------------------
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
------------------
Chapter 65: Investigation (2)
Of all the things I had to sort out after my trip to Igrosia, the one that weighed heaviest on my mind was the identity of the mastermind.
The one holding the lost blessing of fate is acting as the enemy’s leader.
And divine blessings—those are usually granted directly by a god as a piece of their power.
Which means one thing becomes an undeniable fact.
The goddess has abandoned humanity… no, more precisely, the Empire.
Let’s set aside the profound implications of that truth for a moment.
Whoever the enemy may be, I couldn’t just sit idle with my hands tied.
So I pondered ways to get closer to the enemy.
Eventually, I reached a conclusion: the Goddess of Fate extended her hand to the humans being “bred” in the Outer Realm.
And that raises a critical question.
“As far as I know, gods can’t grant blessings to creatures that don’t believe in them. Moreover, the Outer Realm doesn’t even know the gods of this land. That means there must have been people who spread the faith of Fate even out there. If we track those people… we might be able to reach the mastermind. That’s what I was thinking.”
I shared with Historia both the recent events and my theory.
Her previously sulky expression turned serious as I spoke further.
She propped her chin on her hand, furrowed her brow, and replied.
“…That line of reasoning does seem plausible. Even Verheim doesn’t know exactly when the blessing disappeared. If the blessing was transferred elsewhere during that time… yes, then it could be the work of a splinter group.”
Religions often splinter based on interpretations of doctrine.
For example, the Church of Hope is like that.
Since their god doesn’t respond, interpretations are valued, and multiple sects have already formed.
In fact, the Church of Fate has been the outlier.
Because their god responds quickly, there’s rarely any need for human interpretation.
But suppose someone still decided to break away.
If the goddess backed them and sent them to the Outer Realm to spread her faith—
Well, that fits rather neatly.
But Historia shot down my theory completely.
“As far as I know, there are no splinter groups in the Church of Fate.”
“Are you certain?”
“If there were, I would have been taught about them. That would be considered a major deviation from the norm. Think about it—there’s a chosen saint who receives direct answers from the god. Challenging that would mean…”
“…Becoming a heretic.”
So my theory was wrong.
Then who the hell are those people in the Outer Realm?
My thoughts grew tangled.
“…Let’s consider another possibility.”
“Excuse me?”
“There is a way to make someone believe.”
I leaned in as Historia continued.
“Descent, or the display of divine power. The goddess makes her presence known first.”
“…!”
“There’s already precedent, right?”
“…The Racial War.”
“Yes. That was the last time the God of Hope responded to humans. There are no records, but… there were definitely those who received the blessing of Hope through their belief.”
Why not?
The First Saint might have been exactly such a person.
Uncertain, but that scenario now seemed more likely.
Which means the answer lies in the Outer Realm.
And that is… seriously troubling.
‘It’s not a place one can enter lightly.’
Above all, the creatures of the night, creations of foreign gods, are fiercely hostile toward humans.
And if they were mere threats, maybe that would be manageable. But these things are monsters capable of infiltrating and destroying an army from within.
So what—go myself?
When I haven’t even reached Master level?
And take the barely-grown Crown Prince with me?
‘…Suicide.’
That’s the only possible conclusion.
Historia asked,
“Any word from Verheim?”
“The communicator is still functioning. He reached the Outer Realm’s entrance last week… but we haven’t received any messages since.”
“It’d be a relief if he found something…”
I nodded.
The saint’s expedition into the Outer Realm was half-exile to begin with.
But now, it’s our last hope.
My thoughts were a mess.
I closed my eyes and tried to calm my mind.
‘…Step by step.’
I can’t march into the Outer Realm right now.
But we’ve already sent the saint there.
If I can make contact, he may be able to do something.
So let’s focus on other things for now.
‘Next up is the North.’
First priority: undo the Grand Duke’s temptation.
That way, the Imperial strength can be restored with all the Golden Knights intact.
Now that the mastermind’s identity is clearer, I think the barbarian invasion is also tied to the Goddess of Fate.
And since Gilgore is in that region, I need to hear his account as well.
One last thing—my eyes turned toward the Divine Tree.
‘…No matter how I think about it, this makes sense.’
The First Pharos prepared something.
That preparation fits too perfectly with the enemies I’ve faced since returning—
In other words, the First Pharos must have foreseen all of this.
‘What exactly did he know?’
That part needs investigating.
Unlike other leads, this one has a clearly defined path.
‘I need to inherit the Pharos legacy.’
If I complete the succession ritual and head to the World Tree, I might get my answer.
With those tasks sorted out in my mind, I stood up.
“Thank you for your thoughts. Just in case, could you…?”
“Ah, yes! I’ll do some research on the matter of splinter groups!”
Historia stood up as well.
Then suddenly, looking bashful, she asked,
“Are you leaving right away?”
Did she still have something to discuss?
But no—there was something oddly disappointed about her expression.
‘Hmm.’
Did I forget something?
Was there something I was supposed to say?
As I pondered, it suddenly hit me.
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“I said I’d make you meat buns.”
Historia froze in place.
Then, lowering her head and pressing her lips into a thin line, she looked up through her bangs with sulky eyes.
