Chapter 106 - A God Made by Receiving (1)

Before the night grew late, Alon headed back to camp with Selaim Micardo, who had no reason to continue his research now that the Hermit's Hideout was open.

“... A way to advance to the next tier, you mean?”

“Indeed. I thought there might be information about it there.”

Hearing Selaim's answer as they talked on their way back to camp, Alon thought,

'... There probably isn't anything beyond the eighth tier.'

As far as he knew, in Psychedelia's setting, the eighth tier, at which mages could use Origin, was the highest they could reach.

“I see.”

“Yes, though there wasn't much once we actually got inside. Well, it wasn't a bad experience nonetheless. I learned a great deal studying the gates' magic circles.”

Alon quietly nodded as Selaim laughed cheerfully. He had no desire to dampen the man's enthusiasm for exploring magic in pursuit of the next tier.

'... Besides, maybe the setting simply didn't mention anything beyond the eighth tier. A ninth tier could exist.'

Then a thought suddenly struck him.

'... Come to think of it, what happens to Selaim Micardo in the original game?'

Selaim Micardo had never appeared in the original game as Alon knew it. Even during conversations with Penia, who threw every tantrum imaginable, the subject of the tower master had never come up.

'Am I just forgetting? It certainly has been a long time. Without checking my notebook, it's only natural that my memories would start fading.'

Alon recalled the notebook in which he had jotted down useful knowledge about this world whenever he had time, just in case he forgot.

'Still, I'm certain he never appeared in Psychedelia's main story.'

Just as he became convinced that he had never seen the man, no matter which occasion he recalled—

“By the way, might I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“... How did you find the true key to the second gate?”

For some reason, Selaim sounded a little cautious. Alon answered with a measure of firmness.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that.”

Apart from spells belonging to the established tiers, asking about magic another mage had personally developed was indeed considered rude, so Alon could refuse with confidence.

... In truth, etiquette had nothing to do with it. The spell he had used was all flash and no substance, so there was practically nothing he could explain.

'It's strange, though. I'd have thought an eighth-tier mage could see through it easily. Is it because it's phrase magic after all?'

While Alon pondered anew how his well-intentioned lie had worked, Selaim kept smiling.

“Ahem, my apologies. I was simply too curious.”

“It's quite all right.”

“Well, once we're a little closer, perhaps I'll get to hear the basic principles, at least. I'll wait until then.”

“?”

Watching Selaim laugh, Alon briefly wondered what he meant by becoming closer, but then—

“Well, I shall be on my way.”

“You're leaving?”

“Yes. I have quite a lot to do now. Even two of me wouldn't be enough.”

Alon welcomed Selaim's farewell the moment they reached camp. To be honest, being with him had felt oddly uncomfortable.

“Then I'll see you again another time.”

“Certainly.”

Alon gave a casual reply to what sounded like a perfunctory farewell, the sort of thing people said about having a meal together sometime. Selaim promptly disappeared.

“Whew...”

Alon let out a deep sigh.

'That takes care of the second task, too.'

He continued thinking on his way back to the inn.

'Now there's only the last task left.'

To prepare for the Forgotten One.

Alon recalled the object—no, the being—that would be an enormous help to him even without the Forgotten One to contend with. It was, in fact, his biggest reason for coming to the jungle.

'... And all the preparations are complete.'

With that thought, he fingered the ring Heinkel had given him, tucked inside his coat, and returned to the inn.

“Welcome back, my lord.”

“Deus?”

“Yes. I've returned.”

As soon as he entered the inn, Alon found Deus bowing respectfully and another man watching him with an extremely arrogant expression, tinged with displeasure and irritation.

“Hmm. So you're the marquis?”

It was Reinhardt, the formidable man who should originally have been Callivan's First Sword.

'He's huge. I knew that already, but he looks well over two meters tall.'

Alon involuntarily raised his gaze to look up at Reinhardt. His height was imposing enough that even Alon, who was fairly tall himself, had to look up at him. Unlike the rather noble-sounding name Reinhardt, his fierce face was quite frightening.

On top of that, he wore clothes that were practically rags, perhaps because he had spent so long in the forest before Deus found him. At present, Reinhardt looked exactly like a bandit, nothing more and nothing less.

'... When I saw him in Psychedelia, his face was fierce, but he was at least well groomed. I remember him having a strong air of a noble knight.'

Finding him so different from the appearance he remembered, Alon unwittingly stared.

“What are you glaring at? I've introduced myself, so your introduction—”

Reinhardt spoke with a scowl.

But then—

THWACK!

The next instant, his head snapped forward.

