Campbell (1)
Campbell (1)
Miyatro’s territory, Geren Village. Darkness descended upon the small settlement. The villagers began to return home one by one. Even the village’s only tavern had shut its doors.
It was due to a long-standing tradition of the South: After sunset, empty the streets. Return home to avoid evil spirits and ghosts.
There was no strong enforcement, but every southern resident followed the rule as a way of life.
The once lively village settled into silence.
On the quiet street, the knight Campbell grumbled.
"……That damn curfew. Who even obeys it in this day and age? Seriously, these bumpkin bastards are hopelessly old-fashioned."
He had been drinking since daytime and was already completely drunk. A sour stench of alcohol wafted through the gaps in his visor.
Myra spoke with a look of disapproval.
"You should go rest now too. We’re moving to another village tomorrow, so try to sober up a little."
Knights could use aura to purge impurities from their bodies. Myra had already finished detoxifying herself.
Campbell snorted.
"I refuse. If I’m just going to sober up, what’s the point of drinking in the first place? I’m going to have another drink like this, so you go ahead and sleep."
Myra let out a sigh and turned away.
"Do as you like. Just don’t be moaning and groaning tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Got it. Sleep well."
The two entered the village chief’s house and split off to their separate rooms.
Since Geren Village didn’t operate an inn, guests usually stayed at the village chief’s home.
That was how things worked in settlements without much foot traffic.
It was a little unfamiliar, but Campbell didn’t complain. For him, the presence of alcohol was far more important than sleeping conditions.
He slumped down in the single room without care. Only then did he remove the visor he had worn all day. A bottle of liquor, as always, was in his hand.
Gulp, gulp—loud sounds of drinking filled the air. A quiet tune followed.
— Honor at the tip of my sword, pride held in my chest, though death may block my path, my chivalry shall not break…
Humming the song, he suddenly snorted.
"Chivalry, my ass. Just maggots feeding off power."
There was no honor or pride to be found in knights of the current era. Glorious oaths had long been forgotten, and the blood-written pledges had eroded with time, leaving not even a trace.
The sword had been drawn not for the weak, but for the powerful.
The shield had become a tool to block justice.
Campbell’s sword and shield were no different.
Campbell Laura. His family had long protected the royal family, but now, their blades pointed at the powerless king.
They had become nothing more than parasites living off power, forgetting their long-standing oath.
They broke into the palace at night, murdered the queen, and pinned all the blame on the young prince.
What they should have protected, they destroyed instead.
They had no right to speak of chivalry.
Even now, when he closed his eyes, that day haunted him like a nightmare.
The prince, sobbing with the queen in his arms. His screams, his eyes, his resentment—they never left Campbell’s mind.
Without alcohol, Campbell couldn’t fall asleep.
He drank again. The sharp scent of liquor spread through his body. His face flushed red from the intoxication.
Staring out the window, Campbell suddenly shouted.
"Great Saint! If you’re listening, tell me! How do I pay for this sin?!"
The moon simply cast a gentle light, offering no reply.
"Damn it! Why is it always silent?! Are you saying you don’t hear my prayers?! I just! Just, just…!"
Campbell’s voice gradually grew quieter.
"…Even a punishment would do. Just let me atone for this sin… please… help me…"
His loud cries had turned into sobs before anyone realized.
Campbell clutched his head, tears welling in his eyes.
No one was more desperate—but the gods did not listen.
His pain and despair reached something far more sinister.
"Fallen honor, broken pride, yet still a knight who seeks repentance. Cease your weeping, now."
A gentle voice, yet tinged with eerie coldness, descended into the room.
Campbell slowly raised his head. He saw nothing.
"…Wh-who’s there?"
"I am the judge to condemn you, and the redeemer to share your penance."
Campbell’s pupils began to tremble.
"No way…!"
"Shh. Do not speak that name. Just reflect in silence. A path to atonement surely lies in the abyss."
In the original story, Campbell, unable to overcome his guilt, eventually confessed his sins officially to the Church.
The result was not what common sense would expect.
Only Campbell was killed. The mastermind, the Count, remained untouched.
Because the Church was filled with the Count’s people.
The hidden truth of ‘that day’ was buried like that.
This time, it would be different.
Campbell whispered in a trembling voice.
"Atonement… I must seek forgiveness."
"From whom?"
"…From God!"
"Think again."
Campbell clutched his hair and pulled at it. After a moment, he slowly opened his mouth.
"His Highness. The Third Prince."
He would have to confess his sin directly to Gawain.
Then the story would surely unfold differently.
"Now that you’ve found your path, don’t wander any longer."
Campbell deeply bowed his head.
"Saint Marziel… please, bear witness to this fool’s atonement…"
"No, no. I told you not to speak that name."
The voice now carried only a chilling undertone.
Campbell lifted his head. Confusion spread across his face.
"G-Great Saint?"
"Your god is nowhere to be found. How long will you chase a phantom?"
