Chapter 36: Clemens

Still cloaked in the darkness of early dawn.

Before a small campfire, a man breathes in the chilly dawn air.

Swish—swish—.

He wipes the surface of his sword through a dry rag.

Each time the rag, soaked in soapy water, touches the blade, it produces tiny bubbles.

His green eyes meticulously scan every inch of the blade’s edge—utterly serious.

Ssshhh—

At last, the task is done, and he rinses the blade again with clean water.

The blade gleams as if newly refurbished—spotless.

Meanwhile, a stream of water splashes out, one droplet sneaking between the flames of the campfire.

Sizzle—

“Tsk.”

The man with the red sword clicks his tongue and stirs the fire with a poker.

The flickering flames slowly come alive, softly reflecting in his green eyes.

Today is quite a severe day.

Usually, it’s not like this—at his age, it’s rather pitiful for a young man to be so restless.

Of course, his body itself is still just over twenty years old.

The reason for his unrest, however, is very clear.

Through the flames, the faint face of a blond man briefly crosses his mind.

And in that moment, his hand stiffens, trembling slightly.

Damn it, this hand tremor has followed him through this life as well.

Dio Clemens.

The former warrior and Riclang—the very man who killed his past self.

Seeing him sets Glenn’s thoughts ablaze.

“Is my anger justified?”

It’s from a past life.

Naturally, the other party has no memory of it—and in hindsight, that self was a villain.

And Clemens was the warrior called the hope of humanity.

Simply put, the line between good and evil is clear.

Perhaps, his death at the hands of Riclang would be praised as one of his greatest achievements.

“…Damn.”

An unbearable truth claws out from his throat.

…Honestly, the Clemens of the previous life was an object of jealousy for Riclang.

That feeling grew stronger after learning about the circumstances that made him a warrior.

He was a wandering minstrel with a notorious reputation—stories of his exploits floated everywhere, impossible to ignore.

Of course, those stories were, as always, greatly exaggerated, so Glenn ordered a direct investigation.

Curiosity—nothing more than simple curiosity.

“He’s like me.”

Clemens was born to a noble imperial family.

As a child, to escape assassination threats, he sought refuge in the Hernesia Order and became a knight.

More precisely, he was once a Nikerba Knight but resigned and returned to the Hernesia Order.

There, he married a beautiful blue-haired priestess.

And perhaps that was—

“Saintess Monica, I suppose.”

Looking back now, it feels truly miraculous.

To have witnessed the process of fate between the parents of his past life.

But Clemens’ happiness didn’t last long.

The misfortune he brought upon himself was, ironically, misfortune he also brought to Glenn.

“The Orcs’ Great Invasion.”

An event that utterly destroyed the northern region.

Through this event, Clemens lost both the Hernesia Order and his wife.

He then returned to the Empire’s Nikerba Order and immersed himself deeply in faith.

Thanks to his innate swordsmanship talent, he was soon appointed a warrior of the order.

A typical story of a hero rising from adversity.

A story worthy of being praised by future generations and sung by poets.

Aware of this, Glenn’s eyelids flutter.

But what about himself?

He lost his country and family in tragedy.

Yet he chose the path of revenge.

A sticky, blood-soaked path driven by a grudge against the Empire.

Thus, Glenn became the villain of Ricklan and the Empire.

Not that he regrets it.

After all, it was his chosen path.

Nor does he claim it was righteous.

He was undoubtedly a villain.

Then is he repentant?

No… he doesn’t want to tell such a childish story.

Two men with similar talents and similar tragedies.

They walk completely different paths, and in the end, he is the one who kills the other.

…Maybe it’s more accurate to say he was eliminated.

Oil—oil—.

He rubs the blade with an oiled, clean cloth.

The more he strokes, the more the blade gleams—and staring at the shining surface feels as if his mind is emptying.

Alternating between the whetstone for honing and the oiled cloth, he passes the time.

Is his anger justified?

He can’t give a clear answer yet.

At least emotionally, he’s not calm enough to face him.

For Glenn, this is a knot too tangled to untie.

It can’t be helped… He was the one who killed him.

No matter how many prayers he offers.

“Huff.”

With a short breath, he carefully inspects the sword’s hilt and pommel.

He shakes it this way and that, confirming no rust has formed.

…Good, this should be fine.

With a satisfied expression, he slides the sword back into its scabbard.

Sleek—

A pleasant sound as he rises from his seat.

A pinprick of sunlight stabs at his eyes.

Suddenly, a thought comes.

It will work out somehow.

“…The sun’s rising.”

Before he knew it.

The dark dawn has passed, and morning is approaching.

Before he knew it.

The persistent hand tremor has quieted.

***

“Because he’s such a cocky bastard…”

Thud—!

Francis the priest slams a drinking cup down on the table, nervous.

From the remaining liquid inside the cup, a pair of unpleasant green eyes float to the surface.

Could it be he didn’t understand what I said?

He had such thoughts, but—

“I’m sure he understood.”

He simply thought of him as a foolish troublemaker.

But after meeting him personally, that feeling didn’t hold.

Rather, compared to his age, he sensed an abnormal intelligence.

Yes, that guy definitely understood.

“But—how dare he.”

The eldest son of the Hunting House—disrespecting his master so brazenly?

No, it wasn’t just that; he even seemed to be trying to challenge him outright.

The prince is in a precarious situation? Is he telling me to listen?

Boom.

That arrogance is excessive.

Is he too young to know his place?

“Bojwagan.”

“Yes, Father.”

The assistant, standing in a corner of the room, licks his lips and approaches.

He seems quite tense.

“Why the hell is that bastard in Niran? We had no such report.”

“Th-that came so suddenly, we still lack information.”

