Chapter 4: The Corrupt Priest's Rational Judgment
Rational judgment.
Rational judgment.
The group moved forward, leaving their first footprints on the snow that had fallen the day before, accompanied by the crunching sound of footsteps.
My position was somewhere in the middle of the line. Thanks to Galard’s consideration as the leader, I didn’t have to stand at the very front or back.
Out of the ten gathered mercenaries, six—including Galard—were people he had brought himself. A modest mercenary group of six. He’d introduced them with a name, but it didn’t seem worth remembering, so I’d already forgotten it.
“Priest Marnak.”
The man had clear, cow-like eyes and an innocent face that clashed with his hulking frame. Stuck awkwardly between boyhood and youth, he was the youngest member of Galard’s mercenary group—assigned to me in case I needed errands run.
I smiled kindly.
“Yes.”
His name was Pier, or something similar. From a village near Guis. Galard had recognized Pier’s natural strength and, after relentless pleading and generous payments, convinced his family to let him join as their youngest member.
How did I know this?
“You must’ve come from somewhere other than Guis—could you describe what it’s like there? By the way, if we keep following this road, we’ll reach my hometown. I wonder how my parents are doing. Of course, Captain Galard’s generous payment to them should get them through winter safely… but I still can’t help worrying. What even is this feeling?”
Pier was talkative. His questions felt like excuses to chatter about things I hadn’t asked—or cared—to hear.
Had Galard assigned Pier to me not out of consideration, but to free himself from that mouth? Had I been duped?
“You know what, Priest?”
Now he didn’t even bother with questions. With a forced solemnity that clashed with his innocent face, he whispered conspiratorially—amusingly so.
“What is it?”
Pier glanced at Galard, then leaned closer.
“Rumor says it’s not people or monsters snatching farmers on this road… but ghosts.”
In this world, “ghosts” differed slightly from monsters of negative energy. Though not too far from the ghosts we knew.
“Ghosts?”
“Yes. Ghosts.”
I smiled faintly.
“If the culprit’s a ghost, we’ll have quite the problem.”
Pier’s eyes sparkled.
“Why?”
Was he expecting a supernatural tale? Too bad.
“If it’s a ghost, we’ll return empty-handed and miss our success reward. Right?”
That would be a problem. Without the bonus, our pay would be one silver coin—the exact amount I’d borrowed yesterday after the receptionist’s lecture. Meaning my wallet, currently holding ninety copper coins, wouldn’t improve.
Disastrous.
Pier looked disappointed, as if expecting grander stakes.
“True. No reward if it’s a ghost.”
“Does Galard think it’s a ghost too?”
Pier scanned our surroundings with his bulky frame before whispering:
“I don’t think Captain Galard expects to catch anyone. Last night, I overheard him say he took this job because there’s nothing else. It’s not even clear if travelers are being attacked.”
So my wallet remained doomed. I grimaced. Oblivious, Pier rambled on.
This felt like walking with a radio chattering in the background.
“Captain Galard complains Lord Tredon’s too good at governing Guis—no problems mean no work. This month, we’ve taken more daily jobs at the labor office than the mercenary guild.”
The labor office—a lord-controlled hub for temp work—resembled modern agencies. Originally designed as grinding spots for ambiguous early-game professions.
So instead of mercenary work, we’d do manual labor? For me, mercenary life was better: killing produced corpses I could collect, fulfilling both my role and divine needs. Two birds with one stone.
“But wouldn’t someone like you excel at physical labor, Pier?”
He laughed awkwardly at my formal tone.
“You’re the only one here who doesn’t use casual speech with me. Really, you can drop the honorifics.”
“I prefer this.”
Kindness was a useful tool as long as others respected me. A good reputation offered surprising advantages—especially when hunting unsavory culprits.
“If you insist, Priest.”
“Pier!”
“I should go. Be back soon!”
Pier, mid-sentence, bowed and trudged through snow toward Galard’s voice at the front.
From dawn till dusk, his chatter had filled the air. Now, only my slow breaths and heartbeat remained.
‘Kill them!’
