by Ink Bamboo
Against all odds, Zaros seemed to have come out as the victor. It didn’t take long for him to open his eyes as he realized everything was over. In his mind, he still had a vague memory of what had happened inside Noelle’s soul domain. Yet unlike his times inside Amro’s domain, he wasn’t able to recollect anything that happened in detail. The only vivid part of it was Amro releasing him from that realm as he took control of the situation.
He glanced at Michael, releasing himself from the priest’s arms. “It’s over,” he said.
Michael stared at him with a myriad of questions in his eyes. ‘Just how did you achieve it,’ his gaze seemed to ask. He didn’t want to admit it, but a young boy having stronger mental resilience than his old partner was a thought he didn’t want to accept.
Zaros approached Slyfox’s rotting body before cradling the former gang boss in his arms. To Michael’s surprise, Slyfox opened his eyes as well, a small amount of vitality still left in them.
“Huh, you somehow did it, boy,” he said. “I saw everything.”
Zaros didn’t answer and only nodded; he seemed to have realized that Slyfox didn’t have more than a few seconds left. Now that he no longer had anyone supplying the mana his undead-self needed to function, his body would start collapsing before eventually releasing whatever was left of his soul.
“I have a small request,” Slyfox said in a volume too low for anyone else to hear. “Please leave. Being bound to that bitch made me realize some things about you. Your presence here will only bring my men more damnation.”
Zaros understood the underlying meaning behind his words. While Slyfox wasn’t blaming him directly, he was reminding him of his involvement in this invasion. It was his presence that had brought this calamity onto this town. Even Amro had tried to have him leave.
“I will,” Zaros promised. After all that had happened, he knew they would be better off without him.
Just like that, without knowing whether his words had been able to reach Slyfox, Zaros saw him breathe his last. Zaros could only close the man’s hollow eyes after placing him back to the ground.
“I’m leaving,” said Zaros to Michael.
The priest was momentarily surprised. Why was he leaving now? There were many things he still wanted to ask. Like the boy’s origins, or why Bernard and Noelle seemed to be so interested in him.
“I’d like you to come to the capital with me,” admitted Michael. He needed to request at least this much for his church. “There are many things about this attack I need to discuss with you.”
“I can’t help but refuse,” answered Zaros. “I do, however, have a request of my own. Give him and everyone from the slums a proper funeral. There should be sufficient gold to pay for it inside that building.”
“I know being a Chosen must be hard,” offered Michael. “But I’ll have to report your existence to my church.”
“Do what you must, just accomplish that request of mine,” said Zaros as he turned away. He didn’t understand the implications of the title Michael and Amro had given him, nor the trouble this would bring him in the future.
With his biggest regret being handled by Michael, he disappeared from everyone’s sight. The priest couldn’t afford to chase after him. Not only was he unable to catch him, there were still many who needed his assistance.
He reminds me of that self-righteous brat, he thought, recalling the silhouette of another Chosen.
✽✽✽
Zaros sat on top of the roof of the church of Harvest, shrouded by a black cloak. The memories he made during his stay at this town would forever remain with him. In the last month, he had experienced many struggles with just as many opportunities to grow.
His choices had paved his own path, bringing him closer to his goal. However, he couldn’t stay here forever. Regardless of his intentions, his choices had caused too much damage to those of this town. It was a burden he wasn’t yet ready to carry.
He realized his subordinates would live just as well as they were doing now without him. Thinking otherwise was nothing but arrogance, he now realized that. He couldn’t help but have some lingering worries, but he knew time and experience would take care of those.
From atop the church, he saw Alexander and Maria carefully treating the injured, helping those who were still alive.
Farewell, he thought. I hope to meet you all again in the future.
Zaros departed from the town, shrouded by the night. The only words he left behind for his subordinates were written in a small envelope he left back at their base.
He felt a lingering attachment to this place, to his newfound friends. However, it was time to continue his journey, for there were still many things he felt chained to. The tragic fate that had been forced onto his villagers even after their deaths had reminded him of his one true goal – revenge.
Epilogue
Wanted.
What a bothersome task, a man thought to himself. His long, black jacket was covered in insignias that denoted the man’s ranking in the Kingdom’s army, as well as his familiarity with bureaucracy. However, the elegance his uniform could convey was betrayed by his disheveled appearance. His brown eyes had bags under them and his black and short messy hair made his annoyance towards this task evidently clear.
After the 22nd Division’s captain went MIA, he was assigned a mission to visit the and find him. His mission details didn’t provide much information as to why his fellow captain was so far away from the capital, but the rumors unofficially spoke of the man in question receiving an extermination mission that had to be carried out in secret. As luck would have it, these same rumors stated that he had decided to become a deserter because of the mission’s gruesome contents.
Much to his annoyance, an additional task had been piled on his shoulders. There was a report from the local nobles that there was rebel activity in the south. They swore the rebels sent a child as an envoy to convince the local citizens to revolt against the regional powers.
