Chapter 85: The Quill's Judgment
Ales had tried countless times to strip away Marhal's "power," but the moment Marhal scaled the walls, he abandoned the effort.
Am I still not enough to stand against a demon?
Marhal's power was as extraordinary as one would expect from a demon. Even the spells of the haughty Union's top mage had been erased by his authority, yet every attempt to nullify Marhal's power bounced off harmlessly.
He changed tactics. Instead of targeting Marhal's power, he would seize the man's flesh-and-blood body.
"I have to kill him. I must kill that demon here and now."
The demon's power hadn't fully blossomed yet. This was the perfect moment, while it still wore a human shell. If that demon fully awakened its inner strength, a god's name would crash to the earth, plunging the world into chaos.
For the first time in his life, Ales burned with the duty of a priest. It was a sense of justice he'd never felt even when he was a true cleric. This obligation, born only after he equated himself with God, aligned perfectly with his self-preserving nature.
Yet his resolve was genuine. That fierce will, combined with the mad feats he was performing in real time, carved a massive stroke into the history of the man called Ales.
He sensed it instinctively.
Ales manipulated his earthen whips and unleashed a barrage of dirt arrows. Earth walls sprang up before the fleeing Marhal, blocking the whips and arrows.
That mage again.
Had she made a pact with the demon in that brief moment? His authority to dispel power wasn't working anymore.
Ales shifted focus from attack to pursuit. His authority wasn't absolute. Its potency waned with distance.
This was clearly God's will, commanding him to seize these demons with his own hands.
"If I capture you and offer you to God, I shall become even more perfect!"
The earthen pillar carrying Ales accelerated. He traversed the nighttime wasteland with the grandeur of a king in a victory parade.
* * *
Marhal's breathing was ragged. It had been ages since the demons vanished that he'd moved this long while so gravely injured. The blood loss made his head spin. Even the stabbing pain throughout his body felt distant now.
A true danger signal.
"Are you all right?"
"No. If I pass out now, I think I'll die. Looks like I can use magic properly again?"
Marhal commented as he saw the earth walls blocking Ales's relentless assault.
"If you don't know it, you're helpless against it. But if you do, you can counter."
"What about your eyes, then?"
"...That'll take a little time. It's a rather special spell."
"How are you blocking the attacks?"
Despite her blindness, she'd been perfectly timing earth walls to intercept Ales's strikes with ghostly precision. It was hard to believe her eyes were closed.
"All output, no skill. As a mage, he's barely third-rate. Even mercenaries hide their presence better than that."
"He's that obvious, huh."
"So amateurish it's infuriating."
"That's beyond my understanding. Can't the wind help?"
"No spare capacity."
Marina was breaking into a cold sweat. Magic had returned, but the scale of Ales's power swings was no joke. In peak condition, she'd have brushed it off. As it was, she poured every ounce of focus just to barely hold.
Even a priest familiar with mysteries couldn't wield such vast power without practice. It made no sense.
I'd love to capture him and analyze...
Not the time. Even sensing the attacks intuitively to block wall-shaking blows wasn't easy for her.
It was hot. A breeze would help, but no wind from Marhal's power cut through to her.
Her chest burned hot. She suddenly realized her state.
"Ah."
"Something wrong?"
"No, nothing! Nothing at all!"
She was in Marhal's arms. Not just carried—she was clinging to him with arms and legs, bodies pressed flush.
Clinging to a man at her age—what embarrassment. Her mind nearly blanked.
Marina rubbed her face against Marhal's shoulder. Blind, her heightened smell caught his earthy scent. During her sightless days, she'd perceived the world through other senses. The aftereffects lingered.
The vivid dirt and sweat smells overwhelmed her senses. What snapped her back was the blood.
The metallic tang rushed into her nostrils amid the odors.
Now she knew why it was so hot. Not her body heat—Marhal's blood.
His life force staining her clothes burned hot.
Recognizing that chilled her like a bucket of ice water.
It was heat forged from his blood.
"Something wrong?"
"No. Any way to fight or escape that thing?"
She swiftly changed the subject at his question.
"And you, Marina?"
"If I were fine, maybe. But like this..."
"Then we're good. I'll handle it."
"Hate to admit it, but that guy's special. You can't take him alone, especially injured."
"How old do I look?"
"Huh? What're you—"
"Answer."
"Early twenties?"
"During the demon rampage, I'd have been younger, right?"
"Then... ten? Or even younger when you crossed to the West...?"
Marina fell silent. Every eastern nation combined had barely held against the demons. Traversing the demon-infested West as a half-grown child?
Hard to believe even from her own mouth.
"Think a survivor like that has no trump card?"
Marhal halted. He scanned around.
No sign of Kaban and Ultekan's horses. Far from the walls now. Ales's private soldiers seemed confined inside.
Makes sense—their employer's showing off such feats; no need for backup.
Ales approached on his earthen pillar. The massive structure charging under moonlight had divine conviction.
Atop it stood the defrocked priest.
"Have you realized there's no escape before the Almighty God's power, demon?"
