Chapter 66: The Journey
In the heart of the Western Continent, within the Silgaria Republic.
The verdant and towering green mountains roll into the distance, dotted with lush trees and blooming flowers. Wispy clouds swirl around the peaks, resembling a dragon’s paradise. Between the majestic mountain ranges, crystal-clear streams flow gracefully down the slopes. From the azure sky above, it looks like the very veins of the earth, twisting and turning, weaving in and out, stretching from the mountain tops all the way down to where they converge into a mighty river.
A warm breeze in early August rustles through the leaves, gently blowing along the winding mountain paths.
At the foot of the mountain, along the rocky riverbank, a broad road erupts with the thunderous sound of hooves approaching. Dust billows up from the direction of the road, startling the four-eyed squirrels perched in the treetops into scampering into their holes. Dozens of armored Church Knights, riding on war chariots, gallop by, their hooves pounding the ground, and following them are six splendidly decorated war chariots, adorned with gems and the Holy Cross, and behind them, even more knights, and then several merchant chariots…
The long procession speeds through the mountain gorge, heading southwest. Inside the most lavish Church war chariot, a man’s exceedingly boring song echoes.
“Oh, brave knight… ah~ you shall wield your blade… to pierce the dragon’s chest… oh~ blessed saint… you must feel the evil, feel the pain… your sincere d*ath… brings despair to the world… hmm hmm hmm hmm…”
Inside a gem-studded carriage, a young man, wearing a luxurious crown and a solemn robe, shakes his head as he sings out-of-tune, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the armrest. His eyes squint slightly, a look of ecstasy on his charming face. After a while, he suddenly sits up straight.
“Oh wait! It’s not despair, it’s hope! I sang it wrong! Let’s try again… your sincere d*ath… brings hope to the world… hmm hmm hmm… Little Black Charcoal, what do you think of my singing?”
He glances expectantly at the young woman opposite him, like a child hoping for praise from an adult.
However, she lazily lowers her eyelids, resting her chin on her hand, displaying a total lack of interest.
“…Little Black Charcoal?”
“Hey~”
“…You’re annoying.”
At last, she responds, barely lifting her eyelids a fraction, her beautiful brows knitted in disdain as she shoots him a glance before looking away with a slight click of her tongue.
“Tch.”
What a boring guy. A hyperactive weirdo…
I shifted my gaze outside the chariot to the lush mountains and waters, letting out a gentle sigh.
Fifteen days have passed.
It’s been a full fifteen days since we left Order Royal City.
If I had to describe my profound feelings during these fifteen days with just a single word, it would be—torture.
Physical torture, mental torture, and… physiological torture.
Long journeys are genuinely annoying…
Although it’s true that the Pope’s exclusive war chariot is the most comfortable I’ve ever ridden in, lacking any high-end braking system or shock absorbers, the seats are made of some extraordinary beast’s hide, softer than any sofa I’ve ever experienced. The carriage is enormous, its seats big enough to double as a bed for sleeping—this must have been the original design intention, considering how precious Angel is.
Yet, I’ve never taken a proper nap here, dozing off doesn’t count.
As for the reason…
I fear Angel will take the opportunity to do something to me.
Though I have no proof, I can’t shake the feeling he’s that type of person.
During these fifteen days, every time night falls or the group stops to rest, I hop out of the carriage, pitch my tent, and sleep near the accompanying nuns. Generally, they rest at a distance from the men, which lets me sleep soundly.
But the ground is too hard.
Even with two layers of blankets, my body, used to soft beds, can’t handle it. I often wake up with cold limbs and half my body numb.
Thus, I can’t sleep soundly, suffering from insomnia.
The first few nights weren’t too bad, but as the journey dragged on, I grew wearier, the more fatigued I became, the worse I felt, and that made it harder to sleep, leading to even more fatigue the next day. On top of that, to save time, we’ve basically been taking the shortest paths. Just three days ago, we crossed the most desolate outpost into foreign territory, struggling for supplies, all to avoid detours. I’ve been munching on hardtack and drinking mountain spring water, never once feeling full, and now we’re deep in the mountains, bouncing around like we’re in a blender.
As this vicious cycle spirals on, the longer it goes, the more out of it I feel, as if I’ve transformed into Victoria, with my feet leaving the ground, floating in the sky.
