Chapter 197 : Chapter 197
Chapter 197: Conatus (1)
'A village existed here, of all places.'
Gazing out the window, Abel thought.
Beneath a sky thick with volcanic ash, the village sat inside ground sunken into a circular shape. The form of the collapsed ground was rather artificial. It had taken on the shape of a perfect circle.
Abel considered a few possibilities. When subterranean limestone dissolves, or when caves collapse, or when groundwater vanishes, the land cannot bear its own weight and gives way. Either the village had been formed by such natural phenomena, or......
"Strange, isn't it?"
Suddenly, a boy's voice came.
Inside the cramped wooden lodge, a boy holding a stack of towels was looking at Abel.
"I'm Yohan. Yohan Andersson."
"Yes. A pleasure, Yohan."
Abel nodded.
His own voice felt unfamiliar. Because of Iris's disguise art, it had been altered.
"This village was built on land where the god bestowed his grace. He dug out the ground himself and laid the foundation for our settlement, and we were granted the mercy of being able to live here."
"What kind of god are we talking about?"
Iris asked.
Iris, disguised as Nizam Hashemi Rafsanjani, was smiling. Not a Duke, not a Saintess, but the sociable face of an Eastern man stood out. Iris seemed, at a glance, to be enjoying herself.
"What kind of god, indeed?"
Yohan tilted his head.
"There is only one god in this world."
"Is that so? I had no idea. I thought there were at least five. In the country we came from, that's how it is. People believe the Five Main Gods watch over this world."
"How pitiable they are."
Truly pitiable.
Yohan whispered.
A chill seeped into his cheerful tone.
"There is only one god of this world, and he has not yet been born. Before long, he will undergo Parousia and reveal himself. The gods of pagans are nothing but delusion."
"That's what he says. What do you think?"
Roberta Sinclair, and.
Iris called Monica by that name, but,
"Roberta?"
Monica was gazing out the window in a daze, and,
"Roberta!"
"Y-yes!"
She answered with her shoulders flinching.
It was because she hadn't gotten used to her assumed identity. To begin with, the skin Monica wore was nothing like Roberta's appearance. Aside from the prosthetic arm replacing her right looking somewhat wild, the Monica disguised by Iris's hand looked like none other than a young noblewoman.
"What do you think, I asked. They're saying the God of Parousia is the one and only Creator."
"Well......"
How wonderful.
Truly, just wonderful.
Monica murmured.
"In any case, please rest here for the night."
Yohan set the stack of towels down on the table.
The second floor of the village hall. Abel and his companions had been guided there. Two rooms and a single living area. After taking a night's rest here,
"And tomorrow morning, please pray. Together with us."
They were to attend the regular prayer meeting.
It was, she had heard, a rite outsiders were duly expected to follow. Meaning others had come to this place before. Abel wondered as to their fate, and meanwhile,
"Marchen......, Marchen Blackmore, was it?"
"It was."
He answered Yohan's call.
He then gave a shrug.
"My apologies for the unsavory name."
"No, it's a really wonderful name."
"What is wonderful about it. It's a name that suits a mage of crooked disposition. You should not trust a man whose name is Marchen."
"Are you telling me not to trust you?"
"You should trust me. Because my name is......"
"Don't pay him any mind, Yohan Andersson."
This guy is mad, and.
Iris murmured with a chuckle, and,
"Ah, right......"
Yohan glanced sideways at Abel and went on.
"In any case, Mr. Marchen, you needn't be so guarded."
You'll like it for sure.
If you attend our village's prayer meeting......
After murmuring that, Yohan,
"Pray hard enough and even your hair will grow back."
Pointed at Abel's head and smiled.
That's right. I'm bald. I have no hair right now. Brushing his crown, Abel let it sink in. His fingertips slid along the surface of skin. The ash-gray silver hair was thoroughly disguised. To Yohan's eyes, Abel was no more than a hairless giant.
"......Thank you."
Truly, thank you, Yohan.
I'll try believing what you say, and.
Abel reluctantly whispered, and,
"Then please rest well."
Yohan bowed and turned his back.
Creak. As the worn door closed,
"Let's check the situation."
Iris rummaged in the folds of her overcoat, and,
"We won't have much time."
──Whisht!
Scrolls scattered through the air.
They were the items Iris had been carrying. The fluttering scrolls attached themselves to the walls and shone. The magic circles inscribed on their surfaces activated, and spells with the effects of soundproofing, concealment, and purification were cast. Within the mold-stained space, polychromatic radiance rippled.
"First we should check our location, no?"
Abel and Monica stood facing the table.
Iris drew her finger across the table's surface. It was a signal to open her Pocket Plain. Before long, a map of Epezeria unfurled on the tabletop, and,
"It would be roughly here."
Iris pointed to a corner of the map.
For days and nights they had raced across the wasteland in the magestone vehicle. They had long since passed the Empire's border. The spot Iris pointed to was land owned by no nation. Unlike the rest of the map, which was dotted with all manner of small place-names, a single name encompassed a vast area.
'Lost Lands.' The phrase referring to the former territory of the Vianchiel Kingdom.
"We have entered the former territory of the Vianchiel Kingdom. Probably somewhere on its outskirts."
"How are you predicting that?"
