Chapter Fifty-Four: The Crimson Scholar

Veyd turned over the wanted notice, while the gnome quietly waited for him to read.

At the very top of the notice was inscribed, “By the command of the King and in the holy name.” It was a bounty decree jointly issued by the Twilight Church and King Tanya.

The decree listed Sweyn’s crimes: looting monasteries, desecrating holy relics, murdering twelve church knights, six nuns, eight clerics, and countless civilians…

This was likely only a fraction of Sweyn’s offenses; the villages and towns he had plundered, especially the more remote ones, were not even accounted for—without catching him in the act, it was difficult to determine the perpetrator.

Veyd continued reading. After the crimes, there was a description of Sweyn’s appearance: a man built like a savage bear, with deep scars across his back and abdomen.

A roughly sketched portrait accompanied the text. The illustration was fairly well done, capturing about seventy percent of his likeness, with a vivid sense of character.

Further down, the notice detailed the bounty: dead or alive, anyone presenting Sweyn’s head along with the Dawngleamer would receive one hundred church gold coins. In addition, the reward included a coastal fief five leagues along the North Sea of Tanya, exemption from family taxes for three generations, and the grant of a knighthood.

At the bottom, an extra note was appended: “Returning the Dawngleamer alone shall be deemed fulfillment of the bounty, but no royal reward shall be granted. The one who completes the bounty will receive the friendship of the Church and be bestowed the Honorary Cleric Medal.”

To deliver both the head and the sword would not only bring wealth but also noble status and land—though it was not the most fertile territory, the reward was generous indeed.

Moreover, the title of Honorary Cleric was rarely conferred except upon merchants or nobles who had made substantial donations to the Church.

There were many privileges: the faith of the Twilight Church spanned the continent, and an Honorary Cleric could eat and lodge for free at local monasteries or churches. In times of need, they could call upon the aid of church knights and priests, and purchase internal goods not otherwise available—such as undiluted high-grade holy water.

The rewards listed on this wanted notice far exceeded the practical value of a Dawngleamer-class weapon.

It was clear that this was not only an attempt to recover lost honor—retrieving the Dawngleamer itself was a matter of saving face.

Those who had offended the “god” must pay the price.

Unfortunately, the Viking longships were too nimble. Relying on his ship and sleds, Sweyn had evaded justice for three years, wandering beyond the reach of law, and no one had managed to capture him.

After three years of silence, even those who posted the bounty must have felt all hope was lost.

Who could have predicted it?

A notorious pirate would finally meet his end in a tiny village on Tanya’s border.

But for Veyd to personally deliver this “Demonbane Sword” to the Church would be rather ridiculous—ordinary people might not see through his disguise, but if an undead creature walked into a church, the priests would likely be so shocked they’d invoke “Holy Light” on the spot in an attempt to purify him.

Veyd thought it wiser to keep the Dawngleamer for his own use for now.

Before returning the notice, Veyd glanced at the lower right corner—and suddenly froze.

There, the issue date was written: Twilight Calendar, Year 1189.

The Twilight Calendar was the Church’s system, effectively the continent’s common era. Each country had its own calendar for traditional festivals and New Year, but internationally, the Twilight Calendar was the standard.

Old York had said the notice was issued three years ago, which meant this year was 1192 in the Twilight Calendar…

Veyd suddenly felt a bit dazed. Ten years—it had already been ten years since his death…

A decade of emptiness. He remembered drafting his will, being buried beneath Helburg in the Netherlands. But astonishingly, ten years had gone by.

Looking on the bright side, it hadn’t been a hundred or two hundred years, and, indeed, having the chance to sit here and feel anything at all after death was a stroke of luck.

Yet ten years was enough to change too many things.

He couldn’t help but think of his old home in the Netherlands, reminiscing about days gone by.

Faces and objects from the past appeared vividly in his mind. His gloved forefinger brushed over the date in the lower right corner of the parchment.

For a long time, Veyd sat in a daze before finally writing on the page: “Thank you for your answers.”

