WeTried Translations

Translator: Botanica

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◈ I Became the Slit-Eyed Henchman of the Evil Boss

Chapter 037

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The Order's Betrayer (1)

The human-faced birds flapping their wings in the sky were originally demon-beasts of Dimedes's gang. But now, subordinated to the old man who had dominated Dimedes, they were lending him their eyes and ears.

"......!"

The old man draped in a violet robe watched in vivid detail through the eyes of the human-faced birds as the chimeras were being mowed down.

He had been thinking ever since the swordsman gripping the high-frequency blade began slaughtering the demon-beasts. He was far too powerful a being to belong to the same company as half-wit chimeras that slurped human brains.

If Dimedes's title had been Director, then common sense dictated that anyone stronger would be at least the President. And yet, doesn't that swordsman always coordinate his opinion with the archer beside him before acting?

A rare attitude for a final decision-maker. The likelihood he's the President is low.

Even now, he volunteered for the dangerous task of provoking Dimedes, the strongest foe, while handling the other chimeras.

The archer simply captured one surviving chimera and only watched from behind.

With this, it became certain.

A superior who leads by example in the most dangerous work can exist. But a subordinate who merely watches while their superior works cannot exist.

That swordsman, at the very least, is not the highest commanding authority of Hydra Corp.

'Then is the archer the President, and the swordsman a Director? On the same level as Dimedes?'

The more he thought, the harder it was to accept. How could the two be the same rank?

'What if that idiot chimera had actually been delusional, mistaking itself for a Director?'

The old man reined in his thoughts, which were leading to idle speculation. That wasn't what mattered now.

Even with thirty-one chimeras, he hadn't obtained the swordsman's flesh and blood. There likely was no other offering quite as fitting for the ritual's conclusion.

'No help for it. If I pull out any more cultists, maintaining the ritual will become impossible.'

I give up on using that one as an offering. I'll perform the ritual with the remaining blood and flesh.

'Since those two might interfere with the ritual, it would be best to wait until they leave.'

That the archer and the swordsman would discern the existence of a behind-the-scenes manipulator from Dimedes's corpse was a foregone conclusion. But they were few in number.

A choice between fighting an adversary capable of controlling dozens of chimeras and demon-beasts with just the two of them, or retreating and returning better prepared.

In a situation where they didn't know where the enemy was hiding or what cards they had left, it was only rational to fall back briefly and come back after regrouping.

"And by then, the ritual will already be finished."

Even if the two intruders vacated the area for just half a day, he could complete the ritual.

Even if they used mind magic to peer into the captured chimera's memories, it would be meaningless. Because he had already cleaned out their brains beforehand.

No matter how talented the mage, they couldn't analyze the magic placed on the chimeras and find him.

Because he hadn't used magical power to control the chimeras, in other words, it wasn't magic.

How could anyone analyze a magic that didn't even exist?

It was the moment the old man smiled with ease.

"Hm?"

Ortes began to stride forward.

***

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"To catch the culprit."

It was an abrupt statement, as if a mystery novel had skipped the deduction process and suddenly named the culprit. When on earth had he figured out the culprit's location?

'Did he do something to the chimera?'

Neiro looked at the chimera trapped in the cage. No. He hadn't seen Ortes spray a reagent on it or cast magic on it.

In the first place, not much time had passed since they captured the chimera. Five minutes at most.

The only thing Ortes had done in that time was stare at the chimera for a moment.

'Can he find a hidden mage with just a mere gaze?'

Doubt surged for a moment, but Neiro decided to quietly defer to Ortes's opinion.

'What would happen even if I said I didn't want to go?'

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he'd be dragged along after hearing something like, "You're saying we should leave a potential threat to the President unchecked? Are you in your right mind?"

The one remaining scenario Neiro imagined was a cold purge declaration: "You've outlived your usefulness too. Former Director Neiro."

If Ortes had known, he would have been dumbfounded: "Do you think I'm some kind of human butcher who kills anyone who displeases the President?"

But Ortes's cold farewell as he sent Dimedes to the afterlife had been exactly that shocking to Neiro.

Meanwhile, Ortes was focusing on the line of mana connected to the chimera.

'How peculiar.'

Not magical power, but mana.

Normally, "mana" was the collective term for "the raw material needed to exercise paranormal abilities." A categorical concept encompassing magical power, Qi, and the like.

At the same time, mana had another meaning besides its categorical name. A term used specifically for pure paranormal raw material that had not been processed into a particular form.

A dictionary would probably record it as something like <Paranormal ability in its natural state, unrefined by mages. Becomes the raw material for magical power.> But Ortes thought this world's dictionaries were far too mage-biased.

'After all, mercenaries other than mages also use mana to refine Qi.'

In other words, methods of using unprocessed mana itself were extremely rare.

'Could divine power be something that handles mana in its pure, unadulterated state?'

Ortes recalled the lingering thoughts of the ancient priest he had met at Phoibos's temple before. Certainly, he had felt a heterogeneous power from that one, different from magical power or Qi.

Ortes, who had been fingering the crystal relic in his breast pocket, eventually shook his head.

'No. Divine power was also different from mana in some way. What on earth is this magic-like thing?'

After mulling it over, Ortes finally made a decision.

'I'll go catch and beat the answer out of them first, then think about it.'

***

Warnings continued to sound on the augmented reality display of Neiro's gas mask. An alert that something was off about the air's composition.

'Mages who handle plants tend to spread toxic spores... Is this that kind of wide-area suppression magic?'

