Chapter 3

Sōma woke up to the vibrations that rattled through his body.

He still felt a lingering fatigue and dizziness, making his consciousness hazy. Nevertheless, he managed to open his eyes slightly.

The first thing he saw was a dirty wooden board. It seemed he was lying on some kind of cart. When he raised his eyes a little, he found himself in a withered, yellowish grassland battered by a cold wind.

“Lu-Bana! Lu-Bana! Pomus Ishetarū Kimuiha!”

A foreign language he had never heard before echoed from somewhere.

“A... ah... ugh...”

He tried to speak, but only a faint groan came out from his parched throat. Nausea rose, but his empty stomach had nothing to vomit, and he could only retch.

“Sugaburamu! Sugaburamu!”

He heard a man shouting nearby.

“Somuarua Okku Hūnoiha!”

He couldn’t understand what was being said. It certainly wasn’t Japanese or English.

After a while, he heard the sound of hooves, like those in a movie.

“Oh. Di Okku Hūnoiha?”

With that voice, a shadow fell over Sōma’s face. Sōma, who was so exhausted that he couldn’t even move his neck, managed to move his eyes to see what was blocking the sun.

(…This must be a dream…)

What caught his eye was a face that resembled a lizard. However, it was as large as a horse’s head and covered in brown fur, which was unusual for a lizard. The lizard flicked its forked tongue and looked down at Sōma.

There’s no way such a creature could exist in reality.

Sōma thought that.

“Diha Noiha? Dizu Migu Noiha?”

A voice came from above, but Sōma couldn’t understand the words.

“...Wh... Where am I...?”

He strained to speak, but his voice was so weak it was barely audible. Using up all his strength, Sōma’s consciousness slipped back into darkness.

◆◇◆◇◆

A cold north wind, heralding the arrival of winter, swept across the withered grassland.

Just a short while ago, it was a blazing summer. However, the brief autumn had passed quickly, and now it was winter.

The cold wind cut through the body, and the squad leader, Setius, frowned.

Recently, the extermination of the heretics who had been causing trouble in the vicinity had been unexpectedly easy. A priest who had come all the way from the capital had grandly declared, “This is the will of the gods,” and ordered the extermination of the heretics. Setius had been worried about how terrifying they might be.

But when the lid was lifted, the heretics turned out to be a bunch of amateurs. There were no eerie magics or terrifying monsters like in the tales sung by bards.

The march from the fortress was far more arduous than the extermination itself.

“Hurry! Hurry! The sun is setting in the west!”

He heard one of the squad leaders urging his subordinates.

They wanted to reach the large rock ahead before dusk. If they camped on this exposed plain, they would be tormented by the north wind all night and wouldn’t be able to rest properly.

“Squad leader! Squad leader!”

It was the voice of a squad leader from the middle of the marching unit.

“The boy seems to have woken up!”

Currently, the “boy” referred to the young boy found in the heretics’ lair, who was believed to be the “Child.”

Setius pulled the reins and turned his dragon mount.

The dragon mount, despite its name, was more like a lizard. It had two thick, sturdy hind legs for running on the ground, and its forelegs were thin and short, used only to push itself up or hold down prey. Its body was covered in blue-black scales and brown fur, making it resistant to even a poorly made knife. It was somewhat weak against the cold, but it required less care than horses in the distant southern grasslands and was not timid, making it a preferred mount for warriors.

“Hey! Has the boy woken up?”

The squad leader nodded in response to Setius’s question and pointed to the cart loaded with supplies and weapons.

There, in a small gap between the supplies, the boy found in the heretics’ lair was lying under a ragged blanket.

Setius brought his dragon mount closer to the cart, matched its speed, and peered at the boy’s face.

The boy looked pale, as if he were ill, and was groaning in pain.

If he had a contagious disease, it would be a problem, but they couldn’t just abandon him. The best they could do was limit the number of people who came into contact with him.

The boy’s eyes were slightly open, but they didn’t seem to be focused.

Even if he could speak, a coherent response was unlikely, but Setius asked anyway.

“Who are you? Are you the ‘Child’?”

But there was no response.

Just as Setius was about to give up, he faintly heard the boy’s voice.

“...ko...kokoha, doko...?”

It was a language Setius had never heard before, not the local Dears language or the sacred language used by priests. It didn’t sound like the language of elves or dwarves either.

Judging by his appearance, the boy seemed to be from a distant foreign land, but neither he nor anyone in the squad knew where that was. He might have come from the mysterious island in the far east, as described by traveling merchants and bards in taverns.

“Where are you from? Who are you?”

