Chapter 8 - The Journey (2)
As Lawrence moved to draw his crossbow, Reynold stopped him.
He didn't speak a word. Instead, he protested with his eyes.
Shouldn't we help?
"We're not saints. You can't even protect yourself, so don't rush in to save others for no reason."
"What?"
Lawrence blurted out without thinking.
"Why are you so eager to rescue someone when you don't even have the strength for it? Don't justify your actions with self-sacrifice and self-satisfaction. That kind of thing only dishonors the Goddess… What? Why are you making that face?"
"..."
Apparently, he must have been making a sour expression.
Lawrence knew Reynold was unconventional. But he never expected a Pilgrim of the Holy Cross Order—whose core tenets were love and mercy—to say something like that.
"It's nothing."
"If you get it, then start by assessing the situation "You can still act after you've assessed the situation."
"What if, in the meantime…"
"If he dies, that's all there is to it. That just means fate didn't tie us together."
Reynold cut through Lawrence's hesitation with finality.
A few thoughts flickered through Lawrence's mind and vanished. None of the teachings he'd learned in the monastery were any help now.
Reynold's words were perfectly reasonable. After all, even now, Lawrence was relying on Reynold in his attempt to stand on his own.
He was in no position to lean on someone else's staff, let alone offer a hand to another.
Lawrence hid behind the tree, just like Reynold.
He observed what was happening in front of them. The traveling merchant attacked by the goblins was alone. With his back pressed against the wagon, he swung his sword in every direction, but he wasn't making much progress.
One goblin was down. Two goblins were wounded. But there were still six unhurt goblins left.
Given that there were nine goblins, was it impressive that the merchant was holding out alone?
Reynold tapped Lawrence on the shoulder.
He pointed his finger at the top of the wagon. Up there, a goblin Lawrence hadn't seen before was sneaking up behind the traveling merchant.
It wasn't nine after all. There were a total of ten goblins attacking the wagon.
"You haven't forgotten how to use a crossbow, have you?"
"Are we going to help him?"
"I've counted how many goblins there are. With ten, losing a single crate won't matter."
A crate. That's when it finally clicked. Telling him not to jump in recklessly was as much for the boy's sake as for anything else. Reynold was putting Lawrence's safety before that of the merchant.
He'd heard that an adult was someone who took responsibility for what was entrusted to them. Today, Reynold looked more like a real adult than ever.
"Shoot and hide. Repeat. I'll take care of the one on top of the wagon."
"Understood."
Lawrence loaded the quarrel. The traveling merchant's desperate resistance was now reaching its limit Maybe it was because his hands were sweaty, but the quarrel kept slipping.
"Stay calm. Experience never lies," Reynold said in his steady voice, helping Lawrence regain his composure.
He fit the groove and the rest together. With a click, Lawrence loaded the quarrel and took aim at a goblin.
It was a much smaller body compared to the Underwolf.
He let out a quiet breath. Inhaled, then held it. The moment his hands stopped trembling, he pulled the trigger.
Kerrk―!?
The quarrel struck the goblin's exposed back. Just like the Underwolf, the goblin couldn't withstand the impact and went flying into the wagon.
There was no time to celebrate the hit. Staying hidden behind a tree, Lawrence reloaded the crossbow.
Click!
The first time had been hard, but the second was nothing. Lawrence, almost surprised by how quickly he reloaded, aimed the crossbow again.
A goblin, caught in the confusion, was pierced by the quarrel
He didn't let his concentration waver. When Lawrence, not even sure how many quarrels he'd fired, finally looked at the wagon, there were no longer any goblins left standing.
The only survivor in that chaos was the traveling merchant.
Maybe it was the relief of barely escaping with his life. With a wry laugh, the merchant slumped against the wagon as if all strength left his body.
"Well done."
"That was all Reynold's doing."
Lawrence didn't deny it.
Reynold gave a satisfied snort.
With the crossbow slung over his back, Reynold walked toward the merchant. Lawrence, having finished clearing the crossbow, followed after him.
"Are you alright?"
"Thank the Goddess. You saved my life."
The traveling merchant looked to be a man in his thirties. He was covered in scratches, and the wagon itself had been hacked and slashed by wild blows.
Fortunately, his injuries didn't seem serious. Even though he was grimacing as if in great pain, he wasn't complaining—a sign that he was better off than he looked.
"Why were you walking this dangerous road alone, with no escort? It's a good thing we happened to come by. Otherwise, you'd be the one lying there right now."
"This road isn't usually frequented by goblins. It's an animal trail bordering the Underwolf's territory. I never expected something like this to happen."
Trying to save a few silvers nearly cost me my life, the traveling merchant said with a self-deprecating smile.
