Chapter 10: “The Mother You’re Asking About Is Yours.”

“Silence!”

The Pantheon priest’s command carried weight.

Whether due to his rank or the divine power in his voice, the mercenaries, who’d been shrieking about the witch’s sorcery, and the murmuring villagers all fell silent.

Even Sirin’s excitement subsided.

The priest turned to Gordo.

“You spoke of ‘avenging your fallen vice-leader.’ Is that your and the mercenaries’ cause for this duel?”

His voice was dry, tinged with irritation.

Gordo, still dazed by Sirin’s tongue antics, nodded reflexively, his face tense.

“Y-Yes! For our comrade’s vengeance and our honor!”

“Good.”

The priest replied curtly and turned to Sirin.

“You haven’t stated your cause.”

He paused, gesturing toward Marta, Mary, and the murmuring villagers.

“Will you take their words as your cause? Retribution for those wronged?”

Sirin, calming herself with deep breaths, grew curious.

“Hoo… What happens if I accept their cause?”

The priest explained.

“If you accept their cause and the scales approve, you become their champion. You fight for their honor and safety.”

“Champion? So they’re involved too?”

“Correct.”

Sirin recalled the priest’s earlier words.

The victor gains all rights over the defeated.

“So they’re bound by the trial’s outcome?”

“Correct.”

The villagers paled, realizing the implication.

If Sirin lost, they’d share the consequences.

Marta and Mary staggered, looking ready to faint.

Mercy from the mercenaries? Unlikely.

As they wavered, their eyes met Sirin’s.

Trembling yet hesitant.

Villagers supported the near-collapsing pair.

Sirin smiled faintly.

“Nah, no need.”

“What?”

The priest, villagers, and even mercenaries looked stunned.

The priest paused, then asked quietly.

“…Their cause is just. Yet you refuse it?”

His implication was clear.

Becoming their champion increased her chances of the goddess’s blessing.

But Sirin shook her head.

To her, the villagers, except Marta, were mere background.

Present or absent, it didn’t matter. Losing one wouldn’t change anything.

But their courage for a beggar girl impressed her.

Though likely spurred by Peter, courage was courage. No need to drag them into bloodshed.

And Sirin had a more crucial reason.

Her cause had to be wholly her own.

“I’m not interested in being their champion. I have my own reason.”

“Then state your cause.”

Sirin was tired of this nonsense.

She wanted to get hit, gain Practice, and achieve Bone-Shedding Rebirth.

Obsessing over justice would make her die of old age.

She decided to ditch the scales.

“That guy.”

She jerked her chin toward where Heres’s body lay.

“Heres insulted my mother.”

“…What?”

Captain Roderick spoke up.

He knew Heres stabbed Sirin first.

Her killing was self-defense, a more just cause than the mercenaries’.

But she was spouting something bizarre.

What was this crazy girl saying? Others shared his confusion.

Sirin scanned them with pity and roared.

“You barbarians! You don’t get it? Your mothers are my mother!”

“…?!”

Murmurs erupted like waves.

Even villagers who’d condemned the mercenaries stared at her, baffled.

Was she truly mad?

The priest stepped forward, scales unmoving.

“The scales haven’t judged your claim. Explain.”

Sirin decided to teach these ignorants some Eastern philosophy.

“A great sage once said, ‘Honor the humblest person’s mother as your own!’”

This was Master Wonhyo’s retort to monks obstructing a beggar’s mother’s funeral, citing their dignity.

“The mother you’re asking about is yours.”

To Sirin, this was Buddhist philosophy.

Treat their mothers as her own.

“Per that great teaching, even a roadside stone or weed’s mother is as precious as my own! How much more your mothers? Thus, your mothers are my mother, so—”

She pointed where Heres fell.

“That damned child-rapist, murderer, and degenerate Heres shamed his mother! That’s no different from tarnishing my mother’s honor! I couldn’t forgive such disrespect! That’s my cause!”

Ding!

[Your sophistry maximizes the “Witch” title effect!]

[Fearful minds begin to accept your sophistry as truth!]

[Your witch-induced fear triggers collective delusion!]

The dim-witted mercenaries, failing to understand, freaked out.

“The witch was my lost sister?!”

“I can’t accept this!!!”

“Shut up!”

They clamped their mouths shut.

Ding!

[The witch’s presence overwhelms the crowd!]

[The witch’s infamy rises!]

