Chapter 102

The morning of the second week after my return from the battlefield.

The funeral for the fallen began.

A procession of bereaved families dressed in somber black continued on. The hymns of clergymen filled the cemetery.

The weather was, as always, clear.

Most of the deceased couldn’t even have their bodies recovered. Some soldiers even intentionally left the corpses behind. Rather than bringing back a son whose limbs had melted and been replaced with those of a pig, it was much better to just leave him buried where he fell.

Those soldiers whose remains were intact were laid to rest in small pits, barely two meters wide, given their final farewells by their families. Those less fortunate had their names engraved on a large monument in the center of the cemetery.

The monument, inscribed with the names of those who gave their lives, stood a full thirty meters high. It was made of a unique rock found only in ‘Melastus,’ often referred to as the holy land of the Astella faith.

Thanks to the rock’s special properties, even the fiercest winds and rain wouldn’t dull the names etched upon that monument. Because of this, the Empire called the monument ‘Eternal Remembrance.’

The hammers and chisels of the dwarves carved new names onto the stone, one by one. Transparent tears fell with each falling black fragment.

I stood closest to the monument. A cold wind blew. A wind heralding the start of winter.

Grisha, a holy woman dressed in black, offered prayers to the monument. Her eyes looked slightly bloodshot, as if she hadn’t slept properly.

Rex dragged his body, wrapped entirely in bandages, to the cemetery. In his hands he held a bouquet of flowers.

Altar Heindel sat on a bench in the distance, watching the procession of figures draped in black.

Lir and I, we said nothing, only gazed up at the headstone.

A multitude of people offer their condolences in silence.

The weather remains fair.

* * *

Rex, boasting the fearsome stamina and resilience befitting an Orc, discharged himself only a week after awakening. He said he needed to prepare for the commander’s exam and quickly returned to his hometown.

Altar continues his rehabilitation, an intensity that can only be described as utter ruthlessness. On days when he seemed especially worn, Lir and I voiced our concerns that he might never walk again, but the old man seemed deaf to such warnings.

Meanwhile, every night, Lir practiced some sort of discipline, relentlessly swinging her staff in the training grounds within the castle until her fingers felt like they would fall off. The sound of air tearing like lightning filled the corridors, but I didn’t dislike the sound.

And what did I do?

Nothing.

…….

Well.

I deserve some rest, don’t I?

After all, the war in Valerand ended in victory.

Four archdukes died, and the Demonic race lost half of their forces. The wails that had been echoing across the continent have finally quieted, and most of the soldiers easily dealt with the unconscious demons and mutants.

The demons, trying to preserve what little strength they had left, holed themselves up in the northern lands, showing no intention of emerging, and the Allied Forces’ Great General, the Sword Saint, is watching over them.

The continent has become quiet, for now.

The anxiety and fear that had been knotted in my chest, I washed them all away by drinking tea and conversing with Lir, so now I truly wished to enjoy a complete rest.

If not now, then when else would I loaf around and waste time?

“…Ah, it’s gone.”

I stared blankly at the wallpaper on the ceiling, muttering to myself.

Lately, my hobby was pressing hard on my eyelids with my fingers, then rolling my eyes, chasing after the unknown afterimages that lingered at the edges of my vision.

With this pathetic body, unable to drink alcohol or even coffee, this was the only entertainment available to me.

If only my hand were alright, I could spend my time playing guitar and pressing piano keys.

“I should get my hand fixed soon.”

When my right hand first broke, I thought, “It’s a relief.”

Meddling with bioelectricity at my whim was a dangerous thing, as I’d mentioned countless times. Fighting the Archduke and losing only my right hand to win, that was a bargain.

If things had gone wrong, I could have lost my life instead of my hand.

“…Comforting myself like that only works for a day or two.”

The tension and bloodlust of the battlefield faded, and everyday warmth and leisure took their place completely. My broken right hand started to grate on me more and more.

For starters, I couldn’t concentrate on studying.

Things that used to take me less than a second to write down now took over five seconds with my left hand, and even the letters I struggled to write were unrecognizable eight times out of ten.

And changing clothes? The terrible, stifling sensation of buttoning up a cardigan was beyond words.

Meal times, in particular, were a continuous torment.

The food served in the castle required the use of a fork and knife, but the problem was I couldn’t hold both at the same time.

