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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
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Lavre Castle was barely a castle. It was more like a small fortress.
Fortunately, the guard at the gate wasn’t a demon and could understand us.
He went to inform Azar of our arrival, and soon returned with good news.
“The lord has granted you an audience.”
At least we weren’t turned away. As we entered the castle, I observed the knights lined up inside. There were only about ten of them.
A manageable number. Well, it was a small castle; they couldn’t have that many knights. There were a few demons as well, but they were low-level.
“Didn’t you say a frontal assault would be suicide?”
“The situation has changed.”
Azar likely joined the Demon King’s army because his wife, who should have died, was kept alive by the transmigrators. The fact that he was hoarding herbs suggested her condition was still critical.
That’s why I chose a direct approach. I had an ace up my sleeve. The impulsive Saintess beside me. I placed my hand on her head.
“I’m counting on you, Ophelia.”
“Get your hand off my head! And tell me what’s going on! How can I understand anything if you don’t explain?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Damn it.”
Ophelia grumbled, but didn’t press the matter further. A man emerged from the stairs leading down to the basement.
“Priests? Unusual guests.”
Azar, the Golden Lion, looked much like he did in the game. Black armor, a hand axe at his waist, curly black hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a tired expression.
He looked more like a Black Lion than a Golden Lion. I had been worried he might have become… monstrous after joining the Demon King’s army, but he seemed relatively unchanged.
“Greetings, milord.”
“Ugh.”
I pressed down on Ophelia’s head, trying to force her to bow, but Azar waved his hand dismissively.
“Skip the formalities. Let’s get to the point.”
“Yes. First, allow me to introduce ourselves. We are traveling priests…”
“Spare me the theatrics.”
Azar interrupted me and looked at Ophelia and me, then at Lyla, who was standing awkwardly behind us.
“A nun, a knight, and a dragonoid mercenary?”
“….”
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m not so ignorant as to not recognize a paladin’s armor.”
I looked down at my gray armor. He seemed to have recognized it just from its shape, despite the lack of any identifying marks.
As expected of Azar, he was perceptive.
“So, why have you come all this way from the Holy City? Are you here to execute a lord who has sided with the Demon King?”
“What would you do if we said yes?”
“I would regrettably have to cut you down.”
He spoke casually, but his expression was serious.
Ophelia gasped. I raised my hands in a gesture of peace.
“We simply thought our humble talents might be of service to you, milord.”
“Service?”
“To your wife, to be precise.”
A crack appeared in Azar’s stoic facade.
“How did you… the herbalists, I presume. I told them to keep quiet.”
He muttered, then clicked his tongue.
“Unfortunately, I don’t need your help.”
“We are clergymen. We can use divine magic. It might help your wife.”
“Divine magic? Do you think I haven’t tried that?”
Azar said,
“I’ve tried everything. Healers, priests, shamans, mages, spirit masters… nothing worked. It was all pointless.”
“So you turned to the Demon King? Are you incapable of thinking?”
Ophelia said. Azar’s eyes widened at being addressed so informally by a nun, then he smiled wryly.
“That’s presumptuous of you.”
“I’ll decide what’s presumptuous.”
Ophelia scowled.
“Then at least let us examine your wife’s condition. We were sent from the Holy City. We’re more skilled in divine magic than most clergymen. I can guarantee that.”
It was true. Ophelia was probably the most skilled divine magic user on the continent. Azar stared at Ophelia for a moment, then finally relented.
“Very well. Take them to the basement.”
“Thank you.”
“But don’t try anything foolish. You’re in a vulnerable position.”
“Yes, milord.”
I inwardly rejoiced.
Azar’s wife, Aria, was in the basement. Lying on a bed connected to black threads, her skin pale, almost white.
“This is…”
“Threads of miasma.”
Lyla muttered. A familiar sensation from our mercenary days. Having fought countless demons, Lyla and I were sensitive to miasma.
These threads were undoubtedly a product of dark magic. It was clear that a dark mage, or a transmigrator, was involved.
Ophelia slowly approached the bed, her hands glowing with golden divine power.
“Don’t touch those threads. We don’t know what might happen…”
“Shut up. I know. Better than you, probably.”
“…I suppose you’re right.”