But the boy lost consciousness again before he could answer.

Setius sighed in frustration, and the squad leader, who had been watching, cautiously spoke up.

“Squad leader, what should we do with this kid?”

“We can’t just abandon him. Take care of him so he doesn’t die.”

The squad leader didn’t immediately acknowledge the order but only managed a strained smile.

“What’s the matter, squad leader? Do you have a complaint?”

Setius asked, his tone implying a reprimand.

The squad leader hunched his shoulders and looked up.

“Squad leader, this kid is, you know, the ‘Child,’ right?”

Setius understood.

In the fortress where Setius and his men served, the “Child” had become a taboo due to a recent incident.

“Won’t we be cursed if we get involved? Besides, he seems to be sick.”

Setius understood the squad leader’s feelings. If it weren’t for his duty as a squad leader, he would have wanted to abandon the boy on the plain.

Reluctantly, Setius leaned out from his dragon mount and touched the boy’s body.

“Look. Just touching him won’t curse you. Besides, that incident was due to the fort commander’s, well, problematic tendencies, not because he was a ‘Child.’ Normally, being a ‘Child’ doesn’t bring curses.”

While saying this, Setius was secretly afraid that he might be cursed and killed the moment he touched the boy. However, he couldn’t show such fear and put on a brave front for the squad leader.

“If you’re afraid of the ‘Child’s’ curse, abandoning him on the plain or letting him starve to death would be even more likely to bring a curse.”

The squad leader shuddered.

“I understand, squad leader! In return, please give us some alcohol when we return to the fort.”

Setius agreed and spurred his dragon mount to the front of the squad.

At that moment, a particularly strong north wind blew. Looking up, he saw dark clouds covering the sky, promising snow.

“Damn... This doesn’t look good.”

◆◇◆◇◆

The area known as the Solbiant Plain was once under the control of the Zoan, one of the sub-human races.

However, about thirty years ago, the neighboring country of Holmea, seeking to expand its granary, gradually extended its influence into the plain.

The Zoan, the native inhabitants, resisted, and there were repeated bloody clashes on the plain.

While the Zoan were physically superior to humans individually, they were no match for the organized human army, and many were forced to flee from their homeland, leaving behind many casualties.

Now, the Zoan are confined to the hills north of the Donas Mountains, living in hiding.

However, they occasionally descend to the plain to reclaim their land, and to protect the settlers, a fortress was built at the edge of the hills.

Setius’s squad reached the fortress three days after the heretic extermination.

Passing through the gate, Setius reprimanded his relieved subordinates and instructed them to clean up and report. When he noticed the arrival of the battalion adjutant, Marcronis, he saluted.

“Squad leader Setius, reporting back!”

“Good work, Setius.”

Marcronis was an elderly man with several sword scars on his face, a testament to his military career.

“We have exterminated all the heretics who were abducting young girls from the settler villages. There were no casualties in our squad!”

Marcronis smiled, more satisfied with the lack of casualties than the extermination of the heretics, but his expression turned grim when he heard a noisy voice from behind.

“You incompetent worm! Move faster! Faster, faster!”

The voice belonged to a fat man in a white and blue priest’s robe, who looked nothing like a holy man. He seemed more suited to talking about food or making money.

The priest was riding in a litter carried by two half-naked men, waving a riding crop.

“Welcome, Priest Mildas. What brings you here?”

Marcronis, hiding his grimace, greeted the priest grandly.

Mildas, despite being called a “pig” or “toad” by the soldiers in the fortress, was a formal military chaplain. In a continent where the power of the Holy Church was strong, even a general could not afford to ignore him.

“No, no, Marcronis. This is about the extermination of the heretics who defy the Holy Church. As a devout servant of the gods, this is a matter of great importance. I couldn’t sit still and had to come here.”

With that, Mildas laughed, his fat throat jiggling.

“So, what happened to those wicked heretics?”

Setius ordered a subordinate to bring a jar and a small hemp bag.

First, he untied the rope on the bag and opened it to show the contents.

Inside were a large number of human ears.

“As proof of the extermination of the heretics, I brought only their right ears.”

Carrying all their heads would have been too much trouble, so he brought only the right ears.

Next, Setius removed the lid of the jar on the ground and took out a salted head.

“And, as ordered, the leader of the heretics is salted.”

Mildas hit the man carrying the litter with his riding crop.

“Faster, you slowpoke!”

The man groaned and knelt to lower the litter. Mildas stepped on the man’s head to jump down and took the head from Setius, examining it closely.

Setius, having his head stepped on, looked at the man who had fallen face-first to the ground with a sympathetic gaze. The man, wearing tattered clothes, had numerous whip marks on his body, some of which were dripping with blood.

