Chapter 65: Those Who Wander in Search of God and Paradise (6)
By some twist of fate, their party had become four instead of three. Yet no conversation passed between them. When there had only been three, idle chatter had sometimes filled the silence. Now, with one unusual new companion added, even that had died away.
"Hey, Rohaim—who do you think that is?"
"No idea. They say he's a high priest training nearby, but do you actually believe that?"
"Of course not."
Colton and Rohaim trailed a little behind, whispering in hushed tones. They were exhausted, yes, but that alone didn't explain the strangeness.
They had collapsed, only to awaken saved—by a beautiful boy who called himself a priest. The whole thing was far too suspicious.
"And what's with the old man? He's way too cautious."
"Even if he were a high cleric, sure—but doesn't he look far too young?"
A proper High Cleric was usually an elder—bearded, wise, and seasoned by years of faith and service.
Only through decades of devotion and recognition by the gods could one ascend to such power.
Yet their new companion looked no more than fifteen at best. If he truly were a High Cleric at that age, he belonged not in the realm of heroes, but in legend—perhaps even myth.
Dean, their party leader, had called him that, and so they had to accept it. But suspicion gnawed at them. And what had truly happened while they had been unconscious?
"Your sweat is heavy… are you tired? If so, I could—"
"No! Please, no! Do not waste your holy miracles on the likes of me. Save them for when they are truly needed."
"Eh? It's really not such a rare spell, though…"
His flustered reaction was exactly that of an ordinary boy his age. But Dean's attitude toward him was far too cautious. No—more than cautious.
"It's like he's… afraid. Didn't even treat the head of the family with that much deference, did he?"
"I was thinking the same. Whoever this boy is… he's no ordinary priest. And that armor—those items—did you see them? Legendary at least, maybe divine."
An hour earlier, when Colton and Rohaim had opened their eyes, they had seen something they would never forget: Dean Croheim, the "Army Spear," leader of Dragon's Dream—on his knees, tears welling from eyes wide as saucers, before a beautiful, otherworldly youth who looked utterly lost.
And what a sight he was. Jet-black scale mail, radiating magic so overwhelming Rohaim couldn't even read half of it.
Yet he could tell enough: this armor rivaled, if not surpassed, the mightiest artifact he had ever known—the clan's own divine relic, the True Dragon Sword.
But its aura was not the harsh, domineering strength of the Dragon Sword.
This was different. It was alluring, magnetic, seductive in a way that whispered of ruin. A siren's call in steel. The more they looked, the more their hands had itched to reach out and touch it, no matter the danger.
Dean had spoken then, voice hushed with reverence neither of them had ever heard from him—not even before their clan's lord.
"It is unwise to reveal such relics openly. No one could dare oppose you, but flaunting them may draw the eyes of the unworthy. Perhaps it would be best, as before, to conceal them."
And the boy had tilted his head, thinking. Then, with a faint smile, he had drawn out another strip of black cloth from nowhere and draped it across his body. The overwhelming aura vanished as though it had never been.
And so, cloaked once more, he walked with them toward the Dwarven Kingdom.
Colton and Rohaim knew nothing about the boy. The only certainty was that something had happened while they were unconscious. Their bodies brimmed with vitality, fatigue gone as if erased. The obvious conclusion was that the "High Cleric" boy had done something. When they had asked Dean, he had answered sternly:
"That person—no, that boy—is a High Cleric training in this region. In a moment of crisis, he saved us. Therefore, you will never speak or act carelessly toward him. Understood?"
"Uh… y-yes. But why—"
"Shut up and listen. That boy is not only a precious talent, but someone far beyond what we can bear to comprehend. If, during this journey, either of you so much as inconveniences him—through carelessness, a joke, or anything that mars his comfort—then I swear, in the name of our clan and of the gods, I will tie you to a log, soak you in rotting blood and entrails for three days, and leave you in the heart of the Great Forest. Do you understand me?"
"Th-that won't happen! We—"
"Do you understand, or not?!"
"Y-yes! We understand!"
Dean's sudden shout had made them freeze. Then, realizing the boy might have overheard, he glanced nervously toward him before dragging the two close. His bulging arms seized their collars, foreheads pressed together, and his eyes burned with madness.
