After setting Rozanna's house ablaze, we headed straight for the nearest city.
She couldn't use magic in her current state, so we deliberately escorted her all the way to a place where her safety was at least somewhat assured.
It took a week to get there.
At that point, the group split in two, promising to meet again later before parting ways.
And so our journey continued.
Along the way, we encountered countless refugees.
"Eek... A mage!"
"Don't look at him. Our eyes might meet, and we'll end up dead."
"Let's just pass by quietly."
Thanks to the golem, most of them quickly realized we were mages and scrambled to put some distance between us. Or they'd tremble in fear and beg for their lives.
But it wasn't always like that. Some even rushed right at us.
"You there! Stop!"
"Hand over everything you've got!"
"Food! Give us food!"
Even those refugees who closed in like that softened their gazes and turned tail once they came face-to-face with the golem and zombie soldiers. Only a desperate few ever actually tried to attack.
Each time it happened, the fact that I was a mage filled me with immense joy.
'What if I weren't a mage? I'd have surely been robbed and killed on the roadside.'
Refugees were backed into such a corner that they could've turned into bandits on the spot without anyone batting an eye. So if we hadn't been traveling with the golem and zombie soldiers, we'd have been attacked every single time we crossed paths with them.
'The rebellion's impact is worse than I imagined.'
We were currently in the central empire, and our next stop—Horace's tomb—was in the same region, though it bordered the east. That was why we kept running into refugees left and right, giving us a real sense of just how devastating the aftermath of this massive uprising had been.
In light of all that, Master and I couldn't help but steer most of our conversations toward the rebellion.
"Master, if it's reached all the way to the central region, things must be even worse than we thought."
"From what the refugees have said, more people seem to be joining the rebellion than trying to stop it. The farmers' rage must run deep. And with black mages likely stirring them up from the shadows, this civil war won't die down anytime soon."
We spent a fortnight on the road, mulling over the rebellion the whole way. At last, we arrived at a village. We planned to rest there for a day, stock up on food, and then resume our trek to Horace's tomb.
But the village chief stepped in to block our path.
"Mage, sir—you can't go that way!"
"Why not?"
"About a month ago, some bandit gang dug in there. They blocked off the main road and started slaughtering every traveler who passed by. These lunatics don't discriminate—they kill nobles, priests, and commoners all the same. No one's used that road since."
"Hoo..."
A bandit gang blocking the road to the east and killing off every traveler who came through. At first glance, it didn't seem all that unusual. Bandits killing people was par for the course, after all. But in truth, it was downright strange.
"Bandits settling down in one spot is weird enough, and wiping out every single traveler? Even weirder. And they killed nobles and priests among them..."
I shared my doubts with Master. Bandits never lingered in one place for long. Stick around too much, and you'd run out of marks to rob—not to mention the very real risk of retaliation from the local lord. Yet these bandits were acting like they had nothing to fear.
"Are they spreading rumors about the blocked road to keep people from heading east?"
"Could be the opposite."
"To stop people from the east moving to other regions?"
"Exactly."
"Hmm..."
But was that the whole story? I pondered, suspicion gnawing at me. And before long, another theory came to mind.
"What if they're trying to lure in the army?"
"The army?"
"They killed nobles and priests, so their houses or churches will want revenge, right? Maybe they're holding position on purpose to draw them in."
"If that's the case, then why lure the army? It's not how bandits operate. They avoid soldiers, not invite them to their doorstep."
"That's... I can't think of anything off the top of my head. Like you said, it's not normal."
We were deep in discussion about the bandits' true motives when someone approached us. He was a middle-aged man clad in chainmail that hung down to his knees, the links clinking with every step. And walking beside him was the village chief who'd tipped us off about the bandits. He must have brought the man here.
'A knight!'
Middle-aged, traveling with the chief. A longsword hung sheathed from his belt. That alone was enough to guess his identity. The sword itself was proof of his station.
"Chief said a mage showed up, so I came to check. Good thing I did—you're no amateur."
The middle-aged man narrowed his eyes at Master. Then he turned to him and asked, "What brings you to a place like this?"
As he spoke, his left hand gripped the scabbard while his right clutched the hilt. He was poised to draw at a moment's notice. But Master remained utterly unfazed.
"Just passing through."
"Everyone else is fleeing the rebellion, and you're heading straight into the heart of it? That's suspicious."
"What's to suspect? For people like us, crisis means opportunity. We're off to aid the nobles in the east and claim a hefty reward. Ah, if you're doubting my credentials, I can show you a letter of recommendation."
"Hmm..."
The man stared straight into Master's eyes. As if trying to discern truth from lie. But Master's poker face was masterful. No one would see through it easily.
Clink.
My hunch proved right. The man released his grip on the hilt and extended his hand.
"Bernard."
"Digori."
