Chapter 7

12th Day, Lower Fire Month, 1 CE

Sierra Norte was the rather plain name for the mountain range that ran along the northern coast of the Holy Kingdom. According to Neia’s father, it was part of the much more extensive range that separated Re-Estize from the Abelion Wilderness, which stretched all the way to the Katze Plains. Rangers had a certain sense for terrain, so Neia was sure he wasn’t wrong.

As with most of the Holy Kingdom, Sierra Norte didn’t stick out in any notable way compared to the natural features of far-off places. There weren’t any floating islands, upside-down waterfalls, or enclaves of mystical peoples such as Birdmen or Genies. It didn’t even have a single resident Dragon, which her father noted was extraordinarily strange. The Holy Kingdom’s Royal Army had long cleaned out any tribes of Demihumans, though rumours always persisted about them lurking somewhere deep within the range’s densely wooded valleys.

The mountains weren’t even very tall, with the highest peak barely standing fifteen hundred metres above the sea. Together with its sister range, the Sierra Sur – which wasn’t even half of Sierra Norte’s height – the two mountain ranges formed the spines of the twin peninsulas of the Holy Kingdom of Roble.

Still, as mundane as the Sierra Norte was, it held a special significance for Neia. It could be seen from Hoburns and was crowned in snow during the winter, and gazing at them as a little girl had always filled her with a sense of adventure.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Saye said. “What sort of massacre are you plotting with that smile?”

Neia wiped the grin off of her face, but it came back a few seconds later.

“What’s making you so happy, anyway?” Saye asked.

“I have a lot of good memories of this place,” Neia answered.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Well, not here here, but around here. When I was a little girl, my father always brought me to the mountains when he was off duty.”

It was in the wilderness of Sierra Norte that her father had taught her the fundamentals of a Ranger’s craft. She ended up joining the Holy Order despite his insistence that she was more suited to follow in his footsteps, but it was still a precious gift that he had left with her.

“Why didn’t you become a Ranger like your father? Everything that I know about you should’ve meant you should have become one.”

“I ask myself that question once in a while,” Neia said. “I guess it just didn’t seem glamorous to me back then.”

“Glamorous?”

“Y-You get it, don’t you?” Neia scratched her cheek in embarrassment, “Even if I liked coming out to the mountains with my father once in a while, I was born and raised in the city. My mother was an elite Paladin and I looked up to her a lot. Everyone respects the Holy Order, too. Becoming a Paladin was very attractive to me back then.”

“But not anymore?”

“Well, getting discharged made me reflect on my choices. Being a Ranger like my father would have probably led to a more successful career. At the same time, however, I think joining the Holy Order was my destiny.”

“A destiny that you got kicked out of…”

“Wh-What I meant is that if I hadn’t joined the Holy Order, I wouldn’t have travelled to E-Rantel after the Demon Emperor invaded and I wouldn’t have been assigned to the Sorcerer King as His Majesty’s attendant. He might not have even helped the Holy Kingdom if I hadn’t been there and I wouldn’t have had the chance to understand His Majesty’s greatness and the Path of Justice.”

The Path of Justice was what she decided to officially call the way of life encouraged by the Sorcerer King’s wisdom. Saye noted that it had many similarities to the Eightfold Path – which was the Path of Enlightenment that all Buddhists endeavoured to follow – but Neia insisted that it was an entirely different thing. Buddhists considered the Undead to be physical manifestations of beings in the Preta Domain and purging any such beings from their wretched existence was not only a natural duty but also an act of compassion. They obviously wouldn’t heed the wisdom of the Sorcerer King.

“Oh, speaking of which, I got these from you.”

Saye reached into the bag under her seat and produced several scroll cases.

“What are they?”

“First-tier scrolls for you to learn from,” the Bard told her.

“Me?”

“You founded a moral philosophy, right? That means you should be able to cast magic. Well, at least if it’s legitimate.”

Neia snatched one of the scroll cases. A part of her knew that the Bard was baiting her, but she couldn’t help but react to her provocation. A slight frown turned her lips as she opened the lid of the container and pulled out the scroll inside.

“Isn’t this scroll from the Temples?”

“They were more than happy to take my money,” Saye shrugged. “I got a few other things for myself, as well.”

“But this is divine magic…”

“It’s Light Cure Wounds. All sorts of casters can cast it. Clerics, Priests, Druids, Alchemists, Monks…”

Did it work like that? It was true that casters from many different categories of spellcasting could cast Light Cure Wounds, but learning it from a scroll purchased from the Faith of the Four felt wrong in various ways.

“Give it a try,” Saye said, “it’s not as if I can ask for a refund.”

“Mmh…”

As Neia concentrated on reading the scroll, it went up in a flash of azure flame. A faint green glow washed over Saye.

“Ahh! I’m so sorry! I’ll pay you back–”

“Ohhhhh!!!”

