Chapter 92 - Damn Reincarnation

Samar

“Wasn't that rather brutish?” Kristina asked.

There was no accusation in her tone. It had been the same earlier. The sudden turn of events had startled and bewildered her, but Eugene's violence had not angered her.

Eugene found that quite striking. An ordinary cleric would have been outraged by his brutality, scolded him for needlessly cutting off a finger, and used healing magic on Jackson as he bled profusely and writhed in pain.

But Kristina had done none of those things. Surprised and bewildered though she was, she had not interfered with Eugene's actions. Nor had she stepped forward to heal Jackson.

'An ordinary cleric.'

Kristina was no ordinary cleric to begin with. She was a candidate for sainthood from the Holy Empire of Yuras. No, a “saint.” Not only her background but her appearance made Eugene think vividly of Anise once again.

“You have to be brutish with brutish bastards.”

Eugene glanced back as he spoke.

“Besides, aren't you the one talking like an idiot? Do you know how much the gems I brought out are worth in money? Sell just one at a decent price, and you could spend a year doing nothing but eating and enjoying yourself. He was trying to pull some shady shit and pocket that for free. One finger is fucking cheap, isn't it?”

“Hmm...”

Kristina seemed to consider that briefly, then nodded with a bright smile.

“I see. I understand your point, Sir Eugene. You and I may live in circumstances where money is no concern, but to an ordinary person, the gems you offered are immensely valuable.”

She pulled her robe's hood down as she spoke.

“Besides, neither of us grew up in particularly comfortable circumstances. That makes us all the more aware of how precious wealth is.”

“Glad you understand...”

“However, even taking that into account, I believe cutting off the broker's finger was excessive. Surely threatening him would have been enough.”

“Would a bastard who scrapes by as an information broker in a place like this be intimidated by mere threats? Taking one finger is the cleaner way to settle things.”

“What if he tries to take revenge?”

“Would he really be that clueless?”

“Anger sometimes devours reason.”

“Acting this fearless is exactly what gets his ‘imagination’ going.”

Eugene turned back to face forward as he muttered.

“If he still tries to retaliate, I'll make him regret making such a fucking stupid choice. I'm perfectly capable of that. That's why I'd actually like him to try.”

“I see.”

Kristina chuckled as she murmured her answer. She did not ask why Eugene was saying such things.

“You are an unusual man, Sir Eugene.”

“Why?”

“The Lionhearts of Kiel are one of the continent's most prestigious families, are they not? Yet your behavior earlier was so rough that it was hard to believe you were the son of such a family. You acted like a seasoned mercenary.”

“I suppose the noble children you know just laugh politely and sip their black tea even when someone's taking them for a sucker? Let's stop beating around the bush. Just say, ‘You're awfully brutish for a young master from a prestigious family.’”

“I said that at the start.”

Wasn't that rather brutish? Recalling her earlier words, Eugene burst out laughing.

“Still, I didn't kill him.”

“You did cut off a hand as well.”

“Had to add a penalty for pissing me off.”

Jackson had not told them about the elves.

[“I can't tell you.”]

He had pleaded with them, saying that.

* * *

Three hundred years ago, when the five Demon Kings sought to devour the world, the races that suffered the most were the elves and the dragons.

Dragons had never been numerous to begin with, and nearly half of them died fighting the Demon Kings.

The elves fared even worse. They died in ever-growing numbers despite never opposing the Demon Kings.

Disease was to blame. The Demon Kings' sinister power was fatal to pure elves. The illness struck without warning, driving those long-lived beings helplessly to their deaths.

Elves who had grown sick of life in the world. Elves who had escaped slavery. Elves afflicted with demonic sickness.

Their reasons varied, but many elves returned to the Great Forest of Samar.

Those born in the forest who had ventured into the outside world wished to return to their homeland. Even elves born elsewhere wandered in search of the elven domain said to lie deep within the forest.

Those afflicted with demonic sickness had a more desperate reason. Once the illness struck, they would die within five years at most, but in Samar's lush forests, they could survive longer.

