Rustle —
Inside the storage vault, there was neither excessive luxury nor any trace of familiar mundanity. On both sides of the dim passage stretched long rows of shelves, upon which rested objects of every conceivable shape. Yet even on close inspection, it was difficult to make them out. Their surfaces were covered in countless layers of sealing techniques, leaving only blurred outlines visible. Levain let out a quiet groan.
— ...What a grim atmosphere.
Ryan nodded in agreement, rubbing the goosebumps that had risen on his arms.
— Not the most pleasant place.
And those were not empty words.
The storage vault of the King of Flame. Its origin, like almost everything connected to the Society of Holy Flame, was stained with blood.
The Society had burned down the lairs of countless heretical gods, punished religious groups, and confiscated an immeasurable number of “sacred relics.” These objects were soaked in the blood and tears spilled throughout those purges.
— I heard most of the captured relics were sent to the continent as offerings to evil gods...
Levain reached out and touched the glass of a display case. Dust remained on his fingers.
— How did these things stay in the mortal world? And in the private holdings of the King of Flame, no less?
Ryan briefly retold what he had heard from Gunther.
— They say the King of Flame pocketed them on purpose.
— ...Pocketed them? The head of the Society of Holy Flame stole from the Society itself?
— He was planning betrayal. Preparing a way out and stuffing his own pockets.
That was why the King of Flame had wandered through Border City in the state of a living corpse.
— ...So, apostasy from the faith.
At some point, the King of Flame had become deeply disillusioned with the Luthien Theocracy and began searching for a way to escape. This storage vault had been his capital. He had planned to use the stolen relics as bargaining chips in a deal with another nation in exchange for asylum.
But just before the plan could be carried out, his betrayal was exposed. The price had been the annihilation of his entire family. They said his wife had also died then — the deputy head of the Society, who had created [Flame of Eternal Torment] together with him. Ryan finished the story with a short sigh.
— And they died at the hands of his own subordinates in the Society.
— That’s... pretty bitter. Monstrous bastards.
Levain’s face twisted. That battle in which he had lost his commander... it was there that he had realized just how horrifyingly persistent those monsters really were.
But this was a story of a different order. The act of slaughtering even the family of a superior with whom they had eaten from the same pot for decades vividly showed just how far these people were from the concept of “human.”
— Just one bunch of villains tearing into another, that’s all, — Ryan muttered as he counted the relics.
There were around ten of them. Every single one was such a powerful artifact that it could become the foundation of an entirely new faith across a whole region. The head of the Society had personally selected them as the “price of exile.” There was no room to doubt their value. Anticipation involuntarily flared in the eyes of both Ryan and Levain.
— Well then... shall we remove the protections?
Ryan inserted the key into the recess at the center of the vault. Then, following exactly the order Gunther had explained, he began carrying out the complex manipulations of the mechanism step by step.
Click —
Clack —
Hummmmmm —
The force surrounding the barrier began to disperse, and the aura of the sleeping relics swelled like a wave. At the same time, the true forms of the objects began to emerge behind the glass displays. Levain instinctively held his breath.
— My God...
Before joining the organization, he had been a scholar and a tomb raider. He had wandered through countless ruins and encountered artifacts from all manner of beliefs, so he recognized some of them instantly.
— That’s the “Fist of Hepros”... no, wait. Is that the “Pendulum of Twilight Judgment”?
— ...You know these things?
— Know them? — Levain laughed at the absurdity of the question. — If we sold these in Border City, each of us could afford several houses in the Upper City. Huge mansions with pools.
— Uh...? Seriously?
— Yes. Even if we simply returned them to their original gods, they’d offer an enormous reward. Damn it, Gunther... he seriously just trusted us with the keys to a warehouse packed with treasures like these?
Ryan gave a slight shrug.
— Well, Gunther trusts me one hundred percent.
— That’s... enviable.
After that, the erudite Levain began making his rounds among the relics, explaining the significance of each one, while Ryan, quickly getting swept up in the excitement, started pointing here and there.
— What about this? Do you know this one too?
— That is......
Levain’s uninterrupted stream of explanations broke off for a moment. He narrowed his eyes at the object Ryan had pointed to.
— I’ve never seen anything like this before.
