The Blind One’s Legacy

The man glared at us, his face contorted in anger. Uttering incomprehensible words, he labeled us a hindrance and commanded us to flee at once. Yet, even as he spoke, demons continued to surge forward relentlessly.

Their behavior was eerily peculiar. Despite being repelled countless times by the man, they kept rushing towards us, as if they knew. Knew they could kill us. Knew we were weak.

The man inquired if we had all made it to safety. We confirmed that the villagers had already evacuated. Hearing that they had crossed the river, he revealed a flicker of palpable relief. He must have known that demons could not traverse running water. Further astonishment seemed almost impossible, given how much he already knew.

The man then summoned something pitch-black: a horse seemingly composed of spiritual energy. It was the Nightmare Steed. In the blink of an eye, he snatched both me and the Captain, mounted the spectral horse, and galloped across the open sky.

A flying horse? That sounded like something straight out of ancient legends.

Despite his anger, the man did not abandon us.

We arrived before a small village. The man shed his armor and consigned it to flames, stating that we needed to consecrate the area swiftly to purge the demonic traces. Otherwise, he warned, we would be cursed.

Even in that short span, a pitch-black mark remained where a demon’s attack had grazed us. No matter how many hours we prayed, the mark would not disappear, only fading slightly. The Captain clung to it, praying endlessly. I, however, gave up almost immediately.

I was not even sure if this person could truly be called human.

He knew more about God than we, God’s own subordinates, did. He casually guffawed with an air of nonchalance, even while irreverently calling out God’s name. When struck by divine wrath, he merely laughed it off, claiming to be fine.

Whether it was a reward or a punishment, it was God’s power. How often in a lifetime would one witness such a thing in reality?

The man abruptly declared that he would make us hunt demons.

We hadn’t spent a long time together; it had only been a few days. Yet, at least during that period, Haut seemed strange to me. He was odd from the start, but the more I got to know him, the stranger he became. Fundamentally, he possessed almost no common sense—things like needing to wear clothes, or understanding the material value of the items he produced.

He cared even less about worldly affairs than a blind man. He would pour out enormous gold coins at a shabby village blacksmith, or search for glass stones and mithril that shouldn’t exist outside major cities. He would even casually produce astonishingly precious artifacts that made one’s eyes reel, thrusting them upon us right before others.

Yet, in other respects, he displayed knowledge so profound it was almost infuriating. He located dungeons simply by observing the terrain and identified their type merely from their entrance. His knowledge of monsters and demon species was extensive, and he would readily list the myriad uses of various herbs and fruits. Especially his understanding of how to deal with monsters and demons—it was nothing short of absolute perfection.

He knew exactly what attacks monsters would use, when, and how, and how they would react to our movements. He would meticulously drag us over, instructing us with an almost obsessive level of detail. So precisely that we could fight them with our eyes closed.

“He’s like a child. Strong, certainly, but a child.”

“Yes, it seems so,” the Captain replied.

He knew nothing of the world, yet possessed immense knowledge about everything else. He acted like an oversized child: stubborn to a fault, indulging only his whims, and casually parting with his possessions.

“Anyone can see he’s ripe for being swindled. There’s no bigger pushover.”

“Jack, even so, that’s a bit much. Be careful.”

“Don’t you think so too, Captain? He’s going to cause trouble someday. We need to talk to him.”

We were human, so how could we not be tempted? Still, we couldn’t just pretend not to know and keep taking things. Even for such a crazy person, no matter how strong he was, we still worried about him.

“You guys seem to have grown fond of me.”

‘Damn it all! How could he possibly interpret our words that way to come up with such a thing!’

The Captain sat him down and began to lecture him, explaining that he shouldn’t be so careless. At first, Haut seemed to grumble with a sullen face, making it clear he didn’t want to listen. Then, he suddenly smiled brightly and uttered that ridiculous statement.

‘This foolish monster seems genuinely happy that we worried about him. He’s absurdly, incomprehensibly carefree! Is this man truly alright?!’

Of course, he wasn’t alright.

He held humans in contempt. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say he attributed no value to humanity at all. He merely called us “newbies” and arbitrarily treated us well, showing no concern for other humans whatsoever.

“An assassin, perhaps?”

We had expected something like this to happen someday. It came sooner than imagined, though. Even after just a few days, rumors of his immense treasures and vast wealth must have spread faster than we thought. There were already robbers trying to steal from him.

Judging by the assassin’s reaction, the blacksmith from the village we previously visited must have been the mastermind. That scoundrel! After taking so much from him! Such was the terrifying grip of avarice.

They clearly knew we, priests, were with him, yet they still dared to resort to blades in their attempt to plunder him. The man and the assassin exchanged incomprehensible words. Then, upon hearing that “The Blind One” had died, he suddenly burst into a torrent of tears.

He then let the assassin go. We were too stunned to even stop the fleeing culprit. We had momentarily forgotten, as he didn’t seem human.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Haut, please calm down first. Have some water, or something….”

