Chapter 91

A Continent Astir (2)

The Hidden Quest appeared before my eyes.

... I had no words. All I could think to say was, “You lunatic.”

I waved my hand, dismissing the text before me. Naturally, I had no intention of doing it. The quest had been forcibly accepted, but whether I carried it out was up to me.

Had it somehow read my firm resolve?

==[I'll Steal Her Away]==

[Objective] - Plant a kiss on Isolde!

[Reward] - Change in Isolde's disposition

[On Failure] - No penalty

The Hidden Quest appeared again, this time with a different reward. Apparently, the previous reward had just been part of its overexcited antics.

'No matter how I look at it, this thing seems self-aware.'

At this point, I could consider it practically certain. I still had no idea how the quests worked, but there certainly seemed to be some “entity” assigning them.

Regardless.

'Not doing it.'

Even with the new reward, I had absolutely no intention of completing the quest. The problem had never been the [Reward]. It was the [Objective]. Was I crazy enough to do that?

Throw caution to the wind and at least aim for the completion experience? That really would be insane. Hidden Quests didn't even award completion experience.

I waved my hand again and dismissed the text, but it kept popping up to clutter my vision. Repeatedly brushing it away, I headed to where the Black Grasp and all the other Visters of Violess had gathered.

* * *

In what had once been Violess's square, thousands of Visters stood gathered together, murmuring among themselves with their various banners and weapons in hand.

A man slowly made his way through their thousands toward the front. His hair was black, his eyes red.

... But something was strange. He made no sound whatsoever. His steps were slow, yet not a sound came from him, as though sound itself could not keep up.

A breeze swept past, fluttering his long black coat. Even that was utterly silent, making him look as though he were cloaked in darkness.

He climbed onto the highest platform before the thousands of Visters and slowly swept his gaze over them. That glance alone silenced their chatter.

"From now on, you will follow me and make a fresh start somewhere new."

His voice commanded the entire gathering. An intimidating air surrounded the man as he looked down upon the Visters.

"Anyone who objects, step forward now."

No one stepped forward. But the Visters began exchanging looks and murmuring among themselves. Amid the crowd, someone whispered cautiously.

"Um... leader."

"What?"

"Honestly, is there any reason we have to follow that guy?"

"Exactly. Why should we follow someone whose name we don't even know?"

"With that pitch-black hair, he looks like a real prick."

The Visters began shouting their complaints. Discontent spread like a plague, growing so heated that a riot seemed imminent.

Yet Sarpedon, leader of the Black Grasp, remained unimpressed.

"And?"

"Sir?"

"What do you want us to do, then? Defy him?"

"Shouldn't we at least try to resis—"

"Hey."

"Yes?"

"Are you a fucking idiot?"

"... Sir?"

"Haven't the parasites living inside you told you to shut up?"

"What do you mean...?"

"Keep your mouth shut if you want to live, you dumb fuck!"

WHACK!

"God, you thickheaded bastard. How can you say that after seeing what happened when Lyla of the Crimson Soiree defied him?"

"..."

"And was Lyla alone? There were hundreds of Crimson Soiree Visters with her. What happened to them all?"

They had all died. It had taken just three minutes. Less than three minutes, to be precise.

Of course, there were thousands of Visters gathered here. Their numbers were overwhelming, but Sarpedon knew better. A band of trolls might somehow manage to bring down an ogre. But no matter how many trolls gathered into an army, they could never slay a dragon.

"More importantly, have you forgotten who brought down that giant monster? Even a goldfish would remember that, you bastard."

"Of course I know that, but..."

"You know, and you're still spewing that shit?"

"Then how about following that pretty woman over there instea—"

WHACK!!

"You fucking bastard! What a spectacular way of thinking! So that was what you wanted all along?"

THUD!

"There's a limit to how much you should let your dick do your thinking!"

THWACK!

"Your mother tried so hard to find even one good thing about you while she was alive!"

THUD! THWACK!