It was a pair of gloves. Their design was so pitifully plain and simple that they seemed better suited for the stall of a street vendor than a secret vault. There was not a single clue that could hint at their nature, nor did they give off any particularly distinct aura. Ryan and Levain exchanged glances.
— Could this be it?
— A relic of an Ancient God... it looks like it.
They had found the exact “Ancient God relic” Gunther had so desperately asked for. Both of them rejoiced silently and hurriedly began stuffing the remaining artifacts into the backpack.
— Sweep up everything!
Levain, returned to his original trade, looked immensely satisfied. After cramming the magic backpack to capacity, the two left the vault with pleased expressions. All that remained now was to return, arm their allies with these relics, and strike Luthien with their increased strength.
.
.
.
Hummmmmm — !
Deep in the very bottom of the bag, the gloves shoved there let out a faint vibration.
***
Head of the family Kylis never opened his mouth despite Krest’s unrelenting pressure.
— How foolish... you will definitely regret this.
The corners of Krest’s lips, restrained by suppressed anger, slowly stilled. A smile as cold as ice appeared on his face.
— It doesn’t matter. Once the repeated brainwashing begins, it will all be over, and yet you still insist on being stubborn. Aren’t you even curious what your daughter said before she died?
— ...Krest!
— Call for me when you change your mind. I advise you not to delay. Otherwise, your path into the afterlife will be full of unanswered questions.
Rustle —
Even after the sound of Krest’s footsteps faded, silence reigned in the dungeon for a while. Hatred and fury toward the traitor swirled through that stillness.
Blood flowed from Seril’s fist, which at some point had begun pounding against the wall. Kylis remained frozen with his eyes closed, like a stone statue. The knights of the Round Table were tactful. Instead of asking father and son what exactly Krest was searching for, they kept silent.
...Only Gunther was dying of curiosity.
“What is this ‘that’... What could it possibly be?”
Gunther noticed immediately. Even though Krest had tried to appear calm, furious impatience was boiling inside him. It looked as though he wanted to obtain it before Luthien could lay its hands on it at all costs. There were not many treasures a man like that would covet.
“A treasure the Barkel family is hiding this carefully...”
Unclear. However, there was one thing in which Gunther was already one step ahead of Krest. Namely...
“I think I know where it’s hidden.”
Gunther’s gaze darted toward the corner of the cell. In the dungeons beneath the inner Barkel castle, there was a secret dungeon. Any <Forgotten God> no-lifer knew that place. It was a mandatory route point when clearing the Kingdom of Valloren, because it was incredibly convenient for leveling swordsmanship skills there.
“In the story, only the head of the family knew of its existence and the way to enter.”
However, the lootable items there had never included anything outstanding. There should not have been an artifact there that Krest desired so desperately. While Gunther was buried in those tangled thoughts, the knights of the Round Table spoke again.
— ...In any case, it seems it’s true that the brainwashing will begin again.
Albern was the first to speak. His expression was unusually dark.
— Most likely, — Werner replied shortly and heavily. A long silence followed.
— Therefore... let’s kill ourselves before that happens.
Seril, whose hands were stained with blood, snapped his head up.
— Kill ourselves? Do you think anyone here doesn’t want to do that? Didn’t you hear that they’ll kill every resident of the estate if we do?
— Sacrifice the lesser for the greater.
At Werner’s cold words, Seril’s pupils trembled. Anger flared.
— The greater? The lesser? What exactly here is greater and what is lesser?
The last traces of politeness vanished. Seril sprang to his feet and moved toward Werner, his chains rattling. Werner’s eyes met his directly.
— Calm down, Seril. Calm down and listen.
— Werner...!
The voice was cold, but a fleeting sympathy flashed through it.
— ...Our heads contain far more information than those of ordinary citizens of the kingdom. Roen’s and Albern’s minds, having come from Laska Plain, are full of military secrets: troop deployments, supply routes, maneuver plans...
Werner closed his eyes and tapped a finger against his temple.
— And as for me, who served in intelligence, it goes without saying. Codes, contacts, blackmail on aristocrats. I know it all inside and out.
Seril stopped.
— If we undergo brainwashing and all those secrets pass to Luthien? It won’t stop with the residents of the Barkel lands. Far more citizens will die. We must kill ourselves before that.
