Long, long ago, from the very beginning, the seven pillar gods, together with the World Trees, descended upon this land of the divine realm. To the many peoples who dwelled beneath the roots of those trees, the gods granted knowledge and the gift of speech. At the base of every World Tree, humanity led peaceful, abundant lives.
However, at one time there had been nine pillar gods in this world.
In the eyes of the eighth pillar—the Dragon God—he had already existed before the seven pillar gods and the World Trees arrived. The Dragon God loved to sleep. During his long slumber, the world had changed completely. When he finally opened his eyes, he was astonished, yet being broad-minded, he soon came to terms with the seven gods and lived with them in peace.
The ninth god, however, disagreed.
He had traveled to this land from another world and was known as the Demon God. Selfish and envious, the Demon God could not bear to be anything but the center of existence. He fought constantly against the other gods. The others, alongside the various races, banded together to contain him—and as expected, the Demon God's hatred only deepened. Eventually, driven by solitude, he created the demons, beings who would worship him alone.
The birth of the demon race led, in turn, to the persecution of all others. The remaining gods, disturbed by this, pleaded with the Demon God to cease his rancor, but their words fell upon deaf ears. Humanity suffered most, for they were the weakest among all races. In desperation, they prayed to a young goddess, begging her to grant them the power to fight the demons.
The young deity hesitated.
Having no strength of her own to give, she sought counsel from the other gods and kings, but each refused to help. Finally, she turned to the strongest of them all—the Dragon God. Yet even he denied her.
At this rate, the demon race would bring ruin to the world.
The Dragon God at first did nothing. But because he enjoyed the games and the wine made by humans, he granted them a single spell. A magic that could summon a hero.
A magic that would instill hope.
The storybook ended there, with the final words:
"The summoned heroes continued to fight against the demons and the demon kings. And so, everyone lived happily ever after."
Satoru turned the last page carefully. The soft rustle of paper was the only sound inside the tent. Tama and Pochi stared at him, eyes half-lidded with drowsiness.
"Is it over, Master?" murmured Pochi.
"For now, yes," he replied, closing the book with quiet precision.
Both girls nodded slowly and curled beneath their blankets. In the adjacent tent, Liza was already asleep.
Satoru waited until their breathing settled into a steady rhythm before rising. Outside, the campfire burned low, casting an orange glow over the clearing. Hans sat beside it, motionless, his gaze fixed upon the darkness.
Satoru joined him, letting the faint warmth reach his hands.
"I was naïve," he said at last, without looking up.
Hans turned his head slightly, but remained silent.
"I believed the world would continue on the same path," Satoru went on. "As if everything were waiting for me to arrive." A dry, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "What a simple mistake."
Every time he learned something new, there was always something else he failed to understand.
The sacred sword, resting near him, quivered faintly. Satoru's eyes lingered on it for a moment before returning to the fire. But his true concern lay elsewhere—the documents.
Sending summons or searching for the tree would be a waste of time. If the ratmen had survived, they surely reclaimed their belongings before fleeing. Tracking them down would not be difficult; given enough time, Hans could follow their trail. Yet depending on luck had never been his method.
He placed a hand to his temple.
"[Message]."
Once he made a decision, he did not hesitate.
"Mize."
The air trembled for an instant. Then a nervous voice answered from afar.
"W–what…? Who…?" Satoru heard the sound of something falling, followed by a startled gasp. "Lord Satoru?"
"Yes. Forgive me for disturbing you at this hour."
"N–no problem, sir," Mize stammered, his voice still betraying surprise.
Satoru fell silent for a moment. Once, he might have expected a friendly exchange—after all, Satou had received those documents as a token of gratitude. But Satoru was not Satou. He had no warm smile to offer, no heroic cause to inspire trust. The ratmen owed him nothing, and gratitude was not a currency he could spend.
In his mind, another line of thought ran parallel.
Even if he refuses, I already have his position.
He cast a brief glance at Hans, who understood without a word.
"I received some information," Satoru said, resuming his calm tone. "About certain old scrolls, written in an uncommon language. I wanted to confirm if that was true."
A short silence.
Then Mize's hesitant voice came through. "Ah… yes, I remember them."
