Chapter 15

Chapter 15
## Chapter 15: Demon Baron (1)

—

A small opening within a sunken woodland.

Sparks from the campfire leaped and hissed above the crackling timber. Although dusk had settled, the gentle warmth of the departing spring lingered in the air. Insects that had survived the frost as small larvae celebrated the mild evening with a chorus of rhythmic chirping.

Duncan sat near the flames, engrossed in a bizarre reconstruction project. Nearby, Kadim—having just cleansed the grime and gore from his skin in a local creek—watched him with a hollow expression.

“Have you finished sorting through it, shopkeeper?”

“Ah, nearly… It’s almost complete, sire. But truly, where did you come across this? The parchment has such a peculiar odor, and why is it covered in this… slime?”

“Disguise.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“I sliced open the belly of the bandit captain and retrieved it from his gut. He claimed I could keep it if I had the stomach to take it. So, I did.”

“…!”

Duncan fought back a sudden surge of nausea.

*‘At the very least, I wasn’t the one who had to reach inside…’*

He had been traveling alongside this savage lunatic for over twenty days now. The merchant’s perception of reality was slowly drifting away from anything resembling sanity.

“Haaa… I have managed to piece together the salvageable sections, my lord. Have a look.”

“…!”

A few fragments were fused beyond repair, but the chart Duncan had mended was clear enough to read. The illustrations and scribbled annotations aligned perfectly with the dying confession of the bandit leader.

Leaning his back against a jagged boulder, Kadim spoke.

“It appears Molden is besieged by several hundred troops.”

“…Is that so?”

“It seems likely. That thief wasn’t spinning a tale after all.”

Duncan rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward gesture.

“Because you decimated those two bandit camps, my lord, we have more than enough rations and drink to sustain us. We were forced to abandon the majority of it simply because of the weight. However, we still haven’t located the superior blade you require…”

“…!”

It was a grim fact.

The majority of the weaponry used by the outlaws was either rusted through or poorly fashioned. The only worthwhile acquisitions were a handful of balanced throwing knives. They had barely managed to secure the dwarf-made axe, and Kadim had no intention of relinquishing it.

Furthermore, a different thought was gnawing at his mind.

*‘The Demon Baron…’*

That was the moniker given to Lord Molden by the bandit chief.

Three centuries ago, there had been various noblemen who bore such titles. Usually, they hadn’t actually signed pacts with hellish entities; the name was typically a result of their brutal exploitation of the peasantry.

However, in this case, a rival lord had used that specific label as a justification for an invasion. If it were merely a hollow excuse for internal conflict, the Emperor would likely have intervened. There had to be a more convoluted layer to the situation.

*‘If the man is truly in league with a demon, why has the Elga Church remained silent, leaving it to another noble to take action…?’*

It was a riddle he couldn’t solve in isolation. Kadim shared the full extent of the bandit’s testimony with Duncan.

Upon hearing the details, Duncan tilted his head and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“The ‘Demon Baron,’ you say… I recall hearing that name once or twice in passing…”

“…!”

“…It wasn’t due to tyranny or some unholy pact. I once shared an ale with a trader from Molden who spoke of his home with great affection, calling it a wonderful place to reside. A merchant wouldn’t say such things if their lord was a greedy monster, would they?”

Kadim slowly shook his head. Such a story was no evidence of a lack of demonic influence.

Greater demons craved human agony and hopelessness above all else. And such suffering was relative. A man who had known only poverty might not despair at a missed meal, but if you fed him like a king for a decade and then cast him into starvation, he would know the true meaning of misery.

Thus, the most manipulative demons would often grant humans a season of ultimate joy before dragging them into the pits of hell.

*‘A desolate frontier territory overrun by outlaws and beasts, yet considered a paradise…? Perhaps it is precisely because of a demon’s favor…’*

He cut the thought short.

Without proof, it was all conjecture. Whether the lord was a servant of a demon or not, both possibilities remained on the table. That was the only logical stance.

Kadim tilted his canteen and lapsed into silence.

*‘The remaining supply of blood… just enough for one final draught.’*

He could not simply bypass Molden. But the prospect of cutting through a battalion of hundreds with a single blade and one sip of power was a daunting one.

“Er… my lord? Might I ask a question…”

The merchant’s hesitant voice broke his focus. Kadim offered a cold, silent stare. Taking the lack of a rebuff as consent, Duncan spoke with caution.