“Mother, why insist on killing everyone? Their deaths would complicate my return to Guis. Thirty silver coins—no, twenty-nine after the advance. Your son needs those twenty-nine coins. I want a warm winter. Understand?”
‘Kill…’
Mother Corruption’s voice softened, relenting. Alas, she couldn’t perform the miracle of minting coins.
I tapped the hand hidden in my coat.
I think I might have been a bit harsh with my words. Poverty must have eaten away at my bright reason a little. Please don’t feel too down because of this foolish son’s words. Honestly, I’m fine with being a little cold. My back will warm up on its own when spring comes.
'Kill!'
The Mother of Corruption was quick to resolve her emotions.
The day began to darken slightly. From afar, I saw Galard urging the group to move faster. It seemed there was still some distance left to reach our planned campsite.
Pierre, who had gone to Galard and returned, clenched his mouth shut and remained silent. I chuckled softly and spoke to Pierre.
"What did you hear?"
Pierre glanced at me hesitantly before stammering, "The captain told me not to bother you too much, Father. He said it would be annoying if I stuck by your side from morning till night, chattering away."
It was a bit annoying, sure, but having someone chattering like a radio was still better than silence.
"I’m really fine. Please don’t worry."
Pierre’s face brightened up, resembling a little bear cub smiling.
"Really? Father?"
"Yes."
A subtle movement.
A faint sound cutting through the air.
My sharp senses caught something.
Reflexively, I pushed Pierre down.
Thud.
Two arrows pierced my stomach and shoulder. The culprit eliminating passersby wasn’t a ghost—it was a person.
Bandits?
"F-Father?! A-Are you okay? Th-The arrows!!!"
I calmly assessed the situation. Galard, who had been walking ahead, was already lying on the ground... with an arrow lodged in his head.
Fewer than five out of ten in our group remained unhit by arrows.
...terrifyingly precise aim... It was too systematic and sharp for mere bandits to pull off such an ambush.
'Kill!'
The Mother of Corruption advised me to play dead after being hit by the arrows.
That was indeed the rational decision. With the number of enemies still unclear, it was best to wait until they revealed themselves before acting.
I glanced back at Pierre, trembling despite his size. This must have been his first real battle.
If I played dead here, everyone except me would surely die.
'Kill!'
"I know, Mother. I know very well what’s advantageous."
This is a game. This world itself is a game. Those about to die are nothing but NPCs—data fragments—and I am the player.
"But do you know something, Mother?"
With two arrows still lodged in my body, I steadied myself.
I grabbed the sword from the waist of the nearest corpse I had spotted earlier and charged forward, shouting,
"This is how I always do it!"
I swung the sword.
Blood sprayed.
The head of one bandit hiding in dark clothes fell to the ground.
There wasn’t just one enemy. With eyes piercing through the darkness, I scanned my surroundings and dashed toward the next foe.
Yes, this is how I’ve always played games.
Protecting what I want to protect as my heart desires.
Because games are meant to be played however I want.
Belkir was a deserter from the Rangers. Unable to adapt to their rigid discipline, he fled into the mountains after barely evading pursuit. He eventually took refuge in a remote village, where he trained like-minded ruffians into a band of thieves. Their raids, rooted in Ranger knowledge, became unavoidable natural disasters for peasants. Belkir systematically targeted moderate-sized groups—prolonged thievery would’ve gotten him executed. But as his banditry continued, lords began hiring mercenaries against him.
Time came for one last score before relocating. Belkir chose the lord’s mercenaries as final prey—their gear was more profitable than peasant loot. With seven trained subordinates, he believed they’d easily overpower ten mercenaries.
Everything went according to plan. As dusk fell, the mercenaries marched single-file, tensions relaxed. Belkir signaled his hidden subordinates.
The ambush succeeded brilliantly. Five mercenaries fell to arrows, including their leader. The rest remained disoriented.
Then the problem emerged—a priest who moved like a beast.
The madman snatched a sword from a corpse, arrows still embedded in his stomach and shoulder, and charged. A single stroke decapitated one of Belkir’s hidden men.
Belkir cursed involuntarily at the berserker’s spectacle.
"Damn it!"