Master seized the offered hand without hesitation, giving his name in return and accepting the greeting. Once the handshake ended, Bernard's gaze locked onto the golem standing rigidly behind Master, and he posed a question.
"Earth Mage?"
"That's right."
"Digori the Earth Mage... I know a mage by that name. Digori of the Live Burial. Know him?"
"That's me."
"Oh ho."
Just how renowned was Master, anyway? As pride swelled in my chest, Bernard—now aware of his fame—warmed up to us considerably. He was still gruff, though.
"No sense standing around. Let's head to the lodging. I've got plenty to discuss with you. And a personal favor to ask."
"Very well."
A sudden invitation. One that might fluster anyone else, but Master kept a straight face as he accepted. And so we followed him.
"The massive rebellion in the east has turned security to chaos. Bandits are rampant everywhere. God knows where they hide before popping out..."
"Saw far too much ugliness on the road here myself. Truly tragic."
As Bernard and Master conversed, I scanned our surroundings. Curiously, the village teem with armed men. Mostly middle-aged and elderly. Weapons and armor varied wildly, but their outer garments were uniform. Every one wore an ochre surcoat, embroidered across the center with heavy clusters of wheat grains.
'Relief Holy Warrior Squadron.'
Master had taught me all about such things. Religion included. The empire's dominant faith was the Vast Sky Church, devoted to the Lord God. Next came the Okhya Church, worshipers of the Earth God who used wheat as their symbol. Following that was the Purification Church.
The unit stationed here consisted of one knight and a squad of veteran warriors. These thirty-odd men formed a single team.
'The vibe here is no joke.'
Maybe it was because they'd all spilled blood before. The warriors' eyes were fiercely intimidating. Observing them, I'd occasionally catch one's gaze—and without fail, chills would race down my spine.
"Here we are."
Moments later, Bernard stopped before a dilapidated house. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Clink, clink.
Bernard entered the rundown building. His first order of business: pouring grape wine from a clay jug into a wooden cup and offering it to Master. He handed over the cup, grabbed one for himself, and took a seat.
"Now, out with it. Why'd you call us here?"
Master, seated across from him, got straight to the point. I stood by with the golem near the door. This wasn't my conversation to join.
"Well, you've probably guessed already, so I'll cut to the chase. Digori of the Live Burial—please, lend us your aid."
"Going after those bandits, I take it."
"Damn right. Those maniacs killed nobles and priests. Time to remind the world that law and order still stand."
"Hmmm..."
Master let out a thoughtful hum. Looking deep in contemplation. But I knew better—it was all an act. To reach Horace's tomb, we'd have to pass through the bandits' turf anyway, so helping the Relief Holy Warrior Squadron was inevitable for us.
'The desperate party always comes out behind.'
And sure enough, Master's ploy worked.
"Not asking you to do it for nothing, of course. I stake my name on it—you'll get compensation befitting your station. Trying to use a mage like you for free? That's bandit thinking."
"I'll hold you to that."
Churches were flush with wealth. So a knight in their service? Bathed in endless support. They could afford to pay up. Besides, Bernard would bend over backward to keep his word, if only for his own honor and the church's. That was why Master trusted a mere promise.
"Much obliged. With your help, I feel a lot steadier."
"Oh, and my disciple's share as well, if you please. He fights better than your average combat mage—worth at least six warriors. I guarantee it."
"Hoo..."
Master's sudden praise. Bernard eyed me with interest before nodding readily.
"If that's true, then his share too."
With my reward secured, Bernard took a swig of wine and pressed on.
"Now for my take on this. Truth is, I suspect a black mage is tangled up in it."
His face grew deadly earnest as he spoke. Dead certain his hunch was right.
"Evidence?"
"Plenty killed by the bandits, but not a single body recovered."
"Suspicious, indeed."
"Exactly! No signs of burial anywhere nearby. Bandits grab the loot and valuables—why haul off the corpses? What's the point?"
Bernard bellowed, then lifted his wooden cup. Gulp, gulp. His throat bobbed vigorously before he fixed Master with a piercing stare.
"Now you see why I suspect black magic? More precisely, necromancers. Only those loathsome scum have a use for bodies."
'There are two necromancers standing right here!'
"Any idea how many bodies have gone missing so far?"
"Easily two hundred."
"Even a necromancer wouldn't need that many for one man. Means there could be more than one mage there..."
"You get it. That's why I called on you. If you've got the skills to match your reputation, you can minimize our soldiers' losses."
'With Master here, victory's a foregone conclusion.'
That was when Master voiced his own thoughts, almost to himself.
"No matter how I turn it over, it's fishy. They're not making low-tier undead—mid-tier, maybe even high-tier. Nothing else explains needing that many bodies. Sir Bernard. We should strike as soon as possible. Delay, and something big might happen."
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