How moronic, he though.
He would have wanted to overlook such remarks. Unfortunately for him, the royal family had caught notice of them. The stance they took was surprising, to say the least. It seemed like the war in the northern border made those reclusive royals feel afraid of any additional uprisings. Much to his annoyance, Kleiber was forced to take the mission.
That’s why he was now on his way to the south. Tasked to find a missing captain, and deal with a troublesome child.
I really need a vacation, he thought to himself. At times like this, I can’t blame the deserters.
The man in question was the proud captain of the Kingdom’s 10th Division. The fact that this was the best use of manpower the kingdom could find for him made the situation rather depressing. If anything, it was a sign of the kingdom's decline.
Years ago, he became a general blessed by Altea, the Goddess of Wisdom. How was it that now, his skills were used as nothing more than an information gathering tool? This was a task best suited to someone like that annoying woman hidden away in the 7th Division, the one he so despised.
However, it was too late for complaints. Their destination was already visible on the horizon. If there was something he couldn’t wait for, it was getting down from his carriage. The long periods of shaking had left Kleiber’s legs feeling numb. If he got wind of which logistics officer had been responsible for assigning him such an annoying means of transportation, he would make sure they got an equally annoying earful.
*Knock knock*
“Sir, we have arrived,” spoke a voice from outside the carriage.
Finally, he thought to himself. Another minute and I would have flipped my shit.
As he got out of his torture chamber, Kleiber was finally able to see the rotting southern part of the kingdom. The joke of a town that was supposed to responsible for developing the kingdom in the royalty’s name. It was sufficient to say that before such a goal had been accomplished, the civil war to the north had made all development stop.
All in all, the town now felt desolate and barren. Yet somehow, Kleiber believed the atmosphere was a little too much even for this town. That left the captain with a couple questions of his own.
“Hey, squire. Just what happened here?” he asked. As a captain, he was used to delegating annoying tasks like information gathering to his subordinates.
“Sir, we’re currently asking the locals about it. From what we can gather, the water wells were poisoned shortly before an attack by a group of feral undead.”
“Undead? In this part of the kingdom? There’s no way that’s true. Those imbeciles from the Church of Death don’t have the manpower to waste in such a small town.”
“Sir, we tried calling over some surviving nobles and staff from the church in order to confirm this information. However, it seems like they’re currently too busy handling the aftermath to come.”
“Fine, we can just go to the church and meet them there if they’re so busy,” Kleiber said, rubbing his shoulders. The faster he was done with this, the faster he could go back to his main task. After all, his mission was to search for the kid and the missing captain, not to deal with some stuck-up nobles and the equally irritating clergymen.
It didn’t take long for him to arrive at the local church. The temple to the Goddess of Harvest was fitting to their deity’s image. Just like the poor crop yield in recent years, the place left much to desire.
“I need whoever is in charge of this place to step forward!” he commanded after entering the church.
A black-haired priest with bags under his eyes was the one to answer his call. From how his robes looked, he was not a follower of the Goddess of the Harvest.
“Don’t mess with me,” said Kleiber. “What is a priest of life doing so far away from the capital? I thought your kind only worked where the money’s at.”
“Captain Kleiber, I presume. We were told you might come sometime soon.”
“Cut to the chase, cleric. What happened in this town?” Kleiber asked.
“Please, call me Michael,” said the priest in a relatively calm fashion. “It’s a long story, so would you mind having a seat?”
Realizing his rashness would take him nowhere, Kleiber had no choice but to sit with Michael and discuss his mission over a cup of tea. Despite his exhaustion, the priest did his best effort to play the role of a proper host.
“So, you want me to believe a thirteen-year-old Chosen appeared in a backwater town?” asked Kleiber. “And this kid is the same one from the portrait I showed you?”
“Indeed, that’s the case,” answered the priest.
“And you let this kid go because…”
“I had no way to hold him back. I’m afraid I was outclassed,” said Michael.
“Your kind doesn’t travel solo. What happened to your traveling companion?”
The priest’s expression grew sour. “He’s dead. Killed off by that woman I told you about.”
“And yet the kid was able to defeat her?”
“Like I said, he outclassed us.”
“So, were you able to confirm the boy’s relationship to the rebels?”
“No. But neither was I able to find any evidence pointing toward the contrary. When my partner and I arrived at the city, we heard the boy had been creating quite the storm. He even executed a small-time noble in public daylight.”
“The slave-trader, right?”
Michael only nodded. His throat had grown dry from answering the endless barrage of questions. Despite the nature of these questions, he had been able to grasp some information for himself. For example, the captain before him seemed to be believe there was a relationship between the appearance of the boy, the apostles of death and the disappearance of an army’s captain.
Organizing the information in his mind, the priest took a sip of his tea before continuing the conversation. “Would that be all then, captain?”
