Chapter 360 – Deal (1)
Verden and Leira, having left their seats, entered the small backyard behind the Church of Sacrid.
It was a tranquil scene.
The trees, stripped bare of their leaves by the season, stood gaunt, but that only made the crimson winter blossoms blooming in the corners stand out all the more.
Verden manipulated his magic power, flicking his index finger.
A blue formula descended around them.
With the magic circle formed, no sound from within could be heard outside.
Creak.
Leira placed her hand on the wheel, stopping her wheelchair.
Silence lingered for a time.
Then, as if she had reached some kind of resolve, she drew in a breath and parted her lips.
"The curse of the Demon… unlike black magic, it doesn't simply cause harm one-sidedly. When an action occurs, there is always a reaction, balancing the scale."
Like a set of scales.
"In my case, it's closer to a kind of enhancement. The deeper the curse becomes, the greater my physical abilities and regenerative power grow. To the point where I don't die outright, even after being struck by the Bone-Relic Dragon…"
Leira may have only recently risen to mithril rank, yet her ability was unmistakably among the upper tier.
Talent and effort.
On that foundation, she had overcome the trials of the Ark, achieving growth faster than others.
But even so, with her current power, she could not pierce the hide of the Septa Horn with ease.
Even if she fought with all her might, contending even slightly with a transcendent species was impossible.
What made it possible was the power carried by the Demon's curse.
Verden asked.
"And the price?"
"There are two kinds of backlash. The first is mental erosion. According to the Luas Church, the more one relies on that power, the more they're consumed by the curse. I've always taken care to prevent that from happening, but this time, I had no choice."
Right after the subjugation battle against the Bone-Relic Dragon, Leira had temporarily lost her will—snatched away, perhaps by a being she believed to be a Demon.
"And the other is 'Rejection'. Whoever it may be, anyone who sees even a fragment of my face is stricken with terror. Even if they manage to resist, they feel an unsettling aversion, a visceral repulsion. Even the Archbishop, should he see it."
Leira quietly raised her hand, removing her mask.
Then, she turned her wheelchair, meeting Verden's gaze.
His reflection shone in her golden eyes.
No horrific scream, no sound of stumbling backward, no gasp.
Not even the slightest grimace of distaste crossed his features.
His face remained as expressionless as ever.
"…So Bishop Lena was right after all."
Leira murmured softly, then continued.
"When the curse stole control of my body, I'm told I said something to you. 'Who… are you?'"
"I remember."
"That's why I called you here. Because I have something I want to ask."
Her voice lowered.
"Asher, what is it that makes you so special?"
It might have sounded blunt, but there was no mockery in it.
Only pure curiosity.
Why hadn't the Demon's curse affected him in the slightest?
Why had even the Demon, whose identity she herself had never discerned nor spoken with, taken an interest in him…?
'Why was he able to recover from his wounds with nothing but potions, without any divine power?'
Leira had examined Verden's injuries up close during the subjugation battle.
The deep laceration in his abdomen… more severe and fatal than any other inflicted by the Bone-Relic Dragon.
Considering the Dragon's influence, it was absolutely not something that could heal so easily.
All the more without the Archbishop's miracles.
Yet here he was, standing before her, calm as anyone.
At last, his answer came.
"I don't know how to answer. I've never even met a Demon, to begin with."
There was no point in hiding.
No matter how he turned over his memories, Verden had never once had contact with the Demon race.
"…I see."
At his reply, Leira bowed her head slightly.
Yet, there was not a trace of disappointment in her voice.
"The deal still stands."
"…?"
"If you obtain information about Demons and share it with me, I'll pay a fitting price in return. That deal still stands."
Her tone was firm and resolute.
In her gaze shone a fierce determination.
Verden, meeting her eyes, gave a silent nod.
Clench. Leira, without realizing it, balled her fist tightly.
Ever since she was orphaned at nine, she had searched. For nearly twenty years she had found not the slightest trace of the Demon.
'At last… I've found it.'
At long last, she had found the one who might be the clue.
***
Meanwhile, in the garden in front of the Church of Sacrid.
While Verden and Leira conversed, Adrian and Haldirn sat across from each other at a round table in the center.
"..."
"..."
A cold, awkward silence hung between them.
It was during that silence that Haldirn suddenly stirred his magic power, erecting a veil infused with the curse of silence to cut off sound.
Adrian raised his head slightly.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Purple aura, movements focused on speed, sword energy cleaving the sky."
Through Haldirn's voice, Adrian's details were recited one by one.
"Even if much time has passed, a swordsman with such traits is not one easily forgotten."
"..."
"Am I wrong? One of the Central Continent's Four, the Heavenly Sword, Adrian Chambers."
Having his name spoken not by Verden but by another, Adrian's sky-blue eyes glinted.
He did not think of dodging the question.
The other already looked utterly certain, and after displaying his full strength in the battle with the Bone-Relic Dragon, he had half-expected this situation anyway.
Having reached a decision, he calmly removed the metal mask that covered his lower face.
"I am, indeed, one of the Central Continent's Four."
"'Indeed' or whatever else, it's clear you're the Heavenly Sword himself."
"You seem to know quite a bit about the Central Continent. Yet the Black Mage's magic tower is in the East, isn't it?"
"Even in the far West, it's no different. We are DarkWarton, after all."
Haldirn crossed his arms.
The scarred, jagged gauntlets he wore clinked against each other.
"So why suddenly reveal my name? Am I supposed to praise you for so deftly unmasking me?"
"Just as I heard, savage. Truly fitting for the Central Continent's rogue."
The Central Continent's rogue.
Before he was called the Heavenly Sword, Adrian had earned that nickname—baring his fangs and showing disdain toward nobles and kings alike.
"And yet, such a man now swears fealty to a lord, offering his loyalty. I don't know what happened, but it seems you've had a change of heart."
"Get to the point."
"Nothing much, I'm just curious. That you, who vanished for about ten years, are now following the holy one of the East… Asher."
Haldirn asked quietly.
"What exactly is your purpose?"
Asher and Adrian together.
The number was small, but by no means insignificant.
Judging from the previous battle, there weren't many individuals or factions in the entire world that could contend with the two of them.
Especially Asher.
"..."
Adrian narrowed his eyes.
Even if it was just idle curiosity, he didn't like that curiosity at all.
Whether the man was heir to DarkWarton or not.
At some point, Adrian's hand had settled on the scabbard, and with his thumb, he pushed against the guard of the sword.
Clang. The blade of the Demonic Sword Cadence revealed itself slightly.
The blue steel glimmered coldly.
A sharp killing intent spread.
Haldirn met his gaze without the slightest flinch.
A heavy tension lingered.
But it lasted only for a moment.
The standoff ended in an instant.
"If you're that curious."
Adrian sheathed his sword and rose from his seat.
"Just watch. From a distance, so you don't get dragged in."
A warning, and a threat, to abandon any thought of interference.
Adrian once more donned the metal mask, concealing his face.
Then, slipping free of the veil of curses, he headed toward Verden, who had finished his talk with Leira and returned.
Haldirn, who had remained seated, watched them.
"Interesting."
Fixing his gaze, he gave a small laugh.
***
Upon hearing of Sacrid's situation, a medium-class airship flew in from the nearest major city.
It was to transport Supreme Councilor Brillen back to the capital of the Republic.
To expedite the processing of matters such as permits for spatial teleportation circles, artifacts given as compensation, and budget meetings.
Sacrid had lost the one temporarily governing it, but a replacement had already been prepared.
Onboard the airship were councilors of the Republic, come to direct the restoration and stabilization of Sacrid in Brillen's stead.
"Ho, so the Republic is paying compensation with one of its artifacts. Seems Brillen thinks highly of them. Or maybe, he was just that frightened."
Haldirn shrugged his shoulders, a hint of envy in his tone.
He was dispatched as a Magus representing DarkWarton. The payment for aiding the Republic was issued at the level of state and magic tower.
For that reason, unlike the Luas Church, he couldn't personally receive anything.
In other words, Brillen's proposal was limited solely to Verden, Adrian, and Leira.
"So, what's the reason you wanted to see me separately? Surely it's not to brag about artifacts."
This was Verden's chamber in Sacrid.
Haldirn lounged in a chair, half-empty glass before him, tapping his gauntleted forearm lightly.
Verden, seated across, spoke.
"I was thinking, of making a deal."
"…A deal?"
"I happened to obtain some fine spoils. But, we can't use them."
Verden activated [Raindia].
From subspace, he summoned onto the table a jet-black, withered staff and a bracelet.
Seeing them, Haldirn flinched slightly.
He too was a Magus capable of proper
"Surely these are…"
"They're the equipment of the Fourth Servant of the Glory of the Dead, Kessilus. These two were the only ones that survived intact."
"And you actually brought them back?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
How long does it even take to collect them.
"…Mind if I try them?"
"As much as you like."
With Verden's permission, Haldirn immediately put on the bracelet.
An artifact, [Shape of Resentment].
Its effect was to consume magic power, creating weapons of curses at will.
But what curses they carried depended entirely on the wearer's ability.
In other words, it was an artifact meant solely for black magicians.
Whoosh.
Haldirn's magic took the form of a dagger.
He flicked his wrist lightly, examining it carefully, then picked up the withered staff.
'The mana conductivity is no joke. And it naturally strengthens black magic.'
Even with
Its performance came from the material itself, without any magical refinement. To uncover more, it would need thorough analysis back in DarkWarton.
"..."
Laying down the bracelet and staff, Haldirn stroked his chin.
Though under the robe there was only shadow, so it was unclear if he actually did.
At length, Haldirn spoke.
"How much are you asking?"
"I'll leave it to you."
An opening bid.
Haldirn drew a wallet from within his robe, calmly counting the sum.
'This might not be enough.'
Truthfully, he wasn't adept at appraising the exact value of items.
He could only gauge their worth roughly, by intuition.
After some thought, Haldirn finally displayed the contents openly.
"Will this do?"
"Get out."
Verden gestured toward the door.
Quietly retrieving his wallet, Haldirn moved to leave.
"…I'll stop by a bank in the capital. It won't take long, so don't you dare pass them on elsewhere."
Haldirn stepped straight into the corridor.
Immediately, the darkness enfolding him slipped from the building, leaving Sacrid behind.
He didn't really need to rush—the artifacts couldn't be sold elsewhere anyway…
'Seems he liked the artifacts quite a bit.'
There was still much money and treasure left from Grond's vault, but more funds were always better.
To complete the picture Verden was drawing.
It was then.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Uh, I-I came to reclaim the artifacts…"
Romer, whom they had met in Southern Pit.
The Lone Wolf of the Central Continent had come to retrieve what was his.
The deal was not yet finished.
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