Ashes (3)

The wheels of the wagon crossed the street, and it became evident that I was not a very skilled driver. To be honest, I want to make excuses and say it wasn't entirely my fault. This wagon was designed with only the cargo capacity in mind for the merchants.

It was likely carrying the body of Leovald, which must weigh over 100 kg. Given his height and muscle mass, it couldn't possibly be under 100 kg. Considering it was able to maintain a fairly stable form while carrying that heavy body along with the weight of two adult men, the wagon was sturdy.

However, being heavy and strong meant it did not take smooth turns or achieve fast speeds into account. The point is, we were really on the edge of being caught. Even worse, we were unable to set a proper direction, contrary to our initial goal. The wagon now ran off wildly. The mules were practically terrified, running as fast as their legs could carry them.

Leonardo stretched out his arms behind me to grab the reins and pulled with all his strength, but that only allowed for a slight angle adjustment just enough to barely avoid the stalls on the roadside.

See? It's not just my skills that are terrible.

After gazing at the reality before me for a moment, I winced at the pain rising in my neck and adjusted it. Reflecting on the sensation that constricted my throat, I thought, 

'Sub-writer 1 borrowed its shell to make contact.'

It wasn't particularly surprising, considering other writers were suspected to be Orlie or Butier. However, it was certainly unexpected that someone would wear its shell. At least, based on previous developments, I felt that this scenario was struggling to grasp its reins.

No matter how much Sub-writer 1's design intruded, they nearly caused Leonardo to die several times, resulting in multiple resets.

The relationship between it and the scenario is akin to that of this wagon. The mules and the wagon are intertwined, inevitably moving as a single entity, but the driver, who owns the wagon, cannot control the agitated mules, and they run amok.

Even so, they move together as one, albeit creaking along the way.

The way they presented themselves throughout the play supports this. I even considered whether it might be a foreign substance from outside the narrative, like me. And now, gathering the information I confirmed today, my mind crafts a new hypothesis.

'Wait, has the situation split into two factions?'

The main author and the assistant are aligned with the protagonist, Leonardo. Meanwhile, Sub-writer 1 has sided with it.

Hero stories inherently aim to distinguish between winners and losers. In a royal road narrative, it's natural for Leonardo, the human protagonist, to emerge victorious. However, since this world's story hasn't been pre-written to its conclusion and is unfolding in real-time as a script, I can't be sure of anything.

'Or perhaps, for Sub-writer 1, it's merely a means to an end.'

From what I extracted through Count Bermont, there was mention that he desired the corpse to inhabit it. He also claimed he would drive away the devourer. To inhabit the body of a hero and fulfill the tasks originally imposed on that hero is, quite literally, a usurpation of position.

Could Sub-writer 1's true aim be less about dividing factions and more about threatening Leonardo's position as the original protagonist, striving to become the star of the stage himself?

A writer with the ambition to usurp the protagonist's place—what a mysterious tale. If only I had a few more clues, I could weave a plausible narrative. As I clicked my tongue in frustration, the wagon swayed and turned toward a familiar place.

It was a square.

Coincidentally, the square was crowded with people.

Perhaps it was because the square also served as the church's front yard. In a free city, the church acts as a town hall, a public office, and a place for all sorts of gatherings, so the citizens, feeling anxious about the situation, flocked to gather in front of the church.

A sigh escaped me. Leonardo, too, remained silent in this situation, quietly readjusting his grip on the sword. The only glimmer of hope here was the assistance of Orlie and Butier, who were presumed to be the writers. But how much help could they truly offer?

Ding, ding, ding, ding—

Unlike the bells that mark the time, this was a continuous, hurried ringing. I didn't know what it meant, but the citizens seemed to already be aware.

Someone shouted.

"It's the Devourer!"

The warning continued to echo through the streets. Ding, ding, ding—still the frantic ringing. Fear spread like wildfire, and the citizens hurriedly scattered. Some covered their eyes and ears, terrified of being entranced by something sinister. The square emptied rapidly. Was this the help of the two individuals associated with the church, or was this merely a natural reaction to the situation?

Finally, the doors of the church swung open wide, and the wagon, almost being dragged, headed toward it. As the wheels hit the threshold with a clunk, they jolted upward before sliding into the courtyard, kicking up clouds of dust.

