Chapter 61: Those Who Wander in Search of God and Paradise (2)
Boom—
There was no sound, but their hearts sank heavily. A silence passed once more. Unable to bear the atmosphere, Rohaim raised the wineskin, took a deep gulp, and let out a long sigh.
"…Did you really have to say it so bluntly? It just makes it hurt more."
"If I hadn't, you wouldn't have accepted it. Look at Colton—he's still half out of his mind. You're in denial, clinging to hope. If I don't cut it off here and now, it'll just fester."
"…And you, old man? You've already accepted it?"
"Of course not."
Dean snatched the wineskin from Rohaim's hands and downed it in one go, as though trying to quench a burning thirst. Even if it was just wine they usually drank like water, it still carried the bite of intoxication. Yet Dean didn't care. He drank, then exhaled heavily.
"You think I want to believe it? But we have no choice. You know as well as I do—our lord wasn't one for hiding in times like these. He loved games, yes, but never at the cost of the clan's future. You saw it yourself. The house is fracturing. Some, like Colton, are lost in shock. Others, like you, are clinging to denial. Some are scrambling to keep the clan together, while others whisper about abandoning it to follow only strength. The capital is chaos."
Rohaim grit his teeth. "…Then shouldn't the branch lords step in? They're monsters in their own right."
He knew the truth as well as anyone. Though weaker than the main line, the branch families of Dragon's Dream had carved out their own legacies. Each branch head had earned the title of monster:
Heneros, lord of the Dragon Kingdom branch.
Odeo, lord of the Baharuth Empire branch.
Vophalis, lord of the Holy Kingdom branch.
Seimei, lord of the Argland Council State branch.
Each one stood shoulder to shoulder with Monkyspanner himself. Surely, if they stepped in, the chaos could be controlled.
"…That's the thing. They haven't moved. By now, word of their actions should have reached us. But there's nothing."
"What? Why not? The main house is collapsing!"
"Maybe. Or maybe not. They live in a different world, boy. Their power, their way of thinking—it's not ours to guess at."
Yet Dean's heart churned. One hundred and fifty years of shared history between main and branch… and now, at the first true crisis threatening the main line's survival, the branches remained silent. What did it mean?
Perhaps they see this as an opportunity. Perhaps they think: now is the time for the branch to become the main.
He banished the thought immediately. For others, such treachery might be conceivable. But not for him—not when he knew the greatest secret of Dragon's Dream.
"…Regardless, the main family is in crisis. It could splinter at any moment. And then, to make matters worse, a group calling themselves [Darkness] appeared—claiming to have slain the demon that killed our lord. Now they want to join Dragon's Dream."
Rohaim nearly choked. "They killed the demon that killed him? Gods, are there that many monsters in this world? What is this, some kind of food chain for freaks?"
Dean snorted. "If that's the case, I'd be at the very bottom of it."
"…You're seriously lumping yourself in with them, old man?"
But of course, he wasn't wrong. Though no branch head, Dean Krohedin was no mere man either. Among the party, only he had crossed into the realm beyond heroes—the domain of monsters. If the clan was a gallery of beasts, Dean had earned his place. Even if, as he joked, he was the weakest among them.
"…Don't give me that look, boy. Keep staring and I'll put a spear through your eyeballs."
"Sorry, sir. …But still, if things are that bad, shouldn't we head back to the main house? You said it yourself—it's chaos."
Dean shook his head. "The youngest has it handled. And he told me in no uncertain terms—do not return. This letter we're reading came to me through a trusted retainer of his."
"…Rot, then?"
Rohaim blinked, then nodded as he remembered. "Ah, right. He stayed in the capital. Makes sense. But then… why would he stop us from going back? If anything, shouldn't we be there to help him stabilize the house?"
Dean's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a chill. "…Because going to the capital now would be dangerous."
"…What? Why? The crisis is over, isn't it? The demon's gone—"
"The boy says it all feels staged."
Rohaim fell silent.
Dean continued, his tone heavy. "It wasn't in the official dispatch, but he sent me a private letter. In it, he described what he saw: the operation against the Eight Fingers, the sudden appearance of the demon, our lord's death, the immediate arrival of Darkness, their triumph, their sudden desire to join Dragon's Dream… every piece fell into place too neatly. Too perfectly."
His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Rohaim. Do you honestly believe those Darkness fellows want to join us out of respect? Out of admiration for Dragon's Dream? …The ones who killed the demon that killed our lord?"
"…You mean to say they came to swallow Dragon's Dream whole?"
"That's what Rot thinks. That maybe this entire affair was orchestrated as part of a scheme to consume Dragon's Dream from within."
—Ssssshh—
Rohaim shuddered as goosebumps ran down his skin. Even just from the report, this was a national-level crisis—perhaps even global. Hundreds of demons, difficulty levels between 30 and 50, had appeared across the capital simultaneously. A demon estimated at difficulty 200 or above had summoned them, throwing the city into chaos. It rivaled the Demon Gods' Turmoil from two centuries past—a calamity by every measure.
And now—there might be something behind it. Something pulling the strings. Not merely to break Dragon's Dream, but to swallow the entire clan whole?
A being strong enough to treat a difficulty-200 arch-demon, the Re-Estize Kingdom, and a great clan like playthings on the palm of its hand. What kind of power would that take? Rohaim could hardly imagine.