“Yesterday, when we first encountered the outlaws, did you not refer to yourself as the ‘Atala’s Great Warrior’?”

“…!”

“I-I don’t claim to be an expert, but… who exactly holds that rank? Is it reserved for the most legendary combatants among the followers of Atala…?”

“…What is the purpose of your inquiry?”

“N-No reason, truly… It is just that I know Agon’s Furious Horn travels the lands calling himself ‘Atala’s Great Warrior’ as well. I never realized anyone other than that famous mercenary would dare claim the title… Eek!”

Heat flared in Kadim’s gaze. Cowering from the sudden intensity, Duncan raised his hands and pulled back.

‘Atala’s Great Warrior’ was not a mere boastful nickname for a skilled sellsword. It was a holy designation given to a single soul: the champion chosen by the God of Wilderness and Struggle specifically to execute a high demon.

Only that individual possessed the authority to sever the life-thread of a true demon.

Just as the sky could not hold two suns, there could not be two ‘Atala’s Great Warriors’ in existence at once.

The probability was split. Either this Agon’s Furious Horn was an insolent fool using a title he didn’t understand, or…

*‘…Atala has stricken me from memory and anointed a new Great Warrior.’*

Three centuries had elapsed. He was uncertain of the extent of the gods’ omniscience in this era, but if they had lost track of his existence, appointing a successor was a logical move.

Yet, logical understanding did not quell his fury.

Forgotten by time and discarded by his own deity? Rage simmered within him like molten rock. Was he merely a tool, to be swapped out when convenient? Had that wretched Atala already erased the memory of how he had endured the brink of madness to execute the great demon?

And this supposed successor was ignoring the duty of hunting demons, instead chasing coin and reputation in the fighting pits…

*‘…I will butcher him if our paths cross.’*

It wasn’t a threat directed solely at the arena star. It was a defiant, blasphemous challenge to the God of Wilderness and Struggle itself.

It was fortunate that his blessings, such as ‘The One Who Sharpens Names,’ remained active; without that tether, Kadim might have succumbed to an even darker sacrilege.

*Thump-thump-thump.* His pulse raced with violent intent. An impulse to destroy everything around him clawed at his mind. The mild evening air did nothing to soothe his burning blood. Kadim stood up without a word.

Duncan, fearing for his life, pressed himself into the dirt.

“P-Please, have mercy for my ignorance, my lord! I vow never to pry into your history again! Just grant me this one reprieve…”

“…Stand up. You have done nothing wrong.”

“…Eh?”

“Return to the stream. While I am away, devise a strategy for us to enter Molden undetected.”

“…!”

Duncan stared at the barbarian in stunned silence. Kadim turned with a cold indifference and disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Long after his massive frame had been swallowed by the night, Duncan remained rooted to the spot.

Their path led to Molden.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

Inside a crumbling shack. Specks of dust swirled through the air. A single candle on a scarred table highlighted the layers of ancient dirt. It also cast long, sharp shadows across the face of an unexpected late-night guest.

She was a woman who seemed entirely out of place in such squalor.

It wasn’t just her shimmering gold hair, which appeared untouched by the road, or her vibrant green eyes. It was her polished plate armor, engraved with a ten-pointed star, and the magnificent blade hanging at her hip.

The peasant woman living there couldn’t even bring herself to meet the guest’s eyes. Shaking like a leaf, she clenched her hands together and whispered in a fragile voice.

“Truly, no travelers have come through our village of late. N-No trouble either… just the usual injuries from the fields…”

Arch Paladin Helia Munel of the Elga Church steepled her gloved fingers and shifted her gaze upward.

Then, with a voice like iron, she repeated her query.

“Are you prepared to swear before the glorious Lord of Light, Elga, that there is not a single lie in your testimony?”

“…!”

“Can you make that oath?”

The villager’s shoulders twitched. Yet, she did not confess, offering only a small, jerky nod of her head.

She was trapped. After the barbarian had slain the demons and the goblins, he had left them with a terrifying ultimatum.

*‘If anyone comes searching for me, you tell them nothing. Not a word about me, and not a word about the demons. If anyone breaks this silence, I will come back and wipe this village off the map.’*

‘…’

The memory of that freezing voice was still fresh. The high-ranking paladin in front of her seemed less frightening than the threat of that distant mercenary.

