FSFSLU 36

chapter 36

Gerolt gathered the strong and sturdy Gerolters from early morning to break through the Dragon’s Lair.

Jeremy had received the same order but deliberately ignored it. He was searching for Liz, who had gone missing the day before.

Jeremy, who respected Liz more than anyone, couldn’t imagine that she had been ambushed and left unconscious in some back alley. No matter how much he searched, he couldn’t find her.

While searching, Jeremy spotted Marcel diving in the main stream of Tames.

It was something a sane person would never do. If he didn’t want Marcel to drown, he should have grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out, but Jeremy prioritized finding Liz and passed by.

“Well, if something happens, Dyke or Grandpa Gote will deal with it…”

However, after running around the main stream of Tames a few more times, Jeremy realized Marcel had dived deep into the water and hadn’t resurfaced for quite a while.

Jeremy panicked. Could he have drowned?

He quickly looked around. Though there were people on the streets, it seemed he was the only one who noticed Marcel had gone underwater and hadn’t come up.

Jeremy and Marcel only exchanged greetings occasionally, but if Marcel died now, Dyke would surely go out of control, even if Gerolt stepped in.

His mouth went dry. What should he do? Jeremy didn’t want to go down there. Tames was no joke—dipping your head in the main stream could give you anything but a sexually transmitted disease.

Moreover, he had just recently dealt with toxic slimes. He didn’t want to get covered in filth again.

Still, Jeremy eventually stripped off his upper clothes and jumped into the water.

He shuddered as he pushed through the black, murky, polluted water of Tames. Perhaps Marcel had already surfaced and he had mistaken it for him drowning.

But as he descended deeper, Jeremy noticed something strange. Light was rising from the depths.

He discovered a glowing sword stuck in the riverbed, and Marcel, unconscious, gripping the hilt tightly with his right hand. Jeremy panicked and swam quickly.

Despite being tossed by the current, Marcel didn’t let go of the sword. Jeremy put his hands under Marcel’s armpits and struggled with all his strength.

After a long struggle, Jeremy dragged Marcel out of the water.

“Hey, Marcel! Wake up!”

He slapped him and shook him on the shore, but Marcel didn’t awaken. In a panic, Jeremy suddenly recalled his time assisting Isabel at the relief center.

Isabel would keep the guardian of an unconscious patient at a distance, slip her hand under the patient’s clothes to grip a certain spot, lift the eyelids, and shine a light of holy power into their eyes. It was fascinating to watch her continue treatment afterward.

When Jeremy asked her what she had done, Isabel smiled and replied,

“I was checking whether they’ve truly lost consciousness or not!”

Desperately, Jeremy tried the same method. He gripped Marcel’s nipple and lifted his eyelids. A familiar sensation hit him.

He felt the faint wave of holy power he had experienced countless times while assisting Isabel.

Jeremy opened Marcel’s mouth. Under his tongue was unmistakably the same flower petal used to rejuvenate Grandpa Gote.

Seeing this, Jeremy realized that Marcel had been acting under Isabel’s orders.

“The priest told Marcel to retrieve the holy sword?”

Jeremy thought that if Isabel had sent Marcel into the river, she could also handle the situation where he had drawn the sword and passed out. So he carried Marcel to her without hesitation.

“Pri-Priest… where are you?”

Along the way, Jeremy ran into Dyke and Liz.

He cheered loudly.

“Oh, sister! I thought you were dead! I searched everywhere—I thought you had died!”

“You almost did. He ambushed me from behind,” Liz said, pointing to Dyke. Jeremy glared at Dyke as if to say, “How dare you touch our sister?”—only to be met with an even sterner look that made him back off.

Dyke glared at Jeremy as if to say, “How dare you touch my sister?”

“Why is Marcel like that? What’s he holding—could it be the holy sword? Looks similar to the cursed sword,” Jeremy wondered.

“Y-Yes… he drew it from beneath the river.”

