Chapter 80 : The kingdom of Seraphim and smell of filth
The dust of the Avangard road still clung faintly to Leornars's boots as he and Julah finally approached the notorious border of the Seraphim Kingdom.
It really is closer than I thought, Leornars mused, adjusting the lapel of his perfect black coat.
Julah, walking a respectful two paces behind him, simply nodded, her normally bright blue eyes downcast. Her tattered maid uniform was still caked with the mud from the pond, a clear sign of her recent—and frankly, deplorable—employment.
Then, it struck him.
His sensitive, king-level nose was assaulted by a vile, toxic cocktail that made his brow twitch with irritation. It wasn't just dirt; it was a symphony of moral decay, a truly disgusting blend that seemed to cling to the very air molecules of this land.
*PING!*
His embedded AI assistant, Althelia, spoke up in his mind with her usual detached, synthetic voice.
"Analysing..... analysis complete. Substance profile detected: High concentrations of cheap tobacco, fermented alcohol, commercially-grade aphrodisiacs, and residual semen."
Leornars stopped dead, the manicured stone pathway suddenly feeling slick and slimy beneath his custom leather shoes.
"Semen? Aphrodisiac? Just what in the name of the Goddess Minum is the actual deal with this so-called 'Seraphim Kingdom'?" he demanded, turning his head slightly toward Julah, his expression one of pure revulsion.
—Poof!—
A light, floral scent of jasmine instantly replaced the foul odor. Without a sound, a new presence materialized directly behind Leornars, close enough for him to feel the faint warmth radiating from her.
It was Stacian Von Gremohiah.
She was dressed in a manner that was utterly ridiculous and completely out of place: a pristine white sun dress, a wide-brimmed straw hat casting a delicate shadow over her features, and bright blue high heels. A simple red bracelet and a half-moon necklace were her only accessories.
"Oh, Lord Leornars! Did I miss something exciting?" Stacian chirped, her tone airy as if discussing the weather. "I completely forgot to inform you, but the Seraphim Kingdom is actually a..." She paused, tapping her chin with a perfectly manicured finger, a theatrical flourish that grated on Leornars's nerves.
"Stop. Just stop right there," Leornars cut her off, gripping the handle of the rapier he rarely used. "Don't tell me. He sincerely hoped, for the sake of global morality, that it was not what his brilliant mind was currently piecing together."
Stacian's blue eyes widened slightly in a mockery of innocence. "But, my Lord! It is what you are thinking! This entire nation—the one known for its 'tourism'—is, in fact, an entire Red Light District."
Leornars felt a cold wave of disgust wash over him. "A nation where they sell... sex for money. An absolute den of iniquity and moral squalor," he spat, barely managing to hold back the word 'filth'. "Sex before marriage is utterly disgusting and a sign of utter weakness."
"But, my Lord," Stacian argued calmly, her smile not wavering. "It's how the poor earn money to survive, you see. A means to an end for the desperate."
Leornars scoffed, dismissing the simplistic justification. "A convenient excuse for those who profit from their desperation, no doubt. The smell alone suggests a corrupt noble is orchestrating this cesspool. Hmph. Ayesha did mention she came from Seraphim at a young age... she would be a perfect tour guide, but he would never drag her through this nightmare again. He supposed all this decadence led back to that Prince Luiphonia Serelim, that waste of valuable sperm."
He spoke the last sentence with such a profound lack of interest that he felt an overwhelming wave of boredom.
Stacian, apparently deciding Leornars was momentarily done raging about the state of the world, shifted her focus to Julah.
"And who, may I ask, is this... harlot?" Stacian's voice was sharp, cutting through the thick, vile air.
Julah, startled, finally lifted her head. "Harlot?! I am Lord Leornars's Retainer, you... you... sun-hat wearing fiend!"
Stacian simply chuckled, a clear, bell-like sound that seemed out of place here. "Ah. I see. I suppose that means you were the one contracted by the Lord last night, then, weren't you?"
"Y-yes, I was! And who are you to question my Lord's choice?" Julah retorted, trying to look confident despite her mud-stained clothes.
Stacian straightened her sun hat with a smug, deliberate gesture. "I am Stacian Von Gremohiah, Lord Leornars's first Retainer and his right hand in the Kingdom of Avangard. I also hold the titles of Provisional Advisor and the Duchess of the City of Sumilia. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I suppose." She finished with a small, utterly condescending curtsy.
Julah's breath hitched. Her blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Wait... did you say Stacian Von Gremohiah? The Endless Witch?"
"That's me," Stacian confirmed, her smugness reaching its peak.
