Chapter 646: The Heart of the Continent (4)
From the depths of a dark cave, an old woman, blind in both eyes, emerged and spoke. She said that another name for the woman blessed by an angel’s love was “the Joyful Princess.”
"The Joyful Princess?"
"Yes. According to legend, she was born a princess in a prosperous kingdom and lived a happy life."
"Hmm..."
Oliver murmured softly, casting his gaze upon the statue.
The aged, worn wooden carving was so deteriorated that the face was unrecognizable. Yet, it wasn’t entirely indecipherable. Small details remained: a humble cloak, tattered shoes, and rough, calloused hands.
However, something about it didn’t quite match the idea of a princess who had led a prosperous, joyful life. That was not the only perplexing thing. He also wondered why a princess from such a wealthy kingdom would come to aid a weary angel.
Pandora explained that her role in assisting the angel had begun when she was caring for the sick and needy. But for a princess to be involved in nursing the ill seemed oddly sudden.
The old woman, perhaps sensing Oliver’s confusion, began to speak again.
"Of course, the princess’s happiness did not last her entire life."
"...Did something happen to her?"
"Yes, a vast and unstoppable calamity appeared."
The Continent’s center, a princess, and a calamity—connecting these three keywords, Oliver instinctively arrived at an answer.
"Is it the Pied Piper?"
The old woman nodded slowly.
"Correct... Hundreds of years ago, when he appeared, countless minor kingdoms fell. Parents who had their children taken before their eyes directed their rage and hatred towards the very peak of the kingdom."
Oliver already knew. The shadow play had shown him the tragedy of the Sleeping Princess.
The wrath of the people was so intense that they ultimately handed over the very princess they once loved to the hands of a witch.
"The calamity did not spare the Joyful Princess either. Thus, the princess fell to the very bottom… They say she shed tears."
"It must have been painful, to fall from the heights of being a princess."
Though he couldn’t quite empathize, Oliver could understand thanks to what he had learned.
But the old woman’s reaction was unexpected.
"No, the reason the princess wept wasn’t because she had lost her title. It wasn’t that she couldn’t wear fine dresses or eat delicacies anymore. She wept because, only after falling, did she finally see the poor and miserable people she had never noticed from her lofty place."
"..."
"She had always believed everyone lived happily, just as she had. That was her daily reality."
Oliver could understand. In the days when he lived in the mines, he too thought everyone lived like he did. Though it was the opposite for the princess, the principle was the same.
"Ironically, only after being swept up in the calamity did she come to realize how blessed she had been and how others suffered… Do you know what she did after that?"
"I don’t. What did she do?"
"Rather than wallow in the misfortune that had befallen her, she began to help the suffering people around her. She did so for a time far beyond anyone’s imagination… We follow in her footsteps."
After hearing the story, Oliver looked again at the wooden statue. There was nothing especially notable about it, aside from the worn-away face, yet he found his gaze lingering.
"What’s troubling you?" the blind old woman asked, turning toward Oliver.
Oliver shrugged. "It’s just... there seem to be a lot of princesses on the Continent."
"You mean the three princesses."
"...?"
"The Sleeping Princess, the Swan Princess, and the Joyful Princess. Here, we call them the three princesses representing calamities."
"What does it mean to represent calamities?"
"It refers to the ways people respond to tragedies beyond human comprehension... For instance, the Sleeping Princess symbolizes avoidance. Betrayed by everyone, she fled into the forest."
Oliver gave no visible reaction, though inwardly he agreed.
The Sleeping Princess had created the forest as a sanctuary, an act that was more than mere dark magic. Its core purpose was to isolate her from the outside world. A closed door.
"The Swan Princess represents fury. Unable to bear the suffering inflicted upon her, she wants to destroy everything."
Oliver again agreed.
Though he had never met the Swan Princess, from others’ descriptions and her refusal to kneel, he could tell she was someone who yearned to burn the world.
Like the Sleeping Princess, she too had been a victim of the Pied Piper’s calamity. She might seem docile, but she was more determined than anyone else to see the world in flames.
