I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple

"You don't appear to be a dwarf. Visid, is this an uninvited guest?"

"He's one of the outsiders I mentioned earlier. An escort knight for the young lady who visited us today," Visid replied.

"Tell me more."

"Judging from his attire, he doesn't seem to belong to the imperial family or a noble family. He's likely a free or wandering knight. If his appearance matches his actual age, then his skill must be exceptional for someone so young."

"I see."

Delac sensed something unusual. The man, who Visid treated as a guest, remained seated. He had no need to stand; a slight turn of the head would have been enough to see Delac, yet he did not move. Instead, Visid seemed to be describing Delac's features in detail and explaining the situation.

Is there a problem with his vision? It's a pretty plausible guess, but something feels off, Delac thought.

"Then you can kill him on the spot."

"That..." Visid hesitated, then fell silent. The shadowy figure immediately rose to his feet.

The sudden shift made the candle flame on the table sway as if it would go out. It vanished, as though extinguished, leaving Delac the sole master in this small room. Not even the sound of a sword being drawn broke the silence.

Delac used the darkness to close the distance and swung his sword without hesitation.

Something sliced cleanly, and a faint light returned.

It all happened in the instant the candle flickered.

Delac frowned. He hadn't cut the mysterious figure, but only the robe he wore. His eyes narrowed even further as the face hidden beneath the robe came into view. "A puppet?"

"Yes. Isn't it cool?"

It wasn't cool at all. If anything, it looked grotesque. It bore none of the refined, humanlike qualities one would expect from a puppet. There was no skin, and the areas where the eyes and ears should have been were sealed, as if the flesh had been pressed together. Stitch marks lined the mouth, which heightened the sense of unease. it looked less like a puppet and more like the victim of some human experiment.

"If I synchronize my senses, I can move quite well. Of course, it operates at less than one percent of my true self." The man chuckled while opening and closing his fingers. "Well, there are some things I have to give up because of that. I can synchronize vision, but I can only hear surrounding sounds through static. Many parts are usable, but it's still in the developmental stage."

Before the man could finish speaking, Delac tried to narrow the distance again. He moved faster than before, catching the controller off guard.

"Green tongue!" he called out in a languid voice, and countless needles shot from the puppet's palm.

Delac's instincts warned him that even a single hit would be dangerous, so he rolled aside and flipped the table over.

The unsteady candle flickered violently, then toppled along with the papers on the table. Flames spread across the documents in an instant, and the surrounding area filled with fire.

Delac didn't even spare the flames licking at his flesh a glance. He could hear the thud of needles slamming into the table. Though the dwarven-made table was sturdy, it wouldn't hold for long.

He considered his next attack. Flames are burning everywhere, and I can no longer hide in the darkness. No. Even if I could use a blessing, I shouldn't attack the same way. That man seemed to know exactly where I was hiding in the darkness.

Delac was surprised but not panicked. He had already experienced something similar, when he fought his youngest son. In such a battle, petty tricks didn't mean much.

He steadied his breathing, drawing a deep breath before exhaling slowly.

Even now, needles kept striking the table. How long would it last? For some reason, he always felt certain he could count the exact moment the table would finally break.

Three, two, and one, Delac counted silently, then opened his eyes.

The table shattered, and he lunged forward. He held his sword in his right hand and a cloak in his left. He swung the cloak at the incoming green needles.

A strong gust surged outward, and the momentum intensified the flame. The needles that had been pouring toward him also scattered.

Delac had turned the cloak into a shield to block the attack, but it wasn't as easy as it sounded. Even those confident in their mana control struggled to infuse mana precisely into an object like a cloak. This was his first attempt, but his innate talent allowed him to accurately analyze the fabric's properties and texture, executing it perfectly.

One of the deflected needles ricocheted and hit Visid's forearm, and a groan escaped him.

Delac's sword approached the puppet, once again radiating a bright light.

"Black Curtain," the puppet muttered.

A curtain of darkness enveloped him like a shield. Nevertheless, Delac pressed his attack.

For the first time, the puppet showed signs of surprise.

The sword shattered the black curtain in a single blow and lost none of its force. The angle was slightly off, but the strike was still lethal. The blade drove into the puppet's right shoulder and cut down into the abdomen.

