Chapter 114 – So-Called Privileges
The days seemed to have looped back to the very beginning—back to when they had first set sail in pursuit of the Bandaged Man.
Zachary the priest.
Connie.
Charles.
Along with a crew of sailors and deckhands, all aboard a steamship roaring noisily across the open sea.
The difference was that this time, the Midsummer had been replaced by the Seagull.
The sailors and crew were not the same people either.
And there was one more addition aboard.
A "dog."
Charles stared in a daze at the white island slowly receding into the distance, his thoughts drifting back to the last thing he remembered before being knocked unconscious.
At that time, everyone had been wary of him—openly guarded, even hostile.
Yet for reasons he still didn't understand, everything had changed after he woke up.
The hostility was gone.
The treatment had improved.
Even Zachary—the Church's formidable expert—had once again donned a gentle, reassuring smile.
Leaning against the railing on deck, Charles finally couldn't help asking the unremarkable-looking middle-aged priest beside him. Zachary still looked a little pale, as though he hadn't fully recovered from the battle at the necromancer's lair.
"Where are we heading?"
"First to Port Thane," Zachary replied. "Then to the Church headquarters in Dulin. After that—if you wish—you may return to Pita City."
"Why Dulin?" Charles frowned instinctively. "Is this still not over?"
No explanation had been given, but judging by the way he was being treated, his suspicions should already have been cleared.
So what exactly was going on now?
Or rather—was there ever going to be an end to this?
"No," Zachary said softly. "This is a good thing."
After a brief pause, he added, "Later, you should ask Connie for a book called Blood of Inheritance. I believe it will be of great help to you."
Help?
Charles's gaze lingered on the horizon, the question echoing quietly in his mind as the Seagull pressed onward through the waves.
Charles wanted to ask more, but Zachary smoothly shifted the topic.
"As for your sister's bloodline curse—if all goes well, the Church will assign specialists to deal with it, so you don't need to worry. Once we reach the capital, if you choose to stay there, we can send people to bring your sister over as well."
"…Why would I stay in the capital?"
Charles was genuinely stunned, and equally puzzled by what the priest was saying.
Since when had his treatment become this good?
In the past, Zachary had been polite—he had even helped him shortly after they first met—but never to this extent. This felt different.
Too proactive.
Too deliberate.
It was unmistakably an attempt to draw him in.
Yes—recruitment.
From his words and demeanor, Zachary's attitude toward Charles had quietly undergone a complete reversal.
What did they discover?
The thought flashed through Charles's mind, inevitably bringing up that vague, unexplained "inspection."
They were being courteous rather than rejecting him, showing no hostility—meaning whatever lay inside him had not been fully exposed. And the reason for this sudden goodwill…
Charles's thoughts drifted to a certain ability that had fallen dormant due to changes in the world.
"But what does that actually mean?"
Before he could piece it together, Zachary made it clear he had no intention of satisfying Charles's curiosity. When Charles pressed further, the priest simply closed his mouth and said nothing.
So it really is important.
That realization made Charles more wary rather than reassured.
No one understood what that thing truly was better than he did. In a sense, it was proof of divinity.
And what would happen to an external god if it fell into the hands of a native god—or its agents?
"Just when one wave settles, another rises," Charles thought bitterly.
For the first time, he felt an intense urgency to grow stronger.
If he were powerful enough to defeat the man standing beside him, then staying or leaving would be his decision.
"At the very least, I wouldn't be pushed around like this."
He gazed down at the rolling seawater and instinctively thought of the mountain of books beyond the gate.
Those weren't books.
They were steps.
Cruel steps.
Cold steps.
Terrifying steps.
Yet steps that could break every chain binding him.
He refused to remain like this forever.
His treatment had improved—
And yet an inexplicable sense of humiliation rose within him.
Fortunately, with the mask in place, not a trace of it showed on his face.
Instead, he casually changed the subject.
"That one—was he cursed?"
He gestured toward the distance.
Under the sunlight stood a white-robed young man with brilliant blond hair, sharply sculpted features, and a tall nose—handsome by any standard.
Yet his behavior completely destroyed that impression.
He was squatting on all fours in a corner of the deck, sniffing the planks with that proud nose, occasionally turning his head to watch his surroundings.
He looked exactly like a dog.
"That's right," Zachary said. "A Flicker Curse. One of the Black Rats' most disgusting tricks. It swaps the spiritual bodies of humans and animals."
"So he has a human body… but a dog's soul?"
"Exactly."
"Then his human soul…"
"In the dog." Zachary glanced at him with pity. "Prince Anthony was cursed into a dog. It caused quite a stir back then. Unfortunately, the culprit was never found—until it turned out to be his own brother."
Charles vaguely remembered hearing about this in his previous life.
"But that was years ago, wasn't it?"
"Three years."
"And the curse has lasted this long? You couldn't break it?"
"A complete soul transfer isn't easy to fix," Zachary said calmly. "To undo the curse, his soul must be retrieved. A dog's soul in his original body can't accomplish anything."
He paused, then added, "The Black Rats' methods may be crude, but they can be extremely troublesome."
"Is that why you chased him so relentlessly?" Charles asked. He had always been curious what the Bandaged Man had done to warrant even angels descending.
"No. The Church rarely involves itself in internal affairs of kingdoms. Rescuing him was merely a bonus."
"Then what was the real reason?"
"A necromantic tomb."
"A… necromantic tomb?" The phrase sounded contradictory—even to Charles.
Zachary offered no explanation, only shook his head.
Charles took the hint and stopped asking.
The Bandaged Man had carried many secrets, but with the failure of possession, they had all vanished into nothingness. Charles occasionally dreamed of him, but the fragments were trivial and useless.
It was frustrating.
Compared to a lifetime of memories, true secrets were nothing more than drops in the ocean.
Relying on random dreams to uncover them was like fishing for a needle in the sea.
"…But it's not entirely impossible."
Charles thought of a certain book he had obtained on the island.
The Church's greatest enemies were the Demon Apostles, but necromancers were hardly treated any better—pursued with nearly the same ferocity.
A century ago, necromancers had been driven nearly to extinction. Under constant pressure, they lacked both corpses for practice and opportunities to refine their combat techniques.
Thus, a genius—or perhaps a madman—proposed a radical idea:
If reality offered no freedom, then what about dreams?
In dreams, there could be endless corpses for spell practice, unlimited materials for alchemy, and countless enemies to test one's power against…
The book was thick, and at the time Charles had an entire bookshelf to skim through. He had only read the preface.
He didn't yet know the details.
But if his understanding was correct, then weaving and exploring dreams might actually be possible.
"…Or it could just be wishful thinking."
He pushed the thought aside for now and continued chatting casually with the priest.
He subtly probed about his current "treatment," but Zachary merely smiled and said Charles would understand once they arrived.
Since this concerned his very survival, Charles couldn't afford to ignore it.
Leaving the deck, he went straight to Connie's quarters and asked for the book titled Blood of Inheritance.
He noticed the strange look in her eyes.
At the time, he didn't understand why.
But once he returned to his cabin and opened the book, he began to vaguely grasp what awaited him.
This was a book about Paths.
It detailed the various advancement routes within the Church, complete with explanations.
Heavenly races.
Sacred professions.
The Path of Justice…
As he turned page after page describing the Church's power systems, Charles fell into deep thought.
"…Does the Church want me to step directly into the Circle?"