"And this is what her son has to fucking say? Can we follow that pretty woman over there?"

"A-aagh! P-please stop hitting me!"

"Stop hitting you, my ass! Just die, you son of a bitch!!"

THWACK!

"Didn't you see what that pretty woman did to Lyla? That pretty woman you keep talking about was going to kill every last one of us!"

THUD!

"He's the one sparing our lives. He's taking us in! Why can't you understand that, you thickheaded bastard?"

THUD-THUD-THUD!

"Leader! You're going to kill him!"

"That's why I'm beating him! If I don't kill this bastard, we're all going to die!"

"L-leader!!"

The other Visters finally managed to calm Sarpedon down, though only barely. He snorted, breathing hard.

"Unless your skulls are full of noodles, shut your mouths and do what he says. Got it?"

"... Yes."

Unable to say a word or offer any resistance, the Visters of Violess could only obey.

* * *

A commotion suddenly erupted. It grew louder and louder, turning into an uproar. But I didn't intervene.

'Looks like I won't have to go too far to put them in their place.'

In truth, I'd planned to beat the Visters within an inch of their lives here. These were vicious men who fought practically every day and still had all their criminal habits. How could I possibly take people like that to the county? If I wanted to reform them and train them for the allied army, I would have to beat them half to death first.

Above all, taking them in didn't mean forgiving them. I was simply giving them a chance to change. If they crossed the line like the Crimson Soiree Visters, or seriously challenged my authority, I intended to kill them without mercy.

Was this because my <King of the Underworld> title increased the success rates of negotiation, intimidation, and persuasion by [+250%]?

"Die! Die, you thickheaded bastard!!"

"U-urgh!"

They were groveling all on their own.

'We can leave right away.'

It seemed safe to take them straight to the county and start training them.

* * *

The rumor that the lawless city of Violess had disappeared spread swiftly from Caravana, sweeping across the entire continent.

"To think the Saintess herself stepped in and resolved it..."

"Now I understand why they praise her as the greatest Saintess in history!"

"Long live the Saintess!!"

"Long live the Holy Kingdom!!"

Now, wherever one went on the continent, praise for Saintess Isolde and the Holy Kingdom never ceased. Yet nowhere, from anyone, was the name Adrian mentioned.

Zerasmir, Grand Duke of the Kingdom of Irongard, was a Master knight known as the “Incarnation of the Sword,” a hero of his kingdom.

In his youth, he had displayed overwhelming prowess and leadership against the barbarians invading the kingdom. Having saved it from peril, he was rewarded for his service with the title of Grand Duke.

He had a cherished daughter named Amelia. Not long ago, she had suddenly gone missing. Then a letter had arrived for him.

[Support the rebellion within the kingdom. Otherwise, your daughter dies.]

Every day since then had been agony for Zerasmir. He was a father who wanted to protect his daughter. He was also a knight of the kingdom and his people's grand duke. Whichever he chose, he knew it would leave an indelible wound upon his soul.

The agonizing conflict weighed heavily upon his heart. At last, just as his gaze and thoughts were turning toward the point of his blade—

"Your Highness!!"

His steward burst into his study as though breaking down the door.

"Outside—! You must go outside at once!!"

Zerasmir's brow twitched as he cast his gaze through the study window. Beyond the view of his duchy, the castle gates opened, revealing a figure.

Old, shabby clothes. Unkempt, ragged hair. The figure was so filthy that even her face was unrecognizable, yet—

"Amelia...?"

Zerasmir leaped straight out of the window. He paid no heed to the drop of dozens of meters.

BOOM!

The tremendous crash of his landing drew every eye at once.

"Father...!!"

"Have you truly... Have you truly come back...?"

His voice trembled. Tears glimmered in his eyes. Overcome with emotion, he pulled Amelia into his arms and wept.

Only when he felt her delicate frame beneath his fingers did it finally sink in that his daughter had returned.

"What happened...? Where in the world have you been all this time...!"

