Chapter 25

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A Burning Village. People fleeing in panic. Yulg and Rolo fighting.
Monsters. Monsters. Monsters.
A wave of monsters surging forth.
Marhas, trampled underfoot.

…I shake my head slightly and take a breath, unable to bear the sight.
If this is the result that awaits, then what was the cause?

“…Scarr.”

From deep within the forest, the great lion appears—covered in wounds.
It walks with calm majesty, its long, scorpion-like tail swaying.
A wicked beast with the head of a wise man.
So that really is the cause.

The vision spins and shifts.
A road under a crimson sky.
Likely the path leading from Marhas to nearby Hirte.
I know this is the past, but I don’t know when exactly.
What I see is a familiar face sitting by the roadside—Albert.

“Damn it… damn it… I won’t forgive you, Rolo Mercia.”

Muttering to himself, the former leader stands.
His face is twisted with rage as he stamps the ground irritably.

“Saran is one thing, but that bastard Yulg even threatened me! …And Fimia… why…? We were in love, weren’t we?”
“Why are you crying here all alone?”

A raspy voice.
Though it sounds kind, it carries a suffocating amount of malice. It’s soaked in wickedness.

“A m-monster…!”

Albert stumbles back as the creature slowly settles into a sitting position.
It’s Scarr.

“Did I startle you? I’m Crocotta. And you are?”
“What… what the hell are you?!”
“I just told you my name, did I not? Or would you prefer to call me Scarr I don’t much like that name, though.”
“Scarr…!”

Albert draws his sword, and Scarr feigns a dramatic flinch. To an observer, it would look theatrical, but Albert doesn’t seem to notice.

“Wait, wait. I just came to talk with you.”
“Why me?!”
“Because you seemed different from the others.”

I can feel Albert’s guard lowering at the monster’s words. I knew he was a fool, but I’m still astonished by how foolish. Perhaps it was truly Saran’s leadership that made Silhasta function at all.

“You’re different. Even I, a monster, can sense something special about you.”
“What’s a monster like you doing here?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you call me Crocotta. I’ve found myself in a bit of trouble… and I’d like your help.”

With a pleasant tone, Scarr once again sits.
Albert, letting his guard down, sheaths his sword and faces the manticore.
A deep sense of wrongness and dread wells up.

…This feels very bad.

“The place you humans call an ‘Uncharted Region’—it’s actually a sacred sanctuary. I’m the guardian of that place.”
“What could a monster be guarding?”
“The ‘One Gold.’”

At those words, Albert’s expression changes. As expected. The One Gold—a legendary magical artifact said to grant the owner’s wish. Even someone other than Albert would be driven wild by such a prize.

“It really exists…?!”
“What would I gain by lying to you?”
“…”

The fact that he’s convinced so easily—that’s the real sign of his foolishness. He doesn’t even know the creature’s objective, yet just being offered a treasure makes him shift his thinking to profit and loss. Short-sighted and shallow—Albert, that’s your failing.

“If you’ll do me this one favor… I’ll let you use the One Gold.”

The manticore’s sweet words seep into Albert like poison. Having lost Silhasta, this would hit him especially hard.

“So? What’s this favor?”
“To protect the sanctuary… I need your help to drive the humans out. If they keep trampling that sacred ground, someone might steal the One Gold.”
“My… my ‘Gold’…?”
“That’s right—your Gold might be taken by someone else.”

What did that whisper of evil sound like to Albert? But when I saw Scarr narrow its eyes, I was sure. Albert had already fallen into the monster’s trap.

I see. In a way, he is special. Specially suited to be used—just as Saran had once discovered. To this wise and wicked being, he must seem just as ‘special.’

“What do I need to do?”
“It’s simple. Just give them a little scare. Remind them that the forest, and monsters, are meant to be feared.”
“How?”
“Let’s see… could you break the barrier? Just shatter the stone inside the shrine. That’s all. Do that, and the One Gold is yours.”
“That’s all it takes…”

Albert gives a vague smile at the manticore’s words. I already saw the consequences of that action, moments ago.

No—even without seeing it, it’s obvious. Human settlements are fragile. Tip the balance even slightly, and they’ll collapse.

“You’ll have it all. Become a king. Take the ‘Saint’ for yourself. Everything.”

“All of it… even Fimia…”

(──…….)

The blurry vision turns to white, and I drift quietly within it.

(──……──…….──…….)

A faint hymn echoes in the distance. The dwelling place of the gods.

(Return, return. To fulfill what you must do──…)

At the very edge of consciousness, a solemn voice echoes across the sacred space.