Chapter 87

Doctor Reno’s room at the main house was filled with strange and exotic objects. It smelled of something like old wood—a rather pleasant scent that somehow seemed to soothe both body and mind.

That was all well and good, but Ricard felt decidedly uncomfortable entrusting his body to a suspicious device he had never seen before. No, he found it unpleasant.

Doctor Reno opened the front of Ricard’s shirt and pressed something called a stethoscope against one spot on his chest after another. The unfamiliar cold against his bare skin felt so strange that he flinched each time.

“Breathe in. Slowly.”

The potbellied, bushy-bearded doctor spoke with a suitably serious expression.

Unpleasant as it was, Ricard had come all this way, so he followed the instructions for now. Halfway through inhaling, his breath seemed to catch, accompanied by a pain like needles stabbing his lungs.

“Again, slowly.”

Ricard obediently followed his instructions. After a few breaths, the doctor spoke again.

“Could you try forcing yourself to breathe in past the point where it catches?”

This hardly seemed right, but Marie, standing beside him, gave him a look that told him to do as he was asked. Grimacing and bearing the pain, Ricard forced himself to draw a full breath.

“Breathe out slowly.”

“Whew...”

Doctor Reno listened intently to the sounds inside Ricard’s body until the very end, then finally lifted that unpleasant stethoscope away.

“Hmm... Fortunately, it doesn’t seem too serious. And if you were poisoned by a powder, it was most likely some variety of rainbow moth venom. For it to be this potent, they probably mixed it with something else.”

“Then what about an antidote?”

Marie asked. Unfortunately, Doctor Reno stroked his beard with a grave expression and shook his head.

“Only the person who made the poison knows the precise antidote. Meddling could make it worse, so I cannot concoct one rashly. The Witches of Dawn might be a different matter, but meeting them is as difficult as finding a dragon.”

Rainbow moths, Witches of Dawn—Ricard had never heard of any of them.

“That sounds like there’s nothing you can do for now,” Ricard said.

Just as he had thought, letting the man touch his body had been a mistake.

“Not at all. One moment.”

Doctor Reno rummaged through a disorderly heap of objects and produced a small, dusty wooden box. He blew the dust off right in front of Ricard, whose lungs were already in poor shape, then opened it. Inside were things resembling crystals, dark and dingy with a yellowish tinge.

“This is agarwood incense, which the Salaman people use in their rites. They import it from the distant east themselves, so it is very precious.”

It was hardened resin from the agarwood tree. Doctor Reno picked up a piece, shaved a suitable amount onto a ceramic dish with a knife, and lit it. Rather than bursting into flame, it smoldered and released smoke.

A rich, sweetish fragrance quickly filled the room. There was something solemn about it.

He held the ceramic dish beneath Ricard’s nose.

“Inhale. Slowly and deeply.”

Ricard felt uneasy about trying something so unfamiliar with such an exotic scent, but he did as instructed, slowly inhaling the smoke until he felt pain. His chest hurt at first, then gradually eased. By the time the incense had burned away, the pain had miraculously vanished.

“How do you feel?”

“Wow, what is this? I feel completely cured.”

“You aren’t. It only alleviates the symptoms and pain; it does not heal damaged lungs. For now, take this with you and inhale the smoke every morning and evening. Then I suggest you seek a proper treatment.”

Doctor Reno handed Ricard the small wooden box and held out his other hand. At first, Ricard did not understand, but then it dawned on him. He wanted money?

Nothing in this world was free. Even loyal knights would go home in the middle of a war if they were not paid on time. The prevailing belief of the age was that contracts took precedence over loyalty.

But he had no money on him. Something brought from the far east could hardly be cheap.

“Ah, well...”

Just as Marie was about to offer to pay later, Doctor Reno lifted his beard in a broad grin.

“I’m joking. For you, Master Ricard, of all people, of course it’s a gift. I’m not that heartless.”

“Really? Why?”

In some respects, Ricard’s thinking was exceptional enough to transcend his age, but in others he remained firmly bound by its conventions. He was grateful, of course, but he genuinely could not understand why the doctor would give it to him for nothing.

“I may not have guided your destiny, but I believe I served as a signpost at an important moment. Whenever news of you reached me from afar, I felt both anxious and proud. All I feel is gratitude, so please consider this a token of my thanks.”

Doctor Reno had certainly played a major part in setting Ricard on the path of an adventurer. Though he had never shown it, he seemed to have harbored guilt and regret deep down. There was no need, since the decision had ultimately been Ricard’s alone.

Then Ricard had adapted well and made a name for himself, leaving the doctor relieved and grateful.

Ricard had sensed it a little three years ago, but the man truly was an admirable elder, a person of rare integrity in this harsh world. He had distrusted the doctor at first. Now he was deeply moved.

“Doctor, if you ever find yourself in trouble, don’t worry about money. Contact me anytime. I don’t know about other talents, but I’m fairly handy with a sword.”

“Ha ha ha. Apart from my pastimes, all I do is occasionally run errands for the Count. I have no need of blades. If someone is angry, I need only apologize, and if I refrain from pointing out others’ faults, I won’t earn their enmity. I only wish you both, Master Ricard and my lady, fortune in battle on the road ahead.”

“Still, you never know. Please take care of yourself.”

“Ha ha, I shall. On another note, these recent events are most troubling. I hope the fire in the imperial capital does not spread too far.”

He meant the assassination of the Emperor, members of the imperial household, and numerous nobles.

“It’s a serious matter, but what can we do? One swordsman like me can’t do anything about it.”

“Even if you can do nothing, you can at least give it some thought. Whom do you support?”

“Support? Who? The Crown Prince will succeed him, of course. That’s how it has to be. That’s what ‘Crown Prince’ means.”