“I guess so, cleric,” answered Kleiber. He wasn’t fond of the Church of Life nor their priests. The way he saw it, the clergy from that church always behaved as if they were above the rest – his Church of Wisdom included. Since they sported that behavior, rivalry was bound to happen. Even amongst fellow believers.
“I wish you good tidings then,” said Michael as he stood from his seat. He had enough things on his plate to bother with the captain any further.
After sending some pigeons to report the situation to his church, Michael had been thoroughly reprimanded for not gathering enough information about the Chosen. As punishment, he was tasked with aiding this small town, relieved of all his other duties until further notice.
“Captain, where to next?” asked the squire.
“Contact the capital. I want posters placed in every city, town, village and even inside the smallest settlements. That kid is our top priority. It seems like the rebels got themselves a good weapon in the making.”
“And what about the issue with the church of death, captain?”
“That’s a matter for the churches to deal with. Given that our target actually killed a couple of apostles, I don’t think he has a good relationship with them.”
“Understood, captain,” replied the squire. He was writing Kleiber’s words on a piece of parchment in preparation to inform the capital of his orders. “Any information on the missing captain?”
“No, we’re going south for that. Tell HQ we’ll be updating them later regarding that issue.”
“Roger that, sir.”
How bothersome, thought Kleiber. It seemed like the northern campaign was about to get even more lively.
Side story
The dusk of the gods.
Sitting in a hall of gold, a group of worshipers were singing praises to their god. Their ceremonial robes were immaculate, further enhancing their aura of battle-hardened veterans. Scenes like this could be found every day in the temple of the God of Battle, Kovas. Even if he wasn’t as great as the God of War, the minor deity still had a sizeable following of his own. One that incited the envy of many others.
The spoils of battle accrued by his followers amounted to many small mountains of gold, silver, and gems. However, the favorite type of tribute that the God of Battle sought was in the shape of weapons. Be it an enchanted spear, a sword used to kill a famous general, or the first weapon of a so-called hero. Each and every offering would reap many rewards in return.
Every sunset, a battle would be carried in front of the temple. Two volunteers would be selected from the guilds, towns or cities to be placed into a ferocious one-on-one fight. Only one of them would remain alive.
The victor would always be rewarded by a blessing from Kovas. Skills, strength, and potential, all were within his domain. As such, victors were usually offered a position in the armies of famous commanders. The blessing of the God of Battle was seen as a sign of luck to any battalion who rode into war.
Two fighters stood against each other. One of them was a young man wearing farmer’s clothes. He had given it his all in an attempt to overcome his fate. Alas, he was covered in wounds. Mangled flesh hung from each of his sides.
The other was a young man wearing a military uniform. The lack of insignias revealed he was a rookie. But even that little amount of training made a world of difference. All he had was a small wound on his arm, evidence of a desperate bite taken by his opponent.
Priests sang hymns to their god as both of them punched and kicked each other. Feints and trickery were not above them, as both sought nothing but victory. Even at the cost of the other’s life.
Finally, the young farmer revealed a gap in his moves, caused by the loss of blood. His senses had grown dull, presenting an opportunity to his opponent. No matter how much he desired for victory, his ability fell short of his wishes.
Seeing the farmer stumble back, the recruit used his elbow to knock the air out of him. Things like mercy and fairness were nothing short of delusions in a life or death duel. Once the unfortunate peasant was on the ground, the trainee’s knee fell onto his
throat.
With time, the recruit kept punching the farmer’s head, turning it into a bloody mess. Displays of insanity and bloodthirst were usually well received by the priests. Their creed told them that such qualities were useful for battle.
Because of that, everyone watched in delight until the recruit rose to his feet. The young farmer was now dead. Only the victor remained.
“Come.”
Upon confirming the farmer’s death, a priest approached the recruit, covering him with a crimson robe embroidered in golden patterns. He then proceeded to guide him victor into the inner temple. Since there was no longer a show for them to watch, the crowd around the fighters started to disperse.
The ceremony was something only the priests and the victor were allowed to attend. As a procession of robed men chanted hymns to their god, the recruit and the priest leading him entered the temple, making their way into the ceremonial hall.
The newcomer was in awe. Each of the decorations in the room used to receive him was enough to feed him and his family for the rest of their lives. The greed in his eyes was only contained by the fear he held towards Kovas and his church. Anyone caught stealing was better off dead. At least that way, their soul wouldn’t have to endure a millennium of punishment.
Amazed by the decor, he followed the priest until they reached a gigantic statue. It depicted a tall man who carried a broadsword in his right hand and a shield in his left. On his back was a simple but sturdy bow and on his waist and thighs were daggers of all kinds. The recruit fell to his knees, completely in awe of the statue. It seemed to exert a heavenly pressure over him, making him feel like a worm in front of a mountain.
The priests smiled at young boy’s submission. They had seen this scene hundreds of times before, but they never grew tired of it. They had yet to see a mortal who could stand against the imposing presence of their god.