Who was I to give advice to the Saintess? Ophelia extended her hand and cast a spell. Aria’s body was enveloped in a thin, golden film.
“….”
Ophelia’s expression darkened, and she sighed deeply.
“It’s hopeless.”
“What do you mean?”
“She should be dead. They’re artificially prolonging her life, stretching her lifespan beyond its limits.”
I looked at Aria. She looked like a corpse, practically in a vegetative state. So, they were keeping her alive with dark magic.
Aria couldn’t survive without miasma.
“Can’t she be healed? With divine magic?”
“Divine magic? Even God himself couldn’t heal this. It’s a lost cause.”
Ophelia crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.
Azar, who had followed us, listened silently. I looked at him.
“Did you hear that?”
“….”
They were artificially extending her lifespan, stretching it like a rubber band. It would stretch for a while, but eventually, it would snap.
Aria was barely alive, and there was no chance of her regaining consciousness or recovering her health.
She was simply… breathing. And soon, the rubber band would snap, and her breathing would cease. This wasn’t something that could be healed.
“Milord, this treatment is meaningless.”
“I know.”
“The dark mage is deceiving you.”
“I know that too.”
But Azar simply closed his eyes and said,
“I know everything. I know he didn’t approach me with pure intentions. I know Aria will never wake up again.”
“….”
“It’s… fate. That Aria will die.”
Azar sighed and slumped into a chair.
“That’s why I can’t accept it. Who decides fate? The gods in heaven?”
He showed us the shield-shaped Mark on his arm.
“I don’t believe in gods. I don’t doubt their existence. I simply believe they’re not benevolent.”
“….”
“If those bastards are going to decide Aria’s and my fate, then I’ll gladly serve the Demon King. To me, the Demon King, who walks the same earth as I do, is more trustworthy than the gods in the clouds. That’s all.”
“….”
Lyla’s face crumpled. She asked curtly,
“Even if… that faith is betrayed?”
Azar chuckled dryly and closed his eyes.
“Gladly.”
Richard, the dark mage, was a puppet. Or perhaps, a middle manager was a more fitting description. A slave, forced to obey orders from above.
He had been sent to Lavre against his will, tasked with converting Azar, the Golden Lion, a Mark bearer, to the Demon King’s side.
Fortunately, Azar had a weakness, unlike the other named characters. It was easy to manipulate him, using his wife’s life as bait.
He had added a bit of flattery as well, telling Azar that he was a commander in the Demon King’s army in the game, a warrior who defied even the gods. Azar had taken the bait. Or so he thought.
“…Damn it.”
Richard peeked through the castle window. A woman was walking through the courtyard. He recognized her. He had cleared the game as well. He couldn’t forget Ophelia Meredith’s face, even if he wanted to.
Ophelia, the Saintess. A powerful Mark bearer. Someone he should eliminate as soon as possible. He could probably kill the still inexperienced Saintess if he tried, but the knight beside her was a different story. The blond knight… Elliot, the slave swordsman who had killed Jake. He had no chance against the two of them.
“….”
He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. This was troublesome. Things had gone so smoothly until now.
He didn’t know why they were here. Should he run away? But would he even be allowed to?
Questions flooded his mind. Richard shook his head. It was best to stay hidden until they left the castle. But his decision was irrelevant. The stigma on his body glowed.
[Can you hear me?]
“…Lord Idmien?”
[Haha. Good. I was worried you wouldn’t be able to.]
Idmien, the chimera mage. A commander of the Demon King’s army, and Richard’s direct superior. The crudely rendered pixelated image from the game was now a name that filled Richard with dread.
It had been almost a year since Idmien had given him orders through the stigma.
[I’ve received a report from the chimera I sent. The Saintess and her escort knight are both there.]
“…Lord Idmien.”
[You know that escort knight killed Jake, right? He was a dear friend of mine. Ah, of course, I value you as well. So…]
“Please…”
Richard pleaded, anticipating what was coming next, but Idmien ignored him.
[Kill them.]
“…Ah.”
Richard felt a wave of despair.
No, it wasn’t just a feeling. His vision was darkening.
He lost control of his body.
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Hi Lord Fourth here!
I’m still new to translating as this is my second novel to pick up, so if you find some mistakes or inconsistencies let me know about it on the dedicated channel on discord.