"Absurd fella." The puppet kept talking even after falling to the ground. "You noticed the location of the core in an instant. I've only encountered one other person with such keen senses."

The puppet suddenly tilted his head. "Aha. Don't tell me that you are—"

Delac crushed the puppet's head. Conversations with church members were useless. There was no point exchanging words unless it was an interrogation. That was written in the Iron-Blooded Lord's journal.

At last, the room grew somewhat quiet. After all, flames were still raging and consuming the surroundings.

"You died so easily," Delac muttered.

Was the one I killed more important than I thought? Delac wondered.

Then he noticed Visid staring at him in sheer shock, even though he had merely defeated a puppet. He could uncover the puppet's identity over time by gathering clues, collecting information, and tracking its origin. That process wouldn't be difficult. The most difficult and important step was establishing contact with the enemy's minion.

Delac looked at Visid. As expected, the needles were poisoned. In that short time, Visid's complexion had turned very pale. His eyes were bloodshot, foam gathered at the corners of his mouth, and his breathing was strained. Beyond the physical symptoms, terror showed clearly on his face.

Delac met the old dwarf's eyes and understood how he appeared from Visid's perspective.

As he took a step closer, the fallen Visid recoiled without realizing it. His beard trembled, and his voice shook even more. "What are you going to do to me now? Will you hand me over to the empire? Or the Hero Society? If not, I will go to the labor camp..."

Delac shook his head. "Aren't dwarves citizens of the empire?"

"What...?"

"I'm asking you whether you don't even know about imperial law," Delac said emotionlessly. "Anyone who has cooperated with the Dark Church and committed crimes should receive the same punishment as its members."

Visid didn't answer.

Delac continued, "Aside from ordering murders and attempting to overthrow the empire, such cooperation includes providing manpower, information, or resources. Furthermore, any imperial citizen has the right to execute such collaborators on the spot."

"W-wait a minute!"

The moment Visid spoke in panic, Michael moved through the air. A sound followed, too light to match the severing of a neck. Then Visid fell sideways. The silvery-white sword that completed its task didn't have a single drop of blood on it.

Delac sheathed his sword and spoke, even though there was no one left to hear him. "It is said that the south is a barbaric land. The people here are relatively ignorant of imperial law. However, Master Visid, ignorance can't be indulged, and exceptions shouldn't be made for lawbreakers."

That's right. There should be no exceptions. Not even one. Delac's gaze shifted to the ceiling for a moment, toward where the dwarves would be.

He stood amid the flames with his eyes closed, thinking, Not all dwarves of Sandstorm Hill have committed a sin. Visid might have instigated everything, deceiving his own clan. It's possible that the other dwarves don't know anything. But could that justify sparing them? Would the Iron-Blooded Lord, before the amnesia, be convinced?

Delac felt a trace of confusion. He couldn't decide what was right or wrong.

Still, he repeated his earlier words. "Ignorance can't be indulged."

When he opened his eyes again, all hesitation had vanished. He was about to step forward, but his gaze lingered on the puppet. It lay destroyed, yet its controller was still alive. A faint premonition took hold of him. He would meet the other party again, sooner or later.

***

I faced the Fire Dragon God before me and started to sort out the situation.

Originally, Vulcanus and the dwarves of Sandstorm Hill maintained a mutually beneficial relationship. Vulcanus provided flames, and the dwarves offered weapons forged in those flames.

Some people could question whether this was fitting for a god and his believers, but I saw it differently. A god existed to grant wishes. For dwarf craftsmen, creating perfect equipment was a lifelong pursuit. In that sense, Vulcanus was the god most capable of giving them what they desired.

For such dwarves to betray him, the reason is obvious. The Dark Church must have offered them a better arrangement.

"I understand."

—Now you know! What crimes did those ungrateful people commit?

"For now, yes. But not all of them may have betrayed you," I reasoned.

—What does that mean?

"At the very least, one dwarf who helped me appears to have no involvement in this," I replied.

It was the dwarf who served me meat, Konjian.

"So I will go and ask him myself. I want to know whether he is aware that some dwarves have betrayed you and are cooperating with the church. If not, what does he intend to do about it?"

—Hah! You're wasting your time!