"Yeah. Running's definitely tough. Everyone has some talent, and yours seems to be as a landlord."
Simply becoming a landlord didn't grant use of a land's accumulated history. Ales's plot was decent-sized but no larger than a nation.
If a duke wielded power matching his lands, the duchy wouldn't have struggled against demons. Kingdoms would endure eternally without hero-level monsters toppling them.
Reality differed. The duchy teetered; many nations that faced demons had fallen.
"Your illusions won't sway me, demon. This is unquestionable divine power. I am God's proxy."
"If you believe that, then sure."
Marhal drew the Pen of Responsibility.
It used to be so light to wield.
Nothing better for halting someone briefly. Useful in fights or daily life.
But after slaying Gaster, the changed pen had grown picky about targets.
Dozens of earthen whips rose from all sides, encircling Marhal. No escape.
"Wh-what's happening?! You okay? You don't look it!"
"It's over."
"Yes, it's over. I'll bind you to the plaza gallows. By my will—God's will!"
"He really doesn't look okay!"
Marina, clinging in Marhal's arms, frantically scanned blindly. Ales...
Stopped.
Finger extended toward Marhal, frozen. The moving earth halted identically.
Clouds veiled the moon. True night darkness descended.
The night brought silence. The ceaseless grind and crumble of earth ceased.
"The mystery... stopped? What the—?"
Marina muttered, sensing the halted mystic signatures.
Marhal walked slowly forward.
Ales, who'd descended from the high pillar in victory's thrill, stood atop it as it bent like a reed.
Marhal approached. Ales was still elevated, but a slight head tilt brought him into view. His outstretched finger was striking.
Scars marred his hand and fingers. Fitting for an ex-priest.
Marhal gently pried Marina's arm from his neck. She resisted, but against a man trained by thieves, it was futile.
He set her carefully on the ground.
"W-wait! What's going on?! Don't ditch me!"
"Do I look like trash to you?"
"Leaving a blind woman alone is trash!"
"Fine, trash it is. Stay put."
"Wait? You're really going? I'll call you trash! You human trash!"
Ignoring her shouts, Marhal neared Ales. The pen still aimed at him.
Black mist wreathed the pen, extending to link it with Ales.
"You can speak now."
"Wh-what have you done?!"
"You called me a demon. Under moonlight, you couldn't see us clearly, yet you pulverized city buildings with dozens of pillars to breach the walls. In people's eyes, who looks the demon?"
"Me, a demon? This is my land! My city!"
"Not a reason to wreck your own city. Got carried away playing king, huh? You're just a mildly talented ordinary priest. The Holy Empire could replace you anytime."
The city endured on the Holy Empire and its religion. Leaders changed under faith's banner without chaos. Only Ales's private ventures might suffer.
"I am chosen by God. Even the Papal Court can't touch me!"
"Sure. They probably never imagined you'd go this far. You'd be a rare specimen, pampered—if that power lingers."
"What do you plan to do?"
Excitement faded from Ales. Fear slowly rose.
Clouds parted from the moon. Gray moonlight bathed the barren wasteland where plants and beasts scarce grew.
The light revealed what shadows hid: Marina huddled, eyes clenched; Ales's face twisting in growing terror; the pen in Marhal's hand and its black mist tendril piercing Ales's chest.
"Demon...?"
"Demon? That's an insult to this relic."
"If that's not a demon, what is?!"
Ales knew no history. But the sensation of black mist—linked to the pen—stealing something vital from within was vivid.
Something irreplaceable was being taken.
"Stop! Please! Spare me! I was wrong! Please...!"
"Just words?"
"I won't press charges. No more bandits, no stealing deals—just forgive me... spare my life."
With pleas for mercy voiced, Marhal couldn't kill him. Nor had he planned to.
Ales was a West heavyweight. Killing recklessly would shake power balances.
The black mist from his chest vanished. Regaining control, Ales gasped.
The pillar crumbled; he tumbled down. Botched landing—he clutched his leg, tried standing, collapsed again.
Marhal approached, squatted to eye level.
Marhal was blood-soaked. Arrows embedded, one arm limp.
As ex-priest, Ales had seen agony countless times. Such wounds felled normals instantly; even strong-willed screamed.
Yet Marhal's face unchanged. Same sly smile from the landlord meeting.
Ales grew afraid of Marhal.
"You mean that? I can trust it?"
"Yes, I swear on God's name. On God's name..."
He clutched his injured leg from the fall, babbling survival pleas.
"Defrocked Priest Ales. See you at the next landlord meeting."
Marhal turned away.
The demon showed his back, but Ales could do nothing.
Marina huddled, desperately recovering her sight. Night air chilled.
Post-blindness, her life stayed cold. Numb to it, she feared not.
But now, absent warmth terrified. Even from Marhal's blood, that sinful heat—she craved it.
Just a bit more, a bit longer.
At last, sight returned. Marina opened her eyes.
Light. Moonlight descended.
A figure approached, moon at his back.
Marhal extended a hand.
"Eyes working now?"
"Fine. Trash."
Marina took his offered hand.