Whatever might have happened in the past, none of the elves who had returned to the Great Forest of Samar had found the elven domain.

Elves lived long lives and were beautiful. No matter how old they grew, their innate beauty never faded. There was no shortage of wealthy people and nobles who wanted to keep such elves as slaves.

To them, wandering elves were prey worth hunting with burning eagerness. Just a few years ago, this city had been home to many hunters and slave traders from elsewhere.

And now?

There were none. Some might still be operating in secret, but at least those who openly worked as hunters and slave traders had been wiped out.

Because of the dark elves.

The dark elves who had begun appearing in this city several years ago had built up their power by hunting the hunters and slave traders in turn. Those vicious dark elves had silenced the Information Guild and were making contact with elves who appeared in the city.

Why?

To turn wandering elves into dark elves. They sought to persuade the elves who entered Samar: no matter how long they wandered, they would never find the elven domain.

The elves living there had hidden their domain and did not welcome their kin from the outside.

If they became dark elves, they would no longer need to fear hunters or slave traders. Nor would they need to worry about demonic sickness striking without warning. Even if they were already afflicted, it would be all right. Dark elves did not die of demonic sickness.

“Do you know of the Princess of Fury?”

The forest nights were dark and long.

Kristina had no objection to sleeping outdoors, nor did she sit around doing nothing on account of being a saint. She gathered firewood herself, lit a campfire, and prepared their camp.

“I do.”

Iris. The dark elf he had failed to kill three hundred years ago. Fury's adopted daughter.

'I should have killed her then.'

Oboron had sought shelter under the Demon King of Destruction, only to die when his own son bit out his throat.

Iris had not entered the service of another Demon King or demon. Claiming that she alone was the rightful successor to the Demon King of Fury, she was consolidating her position in Helmuth to become a new Demon King.

It was a valid claim.

The vampires and lycanthropes had crawled into the service of Noir Giabella, the queen of the dream demons.

Oboron's son and the beastfolk had sworn allegiance to the Demon King of Destruction.

Only the giants and dark elves had not submitted to a Demon King or demon. But the giants made no claim to be Fury's successors, living together in the remote reaches of Helmuth instead.

Only Iris called herself Fury's successor and sought the position of Demon King.

“... Regardless of her power, the Princess of Fury... Iris is not held in particularly high regard in Helmuth.”

Kristina continued, gazing into the campfire.

“Even in the diocese of Alcarte, where I served, people mocked Iris. They said a mere dark elf, not even a pureblood demon, did not know her place and had the nerve to talk of becoming a Demon King.”

“‘Pureblood demon’ is a ridiculous term in itself.”

Eugene snorted and chewed his meat.

“If you're talking about pure blood, what demons other than daemons could qualify? Dream demons and all the others are just daemon subspecies.”

“But they were born demons.”

Things had not been much different three hundred years ago. Creatures that had “changed” from humans, such as vampires and lycanthropes, belonged to the demons, yet demon blood purists scorned them as half-demons and mongrels.

Demons actually treated black mages better than half-demons. The hierarchy between them was clear.

“Iris, the Demon King of Fury's adopted daughter, corrupts elves into dark elves despite not being a Demon King herself.”

That was why Eugene regretted it. If he had killed Iris three hundred years ago, the dark elves would not have increased in number.

“I understand that many of Helmuth's high-ranking demons wished to sponsor Iris, but she has refused all such support and is building her power base entirely on her own.”

“What a joke.”

Eugene crunched through even the bones attached to the meat.

“She's been despised by blood purists, but in the end, she's one herself. Elves are scarce enough as it is, and there are even fewer dark elves. She thinks she can build a force out of that piddling little race, compete with other demons, and become a Demon King? Big dreams she's got.”

Iris could not become a Demon King.

Eugene knew the power of the demons from three hundred years ago well. Iris was certainly strong, but her power was not greatly superior to that of the highest-ranking demons, such as the queen of the dream demons.

Their forces were not even comparable. If a new Demon King were to arise among the demons, Helmuth's three dukes would be the closest to that position.

Noir Giabella, queen of the dream demons.

