Azadin grabbed the villagers and asked,
"Have you seen a girl around eight years old? She has black hair and somewhat dark skin. She was likely brought here by the Telbarin Guild. There are rumors that she is from the Herald Clan…."
As soon as Azadin asked, the villagers recoiled in shock at the accuracy of his information.
"W-We don't know…."
"Shut up and speak, you lowly scum!"
Tarkiev, who was usually of no help, proved useful in this situation. When the knight Tarkiev intimidated them, they couldn't even make a peep and quickly spilled the information.
"The one who mainly deals with the Telbarin Guild in our village is the bakery's firekeeper."
"You see that chimney over there? That house."
Thanks to the detailed information and Tarkiev's threats, they found the location immediately.
"What will you do now?"
Ishmael asked.
"We'll go to the bakery and negotiate peacefully. Fortunately, the child is still only eight."
While she might be given simple household chores, it was unlikely she would have suffered extreme mental or physical abuse.
That was what he had thought.
"What's the matter?"
The man who came out of the large warehouse was holding a whip.
"Oh? A knight?"
As Tarkiev barged in, the owner quickly hid the whip behind his back. Inside the building, many children could be seen, all of them gaunt from malnutrition, their eyes hollow, worn down from excessive labor.
"What brings you here?"
"Hey, I'm looking for a child who looks like this."
As Tarkiev turned around, Azadin described her appearance and age.
"Why are you looking for her?"
"Hah! And what would you do with that information?"
"Ah, well, actually, that child is dead."
"What? Then what about those children?"
Tarkiev pointed at the other children.
"They're orphans. With nowhere to go, I, as a local benefactor, have taken them in, raised them, and given them work."
"Is that so?"
Tarkiev had nothing more to say and looked back at Azadin. Azadin frowned at the state of the children.
"How did you conduct the child's funeral?"
There was a hint of anger in Azadin's voice.
"A funeral, you say? Why are you asking such a thing?"
"Tarkiev."
"Yes."
In that instant, Tarkiev drove his knee into the owner's stomach.
"Gah!"
"The child's parents and a certain high-ranking person had made a promise. I've come to find her. At the very least, we need to know where she was buried. If a funeral is held, then we can find the location, so stop spewing nonsense."
"Ugh… A-Actually, I just threw her into the river."
"The river? Are you insane?"
In a world where the dead could forget death and rise again, neglecting a proper funeral and simply discarding a child's body into the river was the perfect way to create the accursed.
But it didn't seem like a lie. This man had been taking in children, abusing them, and forcing them to work. When they died, he would dump their bodies into the river, usually when the waters swelled or during heavy rains.
"Hmm… What will you do?"
Ishmael watched with amusement, as if enjoying how the situation unfolded. How would Azadin's mercy, compassion, sympathy, and sense of justice hold up against the harsh realities of the world? Ishmael wanted to see Azadin crushed by despair.
"Hey, is he always like this?"
Azadin asked Midiam.
"Hmm, well? I don't think he was always like this."
Midiam clung closely to Azadin as she said that. That kindness, that admiration—it stung Ishmael so much that he could only mock even more.
"If you kill this man, what happens to these children? Surely, you're not planning to save them all when they're not even of our clan? Besides, this man is doing business with the Telbarin Guild. If you entrust these children to the Korasar Peddlers' Guild, there will inevitably be a conflict with the Telbarin Guild. Do you really think the Guild will help?"
Despite being just a child, Ishmael had a sharp mind in these matters. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to leave the Holy Land to serve as a servant alongside Midiam.
To be chosen as a servant, one needed to demonstrate sufficient potential to become a future herald during the selection process. Martial prowess, scholarship, knowledge, and awareness—all had to be evaluated highly compared to their peers. That was why Ishmael was here now, and at this moment, he was calmly assessing the situation.
If they didn't rescue the children and simply killed the owner, it could spell disaster for the children. But if they left things as they were, the man would continue abusing them.
"This isn't a problem that can be solved by mere justice or sympathy. Azadin, please, enlighten a fool like me with your wisdom."
As Ishmael sneered, Tarkiev stepped forward again. He resumed beating the owner.
"You bastard. My hyung-nim swore to protect that child, and you just threw that promise away like trash? You beat the kids because they're weak? Well, today, you're the one getting beaten."
Tarkiev beat the owner mercilessly.
"Argh! Ack! S-Someone, help!"
"When did I ever become your hyung-nim?"
Azadin felt an aversion to how Tarkiev was suddenly acting so friendly.
"Don't worry, hyung-nim. We can take these children to my mother's house. She needs more servants. It'll be much better than here."
"W-Wait, by what right are you…?"
The owner tried to protest, but Tarkiev kicked him in the chin.
"Keuk!"
"..."
Amazingly, Tarkiev had just proven his usefulness.