This, too, seemed to be human behavior. The man wept inconsolably. No matter what we said or did, he didn’t even make a pretense of listening. He simply cried alone.

“How can we comfort him if he won’t speak! Is all he can do just cry?”

“Jack, I don’t know much, but… it doesn’t seem like there’s anything we can do right now,” the Captain said.

“Damn it! He can cut down hundreds, thousands of monsters with a single swing! Who could possibly make him lose his mind like this?!”

He swayed listlessly, yielding to every push and pull like a mere puppet. We gently laid the man on the bed. He continued to weep. He cried for three days. He wept so profusely that the bedsheets became saturated. He hadn’t eaten anything and seemed not to have slept, with not even the slightest movement, like getting up or turning over. It was useless to offer him food.

“He’s not actually going to die from this, is he?”

The Captain merely offered a low, somber murmur in response. I couldn’t offer an answer either. Who could that person have been, to make him grieve so deeply?

The man finally stopped crying on the morning of the fourth day.

[MC’s Perspective]

Vaiberon was just one of countless children randomly generated within the system. They didn’t have good stats or a pretty appearance. In fact, they were notably inferior compared to other children.

Half of their face was disfigured by burns, rendering them unsightly. Even their basic lore setting was sparse. The child I first encountered was sitting alone in a corner of an orphanage. Their dull, clouded eyes gazed up from the shadows, huddled away from the group of laughing and playing children.

Honestly, I didn’t feel sorry for the child. What was a child without even a side quest? Just data. In the beginning, I just needed a temporary shield because I wasn’t ready for combat. Having a child around meant no combat events or a significantly reduced difficulty.

I ended up traveling with the child for longer than I expected. Even after establishing a certain foundation, I continued until the child grew into an adult. Yes, I admit it. I grew fond of them while traveling together.

Bebe was weak. In terms of usefulness, they were so utterly dreadful as to be practically useless. Their stats were less than a quarter of the average NPC’s. Still, the child smiled so beautifully. I’d heard that the more lacking a character’s stats, the richer their AI scripts were, and it seemed that was true.

I compensated for their poor stats with my own efforts. I fed them various elixirs to boost their numbers, dragged them along as a companion to raise them, and equipped them with the best gear. I raised them incredibly diligently. Their base stats were worse than a chicken wandering around the village, but I forcibly raised them to a high-tier character. It was a truly tear-inducing endeavor, worthy of being called a triumph of human will.

Their face was a default setting, so I couldn’t fix it. That was a bit disappointing. Since they were a randomly generated child, neither code changes nor system skin modifications worked.

When I posted about Bebe online, everyone branded me an utter fool. They scoffed, declaring there was no such madman in the world. Why would I do such a useless thing? Why pour so much effort into a trash character that wasn’t pretty and had terrible stats?

But do I have to prioritize efficiency even in a game?

Of course, at first, I just thought of them as data. It’s true that I deliberately chose an unappealing child so I could use and discard them anytime. But Bebe had a pretty smile. Was I overly immersed? Why couldn’t I be? Though it wasn’t much in real-world time, it was 10 years in game-time. You’d even grow fond of a dog if you raised it for that long.

So I handed over the organization I created to Bebe: The Ravens of the Riverbank.

The Ravens of the Riverbank is an organization devoted to Debora, the Goddess of Fortune. They engage in acts of assassination and theft, though primarily the former. Their leader, “The Blind One,” is an apostle of Debora. Therefore, the Ravens’ base is Debora’s temple.

What should I call it? A concept akin to righteous outlaws? It has a certain allure, doesn’t it? Like avenging the wronged and vulnerable. Since it involves killing people and stealing things, it can’t be seen as entirely good, but for some, it’s a stroke of luck.

Debora is the Goddess of Fortune. But that’s not all. Although not widely known, she is also the Goddess of Mystery and the Unknown. That’s why she has nothing. She has no temples or priests, yet her divinity is maintained. Because in this world overflowing with mystery and the unknown, no one doesn’t wish for fortune.

I created such a temple for Debora and made assassins and thieves her priests. And I named her apostle “The Blind One.” In a world with thousands of gods and countless people serving them, only Debora had nothing. Debora seemed quite pleased, bestowing generous blessings of fortune, to the point of lavish abundance.

Ordinary NPCs in this world grow, age, and die like real people. Thus, the world continuously cycles. However, key figures or NPCs vital for quests do not age and die.

The leader of an organization and an apostle of a god is certainly a key figure, right? So I thought they wouldn’t die! I never imagined they would personally give up everything I gave them and die! I know that The Ravens of the Riverbank is an organization I created, and since there are no quests to give, their death isn’t strange. But why did they step down from the apostle position themselves? Was it simply time? That seems to be the only answer.

“Eat something. You haven’t had a single drop of water for three days now.”

I didn’t even know how much time had passed. According to Jack, it was the morning of the fourth day. Had it been that long? I don’t know. It had been a long time since I’d stayed logged in this long, except for major quests. Most days, I’d just raid a demon nest and log out.

Why was I so depressed over something like this?