“Mind your manners.”

It was Deus's doing.

“You fucking bastard—!”

The moment he was struck on the head, Reinhardt glared at Deus, eyes wide. But Deus merely repeated himself, his expression calm.

“Show some respect.”

“He's the one being rude! Are you blind?!”

“You were the first to address him disrespectfully.”

“I'm allowed to!”

“No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am!”

“Beat me, and you can do as you please.”

“Grr...”

“The loser obeys the winner. Wasn't that our agreement?”

When Deus mentioned what seemed to be an agreement between them that Alon knew nothing about, Reinhardt let out a furiously frustrated roar.

“Aaaargh!”

Then he sighed deeply and curtly spat out,

“... My apologies. I was rude, Marquis Pallatio.”

Alon answered Reinhardt, whose voice sounded anything but apologetic.

“It doesn't matter.”

Looking deeply displeased with that reply, Reinhardt sat down, grumbling. Watching him gave Alon a peculiar feeling.

'... I'm sure he was a headstrong character who never bowed to anyone... Seeing him like this feels strange.'

Alon recalled the agreement with Reinhardt that Deus had mentioned in passing, and briefly shrugged.

“We'll talk later. For now, let's rest tonight.”

He decided to get some rest first.

... The oppressively sticky humidity was still unpleasant, but perhaps he had grown a little accustomed to it. He fell asleep quickly.

####

The following day.

After looking out at the steady drizzle outside the inn, Alon heard a brief account of Reinhardt from Deus.

“... He came to the jungle to train?”

“Yes. He says that's why he was in the Selvanus Zone and the northern zone.”

“... The northern zone?”

“Yes.”

Naturally, the Selvanus Zone was hardly somewhere to venture for training. Its mutants were extremely powerful. Even the immensely talented Philian, who had only recently become a Swordmaster, might not die there, but he would certainly endure all manner of hardship.

'Training somewhere like that... I suppose Reinhardt could manage it, but even he would struggle in the northern zone...?'

The northern zone.

That place, which could be called the Hundred Demons' territory, would be a challenge even for Deus. The mutants there were only a little stronger than those in the Selvanus Zone, but the problem lay elsewhere.

With the Hundred Demons' minions.

“Of course, from what he told me, it doesn't seem he stayed in the northern zone very long.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It seems he spent quite some time in the Selvanus Zone.”

Alon nodded at the timely answer. Marveling anew at Reinhardt's strength, he turned his gaze to Deus.

'... And Deus defeated that Reinhardt.'

“Is something wrong, my lord?”

Deus questioned his gaze. After considering how to answer, Alon spoke calmly.

“I was just thinking that things have turned out well.”

He felt something like a father's pride at seeing his son make a great success of himself, but saying that outright would have been a little strange, so he put it indirectly.

“... Is that so?”

“Yes. You're doing well.”

“I see.”

Perhaps Alon's words had made him proud; Deus seemed a little more pleased with himself than usual as they talked. Some time later, Evan and Reinhardt came down to the first floor for breakfast. After they all finished a simple meal, Alon asked the necessary question.

“Will you be heading back now, Deus?”

“Yes... Aren't you returning with us?”

“I have somewhere to stop first.”

“Then I'll come with you.”

“... You've achieved your goal. Shouldn't you return?”

“A few days won't hurt.”

“Actually, I was about to ask you to come along if you didn't mind. Thank you for offering.”

“Not at all,” Deus replied.

“So I'm supposed to wait here?”

“Come with us.”

“Why should I?”

Reinhardt protested petulantly.

“Because you'll run away again.”

“Hah? Me? Don't be ridiculous.”

“Did you think I wouldn't know you ran all the way to the jungle because you didn't want to call me Big Brother?”

“...”

That follow-up attack silenced Reinhardt.

... And revealed the reason he had left for the jungle, which Alon hadn't particularly wanted to know.

Alon, who had been quietly observing a spectacle one could hardly see even for money, cleared his throat. Evan, who had also been watching it firsthand, quietly asked,

“So where are we going?”

“To where the Thunder Serpent tribe lives.”

“The Thunder Serpent tribe? ... Uh, you don't mean the one to the east, do you?”

“I do.”

As Alon nodded, Reinhardt, who had remained quiet until now, scowled fiercely.

“Hah? You're going there? Marquis Pallatio, do you even know what that place is?”

“Of course I do.”

The home of the Thunder Serpent tribe lay to the east, in one of the three zones explored from the jungle camp. It was currently the least developed of them, because the Thunder Serpent tribe thoroughly rejected outsiders.