Leonardo kicked the wagon and jumped down, plunging his arm into the fountain where water was gushing. He then clenched and relaxed his previously broken hand a few times before gripping the large sword. 

Bang!

It clashed with Leonardo, and water splashed everywhere. As the wagon jolted upon entering the church earlier, it seemed that the harness connections had come loose, thus, the mules had thrown off the wagon and disappeared into the distance.

With the uncontrollable element gone, the wagon came to a halt. Just as I was worried that Leovald's body might be disturbed and I was about to shift from the driver's seat to the wagon, someone gripped my shoulder.

A knight with a long plume resembling red horsehair. His hand was as cold as ice, and the skin visible through his helmet was still pale to the point of translucence.

"Are you alright?"

Orlie.

I recalled Butier's paper-like skin and cold touch, linking their common traits. Were all these people walking corpses? If so, isn't the density of corpses in this space far too high? Should I call it corpse density?

"I'm more worried about Leonardo; it really won't die."

"Don't worry, I'll join the fight"

[Assistant Writer: You've held on well.]

First of all, it's confirmed that Orlie is the assistant writer.

[Main Author: We couldn't stop them all with just the outpouring. It seems a few of them have crawled up through the closed sewer on the city side, so let's send the knights in that direction.]

[Assistant Writer: Yes.]

[Main Author: A few have come up through the underground sanctuary, so be cautious when regrouping.]

From the direction of the church's sky bridge, I could hear Archbishop Butier issuing orders in a clear and steady voice.

"Send the knights immediately. Protecting the citizens must come first."

"Eunha, there are also sinister beings infiltrating the church right now. You need to take cover—"

And so, the main author must be Butier.

[Main Author: This time, because that foreign substance caused a major disruption, we have the opportunity to provide this level of assistance.]

[Main Author: We'll handle the cleanup.]

The jumble of letters that had been swirling before my eyes came to an end. So, it meant that because Sub-writer 1 had interfered so much, they could also interfere to this extent.

'Just because they are writers doesn't mean they can meddle with the story at will. Yes, even when revising the narrative from underground, it seemed like the system reviewed the writers' requests.'

Suddenly, the wagon jolted. Startled, I turned around to see a figure gripping the rear. It was a knight. His expression was filled with concern, and the slightly furrowed brow from trying to respond to this unexpected situation felt very human.

"Are you alright? I will help you evacuate!"

The knight tucked his arm against my chin.

[Accessing information on the designated entity.]

The script titled Great Empire's Subject appeared as expected. I had a feeling it would come to this.

In the moment I pulled my arm back to shake off its grip, Leonardo suddenly appeared and roughly twisted the creature's arm. The force was so great that I could hear the flesh and bone creaking as it twisted. He was damp, probably from being doused in holy water, and he looked back at me as he drew his great sword from the wall of the wagon.

It seemed he had been fighting and had dropped his sword as if he was throwing it. My gaze briefly shifted to a wound on his cheek that I hadn't seen before.

Over his shoulder, Orlie thrust a spear between the shattered ribs of Count Bermont, then stomped down on the spear shaft. Flesh was ripped away in chunks, and it let out a horrific scream. Leonardo kicked the severed head that had rolled to his feet and tossed it into the splashing fountain of holy water. As I watched the creature's head fly off, I absentmindedly touched my own neck.

It was my first experience of being choked like that by someone, and witnessing the perpetrator meet such a horrific end was also a first. This world truly offers me bizarre experiences. I might never fully adapt to this place.

Leonardo swiftly lost interest in the creature and approached me.

"Your eyes are red."

Ah, that's because I'm sleep-deprived and my throat is sore, causing some blood vessels to burst. Still, I'm glad I have the presence of mind not to voice that.

"You have a broken arm yourself."

"I healed quickly with holy water, so it's fine. Can I take a quick look? I didn't get a good look earlier."

"Um."

As his hand lightly brushed my nape, I stared blankly at the sky.

Ash was drifting all around. It was likely not just in this church but that ashes were swirling throughout Sinistra by now. Among them, there would probably be ashes from my inn that was sacrificed. I can no longer be the owner of an inn in Sinistra.

[Scenario weight: 20.00%][Processing rank change rewards. This may take some time. Please wait.]

It's time to be reborn as another character.