Chapter 56 - Kembel (1)

Geren village, a dependent territory of Miyatro. Darkness settled over the little settlement. One by one, the residents began returning home. Even the village’s sole tavern closed its doors.

It was an old southern tradition. After sundown, clear the streets. Return home, away from evil creatures and spirits. Though hardly enforced, it was a rule everyone in the south lived by.

The bustling village fell quiet. On the deserted street, the knight Kembel grumbled.

“... That damned curfew. Who observes one in this day and age? Bloody country bumpkins. They couldn’t be more backward.”

Having drunk since broad daylight, he was already well and truly drunk. The sour reek of alcohol poured through the bars of his visor. Maira gave him a look of disgust.

“Go inside and get some rest. We have another village to reach tomorrow, so clear some of that alcohol out of your system while you’re at it.”

Knights could use aura to purge impurities from their bodies. Maira had already sobered himself up.

Kembel snorted. “No thanks. What’s the point of drinking if you’re going to get rid of the buzz? I’m having another drink. You go get some sleep, old friend.”

Maira sighed and turned away. “Suit yourself. Just don’t spend tomorrow groaning.”

“Yes, yes. I heard you. Sleep well.”

They entered the village chief’s house and went to their separate rooms. Geren had no inn, so visitors usually stayed with the village chief. That was common in settlements with no passing traffic.

The arrangement was a little unfamiliar, but Kembel had no particular complaints. Having alcohol mattered far more to him than his sleeping quarters.

He sprawled carelessly in the small room and finally tossed aside the visor he had worn all day. As ever, he held a bottle.

Loud gulping filled the room, followed by a quiet song.

— With honor on our blades and pride within our hearts, though death should bar our path, our chivalry shall never break...

Midway through humming, he suddenly snorted. “Chivalry, my ass. Parasites feeding off the powerful.”

Honor and pride were hard to find among the knights of this age. Their glorious oaths had long been forgotten, their blood-written vows weathered by time until not even a trace remained.

Swords were drawn for the powerful, not the weak.

Shields had become tools for obstructing justice.

Kembel’s sword and shield were no different.

Kembel Laura. His family had protected the royal house for generations, but now their blades pointed at a powerless king. Forgetting their ancient pledge, they had sunk to become parasites feeding off the powerful.

They had invaded the palace in the dead of night, murdered the queen, and laid every crime at the feet of a young prince. They were destroying the very things they ought to protect. They had no right even to speak of chivalry.

Even now, whenever he closed his eyes, that day returned like a nightmare. The prince had wailed with the queen cradled in his arms. His screams, his eyes, his resentment would not leave Kembel’s mind. Without alcohol, Kembel could not sleep.

He drank again. The sharp tang spread throughout his body, and his face flushed red with drink. Looking toward the window, he suddenly shouted.

“O Great Saint! If you are listening, tell me! What must I do to pay for this sin?”

The moon merely shed its gentle light, offering no reply.

“Damn it! Why are you always silent? Can you not hear my prayers? I only! Only, only...”

His voice began to dwindle. “... At least punish me. Please, help me wash away this sin.”

His shouting had turned to sobbing. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he clutched his head. No one could have been more desperate, but God did not hear him. His anguish and despair reached only a monstrous being.

“O fallen honor, O broken pride, O knight who repents despite it all. Weep no more.”

A voice settled over the room, kind yet somehow chilling. Kembel slowly raised his head. He could see nothing.

“... Wh-who are you?”

“I am the judge who shall condemn you, and the redeemer who shall share your atonement.”

Kembel’s eyes began to tremble. “Could it be!”

“Hush. Do not speak that name. Meditate, and look within yourself. Surely you will find a path to atonement in those depths.”

In the original novel, Kembel ultimately succumbed to his guilt and formally confessed his sins to the Church. The outcome differed somewhat from what common sense would suggest. Kembel alone was murdered. The Count, the mastermind, suffered no consequences at all. The Church was staffed by his people, after all. And so the truth behind “that day” was buried.

This time would be a little different.

Kembel murmured in a trembling voice. “Forgiveness. I must beg forgiveness.”

“From whom?”

“... God!”

“Search your conscience again.”

Kembel tore at his hair. After a moment, he slowly spoke. “His Highness. His Highness the Third Prince.”

He would have to confess his sins directly to Gawain. Then events would surely take a different course.

“You have found your path. Stray no more.”

Kembel bowed his head low. “Saint Marziel. Please watch over this fool’s atonement.”

“No, no. Did I not tell you never to speak that name?”

Now there was nothing but coldness in the voice. Kembel raised his head, bewilderment crossing his face.

“G-Great Saint?”

“Your god is nowhere to be found. How long will you chase an illusion?”

Kembel’s eyes began to dart about, lost. “What do you suddenly mean by...”

