Legacy of the Living
"You two should return to Oberlangen and keep an eye on the archbishop."
After hearing directions to Lecce from Harald the fence, Ulrich said this.
Though he suspected that the archbishop's objective was not Yusuf's tomb, he admitted his deduction could be wrong. So he sent Harald and Beatrice back to Oberlangen, while he headed toward the village of Lecce with Fritz and Roberta.
The Bishopric of Langen had many neighboring territories, as befitted its vast lands. To the east lay the domain of Count Millehoth, with a river marking the boundary between Langen and Millehoth. The village called Lecce lay east of that river.
By the time the three arrived in Lecce, the month was nearing its end. The man they had met at the third burial mound had said he would meet his employer at the beginning of the month. Since the appointed day was only a few days away, they decided to stay in the village and wait.
After renting rooms at an inn, Roberta sat in the dining hall on the first floor, drinking tea. Fritz had gone out to check on the horses at the stable, while Ulrich sat beside her, wearing glasses and reading a scripture.
"It's been a while since the three of us traveled like this."
Roberta spoke as she gazed through the open doorway of the dining hall.
Sunlight poured onto the road outside. The bright yellow glow made it feel like summer, but the wind drifting through the doorway was cold. It was the autumn wind, carrying winter closer.
"Indeed."
Ulrich replied without lifting his eyes from the scripture.
Since leaving Dithmarschen, the three—Ulrich, Fritz, and Roberta—had traveled together. Even after leaving the Kingdom of Osnover, it had remained that way for a while. Then they encountered the Duke of Landeyar's party, and later the inquisitors joined them, forming quite a large group.
Someone once said that humans are creatures of adaptation—and it was true. When they went from three to six or seven, it had felt noisy. But now that they were back to three, it somehow felt empty.
"Get some rest. There won't be any quiet days until this is over."
Leaning back in her chair, Roberta closed her eyes and recalled her days as a low-ranking priest at the Grand Temple of Nua.
It wasn't her hometown, but she often missed the atmosphere there. Despite being a grand temple, it had been peaceful, and there had been little hardship. Someday, she thought, she might return.
With that thought, her mind slowly sank into calm.
"..."
How much time passed?
At the sound of footsteps, she slowly opened her eyes.
Fritz was entering the dining hall—but his brow was slightly furrowed. It was the expression he wore when something troubled him.
Blinking her heavy eyes, she glanced at Ulrich. He, too, seemed to sense something amiss, closing his scripture and turning toward the boy.
"Fritz, is something wrong?"
"Ah… yes, um—what did you say the person we're looking for looks like?"
His appearance…
Pressing a finger to his temple, Ulrich searched his memory. What had the man at the third burial mound said? He had described the employer as a man around thirty, with dark brown hair and black eyes.
He also mentioned a small mole beside the nose, and eyes so narrow they looked almost closed. He didn't know the name, but he remembered the face clearly.
As Ulrich relayed this, Fritz nodded.
"I think I just saw someone exactly like that."
The three of them headed to a single-story building at the edge of the village.
It was an old, shabby wooden structure, with a roughly thatched roof. Even in broad daylight, a drunken man leaned against the wall outside, asleep. From the open door came loud voices and the stench of alcohol. There was no signboard, but anyone could tell it was a tavern.
Frowning at the mixture of smells—liquor and worse—Roberta stepped inside. As expected, the interior was either a drinking den or a gambling pit. It was so crowded that it felt as if everyone not on the streets had gathered there.
"Over there."
Fritz pointed to a table in the bustling tavern. Four people sat around it, and the man with his back to Roberta had dark brown hair.
Pretending not to notice, Roberta walked past and stole a glance at his face. His features matched the description exactly. The gambler, staring intently at the cards in his hand, even had the mole beside his nose.
It's him.
She signaled to Ulrich with her eyes.
Ulrich approached the gambler—no, the employer—and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"What?"
Startled, the gambler turned around.
"I'd like a word."
"Who are you? Is this about money?"
When Ulrich said no, the man brushed his hand off and turned back to the table.
"Then wait. The round's not over yet."
Ulrich said nothing more and simply stood behind him, watching.
Roberta could tell he truly intended to wait—but the gambler, feeling the stare, frowned and turned again.
"Seriously… you're distracting me. What do you want to talk about?"
"I have something to ask about Yusuf."
"What?"
The gambler quickly glanced around, wary that someone might overhear.
Fortunately, everyone in the tavern was either drunk or shouting. Even the people at the same table were too busy staring at their cards with flushed faces.
"…Do you have no sense? You want to talk about that here?"
Clicking his tongue, the gambler tossed his cards onto the table and stood.
"Wait here. I'll find somewhere quiet."
With a swaggering gait, he headed toward the counter. The owner was nowhere to be seen, leaving it unattended. Muttering, "Where the hell did that guy go?" he stepped behind the counter, as if looking for someone.
"…He seems rather… shallow."
Fritz let out a small, incredulous laugh.
"Indeed."
Was that man really the employer mentioned at the burial mound?
Staring at the doorway behind the counter, Roberta tilted her head.
According to Ulrich, that gambler should be connected to some group the archbishop was targeting. But his first impression was that of an utterly ordinary gambler. Could someone like that really be the key?
She was about to ask Ulrich what he thought—
But at that moment, Ulrich moved.
He passed the counter in just three quick steps. The moment he glanced behind it, he rushed inside.
Startled, the other two hurried after him.
There was a back door.
It stood wide open, revealing the street beyond.
By the time they exited, the gambler was already mounting a horse.
"Sorry about this!"
He laughed as he kicked the horse forward.
There were no other horses nearby. Their own were in the stable by the inn—by the time they retrieved them, it would be far too late.
Ulrich ran after him.