Campbell’s eyes wavered uncontrollably.
"What are you saying all of a sudden…"
Suddenly, a sinister laughter echoed.
"The Great Saint does not hear your prayers. He does not guide your path. Forget that name. The god you shall remember from now on… is Mapheltan."
Black smoke swirled in the air.
Campbell could not comprehend what was happening.
As he stood frozen, a black fae approached him.
An Incubus.
The demon placed a blue leaf on Campbell’s face.
Immediately, his hideous burn scars began to fade. New skin formed in their place.
It tickled. As the itching spread, Campbell touched his face.
Shock filled his expression.
"A-a hallucination!"
Everything he was experiencing now felt unreal.
"This is your reward for repentance. Such a thing would be impossible for Marziel. Once your atonement is complete, I will even devour the shadows within your heart. Remember who answered your prayer."
The swirling miasma began to fade. The eerie laughter slowly grew distant.
Soon, the room was quiet again.
Campbell, who had been standing motionless, suddenly jumped to his feet.
A deep blue aura surged from his body.
The drunkenness vanished instantly.
He brought a tense hand to his face.
The scar was truly gone. The Incubus still sat perched on his shoulder.
Everything that had just happened—was no dream. It wasn’t a drunken hallucination either.
It was reality.
He collapsed onto the floor. His legs had given out.
***
Deep in the mountains, Mapheltan walked, fingering a dark green leaf.
‘It works perfectly.’
The leaf came from the World Tree. A miracle cure that healed almost any wound in seconds. It had played a key role in healing Raguel’s dislocated joint before.
Now only one leaf remained. It had been necessary, but still felt like a waste.
As those thoughts lingered, Gaf spoke.
"I’ve got a question."
"What is it?"
"That Campbell just now. Why did you reveal your identity to him? You had him almost completely convinced you were the Great Saint."
Revealing oneself as a demon usually triggered resistance.
Campbell might have refused to follow Mapheltan’s lead.
That was Gaf’s concern.
Mapheltan replied.
"If I hadn’t revealed it, who do you think Campbell would’ve thanked for the rest of his life? I couldn’t stand that."
"That’s the only reason?"
"Well, and while I was at it, I figured I’d convert him into a follower of mine."
A demon worshipper. In the end, even Mapheltan needed such people.
Gaf paused in thought, then asked again.
"I heard the way you talked. You were pretending to be a god. What are you really trying to become?"
"Don’t run off with your own assumptions. If he wants to treat me like a god, what do I lose from it?"
It wasn’t wrong, but Gaf still felt a creeping discomfort.
"Damned half-demon bastard. You really are smooth with words."
"I’ll take that as a compliment."
"Think what you want. Just get lost."
Gaf intended to walk back to the domain alone.
Mapheltan’s face twisted.
"You’re really gonna walk?"
"I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about me."
Mapheltan spread his wings.
"Last chance."
"Go."
Mapheltan’s body slowly floated into the air.
"Really leaving?"
Gaf answered with his eyes. There was a murderous gleam in his gaze.
Mapheltan sighed and played dumb.
"You’re so damn loyal, it’s a problem."
In an instant, a massive tail wrapped around Gaf’s waist.
A black form shot into the sky.
Gaf flailed wildly mid-air.
"Just wait! Someday I’ll throw your ass into hell!"
His colorful curses echoed through the night sky.
***
The atmosphere in the underground study had grown heavy.
"Great End! Have you returned?!"
Only Zal’karin was excited. He could hardly contain his joy at the thought of heading into the Abyss.
Illea and Raguel, on the other hand, wore disturbed expressions.
Raguel, especially, looked filled with fear and unease.
Mapheltan spoke curiously.
"Everyone’s looking dull today. Especially you, Raguel. Aren’t you excited at the possibility of getting your sight back?"
Last night, Mapheltan had clearly said he’d keep the promise regarding Raguel’s eyesight, then left the study.
Raguel, under normal circumstances, should have been full of anticipation.
But there wasn’t even the faintest sign of excitement.
Raguel slowly opened his mouth.
"Y-You… no, Mapheltan."
"Speak."
Raguel swallowed hard. A certain resolve formed in his expression.
The blind man stared directly at Mapheltan with his empty eyes.
"…Mapheltan, am I going there to die?"
Ordinary humans lost their lives the moment they set foot in the Abyss. It was an unavoidable death. No matter how prepared they were, surviving even two weeks was impossible.
Everyone knew that.
Illea looked at Mapheltan. Her expression was more emotionless than usual. Her face showed no visible emotion.
Mapheltan scratched the back of his neck.
"Well, pretty much. Your body won’t survive down there."
Raguel hiccupped. Countless emotions swirled across his face.
"Th-this is a joke, right? Like always…"
Mapheltan shook his head.
"I’m serious. So, Raguel—are you ready to die?"
He said the devastating words as if they were no big deal.