Chapter 8
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Heretic's Prayer Room
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The symbol was a grotesque tangle of hands. Luon surmised it was the work of a demon worshiper.
An ominous symbol, appearing on the forehead of a monk who served Tivela. It was hard to imagine any other explanation.
Just then.
“Stand back, fearless warrior. There is no glory for you here.”
The severed head’s lips began to move.
Luon had no idea how a voice could emerge from a severed throat, but he figured it was magic and replied.
“Where are the others who were here?”
“There are no living souls in this place.”
“Is that so? Then you’ll have to die, too.”
At the unhesitating response, the corpse fell silent for a moment before speaking again.
“Warrior, I sense no divinity from you. Do you, who are not even Tivela’s Champion, intend to speak of vengeance for these people?”
What was it talking about?
“You seem to be mistaken. I didn’t come here for revenge. It’s for personal reasons. Of course, I’ll make some money when I go back after finishing the job.”
“So that’s what you are. A common mercenary.”
Luon let out a smirk.
“For someone speaking through a corpse, you’ve got a sharp tongue. Just wait. I’ll be down to take your head soon enough.”
Luon ignored the head with its twitching lips and descended the stairs leading to the basement.
In a situation like this, the basement was the obvious hiding place for such insidious fiends.
As he went down the clockwise spiral staircase, he saw a rusted iron door, slightly ajar.
He expected to be swarmed by nuns and monks who had lost their sanity, but there was nothing behind the iron door. Instead, a familiar yet unpleasant smell assaulted his nostrils. The stench of blood was overwhelming.
After passing through a damp, cold corridor thick with the smell of blood, another small door greeted him. A wooden plank hanging above it read ‘Prayer Room.’ Without hesitation, he kicked the door in.
*CRASH!*
As the door flew open, the scene that unfolded beyond it made Luon utter a single word under his breath.
“Insane.”
Beneath a statue of a woman who appeared to be Tivela, more than twenty corpses were piled high. A man standing on a dais soaked in the blood that had flowed from their bodies slowly turned his head.
“Is it not beautiful?”
Instead of answering, Luon fired an arrow at the man’s forehead.
Grabbing the bow from his back, drawing an arrow from the quiver on his thigh, nocking it, and firing—the entire process took no more than a single breath.
The man could not dodge the lightning-fast strike. No, he didn’t even try.
A translucent blue barrier shimmered in front of his face. The arrow failed to pierce it and remained embedded. Still, the man’s eyes widened as if in surprise.
“You are a fearsome warrior. I have never seen anyone shoot a bow so quickly.”
Sensing genuine admiration rather than mockery in the man’s praise, Luon frowned. One moment he’s calling me a common mercenary, the next this. Was this guy fickle?
“Warrior, I wish to know your name.”
Despite the surprise attack, the man’s voice was gentle. Luon found himself answering without thinking.
“…Luon.”
The man stroked his chin.
“Not a familiar name. From the frontiers? The North? No, you lack the rugged feel for that…”
The man couldn’t have known that the name Luon was born from shortening the nickname ‘Ruin on’ from when he created his character.
The man spoke.
“Well, what does that matter? A pleasure to meet you, Luon. I am Salvatore.”
“I’m not particularly interested in the name of a man who’s about to die.”
Salvatore tilted his head.
“You intend to kill me? May I ask why?”
“You have to ask?”
When Luon nodded toward the mountain of corpses, Salvatore smiled brightly.
“A magnificent sight, is it not? To die so wretchedly in the most pious of places. Still, they died at the feet of the one they called Mother, so they must have no regrets.”
“That’s some long-winded bullshit. So, are you some kind of demon’s lackey?”
Salvatore’s face twisted in displeasure.
“Luon, for a man of your considerable skill, you have a rather crude tongue. It seems my initial assessment of you as a common mercenary was correct. To stand before such art and see nothing… such an uncultured eye. And I am no minion of a demon. I am a hand that serves the Deceiving Darkness.”
…Same difference. Luon replied.
“What a boring last testament.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Luon drew his sword and shot forward. Having closed the distance under the pretense of conversation, his opponent was already within striking range.
His swinging sword clashed with the barrier. Salvatore, who had worn a relaxed expression until then, hastily retreated as the shield visibly buckled, his lips moving.
A flash of light erupted from his fingertips and swept over the spot where Luon had been standing. But Luon, having dodged the attack by simply closing the distance, brought his sword down like a hammer, and a crack spiderwebbed across the shield.
Now too close to swing his sword, Luon twisted at the waist and shoulders, driving his fist forward. Just before his fist, having shattered the shield, could connect with Salvatore’s head, the man’s spell completed first.
*BOOM!*
Thrown back by an invisible force, Luon was sent flying. But the scream came from Salvatore.
“Aargh! You… you bastard!”
Salvatore clutched his right eye in agony. Even while being thrown back, Luon had extended his fingers and managed to gouge out one of his eyes.
“My noble body, which is to become an apostle of the Great One! You! You filthy mercenary bastard! I’ll tear you limb from limb today.”
He was putting on such airs before, now he’s just loud. Luon pushed himself to his feet. The impact with the wall had prevented him from landing properly, and his back throbbed. He said.
“Don’t make a fuss over losing one eye.”
“Shut up! You won’t die an easy death!”
Salvatore then chanted in an unintelligible language. His forehead sizzled and melted, revealing the symbol of tangled hands. That wasn’t all. Grasping a black whip that materialized in the air, Salvatore swung it with all his might.
