Walking over to the corpse of the priest, Johnathan, Mican wiped the mace clean on his clothes.

Despite his ruthlessness in the battle, it was the first time the young man had killed a fellow sentient being before in his life.

Even so, he felt no regrets about it and had come to terms with himself. If he did feel bad about the death, he believed that he would have been truly disgusted with himself. It would be a lie for him to say he wasn’t a total hypocrite, but when it came to morality, Mican believed himself to be firm and unwavering.

After he finished cleaning he quickly patted down the other corpses, searching for any valuables.

There were a few small throwing knives and daggers on Mirabel’s body, which he took and strapped to his own belt. Brewster carried with him a small pouch filled with what seemed to be silver coins, which Mican assumed to be the expenditure money for the job that they had taken.

Other than these, there was nothing else that Mican could easily carry while on the run, so he decided to leave all of it.

There was only one other object of curiosity lying on the ground, beneath the corpse of the scholar of the party. It was the long staff that Leigh had been waving around while chanting, pointing it at Mican.

From what the young man could infer, it seemed to be the source of the power that the scholar had used on him, the one that left him entirely in slow motion. Due to this, it attracted his attention immediately.

Flipping the corpse over, Mican picked up the wooden staff on the ground and inspected it closely.

The staff was light-brown in appearance, long and slender but seemingly very roughly made, with several knots of wood throughout the stick and the base being very uneven. It was as if someone had picked a walking stick off of the ground, but despite this, there was a certain elegance about it.

The wood was extremely sturdy, and it felt as if it wouldn’t break even if it was used to bash someone’s head in. At the tip of the staff there was a knot of wood that was larger than the rest.

There was a very clear piece of golden amber embedded inside of the knot of wood, which had been hollowed out from the top. The amber wasn’t visible unless one looked at the staff from the top, or had it pointed at them.

Encased inside of the amber rested a small golden string that was about a finger in length. It gave off the feeling of extreme elegance although being so little in size, and it seemed to almost shine. It was very clearly a single strand of hair.

That god-like power that flipped his understanding of reality had come from such a small item? It was merely a piece of hair.

Curious, Mican stared at it for a few long seconds before bringing it towards the jail wagon. Crouching down to the head, he pointed the tip of the staff toward it and remained completely silent.

The young man knew well that in situations where one needed to act without any knowledge, the more one spoke the more obvious the flaws would be, so he stayed silent.

“M-my lord? What is it that you require of me? Please tell me and I will faithfully follow your commands.” A few long seconds passed before the head spoke out nervously.

Mican said nothing, staying quiet and merely staring at the head.

Half a minute of silence passed, and nervousness seemed to emanate from it as it lay there in trepidation.

“I-If you are asking me how that lowly godcraftsman obtained such an item for his rank, I do not know, my lord. It is not normal.”

Mican continued to remain in complete silence, staring at the head with an emotionless expression.

“A thousand pardons my lord, you likely have not cared to understand these pathetic systems of men, please allow me to explain it to you.” The head’s teeth began shivering from his anxiety, his speech becoming faster.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Seeing as how Mican still gave no reaction, the head thought he had given the wrong answer, and he began grasping for the right words to say.

“I do not know where he had obtained it my lord, I promise! I had met him only a mere few days ago.”

The words triggered no negative feeling in him, so he assumed it to be the truth, but Mican still frowned anyway.

“My lord! The hair is likely from one of the minor gods of time, in charge of the law of slowness judging from the nature of the spell crafted by that insect. I do not know anything more than that, not their rank or name, I swear it upon my true name so please forgive me. You would know more than I on this subject, by far!”

Just as the head seemed to be on the verge of tears, Mican stood up and turned away, easing his expression.

So it was indeed a spell that the scholar had casted. The law of slowness? A minor god? A godcraftsman? What did it mean to craft a spell, and why was a hair used as a medium? There were a few important tidbits of information in the information provided by the head.