Drifting along, I worry about the battle at the Mosley Coast, wondering what the situation is now, how safe Barry is, and what’s become of those heretics…
In these days, I desperately crave new information, but on the road, it’s nearly impossible to get any, especially during these three days in Silgaya, where I’ve yet to see even a single town—Angel told me that to save time and get us to our destination quickly, he planned a route that climbs over the mountains, bypassing any towns, ensuring only the minimum supplies for survival—simply put, we’re not walking on the road.
So, I have no way of knowing what’s happening…
With no information and no one to ask, I’m left anxious all day, which is already frustrating enough.
But what’s even more irritating—
I got my monthly visitor not long ago.
However, when we set off, I forgot to grab any sanitary supplies.
The signs started when the end of the month approached; when I felt slight cramps and desperately tried to sneak away somewhere discreet to equip myself, I fumbled around my suitcase for ages only to suddenly realize, then my emotions erupted, almost driving me half mad.
But time doesn’t wait, and I felt the floodgates about to burst.
What to do?
I had no choice but to shamelessly ask a nun for help.
I’ll never forget the expression on that nearly thirty-year-old woman’s face when I meekly asked, “Do you have any sanitary pads?”—first disbelief in shock, which then morphed into covert glee, followed by outright amusement, laced with a touch of teasing, her face glowing with some ridiculous pride. She turned around and shouted, “Oh my goodness! The Pope Knight has been visited by Auntie Red! Who’s going to fetch some tampons? Oh right, you’re still a girl? Go get some sanitary pads—”
Ugh…
I really don’t want to remember that again.
Fortunately, the nun wasn’t too loud and there weren’t any men around… so let’s just forget that incident.
But whether I can forget or not, my mood has been volatile these past two days, snapping easily at everything.
And it seems I’m not the only one feeling this way.
Beiyard.
He’s been hidden in the back of the merchant war chariot as I almost sit at the front of the group. Everyone is preoccupied with their own thoughts, so our chances of running into each other aren’t high. We only exchanged a few words during breaks or while drinking water, and though he always smiled brightly anytime we met, I could still sense the rising unease and anxiety in his eyes, which I picked up on despite everything.
He no longer chats with me, surrounded by bustling merchants, hardly even speaking.
One night, I saw him ascend a hillside and sit quietly at the top, gazing at the starry sky for what felt like an eternity, not moving at all, and I couldn’t tell what was on his mind.
Compared to Beiyard, Angel, the Pope’s precious, seems like a scatterbrained fool, and he’s the one who really gets on my nerves.
“Hmmm hmmm… hmm~”
He’s still singing that infuriating song across from me, tapping his hands in rhythm, looking utterly ridiculous, blissfully lost in his own world, just like a hyperactive nutcase.
“By the way, Little Black Charcoal, you haven’t told me how my singing was just now.”
He often does this, suddenly remembering to ask me his mind-numbing questions, repeating them over and over.
“Terrible.”
I’m barely holding back the urge to punch him.
“Really?”
“What garbage are you even singing?”
“It’s the Dragon’s Elegy, meant to praise the heroes who slayed dragons… Isn’t it beautiful? Such powerful lyrics!”
“It’s your singing that’s pathetic.”
“No way?”
“Just don’t talk to me.”
“Honestly, I think my singing is great! Your ears just aren’t refined enough to appreciate the—”
“Angel.”
“What?”
“Stop talking to me. Don’t provoke me.”
After I calmly stated those two sentences, the golden-haired man nodded knowingly.
“I get it, you’re on your period.”
“……”
“Don’t hit me—ow!”
“Stop! Enough! I’ll keep quiet!”
The rattling chariot echoed with strange sounds, and of course, the nearby knights heard every word clearly.
The knights accompanying us were originally responsible for protecting the Pope, elite members of the Church’s First Knight Legion. They’ve been handpicked from each knight order; whether in swordsmanship, battle endurance, or willpower, they’re far above ordinary knights. The Pope ensured they received the best conditions, top gear, and the finest training, forging them into the Church’s most reliable might—the crème de la crème of knights.
Under usual circumstances, as long as they’re alive with swords in hand, nobody could harm the Pope even a bit; even from ten meters away, taking an enemy’s head would be child’s play.
