There was an old spire where the witches who had become outlaws of all churches for practicing evil sorcery gathered.
Around the building that rose like a needle over the barren land, wicked souls howled like hungry wolves, mingling with the fierce wind.
The spire that hid its appearance in the swirl of eerie resentment was called ‘the cradle of the dead’ by those who knew of its existence. It was only natural that the witches inside became the cradle’s witches.
Hella was one of those cradle’s witches.
Her face, which was unrivaled in handling souls and corpses, was twisted with anger and shame.
“Damn it!”
She swung her arm nervously, spilling the chained bottles on the floor and releasing a foul smell.
Blood dripped from her fingertips that were cut by the broken glass, but she snorted as if she didn’t care about such a trivial matter.
“What kind of soul was that!”
Unable to contain her rising rage, she clenched her long hair and gritted her teeth.
And no wonder, she had paid a fortune of nearly three hundred gold coins to Fleur for the corpses and various potions to obtain the soul of the barbarian warrior who had vanished absurdly.
Then, from the other end of the dark corridor, the sound of clacking shoes was heard.
“You’re very angry, aren’t you?”
Hella looked at the tall woman who emerged from the darkness and bit her lip slightly.
“Fleur…”
The most powerful witch in the cradle smiled softly and sat down on a marble chair, eyeing Hella at the same level.
She crossed her smooth legs and said.
“You skipped the meeting again today. The others are resentful. Do you know that?”
“Ha, what a joke! Do you think nothing can be done without me? If they have any complaints, let them come and talk to me. Don’t whine behind my back.”
Fleur showed a faint smile at the prickly answer.
“That’s why I came, didn’t I? None of them want to face your fiery temper head-on.”
Hella brought her bloodstained finger to her mouth and licked it loudly. She asked with a sneer.
“What do you want to say? You didn’t come all this way just to nag me, did you? Did you?”
Fleur lifted the wine bottle on the table instead of answering. She took a sip of the wine from the bottle and frowned slightly at the bitter taste.
“His name is Ruon.”
“···Who is that?”
“The name of the warrior who was chosen as our new body. You don’t seem to know much about him, considering how much you desire him.”
A thin vein popped up on Hella’s forehead.
“His name is Ruon?”
Then, a sharp moonlight seeped through the window and fell between the two witches. Fleur touched the gentle light with her fingertips and said.
“The assassin of the waning moon who was chasing Tarwen lost his life to the warrior who was protecting him. I was curious and looked into it, and guess what? He was the same warrior we were after. What a remarkable coincidence, isn’t it?”
She stroked the moonlight softly like a musician playing a string instrument and continued.
“Let’s put aside the fact that he has a bad relationship with the waning moon for now. That’s not the important thing. The important thing is the amazing feat he accomplished.”
Hella felt her body heat up and urged her to finish.
“What is it? What is it?”
Fleur crossed her legs the other way and said.
“Do you remember the wyvern that devoured over a hundred people in Nardam? The beast was so powerful that people wondered if it was a dragon.”
It was a random question, but Hella nodded obediently. That wyvern was one of the monsters she had coveted for creating a powerful chimera.
The story continued.
“The warrior who slew the wyvern was none other than Ruon. He is hailed as a hero in Nardam. It’s ironic that he never returned after that.”
Hella let out a faint sigh, feeling her spirits drop.
“It was an amazing feat, no doubt… but a miraculous deed? When did the standards get so low?”
Fleur laughed.
“Hella, listen to the end. This is what the Waning Moon investigated. The real story starts now.”
Her lips slowly curled into a smirk.
“He is the purifier of the corrupted monastery. The owner of the holy sword, and the flame warrior who appeared after a hundred years. He is the beloved of Mercy and Flame, and the one who beheaded the decaying madness Belducias… the demon slayer.”
As the words went on, Hella’s face grew paler and paler. When Fleur finished her sentence, Hella covered her mouth with her palm and twisted.
“He killed Belducias… you mean him?”
“Now you see? He is not a mere sacrifice that can be exchanged for hundreds.”
Fleur straightened her back and stood up. The towering woman looked down at Hella with a cloudy gaze.
“Why do you think I told you this?”
There was no more gentle smile on her face. Her white teeth flashed menacingly behind her lips.
“Hella, Hella, Hella, Hella.”
Her voice was dark, and every syllable was laced with poison.
“Don’t act rashly without even knowing who you’re dealing with. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If we can get our hands on the flesh of the demon slayer, and peer into the abyss!”
Fleur shouted sharply, grabbing Hella’s shoulder and bringing her lips to her ear.
“We can become the greatest demons ever. We can twist the fate that the heavenly bastards have taken, and make it ours. Do you understand?”
Fleur let go of her hand with a satisfied smile, feeling the slight tremor in her fingertips.
“So, Hella… instead of wasting time on losing the soul of a barbarian, why don’t you think about how to welcome those bastards who are crawling to the cradle?”
Fleur looked down at Hella with a cold gaze for a while, then turned and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
Soon, silence fell in the room where Hella was left alone.
“Pfft, hehe, hehehe.”
She lifted her head with a suppressed laughter, and her eyes drew a long arc. A high-pitched grin rose above her palm, which tightly pressed her mouth.
“Don’t act rashly? What to do, Fleur… I don’t really want to do that.”