Stacian then turned her critical gaze to Julah's ruined outfit, then back to Leornars. "My Lord, we simply must get her properly dressed. She cannot look like someone we salvaged from a drainage pond while serving the King of Avangard."
Leornars gave a curt nod. "Agreed."
He fixed his gaze on Julah, his words calm yet carrying the weight of a royal decree. "You serve me now. You will look like someone who serves the future King of Avangard. Your past does not define your utility, but it certainly entailed who you were. You are no longer the nameless servant of that wasted sperm. You are a Retainer I chose. I do not make mistakes in selecting my retainers. You are a Homunculus-Hybrid Spirit; you are extremely valuable. I promised you a purpose, and I will give it to you."
With that, they continued their walk toward the immense moat surrounding the main city. A few slack-jawed, poorly-trained knights were stationed there. The moat itself was more of a decorative canal, its water murky and strangely scented.
They reached the gate. Leornars pulled out his Adventurer's Licence. It was expired.
"Tch. Always forgetting the minor details," he muttered, tossing the worthless card aside.
Stacian merely smiled, pulling out her own licence—gleaming gold, of course—and handed it to the nearest guard.
The guard—a brute with dull eyes and an obvious power complex—took the card. Instead of checking the licence, his gaze was glued to Stacian. He grabbed her bare wrist, his thumb tracing the fragile red bracelet, his stare openly and aggressively lustful.
—SPLAT!—
Before anyone could register the action, Leornars slapped the guard's head clean off his shoulders. The helmet clattered loudly onto the stone, followed by the wet, sickening thud of the body. The head, miraculously, bounced into the murky moat water.
Leornars walked past the headless corpse nonchalantly, as if merely swatting a fly.
Stacian, utterly unfazed, simply pulled the gold licence from the dead man's cooling fingers. Julah, however, was now completely mortified, clutching her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with terror.
"Hmm. Another Zaryter moment," Stacian observed dryly, referencing the name of Leornars's pet creature that shrieked whenever he did something unnatural.
The moment they stepped through the gate, the true horror of Seraphim was revealed. The main street was a cacophony of loud music, aggressive hawkers, and women—many women—who instantly flocked toward Leornars like vultures to carrion.
One, smelling particularly strongly of cheap musk, dared to reach out and touch his pristine black sleeve.
Leornars's brow instantly twitched with unholy rage.
"Aura of Depravity: Forty Percent," he hissed.
A toxic, palpable black-and-red aura instantly exploded from his body. It wasn't an attack; it was a rejection. Every single person within a fourty meter radius—the women who touched him, the hawkers who shouted, the men who ogled—immediately collapsed to the ground, coughing blood and clutching their throats.
"Filth!" Leornars roared, his voice carrying unnatural power. "Who gave you the repulsive permission to touch me?! Who gave you the right to pollute my eyes with your diseased gaze?!"
He located the wretched creature who had touched his sleeve and instantly kicked her into a nearby stone wall with enough force to crater the masonry.
"Filth." Leornars repeated, the toxic aura slowly receding.
Stacian, her sun dress immaculate, knelt beside him with an eagerness that was almost disturbing. "Should I incinerate this nation to ash, my Lord? It would take less than a minute."
"He burned one town yesterday," Leornars said, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. "He was not interested in... filth's death. Let them suffer their existence."
"Understood," Stacian replied, disappointed but obedient.
Julah, trembling but still standing, finally managed to ask, "Is... is this normal? I mean, for your life?"
Stacian looked at her with an expression of supreme patience, like a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. "Lord Leornars's life is more precious than any peasant's. He is the prophesied Messiah by Goddess Minum and God Vergest. His journey is one of necessary destruction and judgement."
Julah's face went utterly pale. Her blue eyes were no longer terrified of him; they were filled with a profound, awful reverence.
"The White Plague," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Son of the Nightmare Witch. The Final Judge of the New Age..."
Instantly, Julah dropped to her knees, bowing her forehead to the blood-stained street. As she did, Leornars's aura surged, transforming momentarily into a massive, shadowy three-headed viper that towered over the corrupt buildings, causing the cheap plaster on the nearby houses to corrode and peel.
"Right. You two. Go shopping. Julah, you need to look like a proper retainer, not a swamp creature," Leornars ordered, the display of power over. "I have business to attend to."
"Yes, my Lord!" Stacian said, grabbing the still-bowing Julah by the elbow and dragging her away toward a less-corroded-looking shop.
Leornars snapped his fingers.
From the deepest shadow under the nearby awning, a figure materialized: Zhyelena, the Keeper of Silence. Her silhouette was as dark and cold as a winter night.
