The Choice (7)
Stagnant water eventually rots. That is why the priests of the Water Temple say they serve the flowing water—because only the flow remains pure, never stagnating in one place.
Thus, they consider themselves mere droplets falling into the world, hoping to ride the current of the flowing water. They call such blind devotion in this world "rain."
The priests of Wior often compared themselves to raindrops.
Conversely, those called Exiliers exist in many corners of the world. They were the ones who had already stagnated, rotting everything around them.
Wherever there is a flow in this world, there is demand. In other words, the region forming a triangle between Seplam—where the headquarters of the Water Temple lies—and the City Alliance, Cellabris, could be described as a place where Exiliers ran rampant.
Some were simply born into such a life as descendants of sinners. But whether they were pessimistic about their reality, born with a wicked nature, or lived a life without ever questioning their circumstances, the evil they committed could not be undone.
That was the reason why the Martial Priests belonging to the temple used the martial arts they had mastered to purge the Exiliers.
Exiliers, who could not set foot on the sovereign’s land, possessed malice and depravity as exceptional as their numbers. And the Martial Priests firmly believed that, among them, this particular monster had to be hunted down at all costs.
It was entirely understandable, then, that Hisoral Mut, a 2nd-grade Martial Priest of the Wind Temple, slammed his desk in rage at the information brought by the priest.
"How many times is this now, Hadonan?"
Hadonan handed over the report and spoke.
"This is the 12th since you were assigned to Sovaran. They say he severed the arms of infants while they were anesthetized. The border guards found them after following the informant."
Priest Hadonan looked as if his stomach were churning just from speaking. It wasn't just physical nausea; it was the frustration of being unable to spew raw profanity at such a sickening atrocity.
"That goddamn son of a bitch!"
Hisoral faithfully demonstrated the virtue of a superior who could do what his subordinates could not. That didn't mean the priest fell for his superior's boisterous language. After all, they were both men, and he was a heterosexual with clear, conventional views on gender.
"What shall we do, Martial Priest?"
"What do you mean, what shall we do? We have to catch that bastard and kill him!"
Hadonan understood his anger.
It wasn't that other temples didn't exist in the nations where each temple's headquarters were located. Even if there was a grand temple, priests with the title of Branch Head often established temples in various regions. Unlike the standard legal system, the Branch Head position was unique in that it required both the recognition of others and the individual's own choice.
Only the Martial Priests, who built their own legacy through martial arts, could be considered to have a similar legal standing.
That was why Hadonan respected Hisoral from the bottom of his heart.
Despite being born with a weak aptitude for manipulating Essence, Hisoral had steadfastly walked the path of a Martial Priest and established a temple in the borderlands—the very front line against the Exiliers. It was not something just anyone could do.
"But you cannot go yourself. A Branch Head must protect the temple completely until a successor is found. That is Article 1 of the Branch Head Law."
Hadonan was about to recite Article 2, but before he could, a string of curses erupted from Hisoral’s mouth.
"Stop bringing up that damn clause! My ears are going to rot! Are you going to talk about Article 2 next? If a Branch Head passes away without a successor, the temple is closed! If you need a successor that badly, why don't you do it yourself!"
Hisoral flew into a rage and threw the report aside. A moment later, he spoke in a subdued voice.
"I'm sorry. For losing my temper."
"It is fine. I know why you are like this."
Hadonan did not blame his superior for his emotional outburst. Thanks to this, Hisoral scratched his head with an even darker expression.
Three years ago, there had been an incident where a young acolyte under Hisoral's care went missing. The problem was that the child was one Hisoral had taken in before leaving the headquarters for the branch temple.
"How long had it been since that orphan finally had a smile on their face..."
At first, he had searched leisurely, assuming the child was simply lost. How many things must have been fascinating to them in their new home? It was late in the afternoon when he felt something was wrong. Hisoral searched the entire village for the child who hadn't returned by sunset. However, the child's whereabouts remained unknown.
Late that night, after inquiring with the border guards and the village watch, Hisoral heard news that felt like a bolt from the blue.
"It might be the human hunter."
"Human... hunter? You mean he hunts humans?"
"Yes. He hunts them and cooks them. The victims are usually women and children... and I hear he even targets babies. I apologize, but if he is involved in this case, the child's survival... is hard to guarantee."
It was a testament to Hisoral's character that he didn't lose his mind in rage and smash the guard's face in after hearing that. However, the guard, who had been hoisted up by his collar with immense strength, had to endure the cold, piercing gaze of the Martial Priest.
"That child is not dead. Do not speak such ominous words so carelessly."
After dropping the guard, who was nodding frantically, Hisoral asked for information on the monster. The guard, rubbing his neck, said:
"Among the Exiliers, he goes by the name Kizzel."
