FSFSLU 26

Chapter 26

Dyke was gasping for breath.

The feeling of cold sweat running down his back was familiar.

But no matter how many times he experienced it, he could never get used to it.

If only he could shrug it off casually. Emotions are all like that anyway, aren’t they? They flare up for a moment, then fade in less than an hour.

Of course, the memory lingers afterward, but in truth, that’s just forcing yourself to hold on to the emotions stuck to that memory.

And yet, even knowing that…

“Ugh…”

The moment Liz’s groan reached his ears, Dyke nearly went insane with the urge to crush these feelings inside him.

He knew what it was. This wasn’t guilt.

A few years back, power struggles broke out daily among the Mudrocks. The downstream side of the river, where more salvage accumulated than upstream, was a particularly fierce battleground.

Back then, Dyke single-handedly beat down ten Mudrocks and hauled out the loot piled up downstream. With the money from selling it, he could feed Goat and Marcel.

Hitting others was nothing new to him. He had never once felt guilt over it.

So this revolting, skin-crawling feeling could never be guilt.

“Why that look on your face, Dyke?”

A voice came from behind. Gerolt’s.

When Dyke didn’t answer right away, Gerolt called again.

“Dyke.”

“…Yes, sir.”

“Why that expression?”

“You’re behind me, sir. Can you even see my face?”

“I see it perfectly, very clearly.”

When Gerolt placed a hand firmly on Dyke’s shoulder, Dyke shuddered with déjà vu.

Even after joining the Gerolters, Dyke rarely needed to use his fists.

No vagrant dared to mess with him, and if he wanted something, he could always get it from the other Gerolters.

Looking back, it seemed like he had actually harmed more people before joining the gang than after.

But before and after joining, one thing had never changed.

He had never harmed a comrade he laughed and talked with.

Unable to meet the gaze of the bloodied, collapsed Liz, Dyke muttered in a stiff voice:

“May I ask… why you ordered me to kill Liz?”

“This is the first time you’ve asked for a reason. Did you take a liking to Liz?”

Gerolt chuckled and kicked Liz. Liz had already lost consciousness, but Gerolt kept poking at her as if she might suddenly get up again.

Like a child shaking a branch to knock down a toy stuck in a tree.

“This brat spent the last four months hunting slimes, and all she’s gained is rebellion. Don’t you think so?”

“…Liz has always been loyal to you, sir, and to the organization.”

“No, Dyke. Could you really say that after watching her cover for that priest brat?”

Gerolt laughed under his breath. He was talking about the time at the mayor’s office when Isabel had confronted him.

“You really think that priest’s wariness of me was just because of the mayor’s advice? No. She knew me far too well. Someone from inside the Gerolters blabbed. Who else but Liz?”

“…”

“It’s obvious. She wasted time hunting slimes, built up nothing but resentment, and when someone important came along, she switched sides. Liz abandoned me for that priest brat.”

Gerolt turned his head and glared at Dyke.

“Understand?”

“I… understand.”

“Then we leave her here.”

“If we do, she’ll die. The wounds are too deep.”

“That’s the point, Dyke.”

Dyke closed his eyes for a moment.

Emotion.

What kind of emotion was this?

Guilt? Pity?

Now he finally understood why he felt so filthy.

It was neither guilt nor pity. It was self-loathing—loathing himself for realizing he had stepped into the muck as Gerolt’s pawn, yet still being unable to escape.

Every time he obeyed Gerolt’s orders, he sank deeper. Gerolt had ambition. Ransacking the city like a rat-hunt was all for that ambition.

And to achieve it, Gerolt would make Dyke commit ever fouler deeds without hesitation. This wouldn’t be the end. This time it was Liz. Next time—who? Mayor Thompson? Goat? Marcel?

Who would Gerolt order him to kill next?

“…”

Ironically, Dyke remembered something Thompson had said that day at the warehouse when they rescued Lilton.

“Can you really live with yourself, doing things like this?”

What had Dyke answered back then?

“Overestimation.”

Yes. He’d said Thompson was overestimating him.

“As long as I can feed my own, that’s enough.”

He had never followed any grand cause. Everything he did was only for his own.

No matter how dirty the job, he would obey. Being seen as some kind of virtuous man was just an overestimation. As long as he could protect his own, nothing else mattered.

And yet, because of Gerolt’s orders, Dyke had beaten Liz—his comrade—nearly to death. And now he was about to walk away.

Even after this, he would go back and face his own. Check on old man Goat, chat with Marcel, and buy food with Gerolt’s blood money.

‘Coming home late today.’

‘Oh, okay.’

‘Heading back into the river?’

‘You know it. Gotta earn money for grandpa’s medicine.’

‘Do it quietly. He worries about you. Don’t forget to take the antidote potion.’

‘Of course.’

That was the conversation he’d had with Marcel that very morning. With the same hands that beat Liz, he would eat dinner, encourage Marcel, and kill whoever Gerolt pointed to next.

Dyke felt like he was already dead, leaving only Gerolt’s pawn behind. And the longer this went on, the more impossible escape seemed.

He had felt this before, but could still ignore it back then. Now, after beating Liz, there was no ignoring it.

“Dyke.”

Once again, Gerolt’s hand pressed onto his shoulder.

“Well done.”

“…”

“Loosen that face. You did your job.”

Gerolt spoke in a terrifyingly gentle voice.

