Chapter 83: Chapter 83

"I don't know which tribe he's from, but seeing him wandering alone, he looks like an exile."

Tascar pulled the hand axe embedded in the Northman's head. Thick blood dripped down.

"Yeah. They're the ones who committed a crime and were cast out by their tribes."

Tascar wiped the blood off his axe blade. Northland was a society of tribes, with countless large and small clans. Accordingly, the codes of conduct vary greatly.

Tibo nervously rubbed the back of his neck over and over.

"Ugh, shouldn't these guys be imprisoned or at least punished instead of exiled? They're, uh, dangerous."

Tascar shot Tibo a fierce glare.

"Hey, tibo. Watch your mouth. This isn't the Empire."

"Huh? Oh, okay. I get it."

Tibo bobbed his head and gave an awkward smile. Tascar said nothing more, just slung his leather water pouch over his shoulder.

'Normally, exile isn't handed down to just anyone.'

Warriors who once brought honor to their tribe or had significant past achievements were exiled instead of executed. Their fate was to meet a lonely end in the wild.

In very rare cases, those in similar circumstances would band together and form a new tribe or community.

By the time the three were nearing their camp upon return, as Tascar had said, the sun was dipping behind the horizon.

Iel's voice trailed off. Her hand and gaze pointing toward the camp trembled slightly.

Tascar and Tibo quickly assessed the situation. The three hurriedly hid behind a nearby rise, poking just their heads over the snow to watch the camp.

Their fears were realized. Black Priests were at the camp—maybe five or six.

"Hold on, something's strange,"

Iel muttered. Tascar and Tibo looked at her from either side. Ignoring their stares, Iel kept her eyes fixed on the camp.

"It doesn't look like the Black Priests are threatening anyone."

Her observation prompted the two to calmly observe the scene again.

After a moment, tascar spoke in agreement, "... Yes, it does seem that way."

Generally, northmen's eyesight surpasses that of Imperial people. Tascar steadied himself and focused all his senses. His pupils gradually adapted to the distance.

"No one looks particularly alarmed."

The people from the safe zone were gathered together, standing apart from the Black Priests as if facing off, but there was no sense of imminent tension.

Tascar's eyes widened.

Between the safe zone group and the Black Priests stood a man restlessly wandering, his empty sleeve fluttering.

"It's better if we go in person."

Tascar stood up at once and strode forward, making sure his hands could immediately reach the axes at his hips just in case.

"It's Tascar's party, they're back!"

The safe zone residents greeted the three as if they'd been waiting for them.

No one looked injured or as if a fight had occurred, but Tascar didn't let his guard down.

Rev hurried over to Tascar. Only two days had passed, but it felt much longer.

Tascar gave Rev, emotional and teary-eyed, a glance before focusing intently on the Black Priests.

The five Black Priests stood motionless, their swords stabbed into the ground, both hands gripping the pommels held at their waists. Same attire, same posture.

"Explain what's going on, Rev."

Tascar's irritation was obvious. His gaze flickered with a murderous glint.

"Well, well, who do we have here?"

The Black Priest in the center suddenly removed his hood.

Everyone gasped at the abrupt revelation of his face.

The man's scalp and entire face were covered in dark tattoos. A round metal ring, like a nose ring, dangled between his nostrils. His ears and eyebrows bore many similar ornaments. He hardly looked human.

Tascar narrowed his eyes, nodding from side to side several times.

"Heh. I am Hodin, a warrior of the Snow Leopards and paladin serving Pontiff Arcangelo."

"Don't know who Hodin is, but I do see you're a filthy half-breed."

"Keh keh. As arrogant as ever, tascar."

Hodin cackled wickedly, his yellow teeth appearing between dark tattoos.

Ignoring him, tascar turned to Rev.

"Why are these people here? And what about everyone else?"

"Calm down, tascar. There's a lot to say—here, take this first."

Rev suddenly offered a long, jet-black stick.

As Tascar took it, his face hardened. The shape was very familiar.

Iel quickly rushed over from behind.

"T-this is Ran's sword?!"

Tears immediately welled up in Iel's big round eyes.

Hodin, observing, laughed with a giggle.

"Kyaa—a fallen Sabertooth Tigers' warrior like Tascar, now so friendly with Imperials? And your Imperial tongue is fluent, too?"

Tascar silently drew Nachal. As the sheath and hilt parted by a handspan, pure white light burst forth.

He closed it again. The light vanished instantly. Tascar stayed bowed.

From beneath his shadowed face, a gleam in his eyes gradually began to burn.

"... Rev. Don't tell me something happened to that guy?"

Rev gulped involuntarily. He had never seen Tascar this furious.

Ran muttered inwardly.

Not at the central altar of the village where prayers and rites were held, but at another altar by the lake.

Ran was tied to a cross installed at the very top of that altar.

It was a sizable altar—clearly made with a lot of effort. Ran thought he would have noticed such a construction back when he first arrived at the lake with Arcangelo, but the fog had been so thick that nothing was visible.

Even now it was no different. Everything was misty. It felt like being adrift on a boundless sea.

Ran turned his head to look at his outstretched arms. His wrists were tightly bound, barely allowing any blood flow.

'Would've been nice if they went easier.'

Both legs, dangling above the ground, were tied together.

His stomach growled. Ran chuckled.

'Even now, I'm hungry.'

He looked up again. The cold wind tossed his hair.

The two Black Priests guarding the altar turned their heads.

"My companions—did they get out alright?"

The two priests looked at each other. One answered.