While he thought it was a harsh treatment, even for a slave, he noticed that the men were not human. They were dwarves, a sub-human race.

This explained the priest’s treatment.

To the Holy Church, which preached human supremacy, sub-humans were inferior beings that should be eliminated.

Mildas, holding the head, exclaimed in delight.

“Oh, oh! This is definitely the head of the leader of the heretics! Well done! Well done!”

He carefully placed the head back in the jar, hugged it, and smiled.

“I will take this head to the Holy Capital myself! Indeed, Marcronis, you have done well! Well done!”

Mildas’s attitude made Setius realize that this was not just the head of a heretic leader, but he didn’t say anything. It was better to keep the priest in a good mood and have him leave the fortress as soon as possible.

As Marcronis suspected, the old man who was called the leader of the heretics was not just an old man. He had been one of the three high priests who led the Holy Church in the Holy Capital and the head of a powerful clan.

However, he lost all his positions and rights in a political upheaval within the Holy Church and fled the capital, branded as a heretic along with his clan.

Mildas, learning that the old man had recently fled to this area, saw it as a divine sign and decided to use the fortress soldiers to kill him.

Even though he had lost all his power, the old man had once been at the top of the Holy Church. For the current high priests, he was a thorn in their side. Bringing his head to the Holy Capital would surely earn their favor, and he might even be appointed to a diocese or, if lucky, serve in the Holy Capital.

Imagining the glory to come, Mildas smiled.

“Priest Mildas, may I ask a question?”

Mildas, whose reverie was interrupted, answered irritably.

“Yes, I understand. I will report your bravery. Rest assured.”

“No, that’s not what I meant...” Setius lowered his voice. “Actually, we found a suspicious boy in the heretics’ lair.”

“A suspicious boy? What nonsense. If he was in the heretics’ lair, he must be one of them. Just cut off his head.”

Mildas, mocking him, snorted. Setius lowered his voice even more.

“But, this boy seems to be a ‘Child.’”

At these words, not only Mildas but also Marcronis, who had been listening silently, looked startled.

“What kind of ‘Child’ is he?”

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t determine what kind of ‘Child’ he is, so I brought him here for your judgment.”

Mildas laughed. Those chosen as ‘Children’ have a mark somewhere on their body. By seeing the mark, one can immediately tell which being chose them. Not knowing this was simply a lack of knowledge.

Thinking it might be good to show off his superior knowledge to an uneducated soldier, Mildas reluctantly led the way to the boy.

“This is the boy.”

Setius pointed to the black-haired boy lying on the cart.

Mildas frowned. He had never seen a person with such black hair before. What was this strange clothing?

“And this is the ‘mark.’”

Setius pushed the boy’s bangs aside to reveal a faint symbol on his forehead, a figure that looked like an 8 and an ∞ combined.

“What... is this?”

Mildas was at a loss. He had boasted, but the boy’s mark was unlike any he knew. Unable to admit he didn’t know, he was trying to think of an excuse when he suddenly remembered something.

Huh? This mark looks familiar...

“...! Ah, ah!!”

Mildas’s sudden outburst made Setius and Marcronis stare in surprise.

Mildas, making a loud noise, jumped onto the litter.

“Marcronis, don’t let that boy escape! I’ll explain later!”

With that, he whipped the dwarf slaves and hurried away.

Setius and Marcronis, left behind, looked at each other in confusion.

It was only a little later that they noticed the jar containing the heretic leader’s head had been left behind.

◆◇◆◇◆

Mildas returned to his room and started flipping through the books on the bookshelf.

“This one isn’t it! This one isn’t it! Where is it, where is it?!”

The books scattered across the room were not what one would expect from a holy man, but rather erotic and entertainment books.

“Damn it! Where did I put it? —Ah, right! It’s still in the trunk!”

He opened the lid of a dusty wooden chest in the corner of the room and started rummaging through it. Under a nearly unused Bible and a broken statue, he found the book he was looking for.

The title was “Augustus’s Memoirs.”

In the Holy Church, Augustus was one of the disciples of Innocent, the founder of the Holy Church, who is revered as the Son of God and the Savior. This book records the conversations between Augustus and Innocent.

However, because it describes Innocent’s life and actions in too much detail, it is inconvenient for the Holy Church, which deifies Innocent as the Son of God and the Savior, and is classified as an apocryphal text.

“Surely, it’s in here somewhere...”

He licked his worm-like fingers and flipped through the pages.

“...! There it is!”

This section describes how, after two months of asc