Wandering Mercenary in an Open World

Ruon approached the monster’s corpse without hesitation.

Its body, which still exuded a menacing aura despite its crushed head, was a gruesome sight of flesh and muscle fibers from an unknown creature.

The only part that he could guess with his naked eye was the scales that covered its skin, as Hella had mentioned. He couldn’t tell if they were really dragon scales, but it was obvious that they were no ordinary material, since they had effectively blocked his dagger, which was imbued with his full strength, several times.

He decided to settle for taking a few pieces.

He would have liked to peel off the whole skin cleanly, but it was impossible to separate the scales from the other tissues, since the body had been artificially modified.

He turned his head and looked at the hammer that was deeply embedded in the ground. The surface of the hammer, which had left a small crater from the impact, was emitting a faint light from the incomprehensible runes.

He grabbed the handle of the hammer without hesitation and swung it a few times in the air. As expected of someone who had handled many extraordinary weapons, he easily drew out the power within the hammer, and soon the surface of the hammer heated up and made a rumbling sound.

At that moment, Kyle, who had come out of a nearby building with a few boiled eggs in his hand, exclaimed in surprise.

“Wow, that startled me.”

Ruon looked at Kyle with a blank expression and snapped his fingers.

“Come here and try this.”

Kyle tilted his head at Ruon, who was grinning at the hammer.

“Why the hammer all of a sudden?”

He asked as he approached him and took the hammer that Ruon handed him. He didn’t seem to feel much burden from the weight that was transmitted to his palm, and Ruon smiled faintly.

“You’ve gotten pretty strong, huh?”

Kyle shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, thanks to the goddess’s blessing.”

“Good for you. You can use that hammer.”

“···What?”

Kyle’s voice was flat, as if he was giving up a coin he had picked up on the street.

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“Igor and Tarwen can’t swing it properly, and Strabo won’t need it when he turns into a beast. Besides, it doesn’t fit your height.”

“Why don’t you use it then?”

At that question, Ruon spread his fingers and pointed at the weapons he had on his body.

An ego sword, a thick-bladed dagger, and a bow without a string.

“You want me to add more? Sorry, but I’m not a weapon master.”

Kyle chuckled and retorted.

“It’s too cruel to ask someone who just got used to a sword to switch to a hammer.”

Ruon shook his head.

“I’m not telling you to switch weapons. I’m just saying that you should keep that hammer, since it might come in handy in future fights.”

“···Is this because you’re too lazy to use it, but too reluctant to throw it away?”

“Maybe.”

Ruon patted Kyle’s shoulder, who was staring at the hammer with a bewildered face, and walked past him to the building he had intended to go to.

He heard a crackling sound from behind him, as if he had already started practicing.

***

The group gathered in one place with their daily food. After a brief exchange of opinions, they decided to stay in a building at the corner of the village.

It was the only place that was relatively intact in the ruined village, and the only place that could accommodate the five of them.

Of course, it was disgusting to spend a day in a village where the blood and flesh of countless corpses were scattered on the floor, but no one complained for that reason.

The group devoted themselves to their respective tasks.

Ruon prepared firewood and bedding, and Tarwen and Igor cooked dinner together. They had been awkward with each other since they had a subtle nerve war over their souls, and they kept their mouths shut and watched each other’s eyes while making food. What are they doing, acting like kids?

Bang-Rumble!

“Shit, I did it!”

Kyle was happy that he had drawn out the power of the hammer, and he prayed to the goddess for the first time.

Meanwhile, Strabo, who had gone to find the horses he had tied up outside the village, came back. But he only had one rein in his hand.

“Only Toby didn’t run away!”

The horses, who had been scared by the endless thunderstorm, had all cut their ropes and fled, but the pony, who had been calmly grazing on weeds, made a dumb sound with a blue face.

Strabo was ashamed of his mistake of tying the rope loosely, but he was also very proud of his pony, who was the bravest.

Tarwen, who was the first to notice that the pony was deaf, suggested that they pretend not to know, and they all swallowed their laughter for a while.

As they did, the sun set. The group filled their stomachs with a simple stew and sat down on their bedding. The firewood in the fireplace burned like a martyr, filling the house with a warm atmosphere.

The first to speak was Tarwen.

“Thank you, everyone.”

At his sudden words, the group silently turned their heads and looked at the pale face of the fairy.

“I thought when I ran away from the cradle. If I ever came back here, it would be either because I was skinned alive or because I was dragged here to be skinned.”

With her slender index finger, she traced circles on the ground as she continued speaking.

“Thanks to you, I was able to grasp the hope I had long given up on. It’s not just about getting back at the Cradle; it’s about the hope of bringing them down entirely.”

Stravo chuckled and said, “Where there’s a cause, there’s always romance! I’m glad I can help you too.”

Then, his expression soured abruptly, and he added, “Why on earth am I labeled ‘pleasant’? It must be a mix-up with Ruon. Or maybe with Kail…”

The great Ruon frowned.

“Take it or leave it.”

Igor cleared his throat softly and began to speak, his gaze fixed on Tarwen.

“I apologize for blocking your path earlier. Despite knowing better, I harbored prejudice because you were once a witch of the Cradle. It was shameful behavior for a priest who practices mercy.”

As he finished speaking and bowed his head, Tarwen waved her hands in dismay.

“No, it’s not that. I’m not clean either. As you said, I was a witch of the Cradle until a few months ago, and without the excuse of necessity, I certainly did condemnable things. I’m sorrier.”