Hella barely calmed her breath. A sinister aura filled her flickering pupils.
“The best sacrifice and the key are in the same place, and you want me to wait stupidly… you’re like crazy women. If you’re so afraid of the church, why don’t you hide forever?”
She didn’t show it, but she had no desire to mingle with the witches of the cradle.
Just as Tarwen fled from the horrible spectacle that the demon ritual would create, Hella wished that the demon ritual would be for her alone.
And the opportunity was in front of her.
Until a while ago, she couldn’t move rashly because she lacked information on the power of the unknown warrior named Ruon, but now that Fleur had told her everything, there was no need to delay the matter any longer.
Hella smiled, showing her teeth. It was a smile full of anticipation.
“Ruon, the great warrior who killed the demon. Wait a little. I have a soul that is not inferior to yours, so it will surely be a fun fight.”
She chuckled, unable to hide her joy at the thought of bringing out the hammer that had once roared the world.
***
They look like colorful bean sprouts.
Ruon let out a snort as he looked at the long line of people. If he emptied the pockets of these people, he would have enough to live a life of leisure.
The reason he thought that was because all these people were going to the temple of Tivella to make donations.
Of course, voluntarily.
Tarwen pulled up his cloak and muttered.
“The world must have been really troubled. The news of the demon’s death was a huge news, but I didn’t expect so many people to flock. Even a normal city is like this, I wonder if the grand church won’t burst.”
Ruon shrugged.
“The grand church doesn’t allow the entry of ordinary believers.”
“Oh, right. You’ve been there, right?”
“So what’s the name of this city?”
“Beograd.”
Then a child raised his hand like a fern. The child was riding on the shoulder of a man who looked like his father, so he attracted everyone’s attention.
The child swallowed his saliva nervously as he felt the eyes of the people on him, but soon he closed his eyes and shouted loudly.
“Long live Ruon! The steadfast Kyle! The faithful Igor! The cheerful Strabo!”
Crazy, what?
Ruon frowned as he heard the child’s words, and everyone around him except him and Tarwen raised their hands.
“Long live!”
“Hooray!”
“Hooray!”
The roar of the crowd created a huge wave of sound that echoed across the square.
Tarwen, who was blankly following the tide of people with his eyes, looked up at Ruon with a curious gaze and asked.
“Great Ruon? Can I hold your hand just once?”
“···Stop it.”
Ruon, who had a face like he had bitten a lump of dung, looked at Tarwen and laughed mockingly. Barely stopping his laughter, he wiped the tears that welled up in his eyes and said.
“My goodness, can you imagine what would happen if these people knew you were Ruon? How does it feel to be a living legend?”
Ruon pressed his throbbing temple.
“It sucks.”
As the line was disrupted by the wave caused by a child’s cry, the knights who looked like paladins raised their voices.
“Please line up properly!”
“This is the front of the Mother’s Church. Show some respect!”
Tarwen shook his head as he watched the scene.
“This way, waiting seems meaningless. How about we kill some time and come back when there are no people?”
“Don’t do that.”
Ruon turned his body from where he was standing and walked through the crowd. The people who bumped into his shoulder did not know that he was the hero they were cheering for, and secretly rolled their eyes.
Meanwhile, Ruon approached a stall where various drinks were densely displayed and grabbed the most expensive-looking bottle, popped the cork with his thumb, and gulped it down.
The owner, who was watching his throat gulp, asked with a worried tone.
“Hey, brother. If you drink that fast, you’ll end up in the grave. By the way, do you have money?”
As Ruon emptied a bottle in an instant and started drinking another one, Tarwen, who followed him, took out a silver coin from his pocket and handed it to the owner.
The owner, who was startled by the considerable amount, quickly snatched it and coughed.
“Ahem, your husband seems very angry. You came to the right place. There’s nothing like alcohol when you’re angry… But stop him when it’s enough. I’m not responsible if he dies. No, I won’t.”
Of course, his expectation was nothing but a delusion. The owner looked at the empty bottles on the stall and muttered like a person who had lost his mind.
“How, how is his stomach made?”
Ruon, who threw the last bottle at the owner, answered.
“It’s enough to kill some time. I drank well.”
He immediately headed for the church. The people who were suffocatingly crowded sighed and turned their steps as the sun set. It was because the church limited the time to receive donations for the normal operation of the church to the time when the sun was up.
The young knight who was standing at the entrance raised his palm toward Ruon, who was approaching.
“Entrance is not possible today. If you come early tomorrow, you will have time to pray to the Mother.”
He must have been exhausted from dealing with the people who came all day, but he was polite as if he was not a knight who served the Goddess of Mercy.
Ruon, who was wondering what to say, silently gripped the sword at his waist.
The young knight and his colleague quickly took out their swords and warned him, feeling the sudden movement and the faint smell of alcohol.
“If you make a fuss in front of the Mother’s Church, you will lose your head. I warn you, back off.”
Ruon, who looked at their stern words and eyes, smiled faintly and muttered to himself.
Remember the old days.
At the same time, he pushed his divine power strongly toward Ruin. Then a dazzling light burst out from under the sword and brightened the surroundings.
The knight, who was overwhelmed by the familiar and intense power he felt in it, blinked his eyes and asked.
“What, what is this? Who are you?
Then Tarwen, who stepped forward, held back his laughter and said.
“Who else? He’s the great Ruon.”
