A Priest's Life as a Villain

Chapter 026

On the transparently frozen land, you wash away the sins of your past life, bleed in war to finish your present life, and then are reborn into the afterlife through holy eternal life.

The god 'Dakir', who created the land of Northland, which stretches vast and wide beyond the Astana Mountains at the continent's northernmost point, told his descendants so.

On that frigid land, crops did not grow. Hunting and raiding were the Northlanders' basic means of survival. Some tribes became nomads, wandering aimlessly when game ran out or natural disasters struck, while others settled in places with fertile ground. Their wars of taking and being taken from were a daily routine in Northland. Warriors who sated their tribe's hunger were praised as great.

Northlanders did not think of this fate as cruel. They believed everything was a yoke created by Dakir.

The present life was nothing but a punishment for the next.

'It's a lie.'

But Binut, a boy born to the Frostwolf tribe of Northland, did not believe those words.

Binut started speaking much earlier than his peers. He babbled eagerly from the moment he could hold his head up, and by the time he could barely stand on two legs, he was already uttering full sentences.

Language reflects intelligence. People called Binut a genius. News of him even spread to neighboring tribes.

'Dakir is a false god. Why should I be a sinner just because I was born in Northland? Wars can stop anytime. I'll be the one to do it.'

When he turned ten, Binut made a vow. Good ideas to save his suffering people flashed into the boy's mind at all times. All he needed was time to grow.

But not long after harboring those lofty ambitions, Binut despaired.

The Barbarian's Mark emerged sharply on the boy's forearm.

A Barbarian is a warrior who has received the revelation of god. From the moment the mark appears, they gain destructive power and extraordinary talents. To Northlanders, barbarians were absolute proof of Dakir's existence. They called Barbarians the incarnations of Dakir and either worshipped or feared them.

The Frostwolf tribe was overjoyed.

It was their first time a Barbarian had emerged among them. As expected, the boy once praised as a genius did not disappoint. Now, there was no need to wander, starving. The people believed the great Barbarian would save the tribe.

From that day forward, Binut's body grew quickly. Even without extra food, his muscles kept swelling. He swung axes he'd never handled like toys. In sparring bouts, not even fully grown men could match his strength—rather, they were the ones sent sprawling. Yet they laughed in delight as they hit the ground.

Binut, the great Barbarian of the Frostwolf tribe.

The hero who would lead the tribe to prosperity was right before their eyes. Laughter never ceased. Binut, seeing them, would also laugh, then suddenly stop, then repeat.

"Wh-Why am I laughing?"

Dakir was a merciless god. He did not bestow power fully upon every Barbarian. He gave one thing and took another.

Additionally, Dakir was a capricious god. What he gave and what he took were different with each individual.

Binut was no exception.

Dakir took Binut's brilliant intellect and gave him the purest savagery. He swapped the thing the boy cherished and loved most for the thing he most dreaded and abhorred.

"A curse. This is a curse?!"

The boy, soaked in despair, watched as the tribe revered the Barbarian.

Binut decided to run from fate. The exchange implied by the mark would only become more evident as time passed. He even began to stutter.

He crossed the mountains. He stepped onto the Empire's land, which mainlanders called the civilized world. Binut knew where to go.

"The church."

He was going to plead with Asriel, the god of the mainland, to lift Dakir's curse.

"Asriel is a god of mercy."

Fortunately, he still remembered this clearly. He was afraid Dakir might take even this memory away. Binut ran until the soles of his feet were torn and bleeding.

"That you still remember is itself proof the Lord is real, and that it is the Lord's holy will which guided you here, brother."

The clergy listened to Binut's story. With halting speech, he explained as best he could.

Binut spent his days in the church, praying. Whether it rained or snowed, day or night, he bowed his head before the Holy Church's relic.

Outside, many things were happening. The mainland had become embroiled in civil war and chaos.

Yet still, Binut huddled alone in the church.

Gradually, instinct consumed reason.

His thoughts grew shallow; he found it hard to resist surging urges.