Ruon let out a hollow laugh at the sight of the two, each insisting they were in the wrong.

Kail suddenly interjected.

“So why make the mood so grim with such creepy talk? About leaking filth and stuffing souls into dead pigs? I couldn’t believe my ears. Really…”

At his words, Tarwen smiled faintly, her expression one of someone trying to suppress their true feelings. She then spoke up.

“My family suffered that way.”

As the companions struggled to find words, Tarwen began to recount her past calmly.

The torn bodies of her family, the spell taught by the witch, the guilt of turning her beloved family into ghouls.

Ruon knew this much, but today, the story continued.

“I was only six years old then, and I wasn’t strong enough to accept my actions. And I had no desire to continue the life the Cradle had begrudgingly spared.”

She carefully turned her wrist over and extended it forward. Across her pale skin lay a dense pattern of raised scars.

“While repeatedly harming myself, a witch approached me. She was the one who first made me recite the spell. In her hand, she held a handful of faint souls, which I didn’t realize at the time… were the souls of my family.”

The story went on.

The witch, Fleur, tortured the souls of Tarwen’s family in front of her, a young girl who had given up the will to live and was defiant.

The young girl, engulfed in guilt over her family’s suffering even in death, had no choice but to learn the dark magic she didn’t want, and whenever she was even slightly negligent or showed reluctance in her studies, Fleur ruthlessly destroyed the souls.

The companions’ eyes blazed with fury at the story of how a human’s heart was subdued by such cruel means.

Kail clenched his teeth, and without realizing it, the hammer he was holding made a rumbling sound.

“Those bastards…”

Igor didn’t say it out loud, but the divine power leaking from his body was bright enough to illuminate the surroundings.

Instead of raging, Stravo gently grasped Tarwen’s scar-ridden wrist with his bloodshot eyes.

Tarwen smiled weakly, her lips trembling.

“Maybe I endured that time well to meet you all. A party that killed the archdemon. Could there be any greater fortune?”

Ruon, who had been silent with his arms crossed, slowly lifted his head and met Tarwen’s eyes.

“I’ve said it before, but I promise again,” Ruon said, his eyes flashing with the calm intensity of a storm.

“All the witches of the Cradle, except you, will perish.”

***

Leaning on the armrest connected to the chair, Fleur quietly opened her eyes, which had been closed.

Her red eyes, shining like rubies, were so intimidating that even the witches of the Cradle hesitated to meet her gaze directly. But the man before her showed no such apprehension. Or could he even be called a man?

Fleur opened her mouth amidst these thoughts.

“Excuse me, where were we?”

The man in the shabby cloak replied, “Did something unpleasant happen?”

Fleur shrugged.

“A talented witch died. Her arrogance was a flaw, but her skills were undeniable, and I was quite fond of her… It’s a sad thing.”

A low chuckle came from the shadows of the cloak.

“Sorrow? I didn’t know such a feeling still existed in an old witch like you.”

Fleur crossed her smooth legs and retorted.

“Of course. How could I not be sad? A being I was supposed to consume perished at the hands of someone else.”

The man tilted his head back and laughed heartily, causing the hood he wore to slide back and reveal his face.

Fleur, seeing the man’s face for the first time in a while, asked with a smirk.

“Why hide such a handsome face behind such a dreary mask?”

The man pulled the hood back over his head with his gauntleted hands. Then, his face hidden in the shadow of the hood, he spoke in a cool voice.

“We’ve strayed from the topic. So, what’s the plan for the ritual? We’ve already wasted a lot of time. The great churches have begun to sniff around. I can’t distract them forever.”

Fleur’s face lost its smile as she replied firmly.

“Don’t worry. The Cradle is ready. They will soon come here on their own and pay the price in blood.”

“Have you prepared, assuming they are the party that killed Beldusias?”

“Of course.”

The man stood up. The slight clinking of his armor cut through the silence as he said coldly.

“It’s time for the arrangement. Next time we meet, let it be as the archdemon Fleur.”

With that, his form crumbled like a sandcastle swept away by the tide and disappeared.

Fleur stared at the empty space where he had been, then pushed herself up from the armrest.

“Archdemon Fleur… That has a nice ring to it.”

The master of the Cradle’s tower smiled with a strange longing in her eyes as she burned with anticipation.

“I don’t understand why you hide your handsome face behind that dull mask.”

The man flipped his hood back over his head with his steel-gloved hands. Then he spoke in a cold voice, concealing his face in the shadow of the hood.

“You’re getting off track. What are you going to do with the ritual? We’re running out of time. The Grand Churches have started to smell something. We can’t divert their attention forever.”

Fleur also erased the smile that had spread over his face and replied curtly.

“Don’t worry. Yoram has already prepared everything. They’ll be here soon enough, on their own feet. And they’ll pay the price of blood.”

“You’ve prepared for the possibility that they’re the party that killed Belducius, right?”

“Of course.”

The man got up from his seat. His cold voice pierced through the faint clinking of his armor.

“It’s time to betray. Next time we meet, let’s meet as the Great Demon Fleur.”

Then his body crumbled and disappeared like a sandcastle swept by a wave. Fleur stared at the empty space where he had left, then pushed his bracelet aside and stood up.

“Great Demon Fleur… That sounds good.”

The tower master of Yoram, who had his long-cherished wish in front of him, smiled with a strange desire in his eyes.