Chapter 56: The Reunion of the Porter and the Saintess (1)

Gaion Rune Warlock.

An elderly man of vast years, he was akin to the history of the kingdom itself.

He bore the middle name “Rune,” a title reserved exclusively for Great Sages.

He was the Great Sage who had sealed Emilia the Hero’s power and served as both advisor to the regent and consultant to the kingdom, wielding significant authority under the king.

Though his blackened pupils, rendered blind upon his awakening as a Great Sage, exuded an intimidating air, they were said to possess a mysterious power capable of peering into the depths of one’s mind.

The staff he carried, crafted from the roots of the World Tree, was imbued with sacred power, granting him unparalleled insight as a Great Sage.

Thus, he had been puzzled.

In Emilia the Hero’s heart, there had been no trace of darkness.

Yet, the Saintess’s prophecies were absolute, even above the Great Sage’s own insights. He had no choice but to accept them.

Compared to the words of the divine, his own understanding was like the babble of an infant.

Thus, he absorbed Emilia’s power into the Philosopher’s Stone, sealing it away in a location known only to himself and Brikal.

Afterward, he had secluded himself in his annex.

“Are you here, Great Sage? This is Regent Akaron.”

Regent Akaron was the first visitor in nearly two months to the annex, where even King Brikal had not come seeking counsel.

The air inside was heavy with desolation.

Creak. The rusty hinges groaned as the door opened, and Warlock greeted him.

“Come in, Akaron.”

Warlock tapped his staff rhythmically as he led Akaron into the inner chamber.

Cobwebs clung to the corners, and the furniture was coated in thick dust.

The atmosphere was eerie. Akaron brushed the dust off the table with his hand, blew it away, and sat down.

“Heh, it seems a bit dusty.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Shall I prepare some tea…”

“No need, Warlock. I only stopped by briefly as I’ve been quite busy lately.”

“Is that so? I hear the king has fallen.”

“Oh, you’ve heard?”

“Heh, some things do not need to be heard to be known.”

At Warlock’s words, Akaron nodded and got straight to the point.

The Great Sage, with his immense magical power and transcendent insight, might have a way to address the current turmoil. That was why Akaron had come.

The present chaos was so overwhelming that even Akaron, with his deep experience, found it difficult to navigate.

“The saintess disappeared early this morning, leaving the palace and going into hiding.”

“…I see.”

Warlock’s darkened eyelids lifted slightly in surprise before he nodded several times.

The king’s collapse.

The saintess’s disappearance.

He had not foreseen these events in detail, but he sensed that they had unfolded as destined.

“Did you know this would happen? Or do you have any idea why the saintess might have gone into hiding?”

“There is only one reason.”

“And what is that?”

Warlock opened his eyes.

Akaron flinched as he saw the jet-black pupils, completely devoid of light.

“Heresy. If not for that, she would have had no reason to go into hiding.”

“What…? Heresy? But what reason would the saintess have to commit such a thing…?”

Warlock closed his eyes thoughtfully, recalling Brikal.

At some point, the king’s breath had begun to carry an inexplicable odor.

And after that, Brikal no longer sought his counsel, as if he no longer needed advice from anyone.

Eventually, Brikal collapsed, and the saintess disappeared. It was hard to believe all this was mere coincidence.

Warlock could only conclude that misfortune had descended upon the kingdom.

“The saintess fled under the cover of the king’s collapse. That leaves only one possible reason.”

“What… What do you mean?”

“She fled from the king. It’s the only explanation. Likely, the king did something dreadful to her.”

“Dreadful? Are you saying he forced her to make false prophecies?”

Warlock nodded, and Akaron’s mouth hung open in shock.

If Warlock’s insight was correct, this provided enormous leverage for the Holy Empire against the kingdom.

Akaron could hardly believe it.

“No… Even if the king acted arrogantly, he wouldn’t commit heresy, would he?”

“From a certain point, a sinister aura began to linger around him.”

“What do you mean by that…?”

Warlock tapped his staff on the floor as he rose from his seat.

“Go to the third basement of the palace. Follow the path lit by torches, and you’ll come to a room after passing the statue of a halberd-wielding knight. There, you will find answers.”

“…Are you saying there’s a third basement level in the royal palace?”

Despite serving the king as regent for many years, Akaron had no knowledge of such a place.

His eyebrows quivered as Warlock suddenly revealed this secret floor to him.

“In that place are sealed the Hero Emilia’s power and the Sacred Sword.”

“What…? Why are you telling me this?”

The location of the sealed power and Sacred Sword was known only to Warlock and King Brikal. Yet, Warlock had now divulged this top-secret information.

Warlock chuckled softly, his gray-white beard trembling with his laughter.

“The king has fallen, has he not? If I were to fall as well, the Hero’s power and the Sacred Sword would vanish into history. Such an ignorant end to their existence must be prevented.”

“…But why reveal this to me now?”

Warlock opened his eyes.

His blackened pupils, devoid of light, stared blankly into the distance.

Akaron followed his gaze but saw only a large, dust-covered black orb in the room.

“Who knows? Perhaps the time will come when the Hero must fulfill her destiny again.”

Warlock’s words—calling Emilia, who had fallen to the status of a s*ave, a ‘Hero’ once more—were difficult for Akaron to decipher.

However, one thing became clear to him.

Unprecedented events were unfolding amidst these chaotic times.

“Present the caravan’s insignia.”

“Here it is.”

At the western gate of the Rosell Duchy, two guards with crossed halberds stopped a caravan approaching the gate over the moat.

The caravan leader at the front handed over the insignia of the Ridis Caravan to the guard.