“... You know they're there, and you're going anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Hah...”

Reinhardt made no attempt to hide his disbelief.

In response—

THWACK!

“Ow! You fucking bastard!”

“Mind your manners.”

“Do you want to die? Huh?!”

“If you'd like to find out which of us would actually die, you're welcome to try.”

Deus had struck him on the back of the head again. As Reinhardt began loudly raging, Alon thought,

'That's a normal reaction for someone who knows the Thunder Serpent tribe.'

Both in actual gameplay and in the setting, the Thunder Serpent tribe was an extremely difficult race to deal with. For one thing, every member was at least as strong as a knight, and their combat effectiveness at least doubled in the forest.

And that wasn't all. The moment one became hostile to the Thunder Serpent tribe, more than ten kinds of curses began taking effect. Those debuffs would plague them until they left the eastern zone.

Still, none of that was particularly worrying. Reinhardt and Deus were with him now.

Yet there was still a reason to be careful. The Thunder Serpent tribe had an absolute being.

The god they worshipped.

... Which was also Alon's target.

And so—

“It seems we're done talking. Let's leave at once.”

Alon rose from his seat.

“To meet the Thunder Serpent tribe.”

####

Noting that the rain had stopped, Alon's party set off toward the eastern zone, where no expedition or mercenary dared venture.

Roughly an hour or two after they entered it—

“...”

Reinhardt watched Marquis Pallatio walking ahead with somewhat disgruntled eyes.

To be honest, Reinhardt wasn't fond of Marquis Pallatio. The marquis had never done anything to him directly, but absurdly enough, Reinhardt had suffered considerable collateral damage(?) because of him.

'... What the hell is so great about that fellow that he keeps making speeches about him?'

Reinhardt simply couldn't understand Deus, who slipped into talking about Alon as naturally as breathing whenever they held a meeting. Of course, he had heard from the knights that Alon had played a major role in the desperate battle against an Outer God in the north several years earlier. But surely it wasn't a story worth milking for years.

Besides, the Marquis Pallatio Reinhardt had actually met didn't look particularly special, unlike all the praise(?) he had heard. If not for the handful of knights who had taken part in the northern expedition and tirelessly testified whenever the expedition came up, he would have thought the rumors rather exaggerated.

He wasn't happy about being dragged all the way here when he could simply have returned to Callivan, either. As he walked along, inwardly sulking, Reinhardt suddenly drew his sword.

And then they appeared.

Unidentified people clad in white pelts, wearing animal-bone masks on their heads, materialized before them like a mirage.

“...”

The moment he saw them, Reinhardt frowned.

'I've already been hit by a curse.'

At some point, he felt his spatial awareness grow terribly dull.

“I warn you, outsiders. This is the Blue Serpent's territory. Leave.”

Hearing the growl of a tribesman whose bone mask bore no fewer than four horns, Reinhardt involuntarily murmured in admiration.

'Not quite a Swordmaster, but just short of it? I didn't think anyone could come so close in a primitive place like this, without a single mana-training method.'

He studied the masked tribesman, whose strength was unexpectedly high, but only for a moment.

“I've come to meet the chieftain.”

“So you disregard our warning.”

He could see it. No, he found himself seeing it.

The tribesman's long, single-edged blade, thrust forward with fierce force the instant Marquis Pallatio finished speaking—

CRACKLE!

—froze solid in an instant.

And that wasn't all. As though refusing to allow even the slightest opening, everything around Marquis Pallatio began to freeze.

The drizzling rain. The surrounding plants.

The outthrust blade.

Then the hand gripping it.

Everything froze.

As Reinhardt stared blankly at the sight, his pupils widened uncontrollably. The reason was the two eyes visible behind Alon.

As though forbidding even the act of perceiving them, they began eating away at Reinhardt's mind in an instant.

Yet the real reason for his astonishment lay elsewhere.

The sight before him—Alon's back, his fur coat fluttering, two eyes floating on either side—was incredibly familiar.

It felt like something he had seen somewhere before. A sight he shouldn't even have properly remembered from a passing glimpse was, for some reason, etched far too deeply into his mind.

Instinctively searching his memory for where he had seen that image, Reinhardt recalled one fact.

A year ago.

Having heard the rumors, he had boldly ventured in, only to be forced to flee. His sword had been mercilessly shattered by a single attack, leaving him with a sense of defeat even greater than Deus had inflicted.

'... The statue... behind the Hundred Demons?'

The statue carved from the entire cliff face behind the enormous rock where the Hundred Demons sat bore an extraordinary resemblance to the marquis before him.