Dyke frowned, feeling a headache. Gerolt was dead, Isabel had drawn the cursed sword, and Marcel had drawn the holy sword. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

Then,

“Hehe…”

Isabel, who seemed asleep, finally spoke.

She opened her eyes slightly, smiling.

“Jeremy…”

“Pri-Priest? Are you hurt?”

“No. How is Marcel?”

“He’s unconscious! Judging by the glowing petal in his mouth, he fainted before drinking the water. I kept his mouth closed to let the petal’s effect work…”

“Well done. You could be a doctor…”

Jeremy made a complicated expression at her response.

Isabel tapped Liz’s shoulder.

“Sister, let’s head to City Hall…”

“Are you okay? How’s your body?”

“Sleepy…”

After saying that, Isabel dozed off again.

They exchanged a glance. In this situation, what else could they say? Following Isabel’s instructions seemed best.

They all ran together to City Hall.

Since Marcel’s severed finger had been restored just yesterday, Relton wished no greater incidents would occur.

Yet, a soaking-wet Marcel, holding the holy sword, was carried by an equally soaked Jeremy into City Hall. Liz followed with two dragon scales. Dyke carried Isabel inside. Relton wanted to faint from the chaos.

Amid the confusion, Relton caught the word “Tames” in their conversation.

“You swam in Tames? You’ll get sick. We’ll hear the story later. For now, go use the bath at the Gerolters’ Middle Branch Office.”

Dyke nodded.

They split up. Liz took Isabel with her to Relton, and Dyke and Jeremy brought Marcel to the bath. Relton went to call the mayor after taking them to the medical room. Liz laid Isabel on the bed and set the dragon scales beside her, letting out a sigh as she perched on the edge.

It had been a chaotic day. Truly.

More than bewilderment, Liz felt a deep internal confusion.

Gerolt was dead.

Now, Liz and the other Gerolters no longer had to serve as his hands.

Isabel opened her eyes.

“Sis…”

Liz quickly leaned toward her.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You drew the cursed sword? Really?”

“Really…”

Liz stopped mid-thought. She had heard that whoever drew the cursed sword would be affected, yet Isabel seemed completely normal.

She smiled faintly, dozing off again.

Only then did Liz feel her tension ease.

Gerolt was dead, and she survived. Gerolt had never liked Liz much. He had assigned her the dangerous task of hunting toxic slimes and even tried to kill her. But she survived thanks to Isabel.

“This little one…” Liz chuckled quietly, looking down at Isabel, asleep, who had drawn the cursed sword and cut Gerolt. Somehow, she had transformed Gerolt into a monster.

“From the first day she met Gerolt, Isabel was cautious. Did she already know his true nature?”

She was someone who could save many but also kill when necessary. Liz had never seen anyone like her before.

“Isabel, have you achieved your goal?” Liz muttered, expecting no answer. If Marcel fainting after drawing the holy sword and her own drawing of the cursed sword were all part of Isabel’s plan, then Isabel had now completed her objectives.

She would leave soon.

At that moment, the door burst open. Thompson, clearly flustered, rushed in.

“Priest!”

He didn’t look at Liz, instead scanning her hurriedly. Realizing she was only asleep, he let out a relieved sigh and glanced at her for an explanation.

“You must be shocked, Mayor. There’s more shocking news,” Liz said.

“What happened, Liz?”

“I have a lot to say, but to get to the point…” Liz glanced at Relton behind Thompson and calmly said,

“Gerolt is dead.”

Thompson’s pupils contracted. He almost collapsed. Relton caught him just in time, but he too eventually weakened and fell, which Liz watched with sympathy.

“…So you saved him?”

“Yes, brother.”

Their voices echoed in the bathhouse.

Covered in filth from swimming in Tames, Dyke and Jeremy roughly cleaned Marcel and dressed him in just pants before leaving him outside.

Dyke had to clean off the remaining magical residue, and Jeremy had to wash off the polluted water from saving Marcel.