Helia rested her jaw on one hand, her other hand tapping rhythmically against the wood.

“Peculiar. All the indicators suggest our quarry traveled this way. You are certain no one crossed your borders?”

“Y-Yes, lady paladin… I swear by Elga, no sellsword or traveler…”

“I never specified that our target was a sellsword.”

A sharp, heavy silence fell.

The air grew cold within the dusty room. Her emerald eyes seemed to bore into the woman’s panic. The villager lowered her head until it nearly touched the floor, her skin turning the color of ash.

Just as the paladin’s fingers brushed against the hilt of her blade—

“Aaaaaagh!! Stop, please! Nooooo!!!”

A sudden, piercing shriek of pain tore through the silence of the hut.

The woman jumped in terror. Helia narrowed her eyes and stood up with measured grace.

“…What was that sound?”

“N-Nothing! It is nothing for you to worry over, paladin!”

“It came from that room. Step aside.”

Helia brushed the woman out of her path and stepped into the small side chamber.

A young child lay there, bound tightly with thick ropes on a straw mat. Her face was twisted in a mask of pain, her small frame writhing. Helia recognized the symptoms immediately. She knew exactly what caused such a violent reaction.

“A demonic possession. A severe one.”

“No, no! It is merely a sickness she has had since birth! She has these fits often! It is nothing, I promise!”

Regardless of the mother’s pleas, the child’s agony increased.

“Kuh… hukk, gaaah… Urgh, grrr…”

She began to choke, white froth appearing at her lips. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her limbs jerked spasmodically. Her muscles locked tight, her spine arching in a grotesque, unnatural curve.

Helia walked forward slowly, her eyes shining with the intent to cleanse. The woman tried to grab onto the Arch Paladin, but her strength was nothing compared to the holy warrior’s trained physique.

However, Helia had no desire to hurt the girl.

Quite the contrary.

“[Lord of Light, who scattered the first shadows and granted us eternal radiance, show mercy to this soul stained by the heart-demon, currently lost in the pit. In the name of Him who rises like a flame in the dark, I bless this small lamb.]”
⟨ Exorcism of Light ⟩

*Woooong—!*

A brilliant explosion of white light filled the room like a miniature sun. Radiant energy poured from the paladin’s outstretched palm. It washed over the child with a gentle warmth, like a mother cradling an infant. The holy heat filled every corner of the cramped room.

Gradually, the child’s shaking slowed. The violent fit passed as if by magic. The girl let out a long, tired breath and drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber, looking like a child exhausted after a day of laughter.

The mother stared, her jaw hanging open in disbelief.

“Th-This… This is a miracle…”

“The child is now free from the heart-demon the monster left behind. From this moment forth, through all eternity, her soul shall never again be plagued by the whispers of the abyss.”

“Ah, thank you… thank you…”

Overwhelmed with awe, the woman fell to her knees.

The heavy weight of fear and her own lies evaporated. She was filled with a sense of divine joy and relief. Her tears soaked the floorboards as she offered her soul-deep gratitude to the Lord of Light for sending a savior to her humble door.

“…!”

It was over in an instant.

*Whoosh—crack!*

A line of fire sliced through the dim light.

“…What?”

*Thump…* A small, round object rolled across the floor.

The woman’s expression was one of total confusion. She was still bowed low, so why had her sleeping daughter’s head rolled all the way to her knees?

Wiping the blade and returning it to its sheath, Helia spoke.

“However, a lamb that has been tainted by such darkness cannot be permitted to live. Even those who have been rescued must offer their physical life as a final sacrifice to Him to truly wash away their corruption.”

“…Ah, no.”

“Do not weep, woman. I cleansed the demon from her heart before I took her life. Because of that, your child can now reside forever in the halls of Elga.”

“Aaaah, uaaaaagh!!!”

The woman threw herself forward with a primal scream. Helia stopped her with effortless strength.

*Whoosh—!*

“…And yet, you are not a heretic, for you did not break the oath you swore in Elga’s name.”

Her emerald eyes glowed with the fire of a fanatic.

Holding the glowing, heated edge of her sword against the woman’s throat, Helia issued a command that froze the blood.

“Vile non-believer. If you do not wish to spend eternity screaming in the void, tell me the truth: which way did that demon go?”