“Surely you know I’m not the one too busy to notice, right?”

“…Yes—”

The assistant tried to agree quickly but clamped his mouth shut.

They had gotten scolded hard for missing things like this before.

Indeed, recently he’s been cutting back on sleep to work.

The dark circles under his eyes are proof.

Recently, Niran is in chaos.

As if someone is expecting the throne to change hands.

The Empire’s ongoing civil war, worsening security in the north, skyrocketing black market prices, restless citizens, and even a locked-down palace.

On top of that, Francis the priest is not a mere bystander but a lead actor in this matter.

Handling things behind the scenes, resolving issues, meeting multiple key figures.

“But this should have been reported. At least to me. Do you understand?”

“…I’m sorry.”

“From what I heard earlier, that brat must know the situation in Niran well. Yet he dared to visit the palace at this time. Without informing me. You think that’s a coincidence?”

“…Could it be that the Contract side moved him?”

Francis lifts one corner of his mouth.

Being a graduate of a prestigious university, his brain isn’t bad.

His persistence is a little irritating, though.

“Yes. He’d be the most capable. He’s been quiet until now, so the timing fits.”

The question’s implication is clear.

Since I thought of it, send out an investigation immediately.

The quick-witted assistant answers swiftly.

“…Then I’ll consider that case and investigate.”

“Haha, that’s why I rely on you. Don’t worry, as always, I’ll make sure you get a generous bonus.”

At the mention of extra compensation, the assistant’s expression brightens somewhat.

He bows quickly and slips out of the room.

“Damn… all of them are just useless idiots.”

He wants to smoke a cigarette.

But this place is nominally a church.

Even if Saintess Monica were to fuss, it would only disturb the peace.

“Is someone outside?”

Knock knock.

Francis hears a polite knock.

Just by hearing it, he knows who it is.

“…Yes, Father.”

“Oh, Lord Clemens. Are your duties finished already?”

A friendly smile greets him.

In contrast, Clemens’ expression is stiff.

“…Yes. It was a simple inquiry, didn’t take long.”

“You really never rest, helping me like this. Haha, choosing you was the best decision I ever made.”

“Thank you. But why did you call me?”

“Oh, I need to go to ‘that place.’ The city’s been dangerous lately. Having you as an escort would be reassuring, haha.”

Clemens’ eyelids twitch.

It’s not a place he likes.

“Understood.”

“Don’t make that face. After all, it’s ‘enlightened proselytizing.’”

A warning to maintain his expression.

Clemens bows quickly and leaves.

His eyes flicker like fish at a market.

***

“Lord Clemens—hmm? Where are you headed now?”

“Sir Loric… the priest asked me to escort him.”

“Don’t tell me… to that ‘villa’ again? That’s enviable, haha.”

“…Yes.”

Envy and curiosity appear on Sir Loric’s face.

Meanwhile, Clemens’ face remains as stiff as ever.

He barely hides his disgust, lightly biting the inside of his lip.

“Anyway, the old man’s strong. That Silver Tip stuff really works, huh?”

“I should work harder like you do. Ha—my body’s just too lazy.”

“Don’t overexert yourself there. I have work piled up too, haha.”

“Well, I’ll be off then…”

Listening any longer might make him throw up.

Clemens heads quickly toward the mansion.

As he disappears, Loric frowns.

“Pretending to be clean… pfft, he’s just full of himself.”

A young man relying solely on talent is always annoying.

He acts like a pious believer normally yet earns that old man’s trust.

It’s beyond understanding.

“Damn, I should’ve gone instead…”

Honestly, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t envious.

Everything supplied to the villa is rare and precious.

In these chaotic times, he wonders how it’s possible every time.

“Definitely, the Empire’s high-ranking priests are amazing.”

Loric sighs with longing.

***

The streets have already darkened.

A large mansion stands quiet as a luxury carriage comes to a halt.

“Oh my! Father, how long has it been?”

As soon as the visitor alights, women approach.

Their clothes are mostly ripped and half-exposed.

“It hasn’t been long; I saw you three days ago too—haha. Even then you kindly conveyed the will of the divine.”

“I want to see you often, that’s why.”

Francis the priest skillfully wraps his arms around their waists.

Meanwhile, he casually places a hand on one of their breasts.

“Oh my, calm down.”

“Shut up and come inside quickly. Ah—Lord Clemens, you worked hard too.”

“…Hmph.”

“Take a break here as well. People can’t work all the time, right? Haha. No need to wait; I have another appointment soon.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“Don’t hold back; have fun. Don’t just drink like last time and leave.”

The middle-aged priest waves his hand and disappears.

Surrounded by women who look twice his age.

Now it’s a scene so familiar it’s almost dull.

It is often said that priests of high rank represent the voice of the goddess.

…Goddess, is this truly your will?

Though his heart burns with bitterness, Clemens bows politely.

“Yes, rest well.”

Disgusting.

Above all, it’s himself.

“Wow—I’ve never seen such a handsome oppa before.”

“Don’t you know him? He’s a big shot.”

Chattering women—no, they must be young girls.

“How old are they…?”

“Such a beautiful voice too—we’re both seventeen, hoho.”

“With us—oh, why are you—”

The approaching women raise their hands to stop him.

Seventeen… why on earth…?

And suddenly, dizziness strikes.

“Wait—ugh.”

The dizziness soon turns to nausea.

Eventually, Clemens vomits from deep inside.

“Huff… huff…”

He gasps for air as he looks up at the mansion—the villa.

If this isn’t the lair of evil, then what is?

Is this really the will of the goddess?

Disgusting. He feels like throwing up. Revolting.

And more than anyone, he hates himself.

Clemens feels the dizziness return once again.