“Tron will handle what’s left. With his two friends.”

“Do I… have other tasks as well?”

“Of course. Did you think I had you kill Liz just out of spite? She was an obstacle. To my future plans.”

From those words, Dyke realized Gerolt had other schemes running beneath the surface—plans Dyke wasn’t allowed to know.

‘If only…’

A voice whispered inside him.

‘If only I could just kill them all… then maybe I’d be free.’

The voice was his own.

That day, when Thompson had let Lilton escape from the warehouse, Dyke had muttered something.

It hadn’t been in anger. He had meant it. That the only way out of this was to kill them all.

But how could he escape?

How could he claw his way out of Gerolt’s swamp and be free?

This city was too foul, too suffocating. Inescapably so.

After Gerolt left, Dyke stared silently at the fallen Liz, then slowly walked away.

Night was falling on the Rat Hole, a heavy night settling in with the thick smog.

Deep in the night, when all were asleep.

The city hall doors creaked open, and Isabel poked her head out.

Looking around cautiously, she confirmed no one was there and shut the door quietly.

Blinking twice, she fixed her gaze firmly ahead.

The blue path shown by Smiel’s illusion appeared. Isabel set off along it with determination.

Tap, tap. Her small footsteps echoed. Surprisingly, drunkards rarely wandered the Rat Hole’s night streets.

Too many of them fell into the Thames and drowned every year.

Isabel walked silently. After some time, she arrived.

One of the mountains surrounding the Thames, in one of the least-developed areas. In this city, where almost no one even tried hiking, the mountains around the Thames were places you didn’t go unless you wanted to meet monsters.

“Phew!”

But Isabel had firmly wrapped herself in a blessing of protection. Even if she tripped and rolled down the slope, she wouldn’t be hurt. Using the Angelos Rod as a walking stick, she climbed diligently.

When she thought she’d climbed quite high, Isabel stopped on a sparsely wooded slope. Gripping the Angelos Rod tight, she gathered divine power into its silver cross, letting it flow down the staff.

“Yap!”

She slammed it into the ground.

Bang!

Her divine power poured down through the staff, spreading underground like waves.

“…”

That was all.

Nothing seemed to happen. Isabel moved on.

Not far away was another clearing with fewer trees. Again, she gathered power and struck the ground.

Once again, her divine energy seeped underground.

Again, nothing happened.

She kept moving from place to place, repeating the act, illuminating her path with holy light as she searched carefully.

Someone was following her.

Tron.

On Gerolt’s orders, he was tailing Isabel.

‘What the hell is she doing? Looks like she’s searching for something.’

Bang!

Bang!

The sound of Isabel’s staff striking stone echoed as Tron struggled against drowsiness.

‘What kind of nonsense is this?’

The nonsense was, Isabel was following Smiel’s instructions to the letter.

‘Lord Smiel! Where exactly is the Demon Sword?’

‘I don’t know the precise spot. But I know how to find it.’

The Demon Sword lay hidden inside Dragon Scale Cavern, midway up the Thames mountains. The cavern repelled both divine power and demonic energy, making it perfect to imprison the sword.

Hidden deep underground, it would never be exposed unless an earthquake reshaped the land.

But Isabel could find it.

By sending divine waves underground, if a cavern was there, her power would bounce back.

Like a radar, she could sense the reflected wave and locate the cavern.

“Yap!”

Isabel all but scoured the mountainside. She yawned widely but somehow never tripped as she roamed. Tron didn’t understand what she was doing, but he saw clearly that she kept striking the ground.

And that action carried a certainty—that if she kept at it, she would find what she sought.

Tron felt a strange chill.

‘No way… could it be real?’

Gerolt had said Isabel wasn’t here just to volunteer.

That was why he planned to kick her out the very next morning.

It was deliberate. By giving her only the barest time, she would be forced into hasty action. And though strong, Isabel wasn’t meticulous or cautious—easy to tail.

Gerolt’s insight was spot on. With only a single night left before expulsion, Isabel began moving under cover of darkness.

This was Tron’s chance. He had already failed once, unable to kill Isabel and instead inadvertently helping her cleanse the toxic slimes. Far from helping, he had hindered Gerolt.

Now Gerolt gave him the chance to redeem himself.

If, as Gerolt suspected, Isabel was here for the same goal as he was, then her midnight mountain search must be part of it.

If Tron could follow her and discover the location, he would become Gerolt’s most valuable asset.

So he sharpened his focus and shadowed her carefully.

Time passed.

Then—

“Found it!”

Isabel suddenly shouted.

Then quickly covered her mouth.

Tron, who had nearly dozed off, snapped his eyes wide open and stared. Isabel stood on a bare slope, with no trees around.

“Dragon Scale Cavern is right beneath here! My divine power bounced back!”

‘Who is she talking to…?’

Tron studied her closely. She was definitely speaking to someone. Perhaps telepathy, like the kind wizards supposedly used.

“Mark it? Okay!”

Looking around, Isabel picked up a fallen branch. A flash of holy power shone, engraving a faint glow into the wood.

She carefully planted it in the ground where she stood, packing earth around it so it wouldn’t fall.

“With this, we can track it!”

Yawning wide, Isabel looked ready to collapse from drowsiness.

“Tomorrow, I’ll report to the church in Tetina. Then the knights can come with—”