At some point, the clergy dressed Binut in a black uniform and handed him an axe. They whispered to him that Asriel was enraged at the demons who had brought chaos to this land.

Binut left the church and, like a beast long caged, now released, slaughtered demons.

Skepticism turned to resentment, resentment to hatred.

Even so, his consciousness flickered in and out at will. Sometimes, he went back to the dream-filled days of his boyhood in the Frostwolf tribe. Fragments of reason and memory faded away like holes opening up in a foam.

Now, all that remained in Binut was beast-like instinct.

Then one day,

A man called the "dog seller" came to him. The dog seller said,

"Your name is now Hank. Hank the Butcher."

The dog seller grinned, showing yellow teeth. The boy's eyes, once brilliant, began to dull to a similar color.

Now even that color was fading.

"I am the third son of House Hildebrandt, Demian Hildebrandt. Speak your name to the Lord."

"?? Bi...nut."

Demian stamped on Hank's chest as he collapsed, both arms cut off. Demian, holding his sword in a reverse grip, raised it vertically.

"Any last words?"

The gazes of the two men—one above, one below—met. Both were panting.

Hank slowly rolled his eyes to the side. He heard a voice calling to him.

Two people were laughing, clinking their drinking glasses together. Though it was the first time he had seen them, Hank knew exactly who they were.

Asriel and Dakir.

The vision vanished quickly. Hank gave a bitter smile. Blood trickled down his chin.

"There is... no god."

Thunk!

Demian's sword pierced Hank's neck.

"Haa, haa."

Demian staggered, breathing heavily. The area grew quiet.

Ran leaned diagonally against a tree, arms crossed.

"Oh, Demian beat the Barbarian."

Before the duel, Peco had thought Hank would win.

It didn't take long for expectations to be overturned. Demian narrowly avoided each of Hank's fierce attacks. There were a few close calls, but Hank's assaults ultimately amounted to nothing.

Demian didn't miss his opening.

"So that's the holy power I've heard so much about?"

The white light surrounding Demian's sword burned into Peco's memory.

Warriors who reached a superhuman state sometimes radiated an aura visible as light. The name people gave it varied.

People called the white aura wielded by holy knights "holy power" and revered it. This was slightly different from how Ran's manifestation of a god's blessing was universally called "holy power."

"Come to think of it, I think I saw a similar light from Ran."

As Peco, sitting at ease, glanced at Ran, he saw Ran standing silently, staring at one spot. Something felt off. Peco turned his head to follow Ran's gaze.

Step, step.

Dragging his sword, Demian was approaching. Unable to calm his excitement, a murderous glint still flickered in his eyes.

"Wh-What's with him? Why is he like that?"

Peco hurriedly got up. Ran didn't move a muscle.

Demian stopped five paces away. His slumped shoulders rose and fell as he breathed heavily.

"? Ran. Do you have anything to say to me, perhaps?"

"I do not."

"?? Well, that's a relief."

Demian sheathed his sword. Finally, the crazed look faded from his eyes.

Ran remained unruffled, as if nothing had happened. It was Peco who was left sweating.

* * *

The next day. Before midday, the detachment rejoined the main force.

Zima was waiting with camp already set up. On the horizon, Haskinderun Castle was visible.

"Exactly half of the twenty have returned."

Zima assessed the detachment's condition. Everyone looked pale. Demian could not even meet his gaze.

Inside the largest tent at the camp, Zima, Ran, Peco, and Demian assembled.

Peco quickly finished his report. He did not mention Demian's duel with Hank. Zima, too, didn't seem to care about Hank's absence.

"A wraith, huh."

"Yes, father. Fortunately, Ran stopped it. Otherwise, we might have been wiped out."

Peco shrugged as if it were his own doing. Zima, seated at the head, crossed his arms and stared at Ran. Demian's unusually sullen expression also caught his eye.

Ran spoke quietly.

"I saw the vision of a dark mage."

"Really? Thankfully, it ensnared a fool."

