Free Web NovelNight had deepened. Krest Royen slipped out of his quarters, careful not to make a sound.
The experience of the past week had told him one thing: vigilance inside the Barkels’ inner fortress was far weaker than anyone would expect.
Besides, Krest was officially a famous capital judge and inspector. Even if he wandered everywhere under the pretext of inspection as though the castle were his own home, no one showed suspicion. On the contrary, the head of the house, Kylis Barkel, had seemed pleased—believing that this only demonstrated to his guest how diligently and honestly he governed his lands.
“Though I can’t say no one is watching me at all...”
Young Lady Seril. At times she had thrown suspicious glances his way, clearly puzzled by his excessive curiosity. Still, that would not become a problem. In the end, few people in this castle ever took her words seriously.
Rustle.
As Krest made his way toward the underground prison, he muttered to himself,
“They’re either naive, or just... idiots.”
The eternal problem of the Kingdom of Valloren. These people had grown up shackled by the rusted chains of chivalry, leaving their heads utterly empty. They pushed honor and conviction to the forefront, which meant calculation and efficiency were always pushed into the background.
Some called that nobility, but in Krest’s eyes, it was nothing more than incompetence wrapped in the packaging of virtue.
“If all you ever do is stare at your own feet, then of course there’s no progress.”
The Luthien Theocracy was different. Cruel, but honest; merciless, but efficient. Instead of pretending, it treated people as tools, clearly defining the standards of their use and disposal.
The weak should be culled if they cannot become stronger. That was exactly why elites like him could stand even higher. Rather than wasting effort saving the unworthy, one could focus on progress.
And tonight. Thanks to “that thing” House Barkel had hidden so carefully, his standing in Luthien would rise to an entirely new level.
A crooked smile played across Krest’s lips.
“Oh? Sir Krest? What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Inspection.”
Dead of night, an empty underground prison, and a sudden inspection. Any sane person would have grown suspicious, but it did not matter.
Uuuuun.
Krest’s eyes flashed strangely, and the gazes of the duty knight and the soldiers slowly began to cloud over. The near-omnipotent power granted by the god of Repose, Remesia. The soldiers silently stepped aside. Even tomorrow, they would remember nothing of what had happened tonight.
“Still... the power of a god really is something else.”
The Kingdom of Valloren rejected these blessings. They worshiped only a handful of benevolent gods and deities of chivalry, acting as though human conviction and a sword alone were enough to survive in this changing world.
What arrogance. What outdated self-satisfaction!
“That will have to change.”
Krest had hated it ever since childhood. That was why he had naturally gravitated toward every kind of taboo, mysticism, hidden history, and heresy. It was that obsession that had connected him to Luthien, where his ambition had been recognized.
“Someone like me will definitely find it.”
That was why Krest had headed here the moment he received the clue that the target was in the underground levels. There was a world of difference between wandering blindly and searching while knowing the truth. With his abilities, it would be easy to seize the object quickly and vanish without leaving a trace.
“...Now then, let’s see.”
Knights to the marrow would hardly rely on magical concealment. He methodically inspected the walls, floor, and ceiling, examining every corner of the prison. Before long, he discovered the cleverly hidden mechanism of a magical formation.
“Hmm, in a place like this?”
The device was crude and old. There was no reason he could not break through it.
Grrrr.
A statue in the corner of the prison rotated, revealing a hidden passage. Cold, damp air drifted out from within. Krest stepped inside without hesitation. He did not forget to reactivate the mechanism, sealing the entrance behind him.
“Let there be light.”
Now there was no need to fear prying eyes. A magical flame flickered to life in Krest’s hand.
The space inside was enormous. In the darkness, rows of stone sarcophagi stood in silent formation. This was the mausoleum where the former heads of House Barkel rested. Normally, even direct heirs could not set foot here without the current head’s permission.
But there was something special in this place.
“Where is it?”
Legend said this was where one could undergo the trial of the ghost knights. The story claimed one could inherit the sword techniques the Barkel heads had honed in life. And the medium that made this miracle possible was—
“There.”
The instincts of an occultist reacted sharply. Excitement filling his eyes, Krest moved forward.