"Incredible. This is exactly what they mean when they say even horse dung has its uses."
Midiam was impressed by Tarkiev's decisive demonstration of his worth.
***
Azadin's group thoroughly beat the firekeeper and forced him to sign a statement admitting that he had been trafficking children with the Telbarin Guild. Afterward, they decided to take the children and headed for the nearby Korasar Peddlers' Guild.
Through the guild's distribution network, they planned to send the children to Tarkiev's mother, Baroness Nord, to be taken in at her estate.
"But what about the promise with Calypso? You even made her swear an oath?"
"Hmm, we should check if there are any children missing from the list and be satisfied with sending the Aragasa children to the Holy Land."
"That's a shame. You should spread the word about the duel and take the status of the 106th for yourself."
"I have no interest in status. It doesn't bring in more money."
"But wouldn't it be advantageous when you get married later?"
Within Aragasa, if someone of low birth were to rise to a high rank as a herald, they would undoubtedly be scouted by a prestigious family and enter a political marriage.
Since this was the only path to social mobility permitted to the Herald Clan, everyone was obsessed with rising in rank. However, Azadin seemed indifferent.
"Marriage? I have no thoughts on that yet."
"Eh? Really?"
Azadin and Midiam were conversing as they walked. For Ishmael, seeing their close and friendly atmosphere was pure torture.
Just then, in the village square, the workers repairing wagon wheels at the peddlers' guild caravan spotted Azadin and abruptly stood up.
"Azadin?!"
"Hmm?"
Azadin looked at the merchants who recognized him, puzzled.
"Ah, wait a moment…."
"Kellivre."
"It's Adan. Don't you recognize your seniors? We even doted on you."
Hearing this, Midiam chuckled.
"Seniors? But you weren't even heralds or servants."
"Hah. So you still don't know?"
Adan scoffed and glared at Azadin.
"What's going on, Kellivre? Adan?"
"What do you think?!"
"We have orders from the higher-ups to arrest and escort you!"
"Huh? Higher-ups?"
Azadin shrugged.
"Are you drunk in broad daylight? Or are you on drugs?"
"This isn't a joke, Azadin. Your position as a herald has been suspended."
"Forget the explanations. Let's just take him in."
"Yeah, if we capture you, we'll become heralds."
"...."
Azadin was baffled as he watched his so-called seniors confidently draw their weapons in the middle of the street.
It was true that he had stopped hearing the Emperor's Voice. But a dismissal? And an arrest?
'What the hell is going on? Well, I suppose I can just ask them.'
If they were willing to draw their weapons not just in the streets but in the village itself, then this was truly urgent.
"So, you're saying that by capturing me, you two will become heralds, and for that, you've drawn your swords in the middle of the village?"
"That's right, you bastard!"
"Whatever trick you pulled to become a herald despite being incompetent…."
"You're no longer a herald. You're dismissed from your position."
"If we capture you, we'll take your place…."
"...."
Azadin stood there blankly for a moment, then absentmindedly turned his gaze. His head tilted toward the two seniors.
"I suppose I'll have to hear the details from you two?"
"Hahaha. Azadin, have you forgotten?"
"You used to get beaten by us every day. Have you forgotten how you used to cry and wail?"
"Yeah, yeah. I remember everything. I even remember how you pinned me down, covered my face, and said my lower face looked like Arael's before forcing a kiss on me. That was a disgusting memory."
Since Azadin was Arael's twin, when he wore a hawk's mask, his lower face resembled Arael's. Now that puberty had passed, they looked different, but as children, aside from the fact that Azadin had no eyes, they looked quite similar.
That alone had been enough for them to torment him….
"Ah, damn it. Just saying it out loud makes me feel sick. You two need a good beating."
Azadin was enraged by how they proudly reminisced about bullying him. However, they still seemed to see him as the weak child they had tormented.
"Haha. You've got some nerve!"
"You got your herald position thanks to Elder Kazas!"
"Here we go!"
Kellivre and Adan simultaneously drew their swords and charged at Azadin.
***
Kellivre and Adan's attacks were by no means weak.
The Herald Clan began training their children at the age of eight with an incredibly rigorous foundational program infused with the clan's wisdom.
Among them, only those who demonstrated exceptional skill competed for the 108 herald positions. Many who were strong but unlucky never even got the chance to become attendants due to a lack of vacancies in their generation.
Kellivre and Adan were among such skilled individuals. But….
Unfortunately for them, their attacks did not work against Azadin. Azadin caught their sharp blades with his gloved hand.
—Thud!
As if it had always been there, Azadin's hand clamped down on the swords.
"Ugh?!"
The blades wouldn't budge.
"You bastard!"
"Damn it."
Kellivre and Adan quickly formed hand signs, focusing their minds to cast a spell.
At that moment, Azadin's hand moved.