grew more vicious.
"Kill them. If you just follow my instructions, it won't be only those two. The other knights as well..."
Please just go!
She clutched her head and shook it wildly. But the voice inside would not vanish.
"Aaaaaaah!"
While she was forcing herself to hold on, someone's scream rang out. She opened her eyes to see her roommate, No. 86, charging a knight with a sharply whittled tree branch in her fist.
"Don't!"
No. 45 ran and grabbed No. 86's arm. But the other girl's strength was fierce, and she herself was still fighting the orders in her own head. She couldn't stop her properly.
"Iyaaaaaah!"
"Aaaah!"
"Die!"
No. 86 became the spark. The other children rushed the knights as well, swinging hidden weapons.
"Nngh..."
"Hic!"
"Ah..."
The knights knocked the children's weapons aside in a single breath. But the children still didn't stop. They wailed and swung fists and open hands.
The blows were trained fists and knife-hands, and the impact was real—but the knights did not defend themselves, afraid of hurting the children.
"Please stop!"
No. 45 dragged at No. 86 as she threw punches, tears falling from her eyes.
Please...
The demons of the orphanage had turned every child's mind into a monster, as if they had predicted even the possibility of rescue. In that state, knocking them unconscious was nearly impossible, and the seizures came every single day. For the children and the knights alike, it was a living hell.
"Aaaaaah!"
No. 86 drove her shoulder in and slammed No. 45 to the ground.
"Aaah..."
No. 45's jaw trembled. She could barely manage her own mind. She had no strength left to hold No. 86.
The only person who came to mind now was him. The tall swordsman who had saved them at the orphanage and vanished as suddenly as he had come.
No. 45 pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket.
We'll meet again.
Follow the knights.
The moment she saw the swordsman's smooth handwriting, her head cleared a little. She ran again and caught hold of No. 86.
"No. 86. You can endure this! Stop!"
She grabbed No. 86's shoulders, but the other girl's reason was already gone. She could only be dragged along by her strength.
Borini Kitten, who had been watching, bit his lip, stepped forward, and pulled No. 86 into his arms.
"Aaaaagh!"
No. 86 sank her teeth into his shoulder, but Borini Kitten only closed his eyes and stroked her back.
"It's all right."
Borini Kitten shook his head with a bitter smile. It seemed to mean: don't suffer. Let her go.
"Nngh..."
She wanted to pour out tears, but no tears came. She wanted to scream, but no sound came. There was nothing she could do of her own will.
How long. How long do I have to live like this?
As a pain like rotting flesh ate through her soul, a shadow fell over her head. She looked up. An old man with clear eyes was approaching. He wore rags like a beggar, but instead of a stench, a warm, comforting scent came off him.
The old man lifted a finger and tapped No. 86 on the forehead.
"Ah..."
No. 86's eyes drifted shut and she collapsed where she stood. Her face was as soft as if she had simply fallen asleep.
"You rest as well."
The instant the old man's hand tapped her forehead, the voice that had been chattering in her head vanished. For the first time in a very long while—no. For the first time ever—her mind felt clear.
But before she could even savor the feeling, an irresistible sleep crashed over her. No. 45 let her eyes fall shut and surrendered herself to it.
The old man in rags. Saint Pedrick caught the two children before they could hit the ground and laid them down.
"S-Saint! It is an honor!"
Borini Kitten bowed his head to Pedrick with formal respect.
"How did you come to be here..."
"Wait just a moment. I'll go settle the other children as well."
Pedrick winked and walked lightly onward. Wherever he passed, the children who had been rioting collapsed as quietly as if they had fallen asleep.
Borini Kitten's jaw dropped as he watched.
Lately we couldn't even put them to sleep...
The children's brainwashing had grown more vicious with time. Lately they had become even more violent, and pressing their mana circuits to force them to sleep no longer worked. He could hardly believe they could be put under so easily.
"That's all of them."
Pedrick put every child to sleep, dusted off his hands, and walked back.
"Don't tell me the person who was supposed to treat the children..."
"That's right. It's me."
He nodded, as if to say Borini had guessed well.
"Who on earth is he? How did he know about all this and give those instructions?"
Borini Kitten swallowed dryly and leaned in.
"I don't know either. I only came because I was asked to save the children."
Pedrick shook his head as if he truly had no idea.
"Th-then... can the children be saved?"
Even after being told he didn't know the man's identity, Borini didn't look disappointed. He asked about the children at once.
"I'll need to examine them more carefully, but fortunately the brainwashing was cut off just before it was complete. The reason the children have grown so violent is that something in their heads is still nagging them to finish it."
"Ah, then..."
"Yes. I believe they can be saved."
Pedrick smiled, stroking No. 45's hair.
"Haaa..."
Borini Kitten clasped his hands together and let out a long breath of relief.
Thank goodness.
He had lived as a knight through many things, but he had never felt this sad, or this helpless. He had wanted to save the children by any means. That the chance had finally come was a genuine blessing.
"As expected of the Saint! Thank you."
"No. I'm not the remarkable one."
Pedrick slowly shook his head.
The one who's truly remarkable is that boy Raon.
It was thanks to Raon that these children could be saved. If he hadn't had the brainwashing on that maid of the Yonan Family researched, they might never have been able to save these poor children—or they would have suffered far longer.
"First, we'll need to take these children north."
Pedrick nodded as he looked at the sleeping children.
"Why the north..."
"The cool winds of nature are quite effective at erasing the brainwashing nested in their heads."
"I see. But there may be people who will try to attack these children..."
"Don't worry. A friend of mine runs a little house up north."
"A little house? D-don't tell me..."
"That's right."
He nodded at Borini Kitten, whose eyes had gone wide.
"I intend to take them to Zieghart. That boy wouldn't turn children like these away."
Pedrick smiled, recalling Raon's gaze—the look of someone who always seemed to see farther than anyone else, as if he already knew everything.
I'll treat the children the way you wanted and bring them to Zieghart.
Raon and Dorian finished a journey that was both short and long, and arrived at Lokan, the great city that housed the Sepia Merchant Guild.
It's a little different from Camelun.
Where Camelun had been dominated by gorgeous, stylish buildings, Lokan's were taller—but harder, drier, more severe. Unlike Camelun's guards, who had waved people through, Lokan's were more numerous, and they inspected every single person with care. It wasn't just the guards. Even the people's clothing was restrained. The whole city seemed to have a stiff atmosphere all its own.
There were similarities, though. As befit a great city, crowds of people came and went, and the markets inside were bursting with life. The harmony of customers and merchants haggling rang out from every direction.
"Huu..."
Dorian looked around the city and let out a long breath. Now that they were near his home, the tension seemed to be getting to him.
"Relax."
Raon clapped Dorian on the shoulder and smiled.
"There's no runaway child here anymore. You're a swordsman of Zieghart."
At those words, Dorian's faintly trembling eyes went still.
"You're right."
Dorian smiled and nodded. At a single sentence from Raon, the pounding in his chest settled. As long as this man was beside him, it felt like anything that happened could be handled.
"Let's go. I'll show you the way."
Dorian walked on with a stride that had found its confidence.
"All right."
Raon chuckled and followed. Dorian stopped before they had gone far.
"What now? Are you still..."
"No."
Dorian shook his head and pointed ahead.
"We're here."
"Hm? This is just a shopping district."
Raon tilted his head at the buildings stretching farther than one eye could count.
"From here all the way to there."
Dorian swept his finger across every one of those buildings, smacking his lips.
"All of it belongs to the Sepia Merchant Guild."
"Uh..."
Raon's jaw dropped.
All of this?
Crowds of people came and went through buildings of every kind, goods flowing in and out. More than a quarter of the city belonged to the Sepia Merchant Guild. The title General Store of the Continent didn't fall short in the slightest.
"Dorian."
Raon caught Dorian's shoulder, a smile blooming wide across his face.
"Thank you."
"Yes? All of a sudden, what...?"
Dorian's mouth rounded in complete incomprehension.
So this is the Sepia Merchant Guild.
It's even bigger than I thought.
A spark leapt in Raon's eyes, the same kind that appeared when he went into battle.
And all of this is going to be mine. No—Dorian's, that is?
"You madman."
Wrath let out a puff of disbelief.
"Greed would drop to his knees if he saw this lunatic!"