They talked, not awkwardly.

“Looks like that’s really the holy sword.”

“You didn’t know Marcel was seeking it?”

“We’re not that close.”

“Do estranged people become sworn brothers?”

“Grandpa Gote ordered it.”

Jeremy smirked. He knew Dyke’s face would darken whenever Gote or Marcel got hurt, despite his cold words.

“But… is it true Gerolt is dead?”

“He deserved it.”

“He was quite skilled, though…”

“You like Liz, and he almost got her killed.”

“Oh, right. Good riddance.”

Jeremy laughed as he poured hot water over himself. Dyke sank into the bath, feeling conflicted.

Marcel had drawn the holy sword. Losing consciousness now was likely because of that. Isabel’s explanation would clarify, but no other reason made sense. He didn’t faint from the river, so it was definitely from gripping the sword.

But oddly, Isabel drew the cursed sword and seemed fine. Was she strong enough to resist it?

Dyke had forgotten how he had been tempted by the cursed sword, but the urge lingered. Had he surrendered to it, he might have drawn the sword and transformed. Isabel may have prevented that, leaving Dyke feeling conflicted.

Then someone else entered the bathhouse—Gote.

Jeremy felt overwhelmed. Dyke was large, but Gote, even in his 70s, was enormous. The spacious bath suddenly felt cramped.

“You’re here, Dyke.”

“…Grandpa.”

Dyke stepped aside slightly. Gote groaned and sat in the bath, water spilling out.

Jeremy stared in awe.

“Grandpa, you’re strong. I’d lose in arm wrestling.”

“Even if you used both hands, you’d lose, kid.”

“Ha, joking aside, how did you know to come?”

“Did you think I was just visiting?”

While Gerolt was dead, and Liz and Dyke were running with Isabel and Marcel, Gote had been rescuing the unconscious Gerolters. Most were fine, though some believed in false tales of treasures in the Dragon’s Lair.

Gote had taken them up the mountain, and they were disappointed by the scene inside.

Now he came to the bathhouse to see Dyke.

“Dyke, your men are fine. But… Marcel is outside, unconscious with the holy sword.”

“Is it really the holy sword?”

“Yes. I spent my youth chasing it.”

Jeremy tensed. Dyke glared at Gote.

“Are you sure it’s the holy sword? He hasn’t woken up.”

“Don’t you know? That’s how it is when you draw it.”

“How would you know?”

“Our former Knight Commander told me.”

“That guy retired long ago, living in Castle Tina, right?”

Gote laughed and splashed Dyke with water. Dyke stared, exasperated.

“Relax.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a good day. Marcel drew the holy sword.”

“What if he dies?”

“Brother, he won’t. Breathing and heartbeat are fine…”

Jeremy interjected but quickly fell silent under Dyke’s glare.

Gote patted Jeremy’s shoulder and said to Dyke,

“Marcel is being tested by the holy sword. Once done, he’ll wake.”

Dyke’s face darkened. Gote laughed heartily.

“Don’t worry. The priest said the angel chose Marcel as a hero. He’ll succeed.”

“Huh.”

Dyke leaned his head against the wall, watching Gote enjoy the hot water powered by the top-tier magical device.

“By the way, congrats, Grandpa,” Dyke said.

“And you too, Dyke. Gerolt is dead.”

“How do you know that?”

“I encountered mutants when in the Knight Order. I went up that cave and saw the remains you left. Your survival was a miracle.”

“….”

“You’ll have troubles ahead. You must handle them. Gerolt’s dead, so you’re the successor.”

“He never had successors.”

“Someone must.”

Dyke sighed. Indeed, someone had to, or the unrestrained Gerolters would run rampant. Thompson alone couldn’t control them.

The conversation ended. Silence wasn’t awkward.

Jeremy, Gote, and Dyke continued bathing quietly, occasionally asking small questions but speaking little.

After all, it had been an exhausting day for all of them.