Chapter 10 …
For gods, attributes were an indispensable condition.
There was a reason they were called things like the God of Fire, the God of Water, or the God of Light.
Either their very existence was made up of that attribute, or it played the most crucial role when they acquired divinity.
For one reason or another, to call a god the representative of their attribute was by no means an exaggeration.
And that was why—
Finding the place where the god Dante spoke of had fallen asleep wasn’t all that difficult.
“If it’s the Fire God, then he cannot help but react to fire. Even if he has already been stripped of his divinity and lost his divine throne, that much remains the same.”
At Milleon’s words, Dante nodded.
Hadn’t he himself suggested the god might be related to fire, precisely because the relic had been discovered after a wildfire?
“If we search the mountains with the soldiers, carrying large torches, we’ll surely find traces.”
“……I see.”
In truth, Dante had no intention of mobilizing soldiers.
His plan was only to bring along Milleon, perhaps Patrick and Elaine as well.
There was no benefit in having too many witnesses to the moment he obtained the divine flame.
The only problem was that the time given to them was just a single day.
‘But if it’s the movement of knights, it should be manageable.’
The difference between an ordinary soldier and a knight’s physical ability was immeasurable.
Instead of a noisy crowd of soldiers, moving with a few knights could actually be far quicker.
“For now, it’s too late today. We’ll spend the night in that village ahead.”
“Very well.”
It was a village of people who lived off Mount Kalotes.
The herbalist who discovered the sacred flame had also been from there.
***
Fran entered the village with a weary face.
He had spent the entire day roaming the mountains, yet found nothing today.
That only made him all the more exhausted.
“Hey, Fran! Why do you look half-dead?”
“Don’t talk to me. I’m so tired I might really die.”
“Judging by the look on your face, you struck out again today. Why don’t you quit being an herbalist and become a woodcutter instead?”
The men around burst into laughter.
It wasn’t meant with malice.
Though it sounded like teasing, their words were laced with genuine concern for him.
Fran knew that too.
“Forget it. Woodcutting is for muscle-brained guys like you. A delicate fellow like me suits herb-gathering much better.”
“Oh, listen to him?”
The woodcutter slapped his forehead, pretending he’d been beaten.
“Fine then, delicate man. Come grab a drink with us brutes. No wives waiting for us anyway, so let’s drink till morning.”
He waved with a hearty laugh.
“Ah, I’m tired.”
Fran made a tired face, but deep down he had been waiting for that invitation and followed them.
The village wasn’t large, but it had everything it needed—an inn, a diner, even a pub that served decent beer.
It was there that Fran and the other men would ease the fatigue of the day.
“Tonight’s on me. Drink all you want.”
“With what money?”
“My overdue pay finally came in. A round of drinks is nothing—”
The boisterous woodcutter stopped mid-sentence, his mouth shutting tight.
At the village entrance, usually the same sight every day, an unfamiliar silhouette had appeared.
“What’s that?”
“Looks like cattle? And a cart?”
“Not a merchant caravan. They already came and left earlier today.”
The chance of it being traders was slim.
Fran also turned his gaze toward the entrance.
“……Nobles?”
“No way. Why would nobles come to a backwater like this?”
One of the woodcutters shook his head at Fran’s muttering.
But then the strangers came clearly into view.
What they thought was cattle was actually a horse, and the cart was a carriage.
And not just any carriage—it looked extraordinary, flanked by three knights, with soldiers following behind.
Though modest for nobles, such a procession was unthinkable otherwise.
The men’s faces darkened with unease.
Nobles!
Had there ever been a commoner who benefited from dealing with nobles?
Especially in a countryside village like this.
Clip-clop—
As they stood frozen, the carriage stopped before them.
Fran hesitated, wondering if he should kneel right away.
But the other side was quicker.
The silver-haired young knight at the front spoke first.
“Is there an inn in this village?”
The men’s eyes bulged as if they’d pop out.
They had never imagined a knight would use honorifics.
“Ah, o-over there.”
Fran quickly raised his hand and pointed to a shabby building—the village’s only inn.
“Thank you for your help.”
The knight gave a polite smile before turning his horse toward it.
“Why are they here?”
“Hope nothing big happens…”
The villagers whispered nervously, Fran included.
A vague sense of unease prickled at him, as though their peaceful life was about to be shattered.
“Sir Dante. We’ve arrived.”