Wait.
Hold on.
So the reason they'd encountered monsters so far was that they'd taken a dangerous path?
Lawrence shot Reynold a wry look at his utterly expressionless face.
It was definitely on purpose.
"My name is Beton. Thank you for your help."
"It was the will of the Goddess. Offer your thanks to her, not us."
"Of course. If not for the blessing of Goddess Belche, I'd be a dead man by now."
Beton burst out laughing, as if to celebrate his narrow escape.
When the pleasant laughter faded, Reynold finally spoke.
"I am Pilgrim Reynold. This is Lawrence, a novice priest."
"I'm glad you're safe. My name's Lawrence."
"May the Goddess's blessing be with you."
They shook hands naturally.
Beton's palm was covered with calluses.
"I'm not a novice priest, you know."
"For now, you are. Whatever you decide to do in the future, it's best if you have a clear, official status."
Lawrence understood.
It was something he'd been told several times since setting out on the road.
Even so, he couldn't help but make a small objection.
"From the direction you're headed, it looks like you're on your way to Redanthus Village. Am I right?"
"That's correct. I was on my way back after picking up some good goods in Hilton Village. I never expected to run into something like this."
"Then it must be fate we met. Beton, if you don't mind, could you spare us some space in your wagon? We only need to go as far as Redanthus Village."
"I should be the one asking for a favor. Who knows if goblins will show up again?"
Beton agreed without hesitation.
While they tidied up the wagon, Reynold called Lawrence over.
He retrieved any usable quarrels and checked over the felled goblins.
"Notice anything different?"
"All of the ones you shot were hit in the head."
"And what about your shots?"
"I aimed for the head, but every bolt hit somewhere else."
"Exactly. Real combat is different. Besides, unlike Underwolves, goblins have much smaller bodies. Their small size makes it a lot harder to hit where you're aiming. If you plan on making a living as a mercenary, keep practicing. Once you get more comfortable with the crossbow, mistakes like this will disappear."
Lawrence stared at the goblin corpses for a moment before speaking.
"Is there anything useful we can salvage from goblins?"
"Not really. If you're desperate, maybe some of the gear they were using, but just look at that mess. At best, it's worth nothing more than scrap metal."
Every single piece of their gear was rusted and far from anything you'd call decent equipment. Everything was corroded, chipped, or so dulled that you doubted it could even cut.
"The problem is, if you get hit by a weapon like that, there's a high chance you'll get an infection. That's why the traveling merchant was so careful with disinfecting earlier."
"You're talking about Orel, right?"
"It's easier to explain if you know about Orel. Set aside a few of those medicines as a precaution. The most convenient choice is a potion, but potions are expensive—and they're not a cure-all. In fact, if you use just any potion, it can be poisonous."
Even herbs, if used incorrectly, can become poisonous plants. Understanding Reynold's point, Lawrence nodded.
"We're ready. Can we set out now?"
It looked like the wagon was finally sorted out. Honestly, it was a relief that the horses made it through all that commotion unscathed. Patting Lawrence on the shoulder, Reynold headed for the driver's seat.
"If you're tired, I can take the reins."
"I'm fine. I owe you my life—how could I be so rude to my savior?"
He didn't ask twice.
Lawrence settled in at the back of the wagon.
Most of the goods in sight were Underwolf pelts.
So the claim about stopping by Hilton Village hadn't been a lie after all. Now that he thought about it, in all the chaos when they left, he hadn't even managed to stop by the inn.
I wonder how Edrick and Greta are doing.
No news is good news, as they say.
Since it's a place regularly visited by traveling merchants, business should be steady, even if customers are few.
By now, the midday service would have ended at the monastery.
Everyone must be busy getting ready for lunch right about now.
His thoughts didn't linger for long. As he heard quiet voices chatting on the driver's bench, Lawrence began practicing magic.
He summoned the now-familiar Shadow from within the darkness.
First, it took the form of a small doll.
After walking from one end of the wagon to the other, the Shadow melted away like water.
He kept his concentration steady.
The Shadow pooled against the floorboards and slowly reformed its shape.
Thin, blunt-tipped fingers.
It looked a lot like a quarrel loaded into a crossbow.
He kept adjusting its form in his mind, but in the end, he couldn't hold it any longer, and the Shadow vanished.
He steadied his breathing.
He didn't have a headache yet, but he felt a slight tightness near his chest.
This method was something that had recently come to mind.
While handling the crossbow, he had suddenly thought of it.
Is it really necessary to always shape the Shadow into a human form?
He'd already confirmed that, once it emerged from the darkness, it could make contact with objects.