The law of slowness was probably the power the god controlled, given his knowledge of mythology on his old world.

There were clearly multiple gods, both minor and major, and they were also segregated into ranks based on the demon’s words.

The scholar used the hair as a medium to cast the god’s power on Mican, but he didn’t know how he had accomplished such a feat.

A loud crack sounded out as Mican snapped the large knot on the staff of wood off, putting it into one of the pouches on his belt. He tossed the other end to the ground and turned around.

Walking over to Mirabel’s corpse, he ripped off a large chunk of her blue cloak. He then walked back to the demon’s head on the ground and picked him up, placing it inside and wrapping it up in a makeshift rucksack.

Slinging the bag over his shoulders, he began sprinting down the cobblestone path, away from the outpost.

The green trees of the forest flashed by on his right, and the vast rolling plains of grass extended as far as the eye could see on the left.

Wind brushed Mican’s skin, ruffling his clothing. Muffled thuds sounded out with every step he took as the head bounced on his back from the momentum.

A few minutes of running passed by, and the path closed from the plains into more forest.

Feeling slightly content with the distance he had put between himself and the battlefield, Mican slowed down to a walking pace on the path. He followed the cobblestone road and took the brief respite to catch his breath.

“Rose.”

“Yes! My lord?” In response to his call, a muffled voice sounded out from the package over his shoulder.

“Tell me, what language are we speaking?”

“In response to my lord. We are speaking in the divine language of the gods.” A curious tone sounded out from the head as he responded to the question.

“Oh? Then what language were those party members speaking?”

“They were speaking the main language of Million, Godsech.”

From his question, it seemed to Mican that he somehow understood two completely new languages that he had never heard of before, yet they sounded exactly like his native language.

It was clear to him that he did not immediately learn two new languages, but that they were somehow translated back to him to the one he was most familiar with.

He desperately wanted to ask why, but seeing as to how it would obviously raise suspicion and how it was not important to him at the moment, he held back his curiosity.

“My lord, if you are done with me, I plead of you to grant me death. There is no use in me being by your side, as a meagre cambion.”

“…Why were you inside of that cage, Rose?” An anxious, muffled voice sounded out, but Mican quickly shut it out with a question of his own.

“My lord, you may not know but the Church of War had recently decided to undertake a great culling of fiends and demons. I was one of the main targets of the raid, and the Church sent after me highly ranked members of the clergy and paladins. As a mere cambion, I stood little chance under their onslaught and was captured.” The demon spoke out in a sobbing tone, as if asking for sympathy from Mican.

“Those party members did not seem highly ranked to me.”

“No my lord, they were merely lower members of the clergy and a party of adventurers they had hired. I humbly advise you caution, my lord. The priest you had killed was the grandson of one of the four archbishops of the Church of war, and the ant you had killed with the leather armor was the leader of his own little band of ruffians. They had sent out other members of their respective groups so as to throw my fiends off their track, on separate paths. They are likely both after you as of now.”

The information provided by the head was plentiful, and Mican could tell of at least three factions at play in the world. The Church of War, the adventurers, and the demons.

If there was a church for one god, then there must be many more for others. The young man could already infer to one as with the forementioned god of time.

“Arrogant and ignorant humans. Once they had gotten a taste of power from the gods, they took it and are playing gods themselves.” Words full of disdain came out from the pouch in Mican’s back, inciting curiosity in him.

From the religion that Mican knew on his own world, demons and gods were always at odds with each other. Here, the head was completely subservient to him, who it thought to be a god.

“Explain to me the groups of power in play, Rose.” The young man asked another question.

He deemed it to be a safe question, seeing as to how the demon was willing to explain it to him from before.

“…” But he was met with only silence.

“Head.” Furring his brow, he stopped walking and sounded his concern.

Placing the pouch on the ground, he unraveled it and faced it silently.

“My lord, why have you not scolded me for disobeying the commands of the heavens?”

He felt its beady gaze on him, inspecting him closely.