Neia nearly jumped out of her seat as a cheer rose from behind them.

“As expected of Miss Baraja!”

“We can have our own healers, now!”

“Miss Baraja,” Mister Moro said from the seat behind her, “shall we create a schedule for healing fees? Also, I believe it would be prudent to add spellcasting to our discipleship program.”

But who’s going to teach that?

She didn’t voice the question aloud, as the answer was obviously her. Except she had no idea what she was doing. Magic casting courses weren’t available until after one was ordained by the Holy Order.

“I guess that answers that,” Saye said. “Congratulations.”

“Hehehe…”

Neia faced forward, settling back onto her seat. Though she was still thoroughly confused, she was also giddy with excitement. Scroll use was limited to those already capable of casting the spell that the scroll contained. She wasn’t a member of the Holy Order anymore, so that meant the Path of Justice was a legitimate moral philosophy that could produce its own magic casters. As its Founder, she was the first of them.

Having magic casters would undoubtedly be useful, so she would have to figure out how to teach magic to others. But, first, she needed to figure out how to cast magic herself.

“Miss Baraja,” a voice called from the back of the ship, “we’re nearly there.”

“Mm. I see it.”

They were sailing inland on a barge along one of the navigable rivers flowing down the northern slopes of the Sierra Norte. Their course brought them to a lake nestled deep in the foothills of the mountains, and their destination was a timber town built at the lake’s outlet.

Their vessel went past several waterwheels powering timber mills before arriving at the town’s docks. Commander Lobo saluted as they drifted in alongside one of the piers.

“Welcome to Cicuta, Miss Baraja.”

“Thank you, Commander Lobo,” Neia nodded as she hopped onto the pier. “Were there any issues taking the town?”

“No, ma’am,” the Commander replied. “Went as smoothly as all the rest.”

She wondered if that was truly the case. Regions with forestry-based economies had a much higher percentage of Rangers and Ranger-like people. Los Ganaderos couldn’t operate properly in mountainous terrain and the Corps had a limited number of Rangers specialised for it. If they were going to have a warning slip through their net to reach the royalists, it would be at this point.

“How is our progress upstream?”

“We haven’t had any reports of trouble,” Commander Lobo replied. “Our people have secured the route to the site.”

A second barge arrived to moor at the pier next to theirs. Rather than soldiers, both of their vessels were filled with a mix of civilian volunteers from the Corps and people who were interested in learning about the Path of Justice.

“Miss Baraja,” a familiar voice came across the water, “it’s good to see you again.”

She looked over to the other pier, where Jan Soto was disembarking from the other barge.

“Good Morning, Mister Soto,” Neia bobbed her head. “Thank you so much for coming to help.”

“It’s the very least we could do,” Mister Soto replied. “Plus, we’re pretty excited about building a fortress up in the mountains.”

“It’s not exactly a fortress…”

It sort of was. The ‘site’ Commander Lobo referred to would be the first of the holdings that would serve as both strongholds for the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps and camps where disciples could focus on following the Sorcerer King’s wisdom and strengthen themselves. Other, similar, ‘fortress monasteries’ would be established deep in the Sierra Norte where they held key passes over the mountains in near-unassailable positions. This would also enable the Corps to project power all along both sides of the mountain range.

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Neia thought that the last part sounded a bit too militant in its application, but the notion of having a strong line of defence was very appealing to the Holy Kingdom’s people in general. Additionally, every member of the Corps understood that they were responsible for upholding their justice and those who weren’t prepared could only wallow in remorse when they lost everything.

“Here’s your pack.”

Saye held out a backpack that was half her size with one arm. For some reason, no one seemed to notice how ridiculous that was. Then again, abnormal levels of physical strength were common amongst the Corps’ members, so they might have just rationalised it as her being one of them.

“Thanks,” Neia replied. “Commander Lobo, are there any problems with the trail?”

“The Rangers say it’s mostly dried out now,” the Commander said. “Honestly, I’d have never imagined a march like this would’ve been possible before recently.”

“I don’t think any of us could have imagined it before the war,” Neia nodded firmly. “We must always be thankful to His Majesty the Sorcerer King for sharing his wisdom with us.”

Their trek would take them to the highest range of the Sierra Norte by nightfall, assuming the trail was in good condition. The rivers were unnavigable past the lake and wagons were impossible to use on the route, so everyone carried as much as they thought was reasonable. Many were shouldering their weight in supplies. Even those who could fight and were expected to protect the column, like Neia and Saye, were carrying quite a bit.

Neia fought to keep herself from smiling proudly as the townsfolk gaped uncomprehendingly at the passing column. They probably thought an army of Adventurers had popped up out of nowhere and were off to fight a powerful monster. Maybe they could.

Twilight had fallen by the time they arrived at their destination, so they immediