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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Innocent Prisoner (1)
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Unnamed birds streaked across the sky. Puffy clouds tangled messily in the blue expanse above, while vibrant wildflowers bloomed riotously across the land below. It was unmistakably full-blown spring.
The time was around when the sun began dipping toward the west. It was an utterly peaceful and serene afternoon, but not everyone felt that way.
For instance, the prisoners strung out like an ant trail across the plain.
Clank, clank—
Manacles bound their wrists. With every step, the harsh metallic scrape echoed relentlessly. Dark clouds of gloom hung over every prisoner's face—not remorse for their crimes, but resentment at their rotten luck in getting caught.
"Hey, I'm innocent! It wasn't me who killed that girl—it was the baker's boy, I tell you!"
"Goddamn it, are you deaf? That sniveling idiot impaled himself dancing with a knife!"
"I only stole one bronze ring, I swear! The silver necklace? Fuck, I didn't even know it was in there!"
The prisoners occasionally vented their grievances with foul language. The soldiers just barked at them to shut up, ignoring every word. These damn hardened criminals spewed lies as naturally as they breathed during the entire escort—they'd grown numb to it.
But not all of them were guilty. Exactly two in this line were truly innocent, nabbed without committing any crime.
One was a traveling merchant caught near the border.
"Soldier, sirs! I'm really innocent! I never sold demon byproducts! Someone framed me by planting them! Like, say, the guy who inspected my bag..."
"Quiet! You dare suspect a Knight of Elga?"
"N-no, but..."
The soldiers weren't idiots. They all knew the young knight leading them had set the merchant up. It was to pad the prisoner count and inflate his record.
But none of the soldiers had the guts to defend the merchant. Pissing off a knight as a lowly grunt? No upside there. In the end, the merchant was stuck with the false charge, doomed to be dragged all the way to the holy city.
The other was a barbarian from who-knows-where.
Clank, clank—
He too was a sacrificial lamb for the knight's record. But unlike the others, no one could treat him the same.
The barbarian's build made the other criminals look like kids. His raging muscles bulged enough to snap chains like twigs. One look at those beastly, inscrutable eyes made you swallow hard without thinking.
The soldiers secretly cursed the knight over this. If the barbarian threw a fit claiming innocence, they had no confidence they could stop him. Strangely, though, he followed along quietly without a single complaint.
The barbarian, Kadim, complied with the soldiers for two main reasons.
One: he hadn't grasped the situation yet. Two: he lacked the strength to break these chains bare-handed right now.
Atala's great warrior, slayer of archdemons—or a modern man craving cold beer and a comfy bed—had crossed the threshold from a dim void. Blinking into blinding light, he'd come to in this mess.
Kadim was at a loss. His body felt familiar, but much had changed.
The madness and guilt that had gnawed at his mind were gone. All the power he'd built up was gone. And now his freedom was gone too.
He could chalk up the first two changes to the inevitable. That damned "New Game +" message meant he was starting the game over from scratch, just like his first run.
But being carted off as a prisoner? That didn't compute.
"...Never once did a game start like this in reality either?"
Kadim frowned deeply. The surrounding prisoners shrank back in fear, slinking away. He grabbed the merchant, who was standing a bit apart.
"Hey, why am I being hauled as a prisoner?"
"P-pardon? You asking me?"
"Yeah, you."
What the hell? Is this guy nuts? Doesn't even know why he's locked up?
Such thoughts flashed through the merchant's mind. Valuing his life, he hid them thoroughly and stammered an explanation.
"Uh, well... This isn't Free City Alliance territory—it's imperial land. As you know, the empire's knights and priests are fiercely hostile to pagans, right? You're a barbarian devotee of Atala, so even without real crimes, it's plenty reason to ar—gasp, s-sorry!"
Kadim's face hardened, and the merchant panicked with an apology.
But he wasn't angry. He just couldn't make sense of the merchant's words.
"Imperial land? There's an empire on this continent?"
"...Pardon? You don't know the Lucaonia Empire?"
"Lucaonia? Isn't that the kingdom in the continent's center?"
Now the merchant couldn't hide his "this guy's insane" look. A soldier who'd been glancing their way bellowed.
"Hey, quiet down! You think this is a picnic? No chit-chat during escort!"
"Y-yes, sorry! We'll be quiet!"
The merchant scurried off like a scolded dog. Left alone, Kadim sank into thought.
Something was seriously off. He'd figured this was just a high-difficulty event in his second playthrough, but it seemed way more fucked up than that.
"Did I get dropped into a parallel world with slightly altered lore...?"
It didn't feel like a totally different world. The prisoner had called him an Atala-worshipping barbarian, and there was this "Lucaonia" nation. To nail down the world, he'd need more intel.
But first things first: assess the current situation and what lay ahead.
Kadim sidled up to a nearby soldier.
"Hey, where's this procession headed? Prison? Or slave market?"
The soldier flinched. He'd been deliberately ignoring the barbarian. Controlling him like the others scared him shitless, but showing it bruised his pride.
Now the barbarian spoke first—no choice. He swallowed hard, feigning sternness.
"Watch your tongue, pagan. You're a prisoner. Don't speak to us without permission."
To Kadim, the quavering voice just looked pathetic.
"Sorry about that. My apologies, soldier. Answer this one thing, and I'll shut up. Could you kindly tell me where I'm being taken?"
"...You're being escorted to Lucaon, capital of the Lucaonia Empire. Once there, the other prisoners will face judgment from Elga's inquisitors and receive due punishment. But as a heretic, you'll likely meet the Heresy Inquisitors."
"I see. That's a relief."
Kadim relaxed a bit. Elga's clergy were usually stiff but just and fair. They'd release him once they heard his side.
To everyone else, it looked absurd. A nearby prisoner snickered and butted in.
"Hey, relief? Those Heresy Inquisitors are all torture-crazed perverts! For a pagan like you, they'll hammer nails into your gums and pour boiling metal up your nose!"
"Can't you shut up? You dare slander Elga's holy servants?"
"What, am I wrong? Be honest—anyone ever come back alive from them? Even three-year-olds in my village know: get dragged to the inquisitors, and you spend all day tortured into a vegetable before croaking like a dog..."
The prisoner couldn't keep blustering. A sharp spear tip suddenly pressed against his throat.
"Such a reckless tongue. Want to keep flapping it?"
"...G-guh."
"Tch, what a foul stench. Smells like an unbeliever. The smell of an unbeliever..."
It wasn't a soldier holding the spear. A fresh-faced youth had appeared out of nowhere.
He looked younger than the youngest soldier, but the prisoner froze. Even the ones who'd sassed soldiers earlier went dead silent.
Cobalt plate armor etched with the Decagram sigil. Far heavier than the soldiers'. His spear was no ordinary piece either—subtle wave patterns on the metal shaft, and eerie cold aura rising from the blue blade.
Kadim clocked him instantly.
"Knight of Elga. Green rookie, though..."
The grip on the spear was oddly rigid. And that face drunk on dominating the mood? No veteran knight would show it.
Stab—
And that wasn't all. The knight didn't just threaten—he actually pierced the prisoner's throat.
"...!"
Even the soldiers were stunned. Executing captured prisoners was solely the inquisitors' authority. Clear overreach.
The knight stayed nonchalant.
"One who insults Elga's proxy must wash away their sin with death."
"Gurgle... grrrgh..."
The prisoner clutched his neck, foaming blood, and collapsed. Never to rise again.
The knight drew a crooked holy sign with a smirk, then withdrew the spear. He turned his ire on the soldiers.
"What the hell are you lot doing? Why let prisoners wag their filthy tongues? Got attached after a few days' escort?"
"Sorry, Linton sir. We didn't mean..."
"No excuses. Who started this mess? That big pagan?"
The soldiers glanced nervously at Kadim. The knight took it as confirmation. No one could stop him as he thrust again.
Stab—
Kadim's eyes widened. The blade sank half a handspan below his shoulder. Bone-piercing chill seeped in with the agony. Blood froze solid, staunching itself, but virulent pain followed.
"..."
Kadim didn't scream. He swallowed the pain silently, glaring at the knight.
"...Uh."
The knight flinched involuntarily.
Rookie or not, a knight was a knight. He read pure, refined killing intent in Kadim's eyes—like a butcher eyeing meat.
He yanked the spear back hastily. Retreating while masking fear, it looked natural to others—like finishing business.
"Ahem. Clean up the corpse and watch that heretic closely. Execute at any sign of trouble."
The soldiers nodded reluctantly, hesitating.
Meanwhile, the barbarian warrior resolved: escape this damn procession now.
That rookie's spear thrust drove it home. Elga's faithful weren't like in his old memories anymore. Getting hauled to the inquisitors? Disaster predictable as sunrise.
Situation sucked. No strength to break chains, and now wounded too. Escape was tough already—now stacked against him.
"If I'd carried over my first-run power, I'd snap these chains easy..."
No time for regrets. He shook it off, scanning calmly for escape aids.
Then his eyes caught a large crate at the procession's tail.
A gentle breeze blew from behind forward. Faint wrongness mixed in the wind. Kadim caught a familiar, revolting fishy reek.
Demon stench.
His eyes narrowed sharply. Chains clanking, he hurried back, grabbing the merchant again.
"Hey, what's in that crate at the rear?"
"Demon corpse. The knight bought it for coin back in that village we passed. Hey, you okay? That wound looks deep..."
The merchant's last words fell on deaf ears. Bought a demon corpse? Unbelievable.
"...Demons were rare outside demon realms last run. Here, they're common enough to buy?"
Kadim couldn't tell if good news or bad.
His unique trait, Blood Berserker, let him drink demon blood for a timed special buff. More demons meant easier power-ups.
But side effects too.
Frequent demon blood meant relapse of the madness that tormented him last run. Easy access meant faster consumption, quicker mental erosion.
No choice now, though.
To break chains and flee wounded, he desperately needed demon power.
"...Better than inquisitors anyway."
The barbarian decided. He slowed deliberately, inching toward the crate.
"..."
"..."
Tense staring contest among soldiers.
The knight ordered execution for funny business. Falling back was clear "trouble." But none dared step up.
While they hemmed, the barbarian reached the crate. The rear squad leader couldn't ignore it anymore. He thrust his spear and warned firmly.
"Halt, heretic! Back to your place..."
Kadim ignored him flat-out.
He kicked off the ground, leaping, and smashed both chained fists down.
Krunch-crack—!
Wood splintered and flew. The sturdy log crate shattered like straw. Nearby soldiers and prisoners panicked, stumbling back.
"Agh!"
"Gaaah!!"
"Wha? Wh-what...?"
Absurd strength. Even pros struggled to break a plank—bare-handed, chained, pulverizing that beast? Jaws stayed dropped.
But shock wasn't over.
Kadim eyed the demon corpse dryly. True to a warrior who'd butchered demons like meals, he analyzed instantly.
"Dead about three days... No horns, so lesser demon. Primal type? Not sure on exact buff..."
With a dagger, he'd slit an artery for blood only. No options now. Kadim bared his fangs savagely.
Crunch, crrrack—
On that tranquil afternoon, atop the pastoral plain, a crimson carnival unfolded.
Soldiers watched the barbarian tear into the demon corpse like a wild beast, gripped by indescribable terror.