Wandering Mercenary in an Open World

Chapter 103

It was a surprise to everyone when a land deed with the royal seal came out of the depths of the baron’s clothes, but that was all.

No one was tempted by a piece of paper soaked with sweat.

Neither Ruon, who didn’t care much about money, nor Kyle, who could get funds from each branch if he wanted to, were interested. But Colin was a bit unexpected. He had a realistic reason.

“You want me to take this when the baron is missing? And he’s a deserter? I’ll be arrested for sure. I need something more tangible than this paper scrap.”

So the land deed that the baron had hidden away was stuffed somewhere in Ruon’s bag.

No one knew if it would ever come out again or be forgotten.

By the time the group filled the hole with dirt and covered it with grass and branches, the crescent moon was faintly shining in the sky.

They entered the hut quietly so as not to wake up the old man and the child, and settled near the fireplace. They closed their eyes.

The sound of wild beasts howling in the distance was heard.

***

Ruon casually lifted a heavy bundle and loaded it onto the wagon. He dusted off his hands, and felt a gaze from below. It was Adley.

“Why?”

Instead of answering, the child smiled broadly and spread his arms. The old man was startled.

“Ad, Adley. Grandpa will do it instead…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Ruon grabbed the child’s armpits and lifted him up over his head.

Adley laughed hysterically at the height he had never experienced before. Considering Ruon’s height, it wasn’t that high, but he seemed fearless by nature.

“Do you like those guys?”

“Well, I’ve never seen anyone play with a child before… Well, Ruon has a surprisingly warm side to him.”

“Is, is that so?”

Colin and Kyle exchanged words, and the old man approached them with a limp.

“…Excuse me, sir.”

The old man’s polite words were a bit uncomfortable, but Kyle didn’t bother to lower his speech. He knew from his experience that it would make the other person more uncomfortable.

“Yes, sir.”

“I can’t accept this no matter how I think about it. You saved my life, and you even gave me some money.”

The old man offered a palm with a gold coin on it.

Then Colin glanced at Adley and answered.

“If you’re going to raise that brat, you’ll need more than that. Besides, he’s obviously got some northern blood in him, so people might not welcome him. You never know what might happen in the future, so just keep it.”

Kyle shrugged his shoulders.

“I think the same.”

The two of them said so much that the old man couldn’t refuse any more. He just bowed his head several times and expressed his gratitude.

“I’ll never forget this for the rest of my life. I’ll make sure that the child remembers you as he grows up.”

Soon after, the old man pulled the wagon and headed south, where the group had come from.

He was heading to Malmo. Ruon had told him that he could settle down easily if he mentioned their names and Coleman’s.

Then Adley, who was riding on the wagon, waved his fern-like hand vigorously at the three people who were getting smaller.

“Bye-bye!”

Ruon, who was watching him with his arms crossed, lightly raised his hand. The other two also waved their arms awkwardly.

As they watched the wagon disappear over the road, Colin muttered.

“I feel like I’ve become a good person for nothing. We just smashed a few scumbags’ heads…”

Ruon chuckled and stroked Caliban’s saddle. It was time to leave again.

“Let’s go, too.”

Kyle put the hammer handle on his shoulder and answered energetically.

“Let’s go!”

The group started walking northward without a word. At the edge of their sight, the snow-covered Clorinsis mountain range was faintly visible.

***

A wind that cut through the flesh, a frozen earth.

People called it the north, a cruel land where the weak became the fuel of the victors. Just for geographical reasons.

Did they know?

In the land that they despised as the land of barbarians, there was a corpse of a god who had lost his heavenly authority a long time ago.

The fallen god.

The only being that the barbarians, who hated the formless, revered and served. And in front of the giant tree that was now dying, four people stood side by side.

One of them was a huge man with a bizarre pattern on his face, dyed with red dye.

His name was Ka-Jigor.

“You’re late.”

At his words, the old man who was supporting his body with a cane opened his mouth.

“We are beings who live in an instant. Have patience.”

If the savages had seen this sight, they would have gone berserk. How dare someone with such a ragged beard call himself Jigor, the title of the great chieftain!

Normally, he would have been punished by having his eyes gouged out and his belly slit open, then left to suffer the agony of being devoured by hungry dogs in the dark.

But the great chieftain Ka-Jigor did not take any action, except for furrowing his brow.

That was an unusual reaction for someone with his fiery temper, and it was because the old man was no ordinary being.

The old man, who looked like he would fold in half with a light kick, was an ancient existence that had lurked in the shadows of history and time.

The great demon Beulron. That was his name.

Jigor endured the howling wind with unprecedented patience. But as time passed by, he felt the limit of his tolerance and turned his head with a fierce expression.

“Hey, pointy ears. Is your friend still not here?”

Then the middle-aged elf who stood on his left side answered with a faint smile.

“I’d appreciate it if you corrected that. My name is not pointy ears, but Quintuanus. If you find it too long, you can call me Quin.”