At that moment, Roen, who had remained silent the entire time, slowly raised her head.
— The Seven Magnificences only affect brainwashing; it is absolutely certain that they cannot pull out anything beyond surface-level information. It seems Archbishop Masiu is responsible for details like that.
— ...What?
— If that weren’t the case, they would have had no reason to keep us alive.
Everyone found themselves listening to her firm, confident voice.
— Whether Masiu is brought here, or we are transported to him, it won’t be that simple. The kingdom will also begin to notice that something is wrong. Even if Krest keeps scheming, he won’t be able to hide it for long. There is a chance reinforcements will come. It’s too early to give up.
Therefore, what they had to do was resist the brainwashing as much as possible. And at the same time, pass on everything they had learned about the process.
Listening to this, Gunther secretly admired her. Roen Greints turned out to be a far more cool-headed and rational person than he had thought. However, her speech was interrupted for a completely unexpected reason.
— You really do see to the root of it.
Ah, fuck. Gunther froze in horror at the sound of his own mouth speaking by itself. What the hell was this?
— M-Mr. Moonless?
— Have you come to your senses?
This definitely did not feel like Remesia or anyone else controlling him. It felt as though his thoughts had been violently torn out into the open. It should not have been possible, but there came a strange sensation as if the brainwashing had partially loosened for a brief moment. Meanwhile, the knights reacted violently.
— I... I didn’t mishear that, did I?
— No, I heard it too. The way of speaking was strange and unpleasant, but that was definitely Mr. Moonless’s voice.
— A hero of that level could certainly resist the brainwashing for a moment.
The knights instantly crowded around the bars. They examined Gunther from every side, tilted their heads, and even tried peering beneath his armor, but... the result was disappointing.
— Damn it, if Mr. Moonless’s insight were with us, it would be a tremendous help.
Even Albern, who refused to give up hope and even poked Gunther in the cheek with a finger, eventually gave up and returned to his place after about ten minutes. Half-jokingly, he muttered:
— In a situation like this, the heir of the Holy Sword should appear already, shouldn’t he?
At that moment, there was no knightly etiquette or dignity left in Albern’s manner of speech. It was the same straightforward tone with which “friends” had once bantered with one another. The other knights could not hold back their chuckles either.
“The one who draws the Holy Sword.” A legend the children of Valloren had heard so many times that it had grown stale. In truth, the Holy Sword had last been drawn ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ more than a century ago. Werner, snickering, played along:
— Right, the legends said something like that. That any evil before the Holy Sword is doomed to vanish. I wonder if that includes brainwashing.
Albern nodded.
— Exactly. When darkness covers the continent, the one who draws the Holy Sword will save Valloren... That’s what is written in the Tablets.
— If we reason by contradiction, doesn’t that mean if the sword isn’t drawn, the kingdom can’t be saved?
— Ah, damn.
The knights joked among themselves, but Gunther did not hear a single word of their conversation. Only one word rang in his ears, striking him straight through the heart.
“...Tablets?”
The kingdom has Tablets too? And the knights of the Round Table know of their existence and contents? Gunther sharpened his hearing again, trying to catch what came next.
But at that moment—
Tap-tap —
Quiet footsteps sounded on the stairs. The timing could not have been worse.
Rem stood in the doorway. The knights fell silent and stared at her with furious eyes. The girl flinched slightly and carefully tugged at Gunther’s sleeve.
— Did you have fun? Now let’s go to the next stop, Gunther.
...No, I want to hang around here longer. The words rose all the way to his throat, but this time, unfortunately, his mouth did not open.
By the time “Gunther’s entertainment program,” prepared by Rem, came to an end, it was deep into the night. Rem escorted him to the VIP lounge. Even a clouded mind required rest, and drowsiness washed over Gunther.
Right before falling asleep, Gunther slowly replayed the information he had gathered that day in his mind and checked his preparations.
“Good, everything is going smoothly.”
Soon sleep claimed Gunther’s consciousness completely.
.
.
.
Pshhhhht —
Somewhere inside Barkel Castle, in the place Gunther had looked into before running out into the courtyard, a familiar summoning sound rang out.
[...Gunther, can you hear me?]