The carriage stopped in front of the inn. The silver-haired knight spoke politely.
Click—
The well-oiled carriage door swung open.
‘A child?’
Out stepped a boy, perhaps ten years old, accompanied by a young maid.
“Get us rooms. No, reserve the entire place. The soldiers need to rest comfortably.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy, called Dante, gave the order with a tone far too mature for his appearance.
“Is that the noble?”
“Mind your tongue, unless you want to lose your head.”
Fran instinctively stepped back from his companions, keeping his eyes fixed on the scene.
“It’s a quiet place.”
“Indeed.”
At the maid’s words, the noble boy made a strangely wistful expression.
As though reminiscing about old memories.
‘Memories? At ten years old?’
Fran stifled a bitter laugh and turned away.
“Let’s not linger. Better not get caught up in anything.”
The knight was courteous, and the boy seemed uninterested in them.
But nobles could change in an instant.
They were creatures who could sever a commoner’s head over the tiniest mistake.
And children even more so—they had the cruel innocence of ripping apart bugs with their bare hands.
“Y-yeah, let’s go.”
“No point standing here. Let’s get some beer.”
The men began moving quickly, as if reading Fran’s mind.
Or at least they would have—
If not for the voice that rang out.
“You there.”
Freeze—
It was the noble boy.
Fran swallowed hard and turned.
“Y-yes, my lord?”
His voice trembled.
“I have one question.”
“O-of course!”
The woodcutter shrank his shoulders exaggeratedly, and Fran bowed low.
Ready to run into the mountains if need be.
“What is it you wish to know?”
But then the boy’s next words made Fran’s heart drop with a thud.
“Does this village have an herbalist?”
It felt as if everyone’s eyes were suddenly on him.
Fran slowly raised his head, meeting the boy’s gaze.
“M-me. I am.”
He raised a hand, though his voice shook.
“You are the herbalist?”
“Y-yes.”
He nodded quickly.
“How many like you are there?”
Why was he asking that?
Was someone ill?
A thousand thoughts raced through Fran’s mind as he answered.
“I-I am the only one.”
Unfortunately, or rather tragically, Fran was the sole herbalist in the village.
“I see.”
The noble boy nodded, then gestured.
“Come closer.”
His voice carried a weight no child should have. Fran stepped forward as though pulled by a magnet.
The nearer he came to the carriage, the heavier his steps grew.
‘Should I run now?’
A story he’d once heard flashed in his mind.
Of nobles who dragged herbalists into the mountains to find spirit herbs.
When none were found, the herbalists all lost an arm as punishment.
Fran’s knees went weak.
Was that what awaited him?
He wanted to flee, but he couldn’t.
There were three knights here—monsters in human form.
Sweating coldly, Fran finally stood before the boy, bowing deeply.
“W-what would you command, my lord…?”
“There is something I seek on Mount Kalotes. I need your help.”
Fran’s face went pale.
So it was true.
“It’s no use! There are no spirit herbs here!”
“Hm?”
The boy tilted his head, but Fran couldn’t stop.
“Mount Kalotes is just a local hill! Not only are there no spirit herbs, but even ordinary herbs barely grow—just weeds! If you want spirit herbs, go to the Murshiga or Kraman ranges instead! Yes, yes, that’s the place!”
Desperation steadied his voice, and he babbled without pause.
“If that’s too far, there’s also Mount Izelat nearby. That mountain has many legends! You’ll surely find useful spirit herbs there! I can even introduce you to an herbalist I know!”
The boy blinked, then spoke.
“……So you’re saying there are no spirit herbs on Kalotes?”
“Correct!”
Fran nodded vigorously.
“I see. Good to know. But that has nothing to do with me.”
The boy raised his hand and patted Fran’s shoulder.
“I’m not looking for spirit herbs.”
“……What?”
Fran’s eyes widened.
If not spirit herbs, then why seek an herbalist?
“There are too many ears here. We’ll talk inside.”
The boy turned toward the inn.
“Follow me.”
It was not a request. Refusal was not an option.
Fran’s face crumpled as he glanced back.
His eyes begged his companions for help.
But despair soon set in.
‘They all ran… those bastards.’
The woodcutters he had been about to drink with were gone, every last one.
They had fled in the blink of an eye.
‘And I called them friends…’
Fran followed the noble boy into the shabby inn, looking ready to cry.