Ding! Ding! Ding!

[The witch’s deranged nonsense begins to dominate feeble minds…

“Shut up!”

“We did…”

A whining idiot, hit by Sirin’s murderous glare, buried his face in the ground.

Perfect silence.

Peter, watching, gaped, eyes nearly popping out.

Sirin nodded, satisfied.

“Be reverent!”

The priest’s weighty shout restored quiet.

Raising the scales, he spoke.

“The scales… will not judge her cause.”

Gordo’s tense face relaxed.

Did the scales reject her bizarre claim? Then the goddess’s blessing was his.

In a mercenary’s life, where survival hinged on a single strike or step, a moment’s luck was vital.

Gordo, beaming, said.

“So we get the blessing…”

“Not so!”

The priest cut him off, annoyed.

“The scales refuse to judge her cause’s right or wrong. It’s beyond their measure.”

His tone suggested he’d touched something filthy.

He handed the scales to Roderick, as if done.

“Take it. The Pantheon is done here.”

“W-Wait! Priest! What about the duel?”

“I don’t know.”

He answered curtly.

“Not my concern. Sort it out.”

With that, he turned and pushed through the murmuring crowd, leaving.

An awkward silence followed, punctuated by rising murmurs.

“My gods… the goddess refused to judge…”

“She must be a witch… even the scales…”

“The Pantheon washed their hands of it…”

Mercenaries whispered similarly.

“The witch veiled the goddess’s gaze…”

“It’s sorcery… she’s a real witch…!”

“Heres… damn, we need to escape this cursed village!”

Gordo seemed to hear the ominous whispers.

His earlier bravado was gone, replaced by confusion and a hint of fear.

He fidgeted with his feather necklace, glancing around nervously.

Gordo was superstitious.

Before battles, he’d fondle a worn animal bone charm.

If he heard an ill omen like a crow’s caw, he’d grumble all day.

He avoided the village for such reasons, guided by his odd sense of bad luck.

For someone like him, losing the goddess’s gaze was terrifying.

Seeing Gordo hesitate, Sirin felt an inexplicable rage surge.

Stronger than ever.

Practice be damned. She couldn’t stand his pathetic state.

“Gordo!”

She shouted sharply.

“No duel?!”

“B-But the scales…”

He mumbled, his resolve waning.

“You spineless idiot! Nothing’s changed!”

She yelled.

“Is your will dictated by those scales? Is the goddess your master? Will you lick her feet or roll over if she commands?”

She stomped, making Gordo flinch, which fueled her anger.

“Will you crawl like a dog if the goddess collars you?”

She unleashed her burning fury.

“Your lover or whatever died! His killer stands before you! Right here!”

Sirin didn’t understand her own rage.

For Practice?

Practice required taking hits. His burly fists would hurt like hell. She might not even gain it.

Sirin didn’t like pain.

She hated it.

Not just because it hurt.

The memory of crashing against cliffs, her brain breaking, was vivid.

The frustration of not speaking her mind, wanting to smash her head.

Worst, the wiring between brain and tongue wasn’t fully fixed.

The pain of pulling Heres’s sword from her gut had scrambled it again.

Another hit might break her tongue again.

Part of her mind said it was fine if the duel didn’t happen.

But she couldn’t tolerate this bull-headed fool’s pathetic whining.

“You had something to do! Something you’d give everything for!”

She drew her sword, pointing it at Gordo.

“Do what you came for, you moron!”

Gordo stared blankly at her sword.

Heres’s sword.

Her slender fingers gripped the hilt tightly, with a crude crossguard below.

And below that, the blade, dark and stained with her dried blood.

“…”

But its tip gleamed in the sunlight.

The reflected light.

Gordo felt, somehow, that it emanated from Sirin.

Her words.

What he had to do.

He muttered unwittingly.

“Vengeance and…”

A low growl escaped him.

“Honor…!”

His wavering eyes found focus.

Hesitation vanished, replaced by a rekindled emotion.

Fury at the insult to their honor and their comrade’s death.

“Raaaagh!”

Bang!

He clashed his gauntlets, roaring to shake off fear.

Hoo.

He exhaled hotly, no longer wavering.

His eyes blazed with resolve.

“Good.”

Sirin’s anger finally eased.

The bull-headed idiot had become human.

“Finally less pathetic.”

She smiled, satisfied, raising her sword.