"I'll decide whether it's a waste."

Vulcanus sneered.

"Or what? Do you mean that you won't even spare the innocent dwarves who know nothing of this matter? Ignorance isn't a sin. Surely, this is a time for a god to show mercy."

At my words, Vulcanus flinched slightly before snorting.

—Hah! Of course, I know! Fine! I'll do as you say! But they may lie!

"Then what should I do?"

—Reach for the torch in front of the altar!

"That?"

No matter how resistant I was to flames, I had no desire to thrust my hands into them. The rejection felt instinctive.

—Rest assured! You won't suffer any burns! On the contrary, it will benefit you greatly!

Vulcanus spoke as if he read my thoughts.

"Benefit me?"

—It seems that you have learned a flame-based cultivation method! Do you think you will ever have another chance to embrace a god's sacred flames, even for a moment? If you don't forget that sensation, you may gain a clue to advancing to the next realm.

Vulcanus' proposal had merit. My First Fire Technique had reached a bottleneck, partly because I had placed more importance on other methods for a while.

Still, it is a bit risky. A power within me had to remain hidden: the Dark Qi. Even Vulcanus' divine power hadn't detected it, but I couldn't predict what would happen if he used the sacred flame as a medium to enter my body. He clearly didn't hold any liking toward the gods of disaster or the Dark Church.

"Forget it."

—Forget it? Don't you realize what a tremendous opportunity this is?

"I do. Please understand that I have my own circumstances as well."

—Hah! Circumstances! Why can't you allow me into your body? Is there any suspicious power within you?

He had an impatient and volatile temperament, but his instincts were sharp in unexpected ways.

Unease crept over me. If I didn't give a convincing reason, Vulcanus' suspicions would only grow.

After pondering, I offered a plausible excuse. "I have already formed a bond with a god and built a shrine for him in my heart. That's why I can't welcome another."

—Another god? Who is it?

"You wouldn't know him. He is a forgotten god. But I can show you his token." I drew the Seven Sins Sword from my magic tool subspace.

—T-that...! Isn't it the Seven Sins Sword?

"Do you know it?"

—I do! The one who forged that divine relic was my own messenger!

In an unexpected moment, the Seven Sins Sword's backstory came to light.

—Does that mean that you're the Martial God's messenger?

"For now, yes."

Vulcanus coughed slightly.

—If so... you can't be taken lightly. I apologize if my tone was rude!

I was taken aback. I had never expected someone so proud and fiery to bow his head to a lizardman. It made me realize that the title of Martial God carried far more weight than I had assumed. Even so, he was a forgotten god. If he commanded this much presence in that state, what kind of existence had he been in his prime?

I should speak with the Martial God soon. I couldn't help feeling confused. I didn't hear any voices even while holding the Seven Sins Sword. More precisely, his presence was completely absent now.

"Martial God?"

There was no answer even when I called out.

As my expression became quite serious, Vulcanus spoke again.

—Okay...! If you are truly his messenger, I will believe you! Moreover, I have no intention of taking away his messenger, so I will withdraw my proposal!

"Will you believe what I tell you?"

—No! I will just channel my presence in a different way!

"Different way?" I echoed.

—Behind me lies my treasure trove! I will lend you a weapon from there to channel my sacred flame!

"Treasure trove?"

—That's right! It holds my proud offerings, accumulated over a very long time!

I could hear the satisfaction and pride in his voice. From what I gathered, it was a place that stored the items the dwarves had delivered in exchange for borrowing the Breath of Vulcanus. It served as a warehouse for the finest equipment crafted by dwarf artisans over hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years.

Despite being a bare-handed martial artist, I got curious. "Okay. But can I choose a weapon?"

—Yes, go ahead!

For some reason, it reminded me of my visit to the dean's treasure trove. The Linchal Mask I obtained there had proved extremely useful, and it still was. First it had been an Archmage's treasure trove, and now it was a god's. Just imagining what kind of mythical equipment could be piled up inside made my mouth water.

—You aren't being given anything!

"I understand."

—I am lending it to you!

"Noted."

By the way, is there any other god this noisy? Are all dragon kings like this? The idle thought crossed my mind as I headed toward Vulcanus' treasure trove.

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