Jigor spat on the ground. His spit froze as soon as it touched the ground in the extreme cold.

“What a girly name.”

“Is that so? Interesting opinion, I’ll take note of it.”

Jigor’s brow twisted again at the elf’s smooth voice. He could not stand the sight of these outsiders, who were nothing but foreigners to him, acting so stiffly in front of him, who was like a living god in this land of snow.

He suppressed his urge to grab the axe handle that was covered with frost. The great demon and the damn elf bastard were both necessary for now.

Instead, Jigor asked another question.

“What the hell is that gloomy bastard doing that he dares to make us wait like this?”

Then the elf, Quintuanus, stroked his pointed chin with his thumb and answered.

“He’s always busy. Lately, he’s been dealing with Hidikrax for some reason. Well, I don’t know much either.”

The old man, who had been silent, opened his mouth.

“I can’t even guess what he promised to make that disgusting octopus move.”

Then a cold voice came in.

“It’s not much different from what I promised you. I only promised the sinking of heaven and a new world.”

Someone was walking briskly in the swirling snowstorm. His face was hidden by a deep hood, but on his shining armor, a roaring lion was clearly engraved.

In the blink of an eye, he came close to them and Jigor growled at the knight. It was a face filled with the rage of the savage.

“You’re too late.”

“Chieftain, if I tested your patience, I offer you a dull consolation. But I had no choice. An unexpected event happened and I had to deal with it.”

Saying that, he moved his gaze to the dying tree and added.

“Belducias and Fleur are both dead.”

His voice was dry and emotionless, but the content was not something ordinary, so a heavy silence fell for a moment.

One was the great demon who had driven the king mad and led the northern expedition, and the other was the witch who had tried to become a new being by gathering the corpses that had died because of him.

The old man, Beulron, clicked his tongue.

“So the brat was caught by the church before he could jump over the wall. Where was it? Tivela? Althwin?”

The knight, who still fixed his eyes on the tree, replied coldly.

“No, Fleur succeeded in becoming a great demon. And she was not killed by the church.”

“What did you say?”

The text provided is a snippet from a web novel featuring a fantasy setting with characters discussing the aftermath of a party’s actions, the revival of a deity, and the manipulation of a sacred tree. Here’s a revised version in English, maintaining a third-person narrative style:

“The party that had slain Veldusias seemed to have stirred trouble once again. Rumors had spread, bestowing them with various nicknames. ‘The Great Ruon,’ ‘The Upright Kail,’ they said.”

At those words, the woman in the blue robe, who had been silent until now, showed a fierce blue in her eyes. But before anyone could notice, she regained her previous calm.

Then Quentuanus spoke.

“No matter the era, there are always those who boast of being heroes.”

He seemed oblivious to the fact that he had met Ruon and Kail in person. After all, they hadn’t exchanged names at the time.

The knight shook his head.

“Their momentum is too significant to ignore. Since escaping the Cradle, their whereabouts have been mysterious, but they might be up to no good somewhere. We must investigate properly.”

Zigor declared,

“I care not who the great demon fell to or how. I will simply revive our god and quench the thirst of our fallen brethren with the invaders’ blood.”

The knight chuckled softly at that.

Revive our god?

The dead tree the barbarian king pointed to was never a deity. It was merely the luckiest tree in history, having rooted itself in the flesh of a long-dead god.

But he did not bother to enlighten the deluded barbarian with such facts.

That wasn’t what mattered.

If he could corrupt the tree imbued with divine power and turn the barbarians into bloodthirsty monsters with that power, the kingdom would crumble in an instant.

If Aniara, at the heart of the continent, fell, the neighboring countries would undoubtedly follow.

As the boundaries between kingdoms blurred and people’s fears peaked, the pitiful light of heaven would no longer illuminate the murky world.

The knight took a bold step forward, raising his hand. A faint golden glow shimmered beneath his iron gauntlet, and darkness surged like flames, shooting towards the lifeless tree like an arrow.

A terrible scream erupted as soon as the ominous darkness penetrated the tree. It sounded like a cry of agony and a shout of ecstasy.

Kii-ya-aa-aa-aa!

Having forcefully infused the tree with Fleur’s power, he turned to the admiring old man and said,

“Being filled with sanctity, it won’t yield easily. But with Quen’s help, it shouldn’t be too difficult. I hope we don’t rush and spoil the plan.”

Beulron sneered.

“Seer, refrain from testing me. You’re not unaware that it’s my power that has begun to bolster the barbarians’ might.”

The knight looked at Zigor, whose eyes gleamed with ambition, and said,

“The moment the tree revives, your dominion will extend beyond this barren land to the entire continent. I promise you that. So, until then, don’t give the kingdom’s army any excuse. Not that it should happen.”

With an enigmatic authority, he led them all and, without waiting for a response, walked into the blizzard-swept plains.

As a gale swept through, the blinding snowstorm finally subsided. When visibility cleared, the knight was nowhere to be seen.

As if he had never existed at all.