Oh.

Come to think of it, doesn't the Office Head of the Divinity Investigation Office not have a gas mask or a respirator?

"Ortes!"

Aghast, Neiro ran toward Ortes to check for symptoms of poisoning.

"Hm? An attack?"

But Ortes wore his usual indelible smile at the corner of his mouth as always. Not a speck of poisoning symptoms like difficulty breathing or bloodshot eyes was visible.

"...It's just that something like poison is floating in the air."

Neiro felt somehow embarrassed.

"Thank you for this. It seems we came to the right place."

Poison had been dispersed, and they came to the right place? Neiro interpreted Ortes's words carefully.

"I see! A mage's stronghold would naturally be rigged with traps to prevent intrusion. Capturing the chimera was to find the place with the strongest scent, like a kind of tracking dog."

If that was the case, it made sense that Ortes had found the enemy's hideout just by looking at the chimera's face.

The fact that they had so skillfully modified the chimera meant they were deeply versed in life-type magic of the Wood or Earth attributes. The kind of defensive measure such people would use was usually poison of some sort.

But demon-beasts often ate the poisonous herbs that served as poison ingredients as food, or gathered the toxic components for self-defense. The enemy mage, for efficiency's sake, would have used their own poisonous herbs as feed for the chimeras.

By exploiting the wounded chimera's instinct to seek prey, he had found the enemy's hideout!

Neiro marveled at that keen eye.

'What on earth did he just understand, and how?'

Ortes fell into a doubt: 'Is that old man actually a bit of an airhead?'

***

'How...!'

They had come straight to the heart of the ritual without a moment's hesitation. Not to the center of the magic circle where mana would normally converge, but to a spot slightly offset to the east.

The detection tools installed around the hideout relayed the voices from above ground.

"Hm? There's a trace of concealment under that rock. Looks like a passage quite a few people have used."

"Indeed. A hunter indeed, aren't you."

"What do you mean 'indeed'?"

"Ah, my apologies. The suits you wore to the conference room suited you so well that it was easy to forget you're a hunter, Director."

He had watched their movements through the eyes of the human-faced birds, just in case, but he never dreamed they'd actually track him all the way here.

An intuition so unnerving.

The old man thought of the cultists bound in the burnt offering room. Should he fight against them, even if it meant using up part of the offerings?

No. Given the power they had shown against the chimeras, even sacrificing ten offerings would hardly be enough to overwhelm them.

"If that many die, the blood we can offer to the god will run short."

Muttering in a gloomy voice, the old man picked up his grapevine staff and made his way to the center of the altar.

There was no help for it. The preparations weren't perfect and part of the formation had been damaged, but he had no choice but to perform the ritual immediately.

Fortunately, the barrier was in place, so it would take considerable time for them to get inside. He just needed to succeed in the ritual, even in abbreviated form, and open the gate.

"Great Bacchus, twice-born Bacchus. I offer blood unto you, so transform it into wine that promises immortality, reborn anew..."

If he compensated for what was lacking with his own power, since the offerings were plentiful enough-

"What are you doing?"

A voice suddenly spoke.

The old man reflexively roused his divine power. The authority bestowed by the god of pleasure and wine bloomed. A sticky sweetness laced with floral scent spread through the space.

It was a holy prayer that mimicked the scent of the divine wine. A dizzying aroma of alcohol that would intoxicate and fell anyone the moment they caught even a whiff.

But Ortes did not waver.

"A violet robe. You must be quite high up in the Bacchus cult. Isn't that a color granted only to bishops?"

A question thrown in a clear voice. Sikton, the old bishop of the Bacchus cult, trembled.

Those who knew the cult in such detail were either believers like themselves...

"You wretch! Dog of the Ten Towers! You've come all the way here?!"

...or Blasphemia, who had long been slaughtering their comrades.

"Now I see why you were so much stronger than those ragtag chimeras. You belonged to the Ten Towers..."

***

A voice full of resentment, muttering while glaring at me.

It had been the right call to have Neiro wait up above, telling him to bring word to Karisia if I didn't make it out.

That old man seemed to have an imagination that ran in strange directions. If he'd heard what this man was saying, he'd have blown my deeds out of proportion with another bizarre speculation.

'But what I feel here is divine power?'

Certainly, until I interfered, the energy flowing through the magic circle had been divine power. It was somewhat different from what I'd felt at Phoibos's temple, perhaps because the god was different.

'Then what was that technique that handled mana itself?'

"Please calm yourself, elder."

I took out Phoibos's crystal relic from my breast pocket. Both to put the Bacchus bishop at ease and create an opening, and to draw out information.

"I am not Blasphemia. If I were such a blasphemer, would I be keeping Phoibos Proopsios's relic this reverently?"

The crystal in my hand emitted light. Beholding the crystal's radiance, the old bishop's mouth fell open.

"A relic of Lord Phoibos! So it was because you were a prophet who sees the truth that the illusion barrier didn't work!"

The bishop's expression, initially startled, changed completely. Somehow, his demeanor was even fiercer than when he had mistaken me for Blasphemia.

"Then the Pope sent you. If he precisely chose and sent a priest of Phoibos who could see through Bacchus's distraction, the reason is obvious...!"

Embarrassment came over me.

Of course, there was also the surprise that every person I'd met recently was committing an act of betrayal against their own organization.

But the question occupying the largest part of my embarrassment was something else.

'The Pope... that actually exists?'

So it wasn't just Blasphemia's made-up lore?

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