“Eh? Haven’t you heard? It seems the Crown Prince died in the chaos as well. The ducal house is now in an uproar over whether to support the Second Prince or the Fifth Prince. That is why the Count left in such haste for Brummbear Castle.”

They were at House Kaldebern’s main residence, which Ricard had been reluctant to visit. Upon arriving, he had found the Count absent and only his household there, and had been feeling relieved that he need not worry about making an impression.

But to think the Count had rushed away because the Crown Prince was dead.

For a moment, Ricard was dumbfounded. He had not known the Crown Prince deeply, but he had grown fond of him during their brief time together. He was not overcome with grief, but it was a shock.

Marie, however, seemed to feel differently. The boy had tormented her, after all.

“Good riddance to that little devil.”

“M-Marie. Even so...”

“If you hadn’t shown up in time, Riki, I would have killed him myself.”

Marie could be clumsy, strong-willed, and brave, but whether because of her bloodline or her upbringing, she also had a ruthless side. Doctor Reno had not expected her to speak so harshly and broke into a nervous sweat.

“H-ha ha ha... I suppose one might feel that way. In any case, under these circumstances, establishing legitimacy will be crucial. I imagine it will fall to whoever avenges the late Emperor.”

“What sort of revenge?”

“The Church of Judgment. Wouldn’t whoever tears it out by the roots stand the best chance of becoming the next Emperor? I hear hundreds are being hanged in the capital every day as they hunt down church members while suppressing the unrest.”

“...”

The Emperor had been assassinated. Naturally, they were not going to let it pass. But when the imperial household flew into a rage, it was not only the church that suffered. Anyone connected to it, and countless innocent people, would be sacrificed as well.

There might be some minimal procedures, but in practice it was difficult to tell who was who. Things inevitably moved toward rounding up every suspect and brutalizing them all, like a whirlwind sweeping through.

Ricard and Marie looked at each other. Their eyes alone told them whom the other was thinking of. Ice...

Ice was not currently a member of the church, but neither had he severed all ties. His heart was no longer in it, yet his situation remained ambiguous.

“What is it?”

“N-nothing. It’s just, well, there must be an enormous number of church members in the world. Are they going to kill them all?”

“Even after the next Emperor takes the throne, the Empire will doubtless continue its policy of persecution for the time being. What worries me is that such things drag on without a clear objective, growing ever more vicious out of sheer spite.”

“Ah...”

Had taking Ice in been a mistake after all? Would it be better to come forward and report that he used to be a church member but no longer was? He could not sell out his friend. It was a truly difficult problem.

“You remember what you asked me before you left for the academy?”

“What was that?”

“About the fields of Heiden.”

The fields of Heiden were where Ricard had tended sheep in his previous life. They were where the purest soul in the world had sung of the stars, and where a life full of sorrow had ended.

They were also where boundless hatred and rage toward the world had been conceived.

“Uh... I don’t remember very well, but I think I did.”

“There are rumors that the church’s holy site is there. I have only heard about it, so I don’t know the details. If they find the church’s stronghold and eradicate it, the persecution might ease somewhat. They would have achieved a tangible result, after all.”

“I see...”

Hearing mention of the fields of Heiden, which he had forgotten, filled Ricard with a feeling so strange he could not put it into words.

It felt as though an echo from the past was calling out to his present self. Asking where he thought he was going all alone. Why he alone should be happy.

Perhaps this was what Armand had meant when he said Ricard would have to face his past self.

Seeing his gloom, Marie assumed he was worried about Ice. She placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

“Let’s not give up. We haven’t done anything wrong. That’s what matters most.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Ricard forced a smile.

They exchanged a few final words with Doctor Reno, thanked him once more, and parted with wishes of good fortune on both sides.

Ricard and Marie left the Count’s castle and walked toward Rheinfurt. They planned to take a boat straight to Ehrenberg from there.

The cool autumn breeze did nothing to settle Ricard’s troubled heart. Even when Marie tried to charm him with playful affection, he could only force a smile, unable to join in.

The shadow of the past seemed darker than he had imagined—too dark to simply turn away from.

The God of Judgment... What was he supposed to pass judgment on? When had he ever judged anyone? What on earth had people seen in his past self?

The Demon King. The devil among devils, the murderer among murderers. Yet also a god who delivered the powerless. No one in the world embodied a more dramatic duality. That was the Riki of the past.

Still burdened by his troubled thoughts, Ricard took passage with Marie on a boat in Rheinfurt. As they headed upriver toward Ehrenberg, they passed a city engulfed in flames. Had war broken out?

Columns of black smoke, lit from within by fire, rose here and there. The passengers crowded onto the deck and watched, trembling with unease.

To their astonishment, the people burning the city were neither soldiers nor bandits. They were enraged peasants and townspeople.

They stormed the homes of urban nobles and the wealthy, dragging the owners and their households out by the hair. Then they beat and kicked them to death.

They were shouting something, but the words could not be heard. They were plainly cries pouring out everything that had built up inside them. Then, like field mice, they ravenously devoured the wealth the rich had amassed.

The church’s act of terror had been a catalyst, an opportunity for the exploited and oppressed to rise up.

The situation seemed more serious than Ricard had thought. This was not simply a matter of hunting down and persecuting the church.

The heart of the problem was that not every domain in the world was as peaceful and pastoral as Stormhertz. Most people lived in misery and pain. Perhaps the Church of Judgment was the product of all that suffering concentrated into one form.

The flames consuming the city blazed so fiercely that their heat reached even the boat passing along the river. The thick stench of burning was like the smell of a monster’s rotten, putrefying heart.

And that smell seemed to seize Ricard and drag him ever deeper into the past.