"They left at dawn, escorted by our brothers."

Ran had asked Rev to deliver a message. There were things he needed Tascar, Iel, and Terrence to know.

"Don't worry, guide. With us, no one in Northland can touch your friends."

Ran bowed his head again, letting out a hollow laugh. His waist felt empty without Nachal.

Time passed in silence.

Insects chirped here and there. Moonlight, filtered through the fog, scattered dimly over the water.

A youthful voice broke the stillness.

Sigurd, with Shairach by her side, appeared.

A Black Priest in charge of their supervision allowed a brief visit.

Ran checked Sigurd first. She looked better.

Sigurd spoke with difficulty.

"Thank you, Ran. Thanks to you—"

"No problem. I'm glad you're alright."

She couldn't say any more, swallowing her tears, fearing it was her fault Ran was suffering. She had received so much help from him already.

The first person who'd approached her after she awoke at Shairach's home was someone called the Pontiff.

He hadn't talked much. He simply said that this was the holy land of Quersa and that, thanks to Guide Ran's sacrifice, they would summon the "Seed of Calamity."

'And then the Savior will open a new world?'

She didn't understand any of it. All she could do was recover as soon as possible.

Sigurd collected herself.

"Earlier today, Rev visited. Though we couldn't understand each other well, he gestured reassuringly and told me not to worry."

Ran nodded with a smile. Rev had done what he'd asked.

Ragna, too, looked like he had something to say, but Sigurd had warned him strictly to watch his tongue, so he kept his mouth tightly shut.

After a few brief words, the visit ended.

Sigurd and Ragna waved as they left with the Black Priest.

Shairach, following behind, stopped and turned to Ran.

"... Imperial. When's the last time you really slept?"

Ran tilted his head, unable to recall.

Shairach chuckled and turned away.

So ended the first visit.

Several cycles of day and night passed.

Each sunrise, the Black Priest guarding the altar rotated shifts.

But Ran remained as he was—and wide awake the whole time. He couldn't fall asleep.

'Back during training, it was bearable.'

During the Zima family days, they'd trained for situations like being captured or conducting prolonged ambushes. The training was idiotic—surviving through sheer grit in extreme circumstances.

'... Well, I guess I hadn't suffered such terrible insomnia back then.'

He hadn't accounted for this. Even his mind felt slower.

Ran looked up. Someone was approaching through the thick fog.

Pontiff Arcangelo appeared, flanked by Hakon and Hodin.

Ran, disappointed, subtly averted his gaze.

"Forgive me, this unworthy seeker. I should have cared for you more."

The Pontiff kissed the tops of Ran's feet. Ran almost struggled in revulsion.

Ignoring that, the Pontiff reverently placed Ran's feet against his forehead.

"... I will lead them to my holy mountain and gladly accept their burnt offerings and sacrifices upon my altar; thus will glory and blessings follow them."

Arcangelo slowly opened his previously closed eyes. His gaze trembled slightly as he looked up at Ran, struggling to suppress a rising smile.

Looking down calmly, Ran asked,

"Iel—has the Savior been met?"

"Yes, of course. As you said, the others received a most respectful welcome."

"That's good. No trouble, I hope?"

"There was some minor commotion, but once I conveyed your wishes, everyone complied meekly."

"Once again, thank you, guide. Your courage, sacrifice, resolve, and devotion... will be forever remembered."

Arcangelo turned away, ordering Hakon and Hodin,

"We must soothe Guide's loneliness. Singing hymns by the side would be best—it will also purify the soul."

Hakon and Hodin nodded smartly. One of the Black Priests asked,

"He keeps complaining of hunger, what should we do?"

Arcangelo looked up at Ran, one corner of his mouth rising.

"This is an offering to the Lord. Purifying the flesh along with a pure heart is basic. Even if it is not a sacrifice of both body and soul."

His eyes chilled instantly.

"... Do not give him any food."

On the quiet lakeshore, hymns continued to echo.

"I give you my life—use it for Your glory—"

"For all my days I'll praise You and be a joyful offering—"

"Grant me companionship—"

The aged voices of four men and women were haunting. It sounded more like reciting poetry than singing.

'... Arcangelo. Just wait and see.'

Ran gnashed his teeth. He wanted to plug his ears. The Northlandic hymns were unbearable. His head spun from them.

'But what's with that witch?'

Shairach stood between two Black Priests on guard, staring up at him. She'd arrived even earlier than the Northmen singing hymns.

"Kekeke. You must've been so frightened not even sleep dares come near."

Shairach grinned, showing her black-stained teeth.

Ran looked down at her expressionlessly—too exhausted to reply.

"Imperial, let me give you a hand."

Shairach took out a small censer from her robe. A half-burned stick of incense was stuck in the center, its shell like that of a turtle.

"Just close your eyes, relax, there's no need to be tense."

Shairach lit the end of the incense. As she waved her hand, delicate smoke rose. The Black Priests didn't stop her—didn't even look at her.

"Someday—repay me, imperial."

Ran's heavy eyelids trembled.

Her clumsy Imperial tongue rang clear in his ears.

But he could hardly open his mouth. His body felt limp. The scent lingering at the tip of his nose was all he could focus on.

As his consciousness faded, everything in his vision stretched out before him. All strength melted out of his body.

The sensation wasn't unpleasant, but his instinct fought the unfamiliar feeling. Ran's head drooped and rose over and over.

Eventually, his eyes closed completely. The strange singing faded to a distant hum. Orıginal content can be found at NoveI★Fire.net