Gavid Lindman, Incarceration's Sword.

Raizakia, the Black Dragon.

Every one of them had a sickeningly long history of enmity with him.

'There are only three left because we fucked up the other demons who could rival them three hundred years ago.'

Jackson had talked about the dark elves with tears streaming down his face. He said the dark elves would kill him if he leaked information about elves, and begged them not to ask about elves.

In other words, he had intended to pocket both an information fee and a referral fee without ever telling them anything about elves.

'Iris hasn't submitted to the Demon King of Incarceration or the Demon King of Destruction.'

If he clashed with the dark elves, he would not have to worry about interference from the Demon Kings. Iris was the only one he needed to watch out for.

'... At least I won't run into Iris here.'

Jackson had said the dark elves took the elves they persuaded to Helmuth. Iris alone could corrupt elves. That meant she was in Helmuth, not the Great Forest of Samar.

The conversation fell silent. Firewood crackled, and insects chirped. Kristina drank her heated tea without a word. Eugene picked up the last skewer of meat.

“What will you do?”

Kristina spoke as the silence lengthened.

“Do I need permission?” Eugene asked, chewing his meat.

“Permission for what?”

“Killing.”

“That is not something for me to permit... but I will pray on your behalf.”

“A prayer to forgive the sin of murder?”

“No. I must offer prayers for the repose and purification of their souls.”

Kristina smiled brightly and clasped her hands before her chest.

“How could executing servants of evil be called a sin? Yet they too are lives born and raised upon this earth, lambs who must be led to the light. We must offer prayers to illuminate their souls, darkened by corruption, and guide them.”

'Apparently, saints are all nutjobs.'

Eugene swallowed his meat and thought of Anise.

[“Earth to earth!”]

Besides divine magic, Anise was also skilled with a mace.

[“Ashes to ashes!”]

Her brightly shining mace had smashed demons' heads many times.

[“Dust to dust!”]

Anise did not often take up her mace, but in the chaos of battle she would do so with a look that said she had no choice.

[“The radiant light! Illuminates the darkness!”]

Smashing heads with her mace, raising a mist with real holy water, spreading gleaming wings, and shouting prayers all the while—Anise had looked more like a lunatic than a saint.

“... Do you happen to swing a mace, too?”

“Pardon?”

“A mace. Don't you know what that is?”

“... I know what it is. But I prefer an iron bludgeon to a mace.”

“... An iron bludgeon...?”

“Yes. I don't carry one around because of the weight...”

“... Tell me... if you need one. I've got one in my cloak.”

“Thank you.”

Just after Kristina thanked him with a bright smile, something flew out of the darkness, hit the ground, and rolled toward them. Neither Eugene nor Kristina was startled as they watched it roll.

It was the information broker Jackson's head. Its tongue lolled out, and its eyes had rolled back. Eugene nudged it away with his foot when it rolled close.

“Will you lend me that iron bludgeon now?”

“No.”

Eugene rose, brushing off his knees.

“You said I don't need permission, so just pray.”

He had noticed the approach long ago. While they sat in silence, the distance had closed, and even before asking Kristina for permission, Eugene had already decided what to do.

“Are you a hunter?”

A question came from the darkness.

“Will you go away if I say no?” Eugene replied gently.

“... I hear you've been asking around about elves.”

The voice drew a little closer. A dark elf walked out of the darkness.

“He was just a middle-aged man trying to make a living in a harsh world. Did you really have to kill him?”

“The broker told us about you. He said you barged in and tried to buy information about elves.”

“He didn't sell us any information about elves, you know.”

“You aren't surprised. Have you heard about us?”

Without answering, Eugene took a neatly folded handkerchief from inside his clothes and wiped his mouth. The needlessly elegant gesture left the dark elf looking dumbfounded.

“... Do you not understand the situation?”

Eugene gave the handkerchief two brisk shakes.

“Did you come alone?”

“... What?”

“So you came alone.”

Eugene let the handkerchief fall from his hand.

“You insolent little bastard.”

Before the handkerchief touched the ground, a storm blew it far away.