It seemed more efficient to change the Shadow's shape so it could influence things directly, rather than using it to touch or move objects.
But as could be seen, the results weren't impressive.
He'd practiced for several days, but he hadn't made much progress.
He could barely mimic an arrow shape, but he just couldn't form anything detailed enough to be lethal.
And making it wasn't enough—he'd also need the power to shoot it off.
For instance, a real quarrel is fired by the force of a crossbow.
Since the Shadow couldn't use physical equipment, he'd have to shoot it with magic alone.
The problem was, he wasn't sure if that would even work.
But if he couldn't manage this much, it seemed unlikely he could ever use the Shadow effectively in real combat.
That was no exaggeration.
Real combat was no game.
The enemy wouldn't give him time to cast spells. If it couldn't be prepared in advance like a crossbow, it would be better to spend that time swinging his sword even one more time.
This was a matter of life and death. If he didn't like that, he'd have to drastically cut down the casting time.
Either way, it was clear he needed to put in the effort.
On the other hand, Fire was something he could use in real combat right away.
No matter who his opponent might be, they'd no doubt be thrown off if flames suddenly erupted in front of them.
…Though it never went quite where he aimed.
For now, he could only manage to make fire leap up in front of his hands.
Still, it was better than nothing.
At least he could count on the element of surprise.
He definitely needed stable time to practice.
Even now, he was only practicing Shadow occasionally while keeping watch, always wary of Reynold's gaze.
He had a feeling his skills wouldn't improve like this.
Once they reached Redanthus, he would need to find somewhere to practice without worrying about anyone watching.
If things really didn't work out, he thought he could even practice magic in the inn room.
When the Shadow he'd been trying so hard to shape finally disappeared, Lawrence let out a sigh.
Too many stray thoughts.
He still had a long way to go.
After that, the group continued to come across goblins and Underwolves.
Usually, there weren't many goblins, or the Underwolves would back off first, but when a fight was unavoidable, they had no choice but to reach for the crossbow.
There were no truly dangerous situations.
Thanks to the wagon, fighting was much easier than on foot.
Occasionally, some goblins managed to approach while dodging the hail of quarrels, but each time, Reynold's sword flashed brilliantly.
It seemed swordsmanship, not the crossbow, was Reynold's real specialty.
Even Lawrence, who knew nothing about swords, could tell that his movements were graceful and strikingly elegant.
It had been five days since they hopped aboard Beton the traveling merchant's wagon.
At the end of the long forest road, the group was greeted by city walls that towered over even the trees.
"Have we arrived?" Lawrence asked.
"We still have half a day to go!" Beton replied.
Lawrence's eyes widened in surprise.
Did it mean the gate was this huge even though they hadn't reached the city yet?
Beton's words turned out to be true.
Only after traveling for another half a day did the wagon finally reach Redanthus.
At a glance, its size made Hilton Village look tiny by comparison.
The walls were so high that you couldn't even see inside, and at the entrance stood a checkpoint where every person entering was inspected.
"Thank you for your hard work," Reynold greeted.
"A traveling merchant, are you? What's inside the wagon?" the guard asked.
"I'm returning from Hilton Village. I brought back some high-quality Underwolf pelts. If you're interested, would you like to take a look?"
"Wait here for a moment."
Lawrence got down from the wagon.
The gatekeepers checked the goods with businesslike expressions.
They opened a few items to check their contents and thoroughly looked over the wagon to see if anything might be a problem.
"You may pass."
"And those two over there?"
"They are clergy of the Holy Cross Order."
"We weren't asking you, merchant."
Even though he'd been snubbed, Beton didn't lose his cheerful smile.
"May the Goddess's blessing be with you. I am Pilgrim Reynold of the Holy Cross Order."
"May the Goddess's blessing be with you. I am Lawrence, a novice priest."
"Hm… May the Goddess's blessing be with you. So you're pilgrims, then."
The gatekeeper looked flustered.
He seemed to know the Order's formal greeting, and, awkwardly bowing his head, he cleared his throat.
"What brings you to Redanthus?"
"Must we have a specific reason to visit a town? Wherever the Goddess's will leads, that is where her wandering flock must follow."
"Oh… um… is that so?"
The gatekeeper glanced around at his fellow guards.
But no one offered any help.
It was almost comical how they all subtly backed away, clearly leaving the decision up to him.
"Is there any particular reason we shouldn't be allowed in?"
"No, it's not that…"
"Then there's no problem, is there?"
"Ah… all right. You may enter."
The gatekeeper reluctantly stepped aside.
Lawrence couldn't help but hold his head a bit higher. Things were different now compared to when he was just a penniless orphan. The name of the Holy Cross Order carried real weight.