Chapter 56

Campbell (1)

Geren Village, a settlement within the Myatro domain.

Darkness descended upon the small village. One by one, the residents began returning home. Even the village’s only tavern closed its doors.

It was because of an age-old southern tradition.

Clear the streets after sunset. Return home and avoid the evil spirits and wandering ghosts.

The custom was not strictly enforced, but everyone born in the south lived by that rule.

The once-bustling village settled into silence.

Standing on the deserted street, the knight Campbell grumbled.

“…That damned curfew. Who still obeys such a thing these days? These country bumpkins are hopelessly old-fashioned.”

Having drunk since broad daylight, he was already thoroughly intoxicated. The sour stench of alcohol wafted through the bars of his visor.

Myra regarded him with a pathetic look.

“You should turn in as well. We have to move to another village tomorrow, so cleanse yourself of that alcohol if you can.”

Knights could use aura to purge impurities from their bodies. Myra had already sobered herself up.

Campbell snorted.

“No, thank you. What’s the point of drinking if I’m just going to purge the intoxication? I’m having another bottle, so you should go to bed without me.”

Myra sighed and turned away.

“Do whatever you want, but don’t make a spectacle of yourself tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes. I understand, so sleep well.”

The two entered the village chief’s house and retired to their respective rooms.

Geren Village had no inn, so visitors generally stayed at the chief’s house. Villages with little traffic usually handled guests this way.

It was somewhat unfamiliar to Campbell, but he did not complain. The availability of alcohol was far more important to him than his sleeping arrangements.

Campbell sprawled carelessly inside the single-room lodging. Only then did he remove the visor he had worn all day and toss it aside. As always, he had a bottle in his hand.

The sound of him gulping down the alcohol echoed through the room. A quiet song followed.

“Honor upon the blade, pride within the heart. Though death should bar our path, our chivalry shall never break…”

In the middle of humming, he suddenly scoffed.

“Chivalry, my ass. We’re nothing but parasites clinging to power.”

It was difficult to find any honor or pride among the knights of the present age. Their glorious oaths had long since been forgotten, and their pledges written in blood had weathered away with time, leaving not even a trace behind.

Swords were drawn in service of power rather than to defend the weak.

Shields had become tools for obstructing justice.

Campbell’s sword and shield were no different.

Campbell Laura.

His family had protected the royal house for generations, yet their blades were now pointed at a powerless king.

Having forgotten their ancient covenant, they had fallen into wretched parasites that clung to power.

They had invaded the palace in the dead of night, murdered the queen, and placed all the blame upon the young prince.

They were destroying the very things they were supposed to protect.

They no longer had the right to speak of chivalry.

Even now, whenever Campbell closed his eyes, that night returned like a nightmare.

The prince, holding the queen in his arms as he wailed.

His screams, his eyes, and his resentment refused to leave Campbell’s mind.

Without alcohol, Campbell could not sleep.

He drank again. The sharp warmth spread throughout his body, and intoxication flushed his face crimson.

Staring through the window, Campbell suddenly shouted,

“O Great Saint! If you can hear me, then tell me! How am I supposed to pay for these sins?!”

The moon merely cast down its gentle light and offered no answer.

“Damn it! Why do you never answer me?! Can you not hear my prayers? I just… I just, I only…”

Campbell’s voice gradually weakened.

“…I only ask that you punish me. Please help me wash away these sins.”

His shouting had turned into sobbing before he knew it.

Tears welled in Campbell’s eyes as he clutched his head.

He was more desperate than anyone, yet God could not hear him.

His anguish and despair reached only a sinister being.

“O fallen honor, O shattered pride, O knight who nevertheless repents. Pray, cease your questioning.”

A gentle yet strangely chilling voice settled over the room.

Campbell slowly raised his head. He saw nothing.

“…W-who are you?”

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

Campbell’s eyes began to tremble.

“Could it be—?”

“Silence. Do not speak that name. Meditate and reflect upon yourself. Within the abyss of your heart, you will surely find a path to redemption.”

In the original story, Campbell ultimately failed to overcome his guilt and formally confessed his sins to the Church.

The outcome had defied common sense.

Campbell alone was murdered. The count, the true mastermind, suffered no harm whatsoever.

That was because the Church was filled with the count’s people.

The truth behind “that day” was buried along with Campbell.

This time, however, things would be different.

Campbell murmured in a trembling voice,

“I must ask for forgiveness.”

“From whom?”

“…God!”

“Think again.”

Campbell tore at his hair. After a moment, he slowly opened his mouth.

“His Highness. The Third Prince.”

He would have to confess his sins directly to Gawain.

If he did, the story would undoubtedly unfold differently.

“You have found your path, so wander no longer.”

Campbell bowed his head deeply.

“Saint Margiel, please watch over this fool’s atonement.”

“No. That is not it. I told you not to speak that name.”

The voice now contained nothing but coldness.

Campbell lifted his head, confusion clouding his face.

“G-Great Saint?”

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

Campbell’s eyes darted around aimlessly.

“What do you suddenly mean by…”

An eerie laugh abruptly echoed through the room.