After confirming the insignia, the guards began inspecting the five wagons and their cargo holds.

The caravan leader followed close behind them.

“Haha, there’s nothing unusual. Just common goods like alcohol and foodstuffs.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The inspection was cursory, merely pulling back the covers of the wagons to glance at the contents.

When the guards reached the last wagon, one of them paused as something was placed in his hand.

“What is this?”

“Oh, just a small gesture of goodwill. You must be weary from tirelessly guarding the gates.”

In the guard’s hand were two silver coins—a substantial amount, considering a day’s wage was 3 dong and 20 cents.

The guard glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then slipped the coins into a hidden pocket in his armor before moving to the last wagon.

He pulled back the tarp and peered into the cargo hold.

Inside were piles of smuggled goods and illegally hunted animal pelts.

The guard gave a faint smile and nodded in approval.

Two silver coins were enough to spend three days and nights indulging in the red-light district.

Any sense of duty as a gate guard had completely vanished.

“Well, there’s nothing of concern here.”

“Haha, I told you so, didn’t I?”

After lowering the tarp, the guard signed a parchment and handed it back to the caravan leader, who bowed repeatedly with a wide grin.

“Thank you, sir! Please take care!”

“Open the gate!”

The guard shouted up to the castle wall, and with a crack of the whip, the caravan of three wagons passed through the gate into the Rosell Duchy.

In the corner of the third wagon’s cargo hold, buried under white fox pelts, lay the saintess, Yuria, holding her breath.

‘Did… did I make it?’

Perhaps the divine had taken pity on her.

By chance, the third wagon she had boarded was filled with contraband, and the caravan leader’s bribe to the guards had ensured no thorough search was conducted.

Now, she had successfully entered the Rosell Duchy.

It was sheer luck.

Had it not been for this fortunate turn of events, she would have been caught and dragged back to the royal palace by now.

‘Phew… What do I do now?’

Yuria pulled aside the white fox pelts covering her and peered out through a small gap in the wagon’s tarp.

Judging by the sounds of bustling merchants shouting and the sight of market stalls lining the streets, the caravan appeared to be passing through the central marketplace.

‘…Rosell Duchy is full of life.’

For a moment, the sight of the vibrant marketplace and the sounds of commerce made her painfully aware of her pitiable situation, hiding among goods and unable to show her face.

But there was no turning back now, nor any way to correct her course.

All she could hope for was that the wagon would stop somewhere, giving her a chance to escape.

Since this was a choice made for survival, Yuria knew she had to live no matter what.

The Rosell Duchy was just a temporary stop for her long journey.

She planned to find another caravan or, if there was a nearby territory or village, to begin traveling under the cover of night.

Although the threat of monsters, bandits, and thieves loomed, staying here was too dangerous, given the proximity to the capital.

Whoa, whoa.

The wagon began to slow, and Yuria quickly hid herself toward the rear of the cargo hold.

She peered out through a small gap in the tarp. Her slender frame allowed her to fit comfortably in the small space between the piles of cargo.

‘…It’s quiet.’

Thankfully, the surroundings were calm.

Yuria decided she would escape as soon as the guards left. Swallowing hard, she waited for the escort to disperse, her heart pounding in her chest.

If she could reach a remote territory or a small village in the western or southern borders, places untouched by the Holy Kingdom’s influence, she could live out the rest of her life in hiding.

Moving there while concealing her identity would require stealth and evasion.

Her heart raced at the thought of fleeing for the first time in her life, but she desperately wanted to live.

Unlike Duvel, she lacked the courage or conviction to atone for her sins with her life.

All she wanted was for this escape to end safely, to reach the uncharted western or southern borders where the Holy Kingdom’s gaze couldn’t follow, and live a lowly but secure life.

“Well then, we’ll take our leave.”

At that moment, the sound of coins jingling could be heard as the captain of the escort received a small pouch.

The escort began to withdraw, and Yuria seized the opportunity.

She tore through the tarp and leapt out, sprinting in the opposite direction of the caravan without a backward glance.

Praying fervently that no one would notice her.

But it seemed her luck had run out.

“Hey! What was that?! Someone just jumped out of the third wagon! Stop them!!”

The caravan leader’s voice rang out behind her, and soon, the caravan members began their furious pursuit.

Yuria had no time to scream. She ran with all her might, her bare feet nearly skinned from the rough ground.

“Stop right there!!”

“Don’t you dare run!”

Thankfully, the gap between them was already significant when they spotted her, giving her a bit of a head start.

Thud, thud. She nearly tripped over loose stones several times but managed to push forward with all her strength.

Finally, she darted into the narrow gap between two buildings.

It was a dark alley shrouded in shadows. The maze-like layout made it the perfect place to lose her pursuers.

But Yuria quickly realized how mistaken she was.

Smack!

“Ahh!”

“Ugh!”

Just as she turned the second corner, she collided with someone. The impact sent both of them tumbling to the ground.

The stranger, who had been walking leisurely with his hands in his pockets, fell backward from the unexpected collision.

Due to the momentum, Yuria ended up sprawled on top of him, her hood slipping off as her head jerked back.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

Before she could pick herself up from the stranger’s chest, Yuria frantically tried to pull her hood back on. But as she glanced down, her eyes widened in shock.

“Saintess…?”

The man lying beneath her stared up in surprise.

Though his hair was red, faint streaks of white beneath the surface stood out vividly in her memory.

He had the same hair color as hers—an odd bond she had noticed back then.

A man whose sacred hair contrasted with his fate as a porter, a fate she had thought peculiar.

And now, that same man lay beneath her, staring at her in astonishment.

“…La… Laferon…?”

“S-Saintess? What is this…?”