At the far end of the chamber, a dimly glowing sphere floated silently in the air. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
The Soul Summoning Sphere. If the philosopher’s stone was the ultimate dream of an alchemist, then for an occultist it was the Soul Summoning Sphere. A tool that could call the spirit of the dead by using their remains as a medium.
Long ago, a Barkel ancestor had obtained this item and made it a family heirloom, but Krest could not care less. In his hands, this sphere would be far more useful.
Who would ever suspect that the flawless inspector had stolen it? They would sooner blame Night Raven, those rootless scavenger birds. Krest greedily snatched the Soul Summoning Sphere.
Uuun...
The moment the sphere began vibrating faintly in his hand—
“Hm, I hope the shot came out clear?”
“...?”
“Though since it’s a magic tool from Dimona, there’s really no reason to doubt it.”
A calm voice sounded directly behind him. Krest recognized it immediately—it belonged to that Gan-za fellow from the Ravens, the one who had done nothing but crack stupid jokes at the banquet.
“An ambush!..”
But there was no time to react. A heavy blow crashed into the back of his head. His vision flipped and began to darken. The last thing he heard was his opponent muttering to himself.
“This sphere is yours? Seriously?”
...What was he even talking about? This sphere belongs to me. Krest desperately tried to reach out, but soon his body went completely limp.
.
.
.
[Red Lantern deactivated]
Ding!
[Item Acquired! Soul Summoning Sphere (Rank: Unknown)]
Gunther looked at the status window with doubt.
[Alphonse of Red Street stares at the sphere in astonishment]
[He claims this is something he created in life]
[He says that after so long it had worn down and its aura weakened, so he did not notice it immediately]
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats nods, confirming that he has seen it before]
Gunther read the item description.
[Soul Summoning Sphere]
Rank: Unknown
Type: Occult Tool
Description: An ancient tool that summons the souls of the dead into the world of the living by using their remains. There are reports that the item’s value changes radically depending on the owner’s abilities and perception.
Effect: If you possess the target’s remains, you may summon their soul. The summoned soul partially reconstructs its memories, skills, and will from life. The summoned target may resist or refuse the call.
※ However, if the summoned target is too powerful, cracks may form on the sphere. Repeated use carries the risk of irreversible breakage. In addition, if the sphere shatters, there is a danger that the soul may remain abnormally in the world of the living.
A thing like this really could have belonged to Alphonse, whose hidden class had been tied to occultism.
“You made this yourself? Why?”
[...Alphonse of Red Street remains silent]
Apparently, Alphonse had no intention of answering. The other two gods also remained silent this time.
...Had he missed someone who died so deeply that he wanted to bring their soul back?
Gunther thought about that for a moment, then immediately lowered his gaze to Krest sprawled on the floor.
“Then why does this guy want it... He doesn’t look like someone with ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ a tragic love story.”
For what reason had Krest been hunting it? Whose soul was he trying to summon, and from whose remains? It was time to learn the truth.
Whoosh.
Gunther shifted his grip on the dagger and, without hesitation, drove it into Krest’s thigh.
Pshhhht.
Blood sprayed.
“A-A-A-A-AH!..”
“You awake now?”
“...Haa, haa. You crow bastard! How dare you... set a trap for me!..”
“A traitor talks too much.”
Gunther simply turned his head aside, avoiding Krest’s spit.
“Haa... what, you think you’re going to torture me? You think I’ll talk?” frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
Gunther shrugged.
“I’ll say this first—I have no intention of torturing you.”
He had stabbed Krest with the dagger simply because he had felt like it. For extracting information, it was completely unnecessary.
“You should experience it too.”
“...What?”
Gunther’s gaze turned icy.
“How disgusting it feels when your body moves against your will.”
At those words, Krest’s face froze. Feeling an instinctive threat, he reflexively shrank back as he looked up at Gunther. The hero’s bright blue eyes glowed strangely in the dark.
“This... this is strange. Very strange.”
The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. He had not felt the slightest presence until this man had been standing directly behind him. That could not be explained away as simple concealment or a difference in power. And above all, it meant the man had passed through the magical traps Krest had set in the prison.
“...Could it be?”
A realization flashed through his mind. A conclusion he did not want to accept.
“You... you practice occultism too?..”
But Gunther was no longer even looking at him.