On days when steak was served for dinner, it was a living hell. Imagine it. A gaunt, skinny boy picking up a huge steak with both hand, then tearing at it with his teeth and hand.

The reflection I saw in the mirror was reminiscent of Saturn devouring his son in a Goya painting.

Don’t even bother looking up what Saturn is eating; you’ll definitely regret it.

“There are a few ways to do it, luckily…”

Fortunately, the world I’d been sucked into was a medieval ‘fantasy’ world, so there were various means available to regenerate damaged nerves.

The first thing that sprang to mind was the artifact known as the [Wax Cells]. An artifact that granted the user the ability to regenerate from any wound, no matter how severe. Be it a severed arm, a lost leg, even a decapitation. The sight of those pearly white cells budding forth to replace the missing piece was so gruesome, it felt like a genre shift for the game.

‘The demerit is too high.’

As with most artifacts, the [Wax Cells] came with a significant drawback.

Namely, the body of the character who possessed the artifact would begin to melt if exposed to temperatures above a certain threshold.

Like ice cream under the swelter of a summer night.

Abominably so.

…It bears repeating, this game is brimming with utterly deranged artifacts.

The established strategy was to pair this artifact with a special suit of armor that granted ‘Flame Immunity.’

However, considering my disastrous physical attributes, even the task of draping heavy iron armor over my shoulders would be impossible, disqualifying this option.

Next, my thoughts drifted to the special scriptures commonly referred to in the community by the abbreviation, ‘SoShaltThouBloom.’

[So Shalt Thou Bloom Again]

SoShaltThouBloom for short.

When I first heard the abbreviation, I thought, ‘Sounds like an incantation a voodoo tribe would use to raise zombies.’

‘But it was a book that actually brought the dead back to life.’

Or rather, ‘a healing prayer potent enough to resurrect the deceased,’ but potato, potahto, right?

The standard prayers of clerics had limited effect on areas ‘incapable of natural healing,’ such as severed limbs or damaged neural circuits.

Because the prayers of clerics, after all, were concepts meant to accelerate ‘natural healing.’

No matter how diligently a cleric prayed over someone with a severed arm, all it would do is encourage flesh and skin to grow, covering the wound and stemming further bleeding, but a new arm would not sprout.

However, the verses contained within the special scriptures of [So Shalt Thou Bloom Again] held the power to completely restore the subject’s wounds.

Severed arms, legs—all could be reborn with this prayer!

……Of course, the head, too!

‘What a veritable treasure trove of madness.’

What’s more, this scripture paled in comparison to [Honeycomb Cells]. Barely any demerits.

Only two uses allowed, that’s all.

You might think, for a scripture that can resurrect the dead, what’s such a restriction? But, alas, the world is rarely so accommodating.

[Thus, ye shall sprout anew], this particular scripture can be acquired from an ancient church nestled deep within a special region called the ‘Archipelago Mist’.

Are the countless monsters teeming within the Archipelago Mist a problem, you ask?

Nay.

The monsters weren’t even high level. Mid-40s to late-50s at best?

I, who have fought and triumphed against a Demon Lord, would I now find level 40 and 50 monsters troublesome?

The monsters within the Archipelago Mist are not of great concern.

The real problem is finding the ‘Archipelago Mist’ in the first place.

The Archipelago Mist reveals itself anywhere on the continent.

It could materialize on the battlefield in the northern reaches of the continent, where the Demon King and the Sword Saint are locked in a stalemate, or it could eerily rise from the warehouse of the Miles family, who’ve been fishing for eight generations down in the southern continent.

Thus, the Archipelago Mist appears and disappears haphazardly across the continent without any rhyme or reason.

Its size is arbitrary, and the time it remains is just as capricious.

Transcending space is commonplace, and sightings in different regions simultaneously are abundant.

This mist might remain stationary where it first bloomed, or, on another day, wander the continent at speeds of dozens of kilometers per hour from its initial location, so most players in the game don’t intentionally seek out the Archipelago Mist.

The Archipelago Mist is… what should I say, to the players it was less a ‘region’ and more akin to a sudden event.

If, by chance, the Archipelago Mist passed near your character, you might venture in; otherwise, you might never see it throughout your entire playthrough.

