Ch.56Nest Building (4)

“God is a type of idol that humans worshipped in the distant ancient past, a symbol created to spread teachings despite not actually existing.”

-Excerpt from Chapter “Legacies of the Past” in Book 4 of Knowledge Spanning Continents and Nations.

*

“…If you’ve seen enough, let’s go back.”

In the midst of all this, there wasn’t much I could say. I didn’t know why my face was carved on the tombstone, nor why Lorian thought it was her father.

All that remained was to go back down and continue our journey. We’d essentially resolved the kidnapping situation, so there was nothing left to see here.

“Have you already been to the summit? That was quick.”

At least that’s what I thought.

“The summit?”

“…You haven’t been there?”

What summit was she suddenly talking about? When I stared at her with a blank expression, she flashed a bright smile and got to her feet.

“Where are the others?”

“They should be below…”

“Then call the others up. I’ll make the rest of the preparations.”

“What preparations?”

To my confused question, Lorian smiled sweetly. A clear smile befitting a young girl’s face.

“Why, preparations to climb to the summit, of course.”

When she put it that way, I couldn’t really refuse. I stretched my head beyond the temple roof and shouted.

“Come up!”

Fortunately, the temple was quiet, and before long, Uncle Mourner and Isla climbed onto the temple roof.

Although Uncle Mourner seemed to struggle greatly climbing up the rope attached to the hook, he couldn’t exactly say he’d rather stay below.

“I don’t know where we’ll come down after reaching the summit… but that shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll abandon the campsite.”

I still didn’t understand why or how we were going to the summit, but Lorian apparently had some kind of plan.

If you’re going to think about what happens after reaching the summit, shouldn’t you first consider how to get there?

Of course, there are always people who don’t think that way. Mainly those weak-minded individuals who contemplate surrender within five minutes of starting a game, but Lorian wasn’t one of those weaklings.

While I might not trust her, I did believe in her skills and thinking ability.

“Why the campsite?”

But the mention of abandoning the campsite bothered me. We’d left everything there—tents and all. Though we had packed all the food.

“Ruvellin, I didn’t take you for such a fool and assumed you’d have packed food at least… was I wrong?”

“No, I did pack it, but… what about the tents?”

“We won’t need them anymore.”

No need for tents?

In this new continent where it seemed like it could snow any time of year, living without a tent was like going without an umbrella in the rain.

I frowned at the thought of waking up covered in snow every morning, but she smiled briefly, dismissing my concerns.

That expression suggested she had something up her sleeve. I gave her a skeptical look for a moment before letting it go.

And while we were having this conversation sitting in the nest, Uncle Mourner climbed onto the roof after Isla.

As soon as he made it up, he was panting and massaging his knees.

I’d heard he was in his late forties, but the condition of his knees seemed more like that of someone in their seventies.

Of course, considering his profession as a Mourner, this was to be expected.

Mourner.

It was a profession that consumed one’s lifespan and often ravaged the body.

With few skills at their disposal, they couldn’t respond to various attack methods and got injured frequently. The official lore even hinted that it was a profession that used up one’s lifespan.

Above all, public perception of them wasn’t great, so Mourners had many enemies and even more occasions to fight.

How could his knees be in good shape when he’d lived until middle age in such a profession?

Moreover, knees are frequently injured body parts. Whether from external trauma or internal factors.

That seemed to be the reason for the uncle’s knee pain.

It couldn’t be due to old age since only one knee was affected rather than both, and he’d been limping since we first met.

Should I ask Isla to carve him a walking stick?

While I was thinking this, Isla approached.

“Did anything happen?”

She examined me and Lorian with sharp eyes.

I followed her gaze and looked at Lorian.

Lorian had the typical appearance of a young girl, with a few imperfections here and there.

A pure white dress and pale skin so transparent it seemed almost translucent.

Long, beautiful white curly hair flowing down her bare shoulders and dress.

And ruby-red eyes that shone like gemstones.

She had looks that anyone would call beautiful, but this pretty girl was carrying several ominous items.

The breastplate covering her chest was one thing, but the heavy executioner’s sword at her waist and the crimson-glowing prosthetic hand were grotesque.

Well, actually, they looked rather cool, but they didn’t suit her.

Awkward, you might say. But hidden within that imbalance was tremendous power.

That power consisted of swordsmanship made more agile and precise by the gender-reversing curse that had raised her dexterity to 20, along with powerful blood magic.

I could understand why Isla was being cautious now.

Though I couldn’t understand why her expression relaxed with relief shortly after.

“Nothing happened. Rather… look at that.”