An eerie laugh abruptly echoed through the room.

“The Great Saint cannot hear your prayers. He offers no path. Forget his name. From this day forth, the god you shall remember is Maphel’tan.”

Black mist billowed in midair. Kembel could not comprehend what was happening. A black fairy approached him as he sat frozen. It was a Nightmare Spirit.

The Nightmare Spirit laid a green leaf on his face. Immediately, the hideous burns began to vanish. New skin grew in their place.

As his skin began to tingle and itch, Kembel touched his face. Horror spread across his features.

“A h-hallucination!”

Nothing he was experiencing felt real.

“This is your reward for repentance. Something Marziel could never do. When your atonement is complete, I shall swallow even the shadows in your heart. Never forget who answered your prayers.”

The billowing demonic energy began to thin. The chilling laughter faded into the distance. Before he knew it, the room was quiet again.

Kembel, who had sat motionless, sprang to his feet. Deep blue aura surged from his entire body, and his drunkenness vanished.

His face taut with tension, he brought a hand to it. The scars really were gone. The Nightmare Spirit was still perched on his shoulder.

Everything he had just experienced was no dream. Nor was it a drunken hallucination. It was utterly real.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Deep in the mountains, Maphel’tan walked along, idly handling a dark green leaf.

‘It certainly works.’

It was a leaf from the World Tree, a miraculous remedy that could heal most wounds in an instant. One had also played a major part in treating Raguel’s dislocated shoulder.

Only one remained now. He had used it where it was needed, but he still could not shake the feeling that it was a shame. While he was lost in those thoughts, Gaf spoke.

“There’s something I want to know.”

“What is it?”

“About Kembel just now. Why did you reveal what you were? You’d all but convinced him you were the Great Saint.”

Revealing himself as a Demon was bound to provoke resistance. Kembel might not act as Maphel’tan intended. That was Gaf’s thinking.

Maphel’tan replied, “If I hadn’t, who would Kembel have spent his life thanking? I couldn’t stand to watch that.”

“Is that really your only reason?”

“Well, I might as well gain a follower while I’m at it.”

Demon worshippers. In the end, Maphel’tan would need a following of his own.

Gaf fell silent in thought for a moment, then spoke. “I heard what you said. You were acting like a god. What exactly do you intend to become?”

“Please, don’t get ahead of yourself. Why not take a good thing when it comes? What do I lose if he worships me like a god?”

He was not wrong, but Gaf could not shake an inexplicable unease.

“Damned half-demon. You certainly have a silver tongue.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Take it however you like. Now get lost.”

Gaf intended to return to the domain alone. Maphel’tan grimaced.

“You’re really going to walk?”

“I’ll manage. Mind your own business.”

Maphel’tan spread his wings. “Last chance.”

“Go.”

Maphel’tan slowly rose into the air. “I’m leaving, then?”

Gaf answered with a look. There was murder in his eyes. Maphel’tan sighed and put on an air of innocence.

“Honestly, this loyalty of mine is such a burden.”

An enormous tail coiled around Gaf’s waist in an instant. The black figure shot skyward, and Gaf thrashed madly in midair.

“Just you wait! One day, I’ll throw you into hell!”

A torrent of foul curses rang through the night sky.

* * *

A subdued atmosphere hung over the underground study.

“O great End, you have returned!”

Only Zal’karin was excited. He could hardly contain his joy at the prospect of going to the Abyss. Ilea and Raguel both looked troubled. Raguel’s face in particular betrayed fear and anxiety.

Maphel’tan sounded puzzled. “You all seem rather lifeless today. Especially you, Raguel. You may get your sight back. Shouldn’t you be a little happy?”

The night before, Maphel’tan had clearly indicated that he would honor their contract concerning Raguel’s eyesight before leaving the study. It would have been natural for Raguel to be more excited. Yet he showed not the faintest anticipation.

Raguel slowly spoke. “Yo... I mean, Maphel’tan.”

“Speak.”

Raguel swallowed hard. A certain resolve settled over his face. With his sightless eyes, the blind boy looked straight at Maphel’tan.

“... Maphel’tan, am I going there to die?”

An ordinary human would die the moment they entered the Abyss. Death was utterly unavoidable. No amount of preparation would allow one to last two weeks. Everyone knew that well.

Ilea looked at Maphel’tan. Her expression was more impassive than usual. Not a trace of emotion showed on her face.

Maphel’tan scratched the back of his neck. “Well, more or less. That body of yours won’t survive the Abyss.”

Raguel hiccuped. Countless emotions swirled across his face. “Y-you’re joking, aren’t you? Like you always do...”

Maphel’tan shook his head. “I’m serious. So, Raguel, are you ready to die?”

He spoke of something so dreadful as though it were nothing at all.