From that moment, neither dared question the boy again. Every time they thought to ask, the memory of Dean's trembling reverence—his honorifics, his barely veiled killing intent—chilled their tongues. This was not the way a party leader treated fellow adventurers he had fought beside for years.
Who on earth is that boy? The more they thought about it, the more endless the questions became.
"…So, we're really going to keep walking in this suffocating silence?"
"…Most likely."
Half a day in silence stretched before them, and both sighed.
Meanwhile, Tiamat was quietly moved. The mountains, the sky, the world itself—it was all beautiful.
He had never truly seen such things. In his former life, half-paralyzed, dependent on machines even for basic bodily functions, he had only known a sky choked with smog, an artificial world confined to the limits of technology. True nature had been forever out of reach.
Even with the best medical advances—synthetic organs, cybernetic replacements, cloned bodies—he had been far from the privileged class who could afford such miracles. His compensation money had been large, but never enough for a new body. To the upper echelons, his suffering had been nothing more than a gesture of "face-saving."
And so his entire life had become Yggdrasil—the artificial skies, the crafted forests, the digitized sensations that never truly felt real.
But now—here—he was alive in a world untainted. Real wind, real mountains, a real sky. Every breath filled him with awe.
At that very moment, Tiamat was savoring the world in its raw, unspoiled beauty. The clear air, the vast sky, the pristine landscape—this was what Earth might once have been, long ago.
Beautiful. Simply beautiful. If this wasn't a jewel, then what was? He wanted to gaze upon this living gem forever.
But after an hour of staring, even such beauty began to dull. Instead, curiosity about what lay ahead grew stronger.
"Hmm… how much longer until we reach the dwarves' kingdom?"
"At this pace, about ten hours more."
"I see… walking isn't bad, but if it will take that long, I'll use a spell. That should be fine, yes?"
"Fine? You don't need our permission! If our shortcomings are an inconvenience to you, then please—do whatever you wish."
"…Alright then. Just a moment."
Why was this man speaking in such lofty honorifics? Was it simply because he'd been shocked by the spells earlier? Well, perhaps. Monkeyspanner had once explained that out here, the average level barely reached the 20s or 30s. For someone like that, seeing a 5th-tier or 7th-tier divine spell would be enough to leave them dumbfounded.
Should I start holding back? They feel like beginners, but doing a full-on "newbie cosplay" is just… meh.
In Yggdrasil, even players at level 100 sometimes equipped junk gear just to pretend to be novices. At best, it was harmless fun—helping real beginners out. At worst, it was trolling, tricking them for amusement. Tiamat had no desire to stoop to that. He would walk the world with a beginner's heart, yes, but not pretend to be one.
Still, considering the world's weak power balance, he probably should tone things down in the future. Then again… they've already seen it. Why bother hiding anymore?
It doesn't matter. I came here to enjoy myself, after all.
The information in Shinshi was more than enough. What drew him outside was not necessity, but the desire to see this world for himself. To feel it. To taste it.
He had told Ea already, but for now, he wanted to indulge in exploration. Monkeyspanner's death enraged him, yes, but the weight of two hundred years and the mystery of this new world stirred his curiosity even more. A little enjoyment wouldn't hurt.
And if outsiders came seeking him here—well, he had his own plans for that.
"[Dragon Blessing], [Dragon Heart]."
"Ugh! This power…"
"Huh?"
The exclusive divine spells of the Dragon Cleric. One granted massive boosts to physical stats. The other amplified stamina and mental resilience. Layered together, they flooded the party with vitality. Their bodies felt lighter, their muscles surged with energy—strength bubbled up like a spring.
Such a blessing was unimaginable. They had received blessings before, but never anything even close to this. Not once. Dean accepted it with solemn nods. The other two nearly jumped out of their skins.
"So this is the power of the divine…!"
"What is this?! I've never felt anything like it! Now I get why Dean treats him that way—this blessing is beyond belief!"
"No… this isn't 5th-tier, not even 6th. Could it be… the legendary 7th-tier or higher? Just who—no, what—is this boy?"
"Well then," Tiamat said cheerfully, "with buffs in place, we can move much faster. Let's be off."
The three of them could only stare, caught between reverence, shock, and gnawing questions. But Tiamat, unconcerned, simply smiled.
And so they walked again—now at a pace several times swifter than before.
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