"I see. Those scrolls are required for a research project I'm conducting. I wondered if you might be willing to—"
"It's fine," Mize interrupted. "We don't really need them."
Satoru paused. The voice on the other side sounded sincere.
"Lord Satoru?"
"…It's nothing. In that case, I appreciate your help. What would you like in return?"
"Nothing. We almost used them to start a fire, honestly. If they're of use to you, they're yours. We still owe you for what you did before."
Satoru said nothing.
For a moment, the thought of sending Hans disappeared.
"I see," he murmured at last. "Then you'll deliver them to me personally."
"Where should we meet?"
"There's no need," he replied calmly. "I'll teleport to your position."
The spell ended.
The fire crackled softly in front of him. Satoru rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the flames in silence. It seemed the world continued to respond in ways he could not predict.
Hans did not move, watching the fire while his master remained quiet.
"Is something wrong, my lord?" he asked finally.
"No," Satoru replied—brief, dry.
Sensing the shift in mood, Hans relaxed. He sheathed the dagger he had quietly kept ready beneath his cloak and awaited further orders.
Satoru thought for a few seconds. Teleportation was easy, but appearing empty-handed did not sit right with him. It was absurd—a mind capable of flawless execution for an assassination could not decide what to do about a simple gesture of kindness.
"Hans."
"My lord."
"Bring me some of the plant Pochi gathered yesterday. The one that smelled sweet."
Hans blinked once in understanding. "The thorned licorice."
"That's the one."
Without another word, the ninja vanished into the trees. When he returned, he carried a small basket of freshly cut stems, still wet with dew. Satoru regarded them for a moment before nodding.
"They'll do."
The firelight reflected faintly in his eyes as he began to prepare the spell.
***
Liza awoke in the middle of the night. The soft breathing of the girls filled the tent, calm and steady. Beside her, the small chick-shaped plush her master had once given her rested among the blankets. A few rough stitches marked where she had repaired it herself after the battle with Mito. She held it for a moment, then set it aside and picked up her spear.
The air outside was cool, and the faint crackle of the fire greeted her.
Hans sat before the dying flames, unmoving.
"There's still some time before dawn," he said without turning.
"I know," Liza answered. "But my watch should've started a while ago."
Hans tilted his head slightly. "There's no need. I don't require much rest, and neither does my lord. You can sleep."
Liza shook her head softly before sitting down beside him. "It's part of my duty. At least this much, I can do."
Hans glanced at her from the corner of his eye, saying nothing. He knew what she meant. The difference between their abilities was obvious, but their will to serve was the same. As subordinates under the same master, words were unnecessary.
A few minutes passed before Liza spoke again. "Where is Master?"
"Busy."
"Is it safe to leave him alone?"
Hans lowered his gaze slightly toward the fire. "He's not alone."
"Did you send clones with him?"
"No." His tone was calm, almost casual. "I'm the clone."
Liza froze. The fire crackled quietly between them, filling the space her silence left behind.
Watching the embers dance, she realized how far she still was from being a proper follower. Hans acted with a precision and serenity she could only imitate. Yet that very difference sparked something inside her—a quiet resolve to reach that same level, to serve her master with the same perfection.
From that night on, though she never said it aloud, she began to see him as a rival.
***
The carriage rolled steadily down the road, the rhythmic clatter of its wheels blending into the soft wind. On both sides stretched a vast plain, dotted with remnants of ancient battles.
"Look, Pochi!" said Tama, leaning out of the window.
"They're the big ants from Seiryuu," the other replied, her ears twitching in alert curiosity.
Holding the reins, Liza lifted her eyes toward where they pointed. Among the tall grass stood mounds of disturbed earth, and on them, the dry fragments of chitin that had once belonged to giant creatures. The carriage passed one of the carcasses—its body crumbled with age but still retained its shape.
"Don't get too close," Liza warned, her voice firm but calm.
Inside the carriage, Satoru watched the remains through the side window. He needed no explanation to recognize them: they were the same creatures Zen had sent to capture the elf, the same minions the ratmen had fought under Mize's command.
The girls didn't know it, but they were looking at the ghosts of that battle.
The carriage continued on. Satoru leaned back against the seat, resting one arm on the armrest while the other held the documents. His furrowed brow made his focus unmistakable.
***
Kainona appeared before them by mid-afternoon—a small city with low walls and scattered houses. The nearby fields were alive with activity: carts of vegetables came and went, farmers bartered goods, and the scent of flour and smoke lingered in the air.
While Liza handled the supplies, Tama and Pochi waited by the carriage, listening to the chatter of merchants nearby.
"Did you hear?" one said as he adjusted the yoke of his mule. "They say an old man was run over by a rider at the southern crossing."
"The guards called it an accident, but the poor guy nearly died," added another. "Good thing a priest healed him."
The girls repeated the rumor in low voices, their curiosity innocent and unfiltered.
Satoru, however, didn't lift his gaze from the documents spread before him inside the carriage.
In the original story, Satou would have been there at that same crossing. He would have seen the accident and, without hesitation, offered a potion to heal the old man. But Satoru was not Satou. There was no compassion in his eyes. Helping the ratmen had been logical—it served a purpose. Interfering in others' misfortunes without reason was simply inefficient.
The murmur of the market went on around him, indifferent to his silence.
When Liza returned with the bags of provisions, Satoru set the documents aside and let out a brief, almost imperceptible sigh. He had tried to extract something useful from them more times than he cared to admit; those papers held nothing that could help him. An expected result, though not any less disappointing.
"Everything ready?" he asked.
"Yes, Master."
"Then let's move on."
Liza took the reins, and the carriage began to roll again. The voices of the marketplace faded slowly behind them, replaced by the steady rhythm of hooves on stone.
Inside the carriage, Satoru unfolded the alchemy volumes he had secured before their departure. The pages were filled with formulas, flow diagrams, and technical descriptions—dense and precise, closer to magical structures than to ordinary writing.
He ran his fingertips over the paper, following each line with methodical calm. His eyes moved across the symbols one by one, analyzing every detail without letting his attention waver for even a moment.
Outside, the wind carried dust and dry leaves across the road. Liza kept the horses steady, while the girls, weary from the day, drifted into sleep at the back.
The carriage pressed on toward the mountains, leaving behind the echoes of conversation and the remains of forgotten battles. Only the sound of the wheels and the whisper of the wind accompanied them now.
The following days settled into a precise routine. Liza and the girls went out hunting in the mornings, Hans scouted the surroundings with his usual silence, and the carriage moved on without interruption.
Satoru, for his part, spent that time studying the alchemy books he had obtained through the soldiers of Seiryuu. After confirming that the ratmen's documents contained nothing of value, he chose to focus entirely on the formal texts; he wanted to make enough progress to be prepared when genuine information appeared.
At times, he paused to examine the mineral fragments and monster remains stored in jars, comparing them with the descriptions in the books. He tested small reactions, simple exercises—little more than a preliminary map of the system.
The progress, however, was minimal.
The nights were busier. When the girls slept and Liza finished her watch, Satoru would leave the carriage, accompanied only by Hans. They carried no torches, no magic light—the darkness was enough for them.
In those nocturnal outings, the air smelled of iron and damp earth. Satoru would track down small bands of highwaymen that prowled the secondary roads. None survived. The shadows Hans conjured sealed every exit, while Satoru raised a hand and spoke a brief command. The criminals' life energy dissolved into a faint glow, drawn into a magic circle at his feet.
It was an imperfect transfer—the mana he absorbed was weak, almost negligible. But every fragment mattered. As long as Akon's seal remained, even the smallest recovery had value.
Hans, silent as ever, watched without interfering. When it was over, he erased the traces, gathered what was useful, and vanished once more into the dark.
The routine repeated itself for several days. Satoru didn't bother to count them, but he could sense a faint improvement in his body. Not enough to call progress—but enough to keep his focus sharp.
Liza had noticed from the first night. It wasn't hard to tell; she would wake in the middle of the night, realizing their absence. For days, she said nothing, merely observing, wondering what he did beyond her sight.
Until one night, instead of sleeping, she picked up her spear and went to her master's tent.