She was clearly pouting about me forgetting my promise.
“Well, since I’m here, shall I make them now? Would it be possible to borrow the kitchen in the Papal Palace?”
Historia was quiet for a moment.
Then, with a sigh-laced voice, she answered,
“…Yes. Then… shall we eat together?”
“Gladly.”
I nodded.
Of course it was the meat buns.
------------------
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
------------------
* * *
Luckily, the Papal Palace’s kitchen was well-stocked.
They even had all the utensils I needed, so making the meat buns was easy.
Historia asked to help and ended up stuffing the filling into the dough with me—
but everything she made burst open during the steaming process.
“……”
She looked so downcast that I felt bad, so I ate hers myself.
“This is good in its own way. Please continue your efforts.”
“Was it okay...?”
“Yes, it suited my taste well enough.”
Compared to those times on the battlefield when I was shoveling dirt into my mouth, this was paradise.
Still, it’s food made for humans.
“R-Really...?!”
They beamed.
Seeing them this happy over something so small, it was clear—whether before the regression or now—their threshold for happiness was undeniably low.
Anyway, that concluded the meeting with Historia.
Before leaving the Papal Palace, I stopped by the fake’s hospital room.
There was another matter to handle here.
Gilgore welcomed me.
“Oh, you’re here? Did you meet the Saintess?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Haha, I was just asking.”
Gilgore waved his hand dismissively.
The fake bowed deeply toward me.
I pulled a chair over and sat down, ready to explain my purpose.
But Gilgore beat me to it.
“Oh! I left the investigation of the Duke’s household to Rabon. By the time I return, he’ll have everything figured out and I’ll send you the full report in writing to your mansion.”
“Huh?”
“Hmm? Was that not what you were here for? I thought your goal was to reform the kids who were tempted by demons. So I figured you’d want to look into the Duke’s son. Did I get it wrong?”
Gilgore tilted his head.
I blinked at him.
Then I shook my head with a conflicted expression.
“No, you’re right…”
“Then what’s up?”
It was just surprising how he got it all without me saying anything.
As I thought that, I flinched.
‘Wait, is this something to be surprised about?’
Shouldn’t everyone have been like this all along?
If someone was called a ‘Champion of the Golden Age,’ wasn’t it expected that they’d just get things done and then come back with a “I took care of it”?
‘Why...’
Why did it feel like all I’d heard until now was “What do I do?”
I shut my mouth.
My gaze trembled uncontrollably.
Suddenly, a thought hit me.
Maybe they weren’t golden knights at all.
Maybe they were just trash knights pretending to be golden.
Maybe this guy was the only real golden one.
An unnameable emotion welled up in me.
But I didn’t delve into it.
Some truths are better left buried.
“Anything else?”
“…One more thing.”
Actually, this was the main reason I came.
I collected myself and looked Gilgore in the eye.
This was a delicate topic to broach.
I asked:
“You said you were with the barbarians for those ten years you were gone, right?”
“Hmm? Yeah, that’s right.”
“I’ve got some questions about them.”
“Ah, sure. That’s not too difficult. What do you want to know?”
This needed proper clarification.
Looking back now, the barbarian conquest war seemed strangely aimless.
At the time, it was thought they simply wanted the central lands’ wealth.
But then, that one guy blessed by divine favor killed himself the moment ‘Pantail Dur’ was mentioned.
‘They’re up to something too.’
That made me think maybe the war before regression needed to be reevaluated.
A strong theory was:
‘If it wasn’t a splinter group, maybe it was the barbarians who spread the Destiny Faith beyond the Sacred Lands.’
Assuming divine descent wasn't involved, that’s the most likely scenario.
But there’s a complication: the barbarians had their own unique religion.
‘The faith of freedom and struggle.’
The barbarians I knew were all gathered under that belief.
So why would humans follow another god?
The answer lies in their origin—they were a group that formed within the sanctuary beyond the spiritual vein.
Even during the race wars, they were treated as a separate faction and avoided the firestorms, which shows just how harsh the spiritual lands were.
Still, I had to consider the possibility that the goddess of destiny had somehow intervened in their land.
Maybe through demons, or some other trick, she made them attack the Empire.
There was one simple question that could clear this up.
“What was their religion like? Did any of them believe in destiny?”
To that, Gilgore answered without a second of hesitation:
“They definitely knew about destiny.”
“So they—”
“Oh, but it’s not what you’re thinking. Definitely not.”
My eyes narrowed.
Gilgore scratched his head and let out a quiet hum.
“How should I explain this...”
Tap, tap.
He tapped at his temple, then finally spoke again.
“First of all, let me say this. Got time? Want to hear what I experienced in the barbarian lands?”
I nodded.
There was nothing else scheduled for today anyway, and I felt I had to hear this thoroughly.
And so, he began.
“To cut to the chase, they know about our gods—Destiny, Hope, all that. But the reason they know them is because they hate them.”
“…What?”
“They hate them. I don’t know about Hope, but they absolutely loathe Destiny. Their god and that one are apparently super incompatible.”
It was a truly baffling thing to hear.
------------------
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
------------------