“The Great Saint cannot hear your prayers. He will not show you the way. Forget his name. From now on, the only god you shall remember is Maphel’tan.”

Pitch-black mist surged through the air.

Campbell’s mind could not keep up with what was happening.

A black fairy approached the motionless knight.

It was the Dream Demon.

The Dream Demon placed a deep green leaf upon Campbell’s face.

Immediately afterward, his hideous burn scars began to disappear. Fresh skin grew in their place.

When the newly formed skin began to itch, Campbell touched his face.

Shock filled his expression.

“A-an illusion!”

Nothing he was experiencing felt real.

“This is your reward for repenting. It is a miracle beyond Margiel’s power. Once your atonement is complete, I shall devour even the darkness within your heart. Never forget who answered your prayer.”

The surging demonic energy began to fade. The chilling laughter gradually receded into the distance.

Before long, silence had returned to the room.

Campbell remained frozen for a moment before leaping to his feet.

Deep blue aura erupted from his entire body.

The alcohol’s effects vanished instantly.

With his face taut from tension, Campbell reached up and touched it.

His scars truly were gone.

The Dream Demon still sat upon his shoulder.

Everything he had just experienced was no dream.

Nor was it a drunken hallucination.

It was undeniably real.

Campbell collapsed onto the floor as the strength left his legs.

***

Deep within the mountains, Maphel’tan walked along while toying with a deep green leaf.

Its effectiveness is undeniable.

It was a leaf from the World Tree, a miraculous medicine capable of healing most injuries in an instant. A similar leaf had played a major role in healing Raguel’s dislocated joints before.

Now only one remained. Although he had used it where necessary, he still could not help feeling that it was a waste.

While Maphel’tan was lost in such thoughts, Gaf spoke.

“There’s something I want to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I’m talking about what happened with Campbell. Why did you reveal your identity to him? You had almost completely convinced him that you were the Great Saint.”

Revealing himself as a demon would naturally provoke resistance.

Campbell might refuse to move according to Maphel’tan’s intentions.

At least, that was what Gaf thought.

Maphel’tan replied,

“If I hadn’t revealed myself, whom do you think Campbell would have thanked for the rest of his life? I refuse to stand for that.”

“Are you telling me that was your only reason?”

“Well, I also thought I might as well turn him into one of my followers.”

Demon worshippers.

Ultimately, Maphel’tan would need such a group of his own.

Gaf contemplated his words briefly before speaking.

“I heard what you said. You spoke as though you were a god. What exactly do you intend to become?”

“Please stop getting ahead of yourself. If he wants to worship me like a god, what do I stand to lose?”

It was not incorrect, yet Gaf could not shake the strange sense of unease.

“You damned half-demon. You certainly know how to make everything sound reasonable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Think whatever you want and get lost already.”

Gaf intended to walk back to the domain.

Maphel’tan frowned.

“You’re really going to walk?”

“I’ll take care of myself. Mind your own business.”

Maphel’tan spread his wings.

“This is your last chance.”

“Go.”

Maphel’tan’s body slowly rose into the air.

“I’m leaving, then.”

Gaf answered with his eyes. His gaze was thick with murderous intent.

Maphel’tan sighed and spoke with feigned nonchalance.

“My damned loyalty is always getting me into trouble.”

His enormous tail instantly wrapped around Gaf’s waist.

The pitch-black figure shot into the sky.

Gaf thrashed madly in midair.

“Just you wait! One day, I’ll throw you into Hell with my own hands!”

His vicious curses spread across the night sky.

*** 

A somber atmosphere hung over the underground library.

“O Great End, you have returned!”

Only Zalkarin was excited. Unable to contain his delight at the prospect of visiting the Abyss, he practically trembled with anticipation.

Ilea and Raguel, however, looked deeply troubled.

Fear and anxiety were especially evident upon Raguel’s face.

Maphel’tan spoke in a puzzled tone.

“Everyone seems unusually lifeless today. Especially you, Raguel. You might regain your sight, so shouldn’t you be at least a little pleased?”

The previous night, Maphel’tan had clearly indicated before leaving the library that he intended to honor their contract concerning Raguel’s sight.

From Raguel’s perspective, it would have been natural for him to feel more excited.

Yet there was not even the faintest trace of anticipation upon his face.

Raguel slowly opened his mouth.

“Jo… No, Maphel’tan.”

“Speak.”

Raguel swallowed dryly. A look of determination appeared upon his face.

The blind boy stared directly at Maphel’tan with his sightless eyes.

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

An ordinary human would lose their life the moment they entered the Abyss. It was an unavoidable death. No matter how thoroughly they prepared, a human could not survive there for two weeks.

Everyone knew that perfectly well.

Ilea looked at Maphel’tan. Her expression was more impassive than usual, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

Maphel’tan scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, more or less. Your body won’t survive in the Abyss.”

Raguel hiccupped. Countless emotions swirled across his face.

“Y-you’re joking, aren’t you? Like you usually do…”

Maphel’tan shook his head.

“I’m serious. So, Raguel—are you prepared to die?”

He spoke of the horrifying prospect as though it were nothing of consequence.