“Alphonse.”
[Alphonse of Red Street nods]
“Can you handle it?”
[He gives a dark chuckle and asks who you take him for]
That was right. Krest loved the world of occultism precisely because its foundation was the law of the jungle.
The stronger practitioner. The one who had touched the depths. Devours the weak.
That was why, although Alphonse did not particularly like such methods, a more powerful occultist could crush the will of the weaker one, trample their mind, and use the body as an empty shell.
Gunther slowly looked back down at Krest.
“You were unlucky, Krest.”
For Krest, who had always been the one handing down judgment in the role of judge, the sensation of judgment being passed on him was infinitely alien.
Tr-r-r-r.
[Offering: 500 Karma has been presented to Alphonse of Red Street]
[The chains constricting the three gods loosen slightly]
The sound of scattering coins echoed in Gunther’s ears.
Ding!
[Stigma Expansion: The One Who Casts the Veil]
— Your occult abilities awaken.
— The effectiveness of occult-based skills (including “Serpent’s Nest” and “Red Lantern”) increases.
Alphonse’s Stigma. Over the snake coiled around the lips and the skull casting bones, a crimson cloth slowly descended.
Gunther felt it. Now he could “control” Krest. The power of the god of Repose, Remesia, still lingered inside him, but it was insignificant. It was not even worth paying attention to. After all, it was unlikely this fool had managed to form a proper contract.
“Kgh... khaaa...”
The moment Gunther stretched out his hand, Krest’s groans changed. His pupils trembled, losing focus.
Crack.
His mental barriers, magical defenses layered one over another, were torn apart. Gunther parted his lips.
“Why did you need the Soul Summoning Sphere?”
No. Gunther immediately changed the question to something more precise.
“Whose soul were you trying to summon?”
Krest’s lips twitched. His will ordered him to stay silent, but his tongue no longer obeyed. A low, hoarse voice escaped his mouth.
“...The Prophetess. The prophetess who once came to our house.”
...The Prophetess? Before Gunther could ask anything else, Krest’s lips trembled again.
“Ellen Beyra. Her remains are in our lands.”
***
Pendrox. In its deepest depths lies a zone that appears on neither maps nor reports.
A prison within a prison. Isolation within isolation. In the sector classified as “Code Black,” only two prisoners are held. Their names are not recorded, and their charges are sealed. Only two “doors that must never be opened” stood frozen at opposite ends of the corridor.
Rustle.
Along this dangerous corridor walked a man as though he were strolling through his own living room. A middle-aged man. Narrowed eyes, unkempt hair and beard streaked here and there with gray. On the center of his priestly robes, a closed eye was embroidered.
Archbishop Masiu Beltirein spoke casually.
“...Ellen Beyra’s mental barrier has weakened considerably. I am pleased that I will soon be able to bring His Holiness good news. There must be a great deal of value hidden in the mind of the one who possessed the Tablets.”
Those words drew a response from the giant standing beside him. His body was bound inside an iron restraint suit, and his face was hidden behind a mask depicting a screaming visage. It was the archbishop of the Cult of Protection, Molta Brach.
“With this Ellen Beyra... everything is going far more smoothly than with the previous one. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Fools... heretics. They think they are winning... but they are wrong. The change... will begin here, in Pendrox.”
Masiu let out a slight sigh.
“Though for complete victory... we still need one more thing.”
Stopping in front of Cell No. 2 of the Black Sector, Masiu peered beyond the seal.
Inside lay a breathtakingly beautiful blond young man. He rested silently on the bed in the center of the room, as if submerged in deep sleep. However, his body was bound by an excessive number of overlapping shackles, while the control devices connected to his wrists, ankles, neck, and chest trembled faintly.
On the surface he looked calm. But no one could guarantee that he would not open his eyes at any moment and flood this space with blood. His uncontrollable fits of rage, in which he spared neither enemies nor allies, had continued for two years now. Masiu sighed deeply again and slowly turned away.
“It seems I will have to make a trip to the Kingdom of Valloren after all.”
There was neither confidence nor hope in his voice. Only the coldest possible calculation, dictated by the fact that there were simply no other options left.
The Holy Sword. For the sake of this final possibility, it was worth trying at least once.
