Rumors, Pastor

After the thunder and lightning, the autumn rain that had held off for so long finally stopped. The yellowed walls of Tevalinburg were washed spotless, revealing a faint whiteness.

The colored glass windows in the church steeple, visible from beyond the outer fortress, were pushed open, and the young attendant serving Pastor Alphons retrieved the jug used to collect water.

"Be careful. This is the key to making holy water. Don't let any dust contaminate the jug."

Pastor Alphons, who had just sent the messenger away, wore a black robe and studied the seal in his hand. He still remembered to remind the young attendant, "Be careful."

"If you find the holy vessel too heavy, silently recite, 'May the Holy Light grant me strength.' Trust me, it will at least make strength rise from the depths of your heart. Every pastor has gone through that. As someone who has been there, I'm telling you that you must believe it."

Another black-robed cleric from the clerical affairs group also showed the young attendant some kindness. After watching her leave, he smiled at Pastor Alphons and said, "Seeing her reminds me of us in Gaudy City many years ago. We were just as immature."

Pastor Alphons pinched the bridge of his nose, tossed the letter onto the table, and said tiredly, "There have been some unpleasant rumors in the Cortez Territory recently. It seems our suspicions have been confirmed. We truly underestimated Sir Davis Tevalin's ambition."

"Was it really him who killed all the pirates and murdered that civil official of Raphael Garcia Cortes?"

The black-robed cleric hated such troublesome matters. "It seems we won't be able to face the County of Tervain's inquiry with quite as much confidence."

"It's worse than that. The letter from the cleric pastor of the Cortez Territory just said that there are many versions of the rumors. Some say Sir Davis Tevalin was an impostor. Others say livestock and people have been victimized, claiming that those evil monsters have appeared again."

Pastor Alphons picked up the letter on the table and handed it to the female cleric opposite him. "The best possible outcome is that some of the pirates escaped, and the attacks in the neighboring territory were carried out by those bandits.

That would happen to advance our plan for the decaying regions, and save us from having to explain ourselves to the Count of Tervain.

The worst possibility is that some kind of monster has truly emerged."

The female cleric took the letter, muttering that it shouldn't be possible, and hurried out. She left only one sentence behind: "I'm going to check the holy water and silverware we have in storage. We should have brought two sets of holy armor earlier."

Watching her rush off, Pastor Alphons helplessly shook his head. With a smile, he picked up another letter, glanced at the sender's name, and casually tossed it aside.

"Attendant! Inform Pastor Ramses Bolton that he can set out."

At dusk, somewhere in the wilds of the Viscountcy of Cortez, Horus was curled up inside a hollow tree, seemingly unconscious, or perhaps asleep.

Compared with a week ago, when he had merely been seriously injured, his body was now more haggard and battered. He looked much thinner, and much older.

This was a dense forest. Everything within it was shrouded in yellow at dusk, and the evening sunlight glittered across the woods in sheets of gold.

Blocked by leaves that had not yet fallen, the light scattered into tiny patches on the ground. One beam shifted farther and farther as the sun set, eventually shining into the hollow tree.

When the patch of light fell upon Horus, the seemingly sleeping Horus suddenly let out a strange, inhuman cry.

As he scrambled away, smoke rose from the spot where the light had touched him.

A thick smell of blood seeped from the hollow tree. Even a hundred meters away, the dense stench could be smelled throughout the woods.

With his eyes closed, Horus still looked somewhat human. But when she opened her lizard-like, mottled eyes, dominated by dark red and emerald green, there was no way to mistake her for a human being.

Perhaps he had heard her miserable cry. Something in the distance was startled, and after a rapid burst of footsteps, the One-Eyed Dragon came running over.

"Captain, are you having another episode?"

The One-Eyed Dragon was frightened, but when he recalled the ancient legends, he also felt that being able to follow such a captain was an honor.

Sea demon.

According to the ancient legends, for people like them who made their living on the sea, being able to return to shore alive was a blessing from the Sea God. Inevitably, some ignorant fantasies had become mixed into that blessing.

Thus, superstitious people linked the Sea God with the many incomprehensible and indescribable things in the ocean.

For example, the illnesses caused by the lack of trace elements that could only be replenished by eating vegetables after spending a long time drifting at sea.

They regarded such illnesses as the torment of sea demons, the Sea God's trials...

Many ordinary natural phenomena like these were interpreted through the lens of the supernatural. The most widely circulated of them was the sea demon.

As the Sea God's servants according to those speculations, sea demons liked to mingle among sailors, learning human preferences and imitating human behavior. Inevitably, they might mate with humans and give birth to offspring.

Those whose bloodlines were mixed with sea demon blood would eventually exhibit signs of reversion after being passed down through an unknown number of generations.

As a result, they gained abilities unlike those of ordinary people.

Whether in peninsula nations or island countries surrounded by the sea, peoples of this kind more or less had similar legends.

Horus had grown up listening to such legends, and so had the One-Eyed Dragon.

That was why they attributed the mutations in Horus's body to this cause.

They could be said to be both fearful and expectant, while also feeling honored.

In reality, ever since they had eaten the rats from the wasteland raw, both Horus and the One-Eyed Dragon had undergone varying degrees of mutation.

Horus's case was simply more severe.

The One-Eyed Dragon could still endure sunlight, and his injuries were lighter. Thus, most of the time, he was the one who hunted or raided villages for livestock.

When he inevitably injured people during those attacks, no one knew whether the wasteland rats they had eaten carried rabies. The One-Eyed Dragon, who craved blood, would sometimes suck the wounds of the dead, developing symptoms of bloodlust.

Horus's condition was even more severe. He no longer ate anything. He only drank blood!

If Ergons saw them, his first reaction would probably be to wonder whether the two had contracted Prion disease—or rabies.

But in an age of poor communication and closed minds, it was easy for a legend to transform into some sort of monster opposed to the Holy Light.

"So, Ramses—um, Pastor Ramses Bolton—you're saying that the Holy Light's mortal enemy, a monster, has appeared in the neighboring territory?"

Old Adam dragged along his frail body, which looked as though a gust of wind could knock it over. With a dazed yet astonished expression, he asked the question.

"Yes, old sir. And there is also Sir Tervalin. This matter should attract the attention of the patrol team."

Wearing a little red cap that covered the bald crown he had deliberately shaved, and clad in a black pastor's robe embroidered with red trim, the pastor gripped the pure-gold cross hanging on his chest. The cross was longer than a palm and encrusted with rubies as he spoke solemnly of the rumors he had heard.

"Sir Davis Tevalin" also appeared very "obedient." He prayed in alarm, "Praise the Holy Light, but we're supposed to patrol the border! There's really nothing we can do about neighboring territories within the realm!"

A week later, at another banquet, "Sir Davis Tevalin" and Pastor Ramses Bolton sat together at the head of a long table.

Before them was a huge empty space, encircled by one small individual table after another.

The other attendees sat at their own small tables, accompanying "Sir Davis Tevalin" as he welcomed the pastor who had come to preach in their village.

"Sir Tevalin, you don't need to worry too much. Just have the men pay a little more attention."

Pastor Ramses Bolton, a young pastor who looked no older than twenty-one or twenty-two, with amber eyes, flaxen hair, and a large nose, regarded the nobleman before him with a benevolent gaze.

"That's good, that's good!"