Abel asked, arms folded.
"As you well know, the former territory of the Vianchiel Kingdom is abandoned land. It was known that not even elves, let alone humans, could live there."
But a village exists.
Abel whispered.
"It looks like a small community of Parousia Denomination believers. How many such villages might exist? I'm curious about your view."
"Surely not just one."
Iris answered readily.
"The people here didn't seem connected by Eastern lineage. Their racial features weren't distinctive."
"I agree."
Abel nodded.
"It seems no more than a village that's been sustained for two hundred years at most. Survivors of the Vianchiel Kingdom would not have produced descendants. It would be more correct to judge that people drawn from outside have formed three generations."
"Right. By the headcount of those who came out to greet us, the population is around thirty......, with villages like this one scattered all over."
"As long as villages exist scattered around......"
"There's a high possibility that trade is going on as well."
So in what manner is the trade being conducted.
Abel and Iris wondered together. Outside the village — outside the pit — was nothing short of treacherous terrain. Volcanic activity was vigorous, and monsters were plentiful. And what of the wraiths. Long-tenured wraiths drifted across wasteland coated in volcanic ash. Forming a trade route was impossible without armed force.
"We'll have to find out."
Tap, tap.
Iris said, drumming her temple with her index finger.
"How the people here are interacting with the outside world. With luck, we might discover a trade route connecting to the Parousia Denomination's stronghold."
"Until then I'll have to remain in this state."
"Got a complaint? I think you look fine. Plenty of muscle, plenty healthy thanks to it......"
Your usual self looks like a sick man, Abel.
Skin pale, expression listless.
You look much better right now.
Iris whispered, and,
"Let us learn this village's customs, history, and faith."
She went on, looking at Monica, and,
"You are to keep your eye on the prayer meeting we'll attend tomorrow."
Abel, too, opened his mouth, looking at Monica.
"That should be all right, no, our Hero?"
"Hero, have you taken note?"
The questions of Abel and Iris were leveled at Monica.
Monica, who had been standing blankly, frowned. Without thinking she looked back and forth between Abel and Iris. Iris, draped in Nizam's skin, was smiling sweetly, and Abel, draped in some bald man's skin, was gazing at Monica with a serious expression.
Haa, and.
Monica let out a sigh.
"Both of you......"
She finally opened her mouth.
"Could you please just call me Monica? You're teasing me right now, aren't you?"
Of course we are, our Hero.
Yes, Hero, we are.
Abel and Iris answered at once.
***
Conatus.
The village's name was Conatus, they said.
Conatus was, strictly speaking, a dead word. It was a word from the now-vanished old language of the Vianchiel Kingdom. A predicate referring to the will to live contained in the instinct of a creature, or to the drive toward improvement possessed by some psychological or physical entity, she had heard. She didn't really understand it, but according to Abel's explanation, that was what it meant.
'I can't believe this.'
Stepping along, Monica thought.
After a day's rest, they had been walking to attend the prayer meeting. Abel and Iris were standing on either side of Monica as if to escort her, and the procession of villagers led on into the depths of the forest.
'To think a place like this exists......'
Was it about a week.
Since I last saw an actual forest.
It was beyond belief. After cutting across a gravel desert without so much as a tuft of grass, they had ended up arriving at a village formed inside an enormous pit. The scenes she had seen, the words she had heard these past few days were like the workings of a dream.
<There's an unpleasant smell in the air.>
Suddenly, Iris's voice reached the inside of Monica's mind.
It was the result of using a short-range communication spell.
<It's the reaction of black magic. The scale is large.>
Abel's voice also rang out inside her head.
By what principle do they communicate? I have no idea. As Monica thought that and scratched the back of her neck,
<I can hear it all, Monica.>
<We are communicating in the words of the heart, after all.>
Abel's and Iris's voices wove in at the same time.
<Ah, right......>
So my inner voice is just being heard, then.
<Wait a minute.>
Then everything I'm thinking right now is being heard too?
<Of course. It's getting noisy, so quiet down a bit.>
<What am I supposed to do about it, baldy? If it's noisy, plug your ears.>
<How adorable. You should get used to it.>
<Oh come on. What does it mean to "get used to it"?>
<I told you I can hear it all, Monica.>
<Leave her be, Abel. It's fun.>
<......My apologies.>
Monica pressed a hand to her forehead.
Letting out a long groan, she fixed her gaze straight ahead, and,
"We've arrived, everyone!"
Suddenly, Yohan came up and spoke to Monica, and,
<That's......>
Monica blankly stared straight ahead.
At the edge of the forest, an enormous shrine stood.
No, it was not anything like a shrine. How could that be called a shrine. It was nothing more than a mucus-drenched mouth. A swollen maw with teeth in layers and bodily fluids running out. It was as though she were looking at the face of some open-mouthed creature. Small eyeballs were embedded in every patch of darkly slick flesh, and as those eyes rolled in every direction examining the villagers,
"That's the place."
Yohan whispered with a grin.
The villagers stepped one after another into the maw, and,
"That's where we'll be praying."
Yohan looked accustomed to it.
So did the villagers. All of them moved on with reverent expressions.
<......No way.>
How is it that no one finds it monstrous?
That shrine is most certainly alive and breathing.
In the form of an enormous monster.