Everything they have now is a gift from the Pope, and their loyalty to him is palpable, divine and unquestionable.
But now, as they hear their master’s screams echoing from the carriage, they remain impassive, stone-faced, and some are even trying to stifle laughs.
Because they’ve grown accustomed to it.
This has happened more times than I can count during this trip, especially in recent days, with several knights encountering the Pope in disheveled hair and a nosebleed; they want to laugh but can’t, so they pretend they’ve seen nothing, nothing has happened.
After all, their master seems to enjoy playing around with Miss Silvya.
Let’s be honest, Miss Silvya is just too cute, even treating the Pope with that level of rudeness, it’s hard for them to feel any irritation.
In their minds, the knights theorize that perhaps the Pope also enjoys seeing the adorable Miss Silvya, pouting and looking all furious.
Listening to the commotion in the carriage behind them, they fantasize about how Miss Silvya might look when angry, and while a smile creeps at the corners of their mouths, they keep their eyes fixed on the road ahead, leading the convoy over the hills, following the rivers to the southwest.
Soon, the sun began to set.
“Let’s find a spot to rest for the night,” Angel suggested from inside the carriage, reclining against the seat, using a handkerchief to wipe the bl**d from his nose as shimmering gold sparks danced around him, mingling with green stars of light, enveloping the Pope and restoring his swollen eyes to normal.
“Let’s sleep well tonight, recharge for tomorrow; we’ll go around another mountain, and the road ahead won’t be so tough. For the next few days, we won’t stop, we’ll head straight to our destination.”
“……”
I was picking at my fingers, deliberately turning my head away, clearly showing “I don’t want to talk to you” vibes.
But…
Fine, I still have to get to the point.
“You promised me that when we reached Woodward Forest, we’d first go to that village.”
Many days prior, I thought our destination was the Mosley Coast.
Then I overheard Angel discussing the route with the knights and sensed something was off, so I asked, and it turned out we were actually headed to Woodward Forest.
“Go to the Mosley Coast? Count how many of us there are! What can we do once we get there? Over two thousand heretics running amok, we have no idea where they are, do you think we can k*ll them one by one? Who kills faster, you or them? We don’t even have a clue where the Third Knights Order is…”
“We’re here to control the situation, not charge in recklessly—that’s the act of a fool. I know you’re eager to save people, but do you even know where they are now? You don’t. To truly resolve the issue, you first have to understand what the problem is and then gather enough force and means to act.”
“Those heretics are looking for the Land of Dragons, so they will ultimately end up at Woodward Forest; that’s their goal. We must ensure they can never reach it, and while ensuring that, we also need to gather enough intelligence to strike them down in one fell swoop… It’s not difficult, but it needs to be done step by step. I believe my dear knights are already surrounding Woodward Forest, eagerly waiting for us.”
“I promise, once we receive accurate news from the Third Knights Order, I’ll let you know immediately. But you need to promise me you won’t run off on your own after you find out. You have to listen to me.”
That day, I quarreled with Angel for a long time. Eventually, with the condition of obedience, we reached a verbal agreement; he promised that when the convoy reached Woodward Forest, we’d camp near Grandma Claire’s village and, if conditions allowed, just set up camp there.
This way, regardless of what happens, the village becomes the safest place since Angel is there. Even in the worst-case scenario, we could at least ensure the villagers evacuated first.
Besides…
Reaching Woodward Forest and establishing our camp in the village means…
I’ll get to see Grandma Claire.
Time flows quietly and gently.
Over a year ago, I emerged from the Abyss at the forest’s border, slaughtered by countless knights; they all loathed me, seeing me as a monster wreaking havoc on their world.
Yet in just a year, so much has changed.
The knights no longer draw their swords against me.
They call me a hero.
The one who pierced my chest with two swords, face devoid of any emotion, has now begun smiling at me, ruffling my hair.
He is also always buying me food.
I have people I cherish now.
And those I cherish also cherish me in return.
More than a year has passed.
I still can’t forget that cold morning when I wrapped myself in a filthy, tattered cloak, stepping cautiously onto the muddy path, terrified as I walked into that village bustling with people, where I met the old woman with a wrinkled face who first granted me a glimpse of light in the darkness.
I find myself missing her.