"You called?" Her voice was a dry whisper in his mind.
"This kingdom is larger and more infested than I anticipated. I can't gather the necessary information openly," Leornars explained. "I need you to survey the rich and powerful in this nation. Use telepathy to communicate your findings to me. I'll dispatch a few undetectable Undead Knights to their shadows to keenly listen. And, if you encounter Prince Luiphonia Serelim, contact me instantly."
Zhyelena nodded once, her shadowy form instantly dissolving like ash in the wind.
I see why she is called the Keeper of Silence and the Fallen Blade, Leornars thought, continuing his exploration.
He soon found himself in a grimy alleyway, where several orphaned children huddled, hands outstretched, begging for scraps. The sight, stripped of the nation's perverse glamour, was truly heartbreaking.
Leornars squatted down to their level, his aura momentarily turning warm and gentle.
"I haven't carried any currency with me," he admitted. "But I have a place you can stay, where you will be safe. No child should suffer the pain of abandonment and hunger."
He summoned a Knight—a tall, silent figure in Avangard-crested armour.
"Take them to Avangard," Leornars commanded the Knight. "Tell Zaryter I sent them there."
As the children were gently placed onto the back of a waiting Wyvern, Leornars turned and left, the small kindness the only bright spot in this utterly dark city.
Meanwhile, Stacian and Julah emerged from the tailor's shop. Julah was transformed: a brilliant, light-blue dress, perfectly tailored, replaced her rags, and simple, sturdy leather shoes covered her feet.
Stacian tilted her head, inspecting Julah's bright blue hair and eyes. "Hmm. Same as mine. Blue hair, blue eyes," she commented, giving Julah a gentle, almost maternal pat on the head.
As they walked past an ostentatious fountain, a woman was having a loud, furious argument with her fiancé.
"I am a trophy! You will never find someone else like me!" the woman shrieked.
Stacian glided past, stopping just long enough to deliver her verdict.
"A participation trophy, maybe."
The woman, enraged, turned her fury on Stacian. "What?! You think you are better than me, you sun-hat wearing snob? I have many clients! I am the best prostitute in the entire nation!"
Stacian sighed, disappointment heavy in her voice. "You simply cannot come from the streets and still expect to be a respected wife. That's not how the world works. A woman is supposed to be feminine, not arrogant and demanding. Be honest and kind, not proudful. To me, you are nothing more than a proudful beggar." Stacian took Julah's arm, pulling her away.
"D-dang! That's cold," Julah whispered, hurrying to keep up.
"It's true, Julah," Stacian said, her tone suddenly serious and instructional. "A woman must be emotionally and mentally mature. Most men worth having focus on behaviour, not just looks. A woman of the night has the looks, yes, but zero pride or dignity. She cannot raise a child effectively after all that, and even if she does, the probability of her staying faithful is minimal. She will cheat. That is a certainty."
Leornars was back on the main street when he saw an old man surrounded by a crowd, telling an overly theatrical story.
"...and then, two months ago, my grandson single-handedly slayed the Demon Lord, Luke! A true hero!" the old man declared, his audience captivated.
Leornars stopped, crossing his arms. He is telling a tall tale about how I killed Demon Lord Luke? I don't know this old clown, and I am certainly not related to humans at all, he thought, his patience wearing thin.
A person from the crowd turned to him. "So, you are saying he's lying, boy?"
"I am," Leornars stated simply.
"He's old, meaning he's wise," another person added, defending the storyteller.
Leornars fixed them with a withering look. "Even fools grow up and become adults. Do not think that merely because someone is old, they are wise."
He turned and walked away, noticing the crowd immediately began to disperse, suddenly doubting their 'wise' elder.
As Leornars stepped onto the sidewalk, a ridiculously ornate carriage came barreling down the street, forcing him to step aside. It stopped with a screech of wooden wheels, and the door instantly flung open.
A man—overly dressed, pudgy, and utterly furious—stepped out. It was instantly clear: the corrupt noble.
"Do you know who I am, boy?!" the prince shrieked, his face red with impotent rage.
Leornars looked at him with a perfect, condescending boredom. "You are either a waste of space in our world or something unfit to live. You pick."
Bystanders along the sidewalk instantly began muttering, recalling the various tortures this Prince had inflicted on people who had merely looked at him incorrectly.
The prince swelled with indignation. "I am Prince Luiphonia Serelim, the Third Prince in line to the throne of Seraphim!"
A slow, utterly evil smirk spread across Leornars's face.
So this is the bastard I need to kill? he thought, his mind racing. Fascinating. He's managed to surpass even the most damning rumors I had heard.