"T-then… these Darkness people, could they be—?"
"Most likely pawns. That's Rot's suspicion, at least. And you know as well as I do—Rot's the sharpest mind among us."
"…True enough. If that kid had chosen magic instead of obsessing over relics and swordplay, he'd have outstripped me long ago. He'd already be casting 4th-tier spells by now."
Rot, the youngest of the party. Barely twenty, still a fledgling, but brilliant beyond measure. So much so that, on missions, the party often left the thinking to him, even over Rohaim the mage. Knowing he was still in the capital was reassuring—yet terrifying.
"Then we need to get Rot out of there! Leaving him alone in the capital is—"
"Fool. Right now, he's the one holding what's left of the clan together. If he disappears, it all collapses. And besides, Rot chose to stay. He's baiting himself on purpose. We can't make that sacrifice meaningless."
"…Bait? Against an enemy that crushed even our lord? What are we supposed to do, Dean? We couldn't even handle that demon if all of us fought together. How do you expect us to stand against something like that?"
"Which is why I came here."
Dean waved a hand, as if brushing the gloom aside. Then, with deliberate weight, he asked:
"Tell me, do you remember the Sword Demon?"
"…You mean Senior Skal?"
Sword Demon Skal. A former leader of Dragon's Dream, generations before. His mastery of the greatsword was so absolute it was said he cut down foes like a demon himself, earning the infamous title. Every head of the clan was myth incarnate, but even the party leaders carried their own legends.
"I only saw him once, at the induction ceremony. I was still a recruit then. He retired soon after, didn't he?"
"Aye. Retired long ago. When I was still a green fledgling, he held the post of party leader that I now bear."
"…And why bring him up now?"
Dean scratched his head, as though unsure whether to continue.
"This is classified, but… Rohaim. Have you heard of Paradise?"
"…Paradise? You mean from Parus's Adventures? That old tale about a separate world—some heaven, some afterlife created by the Six Great Gods? Nonsense. If such a place existed, we'd have known long ago."
Dean took a deep breath. "And yet, it seems it's real."
"…Hah?"
The words were absurd—like hearing that demons did charity work. Rohaim stared at Dean as though he'd lost his mind. But Dean only sighed.
"I didn't believe it either. But before he retired, Skal told me himself. Those adventurers of our house who achieve enough feats to be recognized—when they finally retire, they are granted entry into Paradise."
"Really? Well, now that you mention it, I haven't seen him since retirement… but I figured he'd taken all the money he earned and bought land somewhere to play lord of the manor."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think a man like that could sit around playing noble?"
"…Come to think of it, no."
Rohaim pictured Skal's scarred face, the greatsword slung across his back, his very being steeped in a lifetime of battle. A man so soaked in blood and adventure could never sit still as a genteel lord. His fate was to fight.
"Well, he was getting old. I like to think that by now, he's finally gone where he wanted to go—a true paradise of warriors…"
Dean's voice carried a wistful tone, tinged with reverence. Rohaim nodded. For Skal, a man who had lived wholly as an adventurer and a warrior, Paradise surely was a place fit for him.
....
At that same time, somewhere in Shinshi—
Skal scratched at his ear suddenly.
"Hm? Why's my ear so itchy all of a sudden?"
As he pondered whether someone was badmouthing him, a sharp smack landed on the back of his head.
"Ow!"
"Hey, Skal! What the hell was that? You just let go of the controls! Did you forget we're in a ranked match right now?"
"Ah, sorry, sorry. My ear was itching…"
The so-called "Sword Demon" bowed his head apologetically. His scolder was a boy barely chest-high to him. Anyone who had known Skal in his youth—when he reeked of monster blood and showed no mercy in battle—would have fainted at the sight. The infamous warrior humbly lowering his head after a scolding from a child? Unbelievable.
"Tch. I must have been crazy to let some washed-up old man into my team. One more screw-up and you're out."
"S-sorry…"
And Skal meant it. The boy looked young enough to be his grandson, but in truth, the child was five times his age—and far stronger. Human or not, Skal couldn't fathom how, but here in Shinshi, power dynamics were different. Everyone was stronger than him, and brute strength was no longer the law.
Not that he regretted it. Far from it. After a lifetime where only battle brought him joy, he had arrived in a living heaven. Not some afterlife, but a paradise reached while still alive, under the protection of gods, where everyone lived in plenty.
The greatest shock on arrival? The bathroom. Skal would never forget it. Forget noble estates' chamber pots—the first time he discovered a flushing toilet, and then… the bidet? He could only call it divine blessing.
Never in his twilight years had he imagined such joy. He thought his days were nearly over, but with anti-aging and vitality potions, vigor surged back into his body. Later he learned that regular use extended one's lifespan well past a hundred years. Only in a god's city would such a thing be so commonplace. Skal decided to cast off his burdens, embrace it all, and start fresh.
And so he did.
"Focus!"
"…Yes."
He bowed again, gripping his controller with renewed determination. This time, he'd make sure to raise his rank. The monitor glowed; the two plunged back into their match.
Once known as the Sword Demon, Skal—now fifty-nine years old—was a man who, instead of preparing for the grave, had begun a brand-new life in Shinshi.
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