"Well, actually..."

Amelia then told him what had happened. Hearing her story, Zerasmir realized that the rumors currently stirring up the continent were true.

"We owe the Holy Kingdom an enormous debt."

"... No."

But Amelia's account differed from the rumors.

"It wasn't the Saintess who saved me."

"What do you mean?"

"The Saintess did help, of course. But..."

Amelia drew a breath before continuing.

"There was someone else who truly helped me."

"Who was it?"

"Well... He never gave his name, so I don't know who he was..."

She gently closed her eyes as though recalling that moment. Perhaps the terror and nightmare of that day had returned to her, for she began to tremble.

"You don't have to force yourself to remember."

"N-no, it's all right."

But Amelia gathered her courage.

"R-red eyes... He was a man with black hair."

She had managed to recall what happened. They knew neither his name nor his face, but black hair was uncommon on the continent. Zerasmir etched that detail about their benefactor deep into his memory.

This was not the only such case. Most of Violess's slaves and poor had no one to return to. But every so often—very rarely indeed—there were exceptions.

Someone turned out to be the secret child of a prestigious noble house. Someone exiled on false charges of treason had since been exonerated. Someone was the last surviving scion of a royal family. Now and then, stories straight out of fairy tales unfolded.

"The young lady—! The young lady has returned!!"

"The young lord is here—!"

"My lady!! My lady!! Please wake up!!!"

The children of noble and royal families returned home. Their safe return not only set the continent astir, but turned it into a sea of tears.

"A man with black hair saved me—"

"I didn't see his face, but he had the bearing of a noble..."

"The black-haired man—"

Among those who knew the truth, rumors of a “black-haired man” were quietly spreading.

* * *

Long, long ago, beings lurked in the darkness, growing powerful as they fed upon human dreams and desires. They were nightmares.

The female form of a nightmare was a succubus. Its male form was an incubus.

But nightmares had no physical bodies and could not conceive children of their own. Instead, they took the form of succubi to draw out the essence of human men, then transformed into incubi and used that essence to impregnate human women.

Though both sets of genes involved in conception were human, the influence of the nightmare's energy gave rise to a new race: cambions, the bastard offspring of nightmares and humans.

Like their nightmare parents, they possessed the power to seduce humans and absorb their essence. Drawing upon that essence, they displayed extraordinary abilities and readily distinguished themselves. Yet the demonic blood in their veins also gave them a pronounced inclination toward evil.

But long ago, just as a wolf or two in a pack had boldly begun relying on humans and eventually given rise to dogs, some cambions no longer wished to remain bound by greed and desire.

They longed to abandon a life sustained by physical seduction and desire and live in harmony instead. They developed the powers they had used to manipulate human dreams and desires into a means of communicating with nature.

Through this, they discovered spirits—the dreams of nature itself. By making contracts with those spirits, they purified their own nature and were finally reborn as a new race that lived in harmony with the natural world. Thus, the elves were born.

Through the power of spirits, elves completely freed themselves from a way of life founded upon physical seduction and desire. Yet they retained all the beautiful features and alluring figures of their nightmare ancestors.

By human standards, elves were a race of extraordinary beauties. Since they no longer absorbed human essence, humans used them as sex slaves, regardless of gender. In the end, the elves retreated into the forests to escape humanity.

Many long years passed after elves and humans severed their ties. Sylvandir Forest, the elven homeland nestled deep within a mountain range, faded from human memory.

Shrouded in spirit mist, Sylvandir Forest had never once permitted an outsider to approach. Enormous trees, centuries old, shimmered emerald green. Slender vines trailed down between the glowing trees, draping the entire forest like ornaments fashioned by nature. Amid that mystical landscape—

"Forest Keeper! Forest Keeper!"

An elven sentry pounded urgently on the Forest Keeper's tree.

"The singing wind brought word! Silmarien, the one who went missing, has returned!"

Rielin, the Forest Keeper, sprang to her feet.