When I pointed upward, Isla’s head turned quickly. She watched the giant raven flying overhead with her blue-gray eyes and wagged her tail.

Is that because she’s feline?

“It’s still alive.”

“I didn’t kill it. Because…”

“I don’t kill the weak. Even if they’re mere beasts. I did beat it for some discipline, but not enough to endanger its life.”

Lorian was the one explaining. Isla directed a dubious gaze toward her.

A look that said, “Is that even possible?” Lorian, seemingly too lazy to explain further, laughed dismissively while lying down defenseless.

“Don’t look at me like that. That’s just how it is. That’s why you’re still alive too, isn’t it?”

Ouch, this person.

I’d told them to get along, but I thought she’d at least know where to draw the line, yet she blatantly called Isla weak.

I shifted my position slightly, thinking a fight might break out.

“Is that so? Thanks.”

But Isla responded expressionlessly.

There was no fight. Lorian snorted at Isla’s response, and Isla just folded her arms with a blank face.

While I was relieved they weren’t fighting, I couldn’t help but freeze at the chilly atmosphere.

What is this atmosphere?

What are they doing?

They say humans freeze when confronted with incomprehensible situations. I was experiencing the truth of that statement as I stood there dumbfounded.

Until Uncle Mourner, who had been massaging his knee, approached.

“Why did you call us up instead of coming down?”

As he approached, the coldness that had been emanating disappeared without a trace. So quickly that I wondered if I had imagined it.

I was bewildered but knew better than to question it.

I had learned through my sister’s friends who visited our home that I shouldn’t interfere with “women’s things.”

How painful that had been.

“She says we’re going to the mountain summit.”

“The summit? What’s there?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

It was Lorian who answered. She looked satisfied.

“Um, my knee isn’t good, so I’m not sure if I can climb…”

“It’s fine. We’ll use the Brock.”

Brock. A creature commonly considered an untamable monster. They looked up, and only then realized that the circling Brock was gradually descending.

“Taming it should be impossible…!”

“Ah, for mortals, yes. But to our bloodline, they’re livestock. They can only be controlled through blood magic.”

And yet you got kidnapped?

I looked at her incredulously, and Lorian gave a slightly bitter smile.

A sudden expression whose reason I couldn’t fathom. As I froze momentarily, the Brock landed nearby.

The wind generated by its wings blew fiercely. My cloak fluttered, and Lorian jumped onto the Brock’s back with a flourish.

I closed my eyes to defend against the sight of her dress fluttering, only opening them when the wing-beating subsided. Lorian was looking at me with a puzzled expression.

“Come on, everyone get on. It’s going to be a rough flight.”

Lorian said as she fitted a bridle made of blood around the Brock’s neck.

The giant raven with its long neck and four legs didn’t resist the bridle encircling its neck but quietly lowered its head.

In the game, it had been an annoying mob that melee characters couldn’t attack because it was always flying, but to think it could be tamed so easily.

But there was no reason to refuse a convenient mode of transportation. After helping Isla up and even getting the limping Uncle Mourner onto the Brock’s back, it was my turn.

I jumped onto the Brock’s back.

“Good… then. Let’s go!”

With an energetic voice, Lorian pulled the reins, and the Brock let out a long cry as it took flight.

The sensation of floating and speed wasn’t unfamiliar. What was truly strange was that it didn’t originate from my own body.

The temple receded into the distance. The wind parted as the Brock soared, and my hair flew wildly.

And through my fluttering bangs, I saw the clouds part.

The sun, high in the sky, cast light above the clouds, and a faint moon on the other side was gradually rising into the sky.

As we crossed the sky where both sun and moon were visible, I recalled events from just over 20 days ago.

When I first fell onto the continent, I was falling from this very sky.

But now it was different. Following the soaring Brock, I was ascending against the adversity I once thought I couldn’t survive.

The sky I saw that way was beautiful.

My heart swelled. Is this what a journey unlike any I’ve experienced before feels like?

I smiled brightly as I looked at the mountain summit gradually drawing closer.

There stood a building not unlike the temple in style.

A structure made of coral-colored stone that seemed to have been carved out of the entire mountain peak. There was an indescribably mysterious atmosphere about the building.

It was comfortable and beautiful. It even seemed natural, as if it had always been there.

“What is that?”

The Brock glided toward it. I couldn’t help but ask as the building gradually came closer.

The response was a hearty laugh. Lorian answered while pushing back her wildly fluttering hair.

“That’s the ‘Nest,’ my father’s house!”

Father’s house.

I found myself smiling as I watched the father’s house gradually drawing closer.