Chapter 36: The Cradle’s Guardian

The sudden silence made Beata tense, and she was the first to speak.

“Who is that?”

The man’s appearance was too strange to have simply wandered in here, and his attire seemed utterly out of place.

This was deep in the forest, far from the castle—an uninhabited place with no proper roads. The only ones who ever came here were herb gatherers seeking wild plants. If not for the recent phenomenon that forced investigators to come, no one would have suffered in this place at all.

Anyone who traveled these mountains would normally wear sturdy clothes to push through the brambles, thick gloves, and strong boots. Even the noblewoman Mirgas had donned simple traveling clothes to make it this far. The knights too had abandoned heavy armor, since this was not a beast-hunt but an investigation.

But the old man looked nothing like that.

She bore no trace of hardship.

And it wasn’t just his clothing.

His back was straight, his height imposing. The only thing that marked him as aged were the wrinkles upon his face. His sharp features suggested he must have been popular with women in his youth. His hair was pure white, befitting his years, yet the aura he gave off was one of dignity.

He looked more like a noble elder of some castle, or a venerable steward long in service.

In short, he did not belong in this forest.

“I’ll ask again. Who are you? How did you, and when did you come to—”

Thud. Flop.

Beata could not finish.

Several heavy bodies hit the ground all at once.

The old man had merely taken a single step, and the knights closest to him all collapsed like puppets with their strings cut.

“…!”

Beata covered her mouth, choking back a cry.

It wasn’t just that the knights had fallen—it was the way the old man then moved. Without a word, he began carrying them one by one.

At first, she thought it was some kind of attack. But no—he wasn’t harming them further. He was carefully laying them down beside the other sleepers in the clearing, arranging them neatly.

From that alone, both Lema and Beata instinctively understood: this old man was the cause of it all.

And yet, the manner in which he moved stirred unease rather than terror. His gestures carried a strange sense of reverence, almost like a priest performing a sacred duty.

“Master,” whispered Lema Valkite to Bel.

“Earlier, you said… it’s here. Do you know this man?”

He recalled Bel’s words about “something I know,” but after seeing this, he couldn’t bring himself to phrase it so casually.

“Yes.”

The old man gave no sign of hearing them. He moved as if deaf to their conversation—or perhaps he truly could not hear.

His actions were unsettling, but they were too deliberate, too solemn, to dismiss him as a mere lunatic. He did not seem entirely… human.

“Is he a man?” Lema asked.

“Hard to say.”

Lema frowned. That answer was unlike Bel.

Bel always spoke clearly, even about abstract matters like destiny and fate. But to a simple question—human or not—she gave only ambiguity.

“Lema, am I human?”

“…What?”

Caught off guard, Lema stammered.

“You’re not… are you?”

“Correct.”

At that, Bel’s expression shifted—her ever-indifferent eyes half-closed, as if betraying a flicker of emotion.

“Then that thing cannot be human either.”

“Master…!”

There was no time to dwell on it further.

The old man had finished laying out the fallen knights and now straightened his back. His eyes turned upon them, his kindly smile still fixed on his face.

His gaze was deep, his jawline strong, reassuring even. Even when he struck the knights down, even as he laid them among the sleepers, that same gentle smile had never wavered.

And now he stepped forward.

“…He might charge. I’ll raise a defense.”

Lema raised his shield, light flaring along its surface. Bel watched curiously.

This was the “Holy Law” of Lucilonia’s apostles. Normally it manifested as healing, but Lema’s was aggressive, a punitive force.

So Lema was branded a heretic for this…

But such a force would be useless against what stood before them. Worse—it would draw its attention.

“You’d better not,” Bel warned.

“…What?”

But Lema had already finished shaping the power. The glow spread across the shield, enveloping him, Bel, and Beata in a radiant barrier.

And in that instant—

Crack!

The old man, who had been standing at a distance, suddenly charged with impossible speed. His body spun once, momentum surging, and his arm came crashing down.

Clang!

The impact rang like steel on steel as his bare arm struck Lema’s shield.

“Urgh…!”

Though Lema Valkite appeared the stronger man, the sheer force drove him back. His boots skidded, threatening to give way entirely.

“Haah!”

With a sharp cry, Lema swung his shield like an extension of his arm.

Thump!

The old man absorbed the blow, then vaulted back effortlessly. His posture was flawless, his dignity unbroken, as if he were a noble steward once more.

Lema’s breath came ragged.

“W-what kind of old man is this…”

Battles were often decided by psychology as much as strength. And in spirit, Lema had already lost. Cold sweat trickled down his back.

It felt the same as that time—at the s*ave auction, when Belmias had slain every man in sight, yet spared him.

Now, facing something so alike Bel in presence, his nerves screamed with fear.

The old man’s kindly smile was gone. His eyes, like Bel’s, were fathomless black, studying them.

And for the first time, he spoke.

Intruders defiling the cradle… repay with death.

It was the language of ages past.

Neither Lema nor Beata could understand it.

“What—what did he say? Master!”

Bel had no refined translation yet, so she gave it simply.

“He said he’ll kill you.”

“What? He just puts others to sleep, but wants me dead?!”

Teeth gritted, Lema trembled with fury.

“Master, shall I subdue him?”

“If you can.”

“At once!”

Buoyed by Belmias’s backing, Lema charged again—faster, fiercer than before.

He’s handling this better than I expected, Bel thought.

Lucilonia had tried to purge him not only because of prophecy, but because Lema Valkite’s power was too great a threat.

Even this “guardian of the cradle” had sensed it. That was why it marked Lema for death.

The Empire, too, must have seen him as dangerous.

I’ll explain it to him later.

For now, there was something else to do.

While Lema and the old man clashed, Bel quietly walked over to where Beata Mirgas trembled.

“L-Lord Belmias…”

Beata looked up at her, pale. Bel asked calmly:

“You wished upon it, didn’t you?”