Satoru lifted his gaze when she appeared. His voice remained as calm as ever. "What is it?"
Liza knelt before him, head bowed. "Master… allow me to accompany you. I wish to assist with your research."
The silence that followed stretched for several seconds. Hans, hidden in the shadows behind Satoru, didn't move.
"Are you certain?" he asked at last.
"Yes. I want to serve you properly."
Satoru studied her expression. There was no hesitation, no fear—only resolve.
"My research may not be to your liking." It wasn't a warning, but a statement.
Liza didn't lift her eyes. "That doesn't matter. If it's for your sake, I'll accept it."
Satoru remained still for another moment, then inclined his head slightly. "Then come."
The night air smelled of damp soil and decaying wood. In the distance, crickets sang, and the faint murmur of a stream echoed through the trees. A small band of highwaymen had set up camp in a clearing, convinced that no one would disturb them at this hour.
Satoru stopped at the edge of the darkness and made a simple gesture. "Show me what you can do."
"Yes, Master."
Liza moved forward without a sound. The spear in her hands glinted faintly under the moonlight before it struck.
The first target fell without a cry. The second tried to shout, but his voice was cut short by a clean blow to the neck.
More followed, one after another, until only muffled groans and the scent of blood remained.
When the last one collapsed, Liza's breath came uneven, her body marked with streaks of red. Yet she knelt before her master, spear resting at her side.
"It's done," she said quietly, not raising her head. "Forgive my delay."
Satoru observed her for a moment, then nodded. "Well done."
He stepped toward the bodies. Some still clung to life, dragging themselves weakly through the dirt. He knelt beside one—a man with a filthy beard who tried to crawl away.
"P-please…" the bandit stammered, voice breaking under fear.
Satoru didn't answer. He placed one hand over the man's face, covering his mouth and nose entirely, and lifted him as though he weighed nothing.
The man's eyes widened, his body trembling as a strangled scream died in his throat. Liza watched without blinking. The color drained from the bandit's skin, his breathing stopped, and his body went still.
Satoru released him, and he fell without a sound.
Hans, who had remained silent, stepped beside Liza and looked at her for a moment. His expression showed no emotion, but he gave a slight nod—a gesture of acknowledgment.
She didn't respond, yet she understood. In that moment, without words, they both recognized each other as servants bound to the same master, driven by different codes but equal in devotion.
The clearing returned to silence. The bandits' fire burned out, and only the whisper of the wind through the trees remained.
***
The landscape shifted again as they advanced eastward. The valley narrowed, and the road climbed over stony ground that wound along the side of a mountain wall. The wind was cold and steady, carrying the smell of damp stone.
Inside the carriage, Satoru kept one of the alchemy books open on the improvised table. He had studied it every night, drawing lines and marking connections between symbols as he tried to grasp the fundamentals of the system. He had made progress, but not enough. Mito had mastered many branches of magic, but not alchemy; the principles he had inherited from her knowledge were useful, yet insufficient for this kind of study.
Outside, the sound of hooves blended with the wind. Hans rode ahead, Liza followed behind the carriage, and the girls slept curled up, exhausted.
Satoru lifted his gaze toward the horizon. The mountains rose like a wall dividing two worlds. He had reached an impasse. With the means available, he had done everything he could.
He closed the book and leaned back against the seat. A thought began to take shape in his mind.
If he could not learn the knowledge… then he would steal it.
He opened his eyes slowly. There was no emotion on his face, only a calm determination.
"Hans."
The ninja's voice answered from outside:
"My lord."
"Once we cross the Kuhanou border, we will look for an alchemist."
Hans nodded, though Satoru did not see it.
The carriage continued its course, and the wind carried away the last embers of the previous fire. Dawn found them advancing through the mist, toward the territory where their next target awaited.
*****
Author's Note:
Starting with the previous chapter, we've already reached the events equivalent to Volume 3 of Death March. But as shown here, the "events" of the story have already passed.
So, this chapter focused more on the group's current dynamic—how things are now that the world no longer waits for them.
Thank you, as always, for reading. See you next time.
If you'd like to read chapters in advance, you can check out my Patreon: patreon.com/GreenHistories