"Of course, one cannot entirely blame her," the old woman continued, "Not only was she betrayed, but she also lost her brothers in the process."
"You seem well-informed."
"I’ve made efforts as a follower of the Joyful Princess, Sir Dave."
Despite being blind, the old woman somehow knew Oliver’s identity.
"You know who I am?"
"Rumors spread that the Archpriest would bring someone here... Plus, I heard about the airship."
"Ah..."
"I thought you might come. I didn’t expect you actually would."
It was uncanny—her gaze seemed to rest on Oliver as if she could see, even though she couldn’t.
"Would you like to hear more?"
Having explained the Sleeping Princess as avoidance and the Swan Princess as fury, the old woman asked.
Oliver shook his head.
"No, it’s an interesting story, but it’s not what I came here for... Are you the representative of the black magicians here?"
"Being a representative sounds too grand. I just live by following the Joyful Princess’s will, and others happened to gather around me."
"So, in a way, yes."
"Yes..."
"Let me get straight to the point. Can you disarm the people here and persuade them to follow me?"
Despite the abrupt request, the old woman showed no surprise or hesitation, and instead calmly asked a question.
"May I ask why you want to do this?"
"If everyone disarms, it will prove that there’s no intent to cause harm, which I can use to convince the Holy Knights. I understand that while I may not know this place well, some people have turned to black magic out of a need for survival."
Oliver thought of the black magicians who had come to Gallos.
Some came to seize the opportunity left by the absence of the Flesh Chef, but others were drawn to black magic out of survival.
"So, are you saying you’ll help us?"
"It’s not that grand. I ended up assisting by chance and simply want to minimize bloodshed. To be frank, I hadn’t planned on coming here at all."
Though his tone sounded somewhat irresponsible, the old woman merely smiled, her wrinkled lips curving gently.
“You are quite kind, aren’t you?”
“Sorry, but did you misunderstand what I said?”
“No, I understood completely. Regardless, you’re still here making this offer on behalf of people you don’t even know. That’s no easy thing.”
“…Could you answer my question?”
“First, I’ll thank you again. However, Pater Church isn’t treating us this way because they genuinely think we’re a threat.”
“I know. That’s why I’m offering to persuade them—if you’re willing to help.”
Having discerned that the Holy Knights’ aim wasn’t solely to eradicate black magicians, Oliver spoke with conviction.
Something about the situation had struck him as odd from the beginning.
Even if the black magicians from the Continent’s center were powerful, there was no inherent reason why the Holy Knights couldn’t subdue them, especially given the synergy of holy power against black magic.
Moreover, with Armand and Archpriest Roderick pulling Oliver into this mission, it seemed evident there was an ulterior motive.
Oliver planned to leave before that purpose became apparent.
Whether this would be the end or not was uncertain, but for now, this seemed the best approach.
Numerous doubts and unsavory circumstances pressed on him from every side, and so Oliver decided to focus only on what he could handle immediately.
“Can you tell me what you plan to do?” he asked once more.
“We won’t follow all of it, but I’ll try to talk to them.”
“That’s enough for me. For those who aren’t persuaded—”
[-Dave.]
As Oliver attempted to conclude the conversation, Eve’s voice emerged from the communication device attached to the inner collar of his shirt.
A faint sense of urgency underlay her typically mechanical tone, which Oliver immediately picked up on. He instinctively glanced at Pandora.
Unlike Eve, Pandora’s face clearly reflected her emotions, showing a look of alarm as she spoke up.
“Archpriest Roderick has arrived with the Holy Knights.”
...
In the outskirts of Gallos, the region of Arkh.
This area, marked by vast plains, was home to a small village, atop a hill above which stood an orphanage bearing the name of the Arkh region.
The orphanage, large enough to fulfill its purpose, was surrounded by sturdy walls befitting its location on the outskirts.
While these walls could not protect them from every danger, they provided a reassuring sense of security even in the dark of night.
Thus, the orphanage’s director and staff always made sure to lock the gate after nightfall, without exception.
Tonight, however, was an exception.
For some reason, the sturdy gate stood open.
Upon stepping inside, one immediately noticed something unusual.