But no matter how fast he was, he couldn't outrun a horse. He might be able to chase without tiring—but by the time the horse slowed, it would already be far beyond reach.
Then Ulrich grabbed a piece of firewood stacked beside a building—prepared for winter. It was as long as from his hand to his elbow.
He hurled it with all his strength.
The wood flew straight and struck the horse's thigh.
The horse buckled and collapsed, losing its balance. The gambler cried out as his left leg was crushed beneath it. He struggled to pull it free, and just as he managed to do so—
Ulrich was already standing over him.
"Don't do anything foolish."
Dropping to one knee, Ulrich reached toward the man's injured leg.
Seizing the moment, the gambler thrust out his right hand.
…nothing happened.
His open palm stopped right in front of Ulrich's face.
There was no reaction.
The gambler blinked in confusion.
"Didn't I tell you not to try anything foolish?"
With a calm expression, Ulrich brushed the gambler's hand aside and examined his twisted leg.
The moment his hand touched it, the gambler screamed and reached out toward him again.
Nothing happened.
The same result repeated a third, fourth, and fifth time. The gambler stared at Ulrich in a daze.
"You…!"
"Milton, as you suggested, let's talk somewhere quiet."
Ulrich hoisted the gambler onto his shoulder, returned to his inn room, and laid him on the bed.
When Roberta cast a healing spell on his sprained ankle, the swelling quickly subsided. It was an injury that would heal fully with a day or two of rest. Though surprised to learn she was a priest, the gambler expressed his thanks—then turned his gaze back to Ulrich.
"What do you want with me?"
"One of your men told us."
Ulrich briefly explained what had happened at the third burial mound.
That they had clashed with a group targeting grave robbers, that they had learned about the employer from them—and that the employer was him.
At that, the gambler grimaced and spat out a curse.
"Those bastards… their mouths are way too loose."
"In that situation, anyone would have talked. It was your mistake to trust that your secret would hold."
The gambler clicked his tongue.
"Well, sorry about that. Got greedy and tried something."
"No need to apologize. Just answer what I ask."
"What do you want to know?"
Ulrich stepped closer to the bed and looked down at him.
"About Yusuf."
"If it's about the tomb, I know a fair bit."
The gambler shrugged.
"I assume you understand that's not what I'm asking."
"…Weren't you looking for Yusuf's tomb?"
"If that were the case, why would you have run?"
"That's because you—"
Suddenly, Ulrich reached out and grabbed the gambler's arm.
"Don't drag this out."
The gambler jolted in shock and struggled to pull away, but his arm didn't budge in the slightest. Ulrich removed the bracelet from his wrist.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
Ignoring the outburst, Ulrich examined the bracelet before handing it to Roberta.
She took it—but felt nothing. No flow of mana, no unusual traces. Only the gambler's intense glare.
"That bracelet is the work of Parios."
Parios?
Roberta frowned.
"You know the name?"
"It's hard not to. He was an alchemist of a previous age—the one who clashed with Yoanina."
Yoanina was the mage-alchemist mentioned in the tale of Yoanina's Doll.
Gifted in magic, she was equally talented in alchemy, said to have created steel dolls that served her. The story of her defending her city against the Isturia Empire with those dolls was as famous as the tale itself.
"Yes, that's right. Both of them were brilliant… but they didn't get along."
Parios had been her contemporary.
He was the one who led the Isturia Empire's assault on Yoanina's city—and the alchemist who ultimately failed to conquer it.
Though he created countless magical artifacts that served the empire, history remembered him as the alchemist who failed to defeat a single mage.
"Is this one of his relics?"
Ulrich's tone, calling them "children," was unusually gentle. Roberta glanced at his expression before looking back at the bracelet.
Given the context, this must be a relic of Parios—the alchemist who rivaled Yoanina.
The Holy Church preserved several relics of both Parios and Yoanina, but Roberta had never seen them personally. They were treated on par with saintly relics and rarely displayed.
"It is a relic, but of low grade. Most of their works were destroyed in their rivalry. Though a few surviving pieces are praised today, looking back, they weren't that extraordinary."
Roberta handed the bracelet to Fritz. The boy seemed unfamiliar with the name Parios, showing little reaction. Like her, he simply examined it without sensing anything.
"Hah! That thing's a relic?"
The gambler let out a scoffing laugh.
"A relic worthy of being kept in the Grand Pantheon? I wish. It'd fetch quite a price if I sold it."
He raised one corner of his mouth and looked at Ulrich.
"Enough with the act. Maybe you could deny it without proof—but the moment you used it on me, you gave yourself away."
At the word "used," the gambler flinched. Anyone could see he was startled. Yet he quickly masked it with a sneer.
"You're the one acting. If it's really that great, why would I be wearing it here? Using it as gambling stakes? And even if what you say is true—how would you prove it?"
"Renowned relics choose their masters. Those who lack the qualification cannot use them. To most, they're nothing more than ornaments."
"What a fancy way of saying you can't prove it."
The gambler snorted.
"But to those who are qualified, they are even easier to wield than mana."
Ulrich put on the bracelet and moved his hand.
A glass on the table tipped over, spilling water—though no one had touched it.
The gambler's expression hardened.
Ulrich moved his hand again, extending his palm. The spilled water rose into the air, gathering above his hand, floating a short distance above it.
"Roberta, I told you before how I dealt with the relics Yusuf and I collected."
"You said you entrusted them to reliable individuals and groups."
"Correct. This bracelet was one of those items. But its whereabouts had been unknown until now."
Ulrich let the water fall back into the glass, then removed the bracelet and tossed it to the gambler.
The gambler caught it with both hands and immediately put it back on his wrist. Relief clearly showed on his face—if only for a moment.
Soon, his eyes trembled as he looked up at Ulrich.
"…Then how did you come to have it?"
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