Ran kept to himself that the dark mage he'd seen in the vision had been a young boy.

Zima stroked the stubbly beard he'd grown from not shaving.

They had already expected the rebel forces at Haskinderun to include a dark mage. They had retaken their territory swiftly and covertly; sheer force could not account for it. Considering the 3rd legion defending the west still had not responded, it was highly likely news of Haskinderun's fall had not reached the main force, or only did so far too late.

Peco tilted his head.

"A fool, father? The dark mage?"

"The idiot's not even hiding, but going out of his way to attract attention. It's either one of two things: he's a genuine fool, or he's incredibly dangerous."

"Hmmm, I see."

"Don't worry too much, Peco. My guess is the former. The real ones all died in the war."

The shadow on Demian's face deepened. He couldn't find an opening to speak between the others. He liked to take the lead in things. The fact that he could not express his opinion confidently due to lack of battlefield experience made him both uncomfortable and ashamed. Ran and Peco already seemed to have a clear grasp of the strategy.

"They're about my age. Just what kind of battles have these two been through?"

Demian bit his lower lip. Something felt off inside him. If he didn't act soon, he felt like he'd lose his center altogether.

"Our holy knight order will take the vanguard. Lord Zima, how about you lead the Special Unit to strike the enemy's rear?"

Ran had mentioned before that to dispel the wraith, one had to kill the summoning dark mage. It was obvious the crux of the plan was who—and how—to cut off the dark mage.

Demian thought it wise that he and the holy knights would face the wraith, while the Special Unit carried out a flanking maneuver to target the dark mage in the rear.

"Tsk tsk, the young holy knight is full of energy."

Zima let out a dry laugh. Demian frowned. He had the vague sense that Ran and Peco, too, were mocking him.

"Did I say something I shouldn't have? Or is it that you doubt my ability?"

"Calm down now. This is a battlefield. You must keep a cool head."

But as Demian was about to speak up again, Ran interjected.

"It's a higher-class wraith. The holy knight order can hardly even hold it off right now."

"? What did you say?"

"The next wraith they summon will be even more dangerous than the one we just faced. Please don't overdo it."

"Shut your mouth!"

Demian shot up and glared at Ran across from him. Ran only looked up at him calmly, and then, as if sliding away, shifted his gaze to Zima.

"I'll go in."

"Huh, you? What's gotten into you?"

"Let's just finish this. Quickly."

"Hmm, then it looks like I'll have to deal with the wraith."

Ran had two reasons he had to insist.

First, Zima had to quickly bring Emma so he could learn the reason and purpose behind all this talk of a 'vessel'.

Second, he wanted to root out the Wraith Estevan before its full revival.

"Ahem, father. I'll go with Ran."

As Peco spoke, he too rose with Ran.

And so the meeting ended vaguely. Demian remained in the tent, shaking his fists in frustration. Even to himself, he felt like he was stuck uselessly in place.

"Why are you so upset, young holy knight?"

"?... No reason."

Demian barely regained his composure. As he was about to leave the tent, Zima spoke to his back.

"You got lucky, you know."

"Excuse me?"

Zima waved his hand. Demian squinted at Zima's back. He didn't seem about to answer. Since the ones he called his sons had saved his life, Demian assumed Zima was simply making sure that fact was acknowledged.

Demian left with a displeased expression.

"?? Ran. You keep doing unnecessary things."

The tent grew quiet. In one corner, Emma, wrapped in a thick blanket, played with a doll.

Noticing a gaze, Emma suddenly raised her head. Their gazes met. Zima winked lightly. Emma lowered her head hastily as if fleeing.

"How many holy knights are left again? Well, you could've let them all die, too. What a shame."

Zima licked his lips.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
Hmm, so Ran spared the Holy Knights.
I'm still unsure about Zima. He brought Ran to his group, meaning he should have a connection to the people of Quersa.
Is it possible that he is friends with Iscarang?
It seems the God Dakir is an ass.
Also, Asriel didn't hear his prayers.
I pity Binut :(
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