That unsettling sight was the orphanage building itself—broken, ablaze, and frozen in parts, with sixty-four children standing with hollow, unfocused eyes.
Yareli, her face ashen with fear, was standing before them, backed by Rosburn and the rest of the orphanage staff.
Derek was screaming, his arm torn, and Joanna, limp and held by the neck of the Pied Piper, lay unconscious, her shield battered and mace shattered.
“Kugh…”
“…”
Derek, clutching his wounded arm, ground his teeth to stifle his scream, but Joanna, unconscious, was unable to even do that.
It was a situation where the Pied Piper could easily snap her neck with the slightest increase in pressure. Yet, he instead loosened his grip, allowing Joanna to fall.
With neither Joanna’s holy power nor Derek’s flames effective, she collapsed onto the ground, where the Pied Piper didn’t spare her a second glance as he moved closer to Yareli.
Step by step, the sound of his shoes echoed as he approached.
The orphanage staff, paralyzed by fear, could do nothing but back away and cling to each other, too terrified to even scream.
Though Yareli felt the same terror, her training as a mage, the warmth of Rosburn at her back, and her sense of responsibility toward him—entrusted to her by Zenon—kept her standing upright, like a statue.
Her mind urged her to tell Rosburn to run, but before she could, the Pied Piper reached her and glanced at Rosburn behind her.
In the stony gaze of the Pied Piper, who looked almost devoid of emotion, a faint glimmer flickered.
“Do you…know him?”
The Pied Piper asked abruptly.
Know who?
At that moment, Rosburn unconsciously opened his mouth.
“M-my teacher?”
“Your teacher?”
“He means Zenon.”
Yareli forced herself to interject with a desperate tone, realizing instinctively that speaking up was their best chance at survival. As if to affirm her intuition, the Pied Piper nodded with a faint sound of interest.
“Ah… You know him?”
The Pied Piper asked again.
When Yareli nodded, the Pied Piper fell silent, gazing into the void as if lost in thought.
The silence stretched longer than expected.
“This child… I will leave him.”
The Pied Piper announced, placing his hand atop Rosburn’s head.
It was oddly natural, this gesture of a mass kidnapper and killer resting his hand on a child’s head.
Without further explanation, the Pied Piper turned his attention to the orphanage staff, who were trembling uncontrollably.
His gaze hardened, becoming as cold and unyielding as stone.
“Are you going to stop me?”
The Pied Piper asked if they would protect the sixty-four children.
Some of the staff had grown up in the orphanage themselves, but even they exchanged glances with the Pied Piper and the children, then shook their heads.
To survive, they had decided to abandon the children.
“I see.”
With an expressionless face, the Pied Piper offered a brief response and turned to walk away.
His intent was clear—to take only the children.
Just as he began to leave with the dozens of children brought from the village, now joined by the sixty-four from the orphanage...
Click!
Amelin, the orphanage director, emerged from the rubble, shotgun in hand, and aimed it at the Pied Piper’s head before pulling the trigger.
Bang!
Though the shot, like Joanna’s holy power, Derek’s fire, and Yareli’s ice, didn’t even scratch the Pied Piper’s face, each attack had been as futile as if they were striking someone from another realm.
The shot might not have harmed him, but the Pied Piper stretched his arm, gripping Director Amelin’s neck with a look of displeasure.
“Surely you know it’s useless?”
Gasping for breath, Director Amelin, barely able to speak under his grip, met his gaze without averting her eyes.
“Whether it works or not… there needs to be someone willing to protect these children...!”
Hearing her words, spoken with unwavering resolve, a faint hint of sorrow flickered in the Pied Piper’s voice.
“…I see.”
At that moment, a darkness unlike any ordinary black magic flowed from within him, enveloping Director Amelin.
As the eerie darkness wrapped around her, Amelin’s legs sank into the ground, transforming into tree roots. Her skin hardened, her arms stretched outward like branches, and her entire body twisted and solidified.
Finally, what stood in her place was a single tree.
One that would stand there forever, defying death through the ages, like the countless others who had tried to stop the Pied Piper.