“Is there anything else you’d like York to see?” Old York inquired.

Veyd wrote, “Allow me to draw it for you.”

“Draw it?” Old York looked puzzled.

“I only know its appearance,” Veyd explained in writing.

“Oh…” said Old York. “Would you like some tools? York has rulers and compasses.”

“Thank you. I’ll use them carefully,” Veyd replied.

Old York bent down and pulled out another drawer, producing a set of drafting tools: straightedge, compass, and triangle. He also offered Veyd a stick of stone-ground lead, suitable for drawing.

It was a primitive pencil, lacking a wooden casing, apt to dirty one’s hands. But Old York had made improvements himself, using an iron clip to hold the lead stick—making it feel much like a wooden pencil, only heavier.

“York has several sets. Use them as you please.”

Veyd nodded, pulled five sheets of rough paper from the stack, and began to draw.

First, he sketched three views of the twenty-sided die, employing a draftsmanship bordering on art. With his masterful control over his body, his renderings were quite impressive.

As Old York watched, he stood up, apparently astonished by Veyd’s skill. “May York watch you draw?” he asked.

“Of course,” Veyd wrote on another sheet.

So Old York moved his stool beside Veyd, climbed up, and leaned in to observe.

Veyd did his utmost to reproduce the twenty-sided die, and also drew the golden bird and garland motif from the mage’s robe.

Five sheets, each with an image. The details of the die were so intricate that he couldn’t perfectly capture every organ on each face, but he managed to render the bird and garland flawlessly—their lines were simple to begin with.

He handed the sketches to Old York, who examined them closely and exclaimed, “Remarkable draftsmanship! These are the finest sketches York has ever seen—you should be a painter.”

Veyd did not reply, but wrote, “Can you discern the origin of this die?”

Old York tapped his head. “Let York think… It seems familiar, but also a bit different.”

York hurried to the bookshelf to consult his references, returning with several thick tomes of parchment. Comparing Veyd’s drafts, he flipped through them page by page.

Veyd sat quietly across from him, not wanting to disturb.

Lost in thought, he reflected on the ten-year void.

The sound of turning pages filled the small study.

Old York eventually took out a pocket watch. “You can wait outside if you wish—York will call you when he’s finished.”

Veyd considered this, then wrote: “May I read your books in the meantime?”

“Of course. Just don’t take any of York’s books outside,” Old York replied.

“Thank you.” Veyd rose and selected a book at random from the shelf to read.

Tick-tock, tick-tock—the passage of time, neither long nor short.

At last, Old York exhaled deeply. “York found something similar, though he can’t be sure it’s what you seek.”

Veyd closed the book and sat upright. “Please go on.”

“This peculiar die might be connected to a secretive magical order,” Old York began. “The order is known as the Crimson Academy—an ancient and mysterious society of mages. They wield true magic—not mere spells, but actual magic.”

“True magic?” Veyd was puzzled.

“Take a spell like Light, for example—it’s constructed with spell circuits, like a mathematical formula,” Old York explained. “Think of it this way: Light is like one plus one equals two. Do you follow?”

“One plus one equals two,” Old York said, touching two fingers together.

Veyd nodded.

“True magic is not as straightforward as one plus one equals two. Magic is a miracle; it does not obey ordinary logic.”

“The Crimson Scholars of the Academy practice true magic. York has never met one, but it’s said they pay with their own organs as sacrifice and price to gain the power to work magic.”

“It just seems similar to me—I can’t be certain. But this die resembles the legendary secret emblem of the Crimson Academy.”

“Those mysterious and wise scholars each bore a die engraved with organs as their crest,” Old York continued. “But no scholar possessed a die so whole as yours. The books say each scholar would have only ‘one face of the die,’ and each crest was unique.”

“It may relate to the kind of magic they inherited, but the specifics are unknown. It’s more like a legend—York cannot vouch for its truth. Perhaps it is merely an author’s invention.”