Luon threw himself to the side. The whip struck the space where he had been, instantly corroding the floor.
Salvatore snapped his wrist to retract the whip while simultaneously creating and throwing a fireball with his other hand.
Luon dodged the attack without much difficulty this time either, but the fireball, tracing a red arc, seemed to have a homing function. It changed direction and exploded in mid-air.
Emerging from the searing heat, Luon rolled on the ground to pat out the flames on his body. He got back up, but he wasn’t in good shape. His hair was a mess, and his scorched face was flushed red.
Salvatore grinned viciously.
“How pathetic you look, groveling on the floor!”
“Oh yeah? I think your one eye looks much more pathetic.”
At the calm retort, a vein bulged on Salvatore’s forehead.
“Die-!”
The whip flew again. Worried his sword would be corroded, Luon chose not to block it, instead pivoting on his right foot to dodge the attack. In that instant, two homing fireballs flew at him.
Seeing the flames fill his vision, Luon felt a sense of crisis for the first time in a while. Amidst the unsettling sensation that threatened to shatter his composure, the man who had now fully become a warrior of a fantasy world gripped his sword.
Right, this is what a demon’s servant should be like.
Leaping into the air with explosive force, Luon felt the searing heat pass beneath his feet as he spun his body. The sword, carrying his superhuman strength and speed, struck the barrier.
*CRACK!*
The protective barrier shattered with a deafening roar. In that fleeting moment, Salvatore saw a single sharp blade cutting through the wreckage of his broken shield. And he clearly saw it tear through his muscles and pierce his heart.
Even then, he tried to chant a spell, but Luon’s hand was faster, seizing his throat.
“Gack!”
Just as his neck was about to snap in the vice-like grip, Salvatore used his last ounce of strength to pull his wrist back.
The belated whip struck Luon’s back, and at the same time, with a sickening crunch, Salvatore’s body went limp.
Luon hastily threw off his armor. The moment it hit the floor, he saw that the entire backplate had corroded away, and he clicked his tongue.
“Crazy bastard. Couldn’t just die quietly.”
It wasn’t just the armor that was ruined. The sword, pushed to its limits to break the shield, was so chipped and battered that it looked beyond repair.
Hoping to find something valuable enough to cover the loss of his sword and armor, Luon began to search Salvatore’s dead body.
He found a dagger with an impressive skull ornament, three sheets of high-quality parchment, and a palm-sized stone tablet.
He had no idea what the stone tablet was for, but the skull dagger looked like a fine weapon. However, it emanated a palpable ominous aura, so he decided not to draw it for now and secured it to his waist.
Thinking that unfolding the parchments rashly could lead to trouble, Luon was about to tuck them away when he noticed that one of them was merely rolled up, not sealed in any way. He immediately unfurled it.
His eyes fell upon text written in an elegant, dense script. It was Salvatore’s own autobiography. This guy really loved himself.
Salvatore. Born the son of a farmer, he grew disillusioned with life and ran away from home. By chance, his magical talent was recognized, and he entered the Magic Tower to pursue his studies. He grew into a promising mage of the Tower but, not satisfied, murdered a peer and made a pact with a demon. After committing all sorts of atrocities, he decided to corrupt the altar of an ancient god to gain greater power, infiltrating Tivela’s monastery, which was disguised as nothing more than a small village outpost.
That was the gist of it. The rest wasn’t written, but Luon could easily guess what happened next.
He had clearly posed as a mage from the Magic Tower to enter the monastery, killed the unsuspecting inhabitants, and intended to gain power from a demon by desecrating a god.
Looking again, he noticed a pentagram drawn on the floor with the victims’ blood, filled with inscrutable symbols.
This guy was an even bigger bastard than I thought. Luon kicked Salvatore’s corpse hard, then scuffed at the pentagram on the floor with his boot, erasing it. Afterward, he turned his gaze to the pile of bodies and carefully laid each victim down on the floor.
It was a final act of consideration for the villagers. A mountain of corpses was not a sight for ordinary people to bear.
“I’ve done what I can.”
Just as Luon finished and dusted off his hands, a brilliant light erupted from in front of him.
He instinctively backed away, hand reaching for his sword, when he saw it.
Streams of light began to seep into the skull dagger. The light was pouring from the statue of Tivela.
Starting with a wisp of black smoke that escaped it, the skull dagger slowly began to change. The blade, which had been about a handspan long, extended until it could easily be called a longsword. The skull ornament on the pommel reshaped itself into the head of a stag, gleaming brightly.
Luon’s eyes widened at the mystical transformation.
Gazing at the sword, which now possessed the full form of a longsword, Luon looked up. The statue of Tivela was looking down at him.
“Did you give this to me?”
There was no answer. Nevertheless, Luon added into the void.
“…Do you know why I came to this world?”
Still, no reply came. Luon smiled wryly and gripped the hilt of his new sword.
It was likely a reward for dispatching the being that had defiled her monastery, a sword clearly blessed by Tivela herself.
Facing the statue, which still held a faint glow, Luon said.
“In any case, I’ll put it to good use.”
He was satisfied with the experience points gained from killing Salvatore and the items he had acquired. It felt like he had taken a meaningful step forward for the first time in a long while.
After a quick check of his condition, Luon left the monastery and started walking toward the village. The sun was slowly setting.