I’ve poured four thousand hours into games, yet I can count on one hand the times I’ve actually ventured into the Archipelago Mist.

‘Like searching for a needle in the desert.’

That’s how rare and unpredictable the ‘Archipelago Mist’ is.

But… what other choice do I have?

Search for the needle, or become a waxwork man, it’s one or the other.

‘The rumors must be spreading by now.’

Of course, I have no intention of personally bending my back, sifting through sand.

I had money, more than enough to solve most of the world’s problems, and time, plenty of it, to spend that money.

And with enough money and time?

There’s no problem in this world you can’t solve.

I’d already asked my servant to spread the word among the black market operators, brokers, fixers – the underworld types – that ‘an absurdly wealthy man is showing an interest in the Archipelago Mist.’

Information is something those who dwell in the ‘underworld’ naturally hold close.

Since ‘information’ is directly linked to their earnings.

To find worthwhile jobs, they absolutely must have high-quality information. A fixer without that informational edge, no matter how skilled, would have all the good jobs snatched away by others, ending up with empty pockets – that was the order of things in that world.

By now, those with information on the ‘Archipelago Mist,’ and the skills to use it, should be starting to make contact.

These are people living in a harsh freelance world, with no secure retirement or reverse mortgage to rely on. They can’t simply ignore the chance to hear about information that could mean a fortune…

Thump! Thump!

As I was pondering the sad reality of life for freelancers in the underworld, I heard a noise, the sound of someone knocking on the window.

I lowered my hand that had been rubbing my eyelids and looked at the window where the sound came from.

There, a girl with striking red eyes pressed her forehead against the window, peering around the room.

“Ah, there it is!”

Our eyes met.

“Could you open the window for just a moment? I need to ask something.”

She beamed, her smile as bright as a child who’d just stumbled upon a four-leaf clover, as she spoke to me. A pair of pointed canines peeked out between her smiling lips.

The words ‘Dracula’ or ‘Vampire’ could not have better suited her appearance.

If such beings truly existed in this world, I would have, without a moment’s hesitation, grabbed a crucifix and some garlic and fled out the door.

“Excuse me—is this General Bin’s room? Just answer that for me, please?”

The girl spoke like this, her cheek pressed tightly against the clear window. Her voice was as light as if she were calling a friend’s name from outside their house.

“…This is the third floor?”

I couldn’t help but deliver a line straight out of a second-rate horror comic.

Because my room *is* really on the third floor.

I said it was the third floor because it *is* the third floor.

Yes, this is the third floor… wait.

What is this.

Who are you.

“Well, they wouldn’t let me in at the front gate because my identity was uncertain—no matter how much I said I’d heard a rumor and came looking, they wouldn’t believe me. So I just turned around and came here.”

The girl said this, and then, reaching behind her back, pulled out a bent piece of wire and inserted it into the crack of the window.

With deft movements, she turned the wire this way and that, and soon, the window lock smoothly disengaged.

Cool autumn air rushed in through the opened window, gently ruffling my hair.

“There it is! The room at the end of the third-floor hallway!”

“Move it! Assassin!”

“Madness, isn’t that General Bin’s chamber?!”

The wind sang, and from below, the soldiers’ clamorous shouts arose.

I couldn’t fathom how to manage this chaos and glanced briefly at the girl.

“…General Bin’s chamber. Seems we’ve arrived at the right place, after all.”

*Thump!*

A young servant burst through my door. A slender rapier was in his hand.

“General, get away!”

He cried out, rushing forward without hesitation the moment he saw the girl with the crimson eyes.

“I formally introduce myself to the honorable General! Born of the back alleys! Raised by the back alleys! The pride of the back alleys! I am Zion!”

The girl with striking red eyes and fangs flashed a bright smile, raising her hand high as she loudly proclaimed her name.

In the girl’s raised fingertips was a guitar pick.

When did she take that again? I left that on the desk.

“I heard the rumors that the General is seeking information and escort regarding the Archipelago Mist, and I came straight here!”

The girl chirped brightly, engaging the servant’s onrushing blade. The rapier’s broken blade flashed, the steel grazing against my hair and impaling itself into the bedding.

The sound of tearing cloth and cotton resonated eerily behind me.

“Well then, I humbly ask for your consideration!”

A madwoman has invaded my chamber.