“That was Master’s... I know it was...”
Cion muttered to herself over and over as we made our way through the forest in the wake of the attack. The greatsword in that black wolfman’s paws had belonged to Veiss Volg—our kingdom’s greatest champion, Cion’s master, and the man she owed her life to. A man who’d gone missing in action, whose body had never been found.
“I swear I’ll get it back...”
Cion spoke with rage in her eyes, but that thing back there must have been...
“No, this isn’t the time...” I muttered. I couldn’t tell her the truth right now. We were both exhausted, and before anything else, we needed to regroup with the mercenaries.
“You understand, right, Cion?”
“Yeah... I’m worried about the boss and the others too.”
Cion led the way out of the dark forest, and after checking a few likely spots, we arrived at the mercenaries’ encampment behind a hill overlooking the trees. The hastily constructed camp was surrounded by stakes to repel attackers. Some of the mercenaries were keeping watch in shifts, while the rest were sitting around fires and trying to recover their stamina. It had been almost three weeks since the attack on Arshelm began, and their exhaustion was plain to see. They’d been able to get small amounts of supplies from the surrounding towns, but their weapons were damaged, and their armor was barely held together with improvised repairs.
I gazed over at Cion and the mercenaries exchanging warm greetings. “I’d heard they were on the verge of annihilation, but this really is dire...”
“Listen, they might be a bunch of drunks, but they’re still professionals—this is how they stay fed. They’ve gotten through plenty of tough scrapes before,” a voice floated down from slightly above me.
“I thought you were an innkeeper, not a bounty hunter.”
“I ain’t got any customers coming around lately, so I’ve gotta pick up some side jobs.”
“Boss!” Cion called out as she noticed us. She bounded over like an excited dog, and the bald-headed man with the ridiculous résumé—innkeeper, mercenary leader, and former royal knight captain—cheerfully clapped her on the back.
“Glad to see you back in one piece, kid. Still taking some damn risky swings, though, ain’t you?”
He shot a look not at Cion, but at me.
“You and Miss Bride got yourselves captured, and now you’re just waltzing right back out? So, is the war over now, or what?”
He kept his tone light, but he sounded expectant.
“I’m sorry. We set out to negotiate an armistice, but the discussion didn’t go well...” I sighed. “I don’t see any priests here; you’ve requested aid from the Church, haven’t you?”
The injured mercenaries lying by the fireside were being tended to by other injured mercenaries who could still stand. I could see a few men who looked like medics here and there, but there were nowhere near enough of them.
“The church in town was already all cleared out by the time we got there. We sent people out to beg for help from nearby, but everyone’s saying they can’t leave their own villages.”
“What about the Spirit Mountain Temple?” I asked. “It’s not far from here...”
“We sent guys there too. They got a no. There’s a new archbishop running the place these days—says he can hear the voices of the Gods or something. Guess he ain’t got time to listen to us humans anymore.”
“What a grand and pious man His Excellency must be,” I replied flatly.
“You’re the bride here—think you could say anything to get him to come ’round?”
“Unfortunately, my cardinal is missing at the moment... I’m afraid I may not be able to do much. I’ll attend to everyone’s injuries to the best of my ability, in any case.”
“Much appreciated. Just about all these guys have going for them is their thick skulls, and even then, they’re pretty much at their limit. I reckon if you hold their hands, they oughta be able to hang in there for a couple more days...”
That was when I noticed the handful of strangely anxious gazes pointed my way.
“I am a bride of the Gods.”
“Sure, but you’re still a beauty, either way.”
Look, flatter me all you want, but...
“Well... I suppose I do need them up and about, at least enough to serve as meat shields.”
Mentally filing this away as just part of my job, I addressed the men around us.
“I’ll attend to you all in turn, starting with those who are unable to move. If possible, please bring the most severely injured to a central location so that I can heal them all at once.”
I hadn’t especially been trying to raise my voice, but we must have had more eyes on us than I’d realized. After a brief silence, the encampment was filled with shouts of “Yeahhh!” and “Our goddess returns!” and “Sorry for saying you were still growing and stuff!”
“I see a few of your men need to be removed from the front lines.”
I was genuinely determined to track down a couple of those voices, but Cion managed to calm me down. She was right—this wasn’t the time for stringing up idiots. Healing was what I needed to focus on right now. I could string them up after I healed them.
Inwardly reminding myself of my priorities, I headed over to the injured mercenaries, with Cion and the innkeeper in tow. The aether out here was as thin as ever; I doubted there’d be enough to fully heal everyone. Depending on how things went, I might need to repurpose some of my personal reserves...
“Oh, that reminds me.” Carrying on my healing in the background, I turned to address the unusually well-informed man standing behind me. “Sir Former Royal Knight Captain—you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a devil-touched man with burn scars on his face, would you?”
“Burn scars...?”
“We were attacked on our way back here,” I explained. “It was dark, so I was only able to get a vague impression, but he was a tall man with strangely long limbs. Also, his eyes were red...”
I’d checked with Cion as well, but she’d never heard of him. Obviously, she wouldn’t have—he was a devil-touched, and she’d spent her life fighting demons.
“Boss...?” Cion asked, looking up at him as I continued my explanation.
“Ah... Right, sorry. Just to make sure—did he have brand marks on the backs of his hands? X-shaped ones?”
“I’m not sure...”
It had only been a brief encounter, and the forest had been pitch-dark. But as I tried to recall, Cion nodded.
“He did. I’m pretty sure those were from a branding iron.”
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me...” The former royal knight captain threw back his head with a pained expression.
Brand marks on the backs of his hands—in other words, he must have been a slave.
“If he had burns on his face too, then yeah, I guess that settles it... Can’t believe he’s still alive after all that...”
Cion and I gave each other a quizzical look. Judging by the reactions of the men around us, the innkeeper was the only one who’d heard of this guy; it must have been someone from his royal knight days.
“Just who is he?” I asked.
He’d managed to catch Cion by surprise, and he’d seemed to be targeting me. What’s more, he’d managed to dodge Cion’s strikes, even if only briefly.