Until that moment, Hisoral had held onto hope. But the next instant, an administrative official he had become close with while preparing to hand over the temple found him.
"Hisoral, you, in front of your temple...!"
Before the words were even finished, Hisoral sensed that something had gone terribly wrong. Martial Priests were not those who could manipulate Essence from birth, but those who had practiced martial arts until they finally mastered the use of Essence.
With his heart in turmoil, burning his Essence with all his might, Hisoral arrived at the temple. What he saw in the deepening twilight was a sack, darkly soaked in the gloom.
Every time he recalled that memory, roars of fury erupted from the temple.
The people of Sovaran wondered if this was a newly established Wind Temple or a place for interrogating prisoners.
Hadonan recalled the time he had just been dispatched here, following Hisoral's request to the grand temple. At the time, he had mistakenly thought his mission wasn't to assist the Branch Head, but to subdue a madman who was tearing the temple apart.
And now, the Branch Head, who had once wrecked the temple because he couldn't contain his accumulated rage, had decided not to waste his anger in vain anymore.
"I am going myself. You stay here and guard this place, Hadonan."
"Branch Head!"
Hadonan shouted in shock. There was only one time he addressed him like that—when he wanted Hisoral to realize his position. But at Hisoral's follow-up, Hadonan felt dizzy.
"Forget it. You do it. You be the Branch Head."
That was the end of it. Hisoral picked up his weapon, the Sharp Sword, and stepped over the threshold of the temple.
Akasa was running.
If someone asked how hard he was running, he would say he was enduring this grueling time once a day—enough that instead of answering, he would want to ram into them. Running barefoot on the gritty ground was dangerous and could lead to serious injury, but Urnil took care of that, so there was no major issue.
Akasa collapsed long after reaching the location Urnil had set, having run even further than required.
[Impressive. It’s only been a few days, but your stamina is increasing rapidly. Your ability is far superior to others your age.]
"Th-thank... huff... thank you! Huff!"
Akasa managed to say, gasping for air. Having said that, he panted, unable to control the heat remaining in his body. Urnil sent a stream of Essence into Akasa’s body. Akasa’s ragged breathing quickly calmed down.
[There are barely any wounds on your feet, either. That means you’re stepping on safe ground.]
"Is that so?"
[Think back to when you run. You run while thinking about where everything is, don't you?]
Akasa tilted his head. It seemed that was the case, just as Urnil said.
[Learning is all the same. As you gain more experience, you become able to handle things. Tools. Objects. The environment.]
Akasa remembered when he first started running. When he stepped on small broken branches or stones, it wasn't just a matter of running—even taking a single step hurt. Whenever that happened, Urnil would always heal his wounds. But when Urnil judged that Akasa could endure it, he never intervened until the running was over.
Akasa was amazed that Urnil, who wasn't even a doctor, could gauge the severity of his wounds so precisely.
'If so, how much experience has Urnil accumulated until now?'
How could a mere human measure the experience a god had built? Akasa could only sigh, overwhelmed.
[What is it? Why are you like that?]
"Oh, it's nothing. More importantly, it's time for staff training, right?"
[Three movements a day. You must not neglect your sword training, either.]
"Yes!"
Urnil’s training was highly systematic. He didn't rush, focusing on the perfection of each movement, but when practicing strikes on target objects, he insisted that Akasa attack with full force.
[Make it as I say.]
When he had spare time, Akasa used his knack for crafting to make a staff. Urnil had him weave trimmed wood and vines to create a striking target that could be hung in the air. After installing the finished object over a sturdy branch at a suitable height so it dangled in the air, Akasa swung his staff to test it, following Urnil's instructions.
Thwack!
Along with the dull sound of wood hitting wood, a stinging shock traveled up the staff and into his hands.
[A fixed target is enough for hitting sturdy wood. But a real opponent is different from a stationary target. You don't know if what appears before you will be a ferocious beast or a person. If it's a person, they might be wielding a weapon just like you.]
"Yes."
Akasa nodded as if it were obvious.
[They will defend, evade, and attack. It will be difficult for you to build defensive capabilities for now, but at the very least, you must master your attacks properly.]
Listening to Urnil’s teachings, Akasa tied a piece of wood, slightly longer than his forearm, with several layers of vines. He then installed it over a thick branch at a suitable height.
[Practicing the movements is to learn how to generate power. But the purpose of martial arts is to be able to use them against an opponent. If you don't know how to deal with an enemy, just learning the movements is useless.]
"That's why I'm practicing this."
Akasa looked at the two targets in front of him. On the trunk of a tree with a circumference as thick as an adult man, targets for the ankles, stomach, and sides were marked. Beside it, the piece of wood he had hung a head higher than Akasa was swaying.
[Now, the real training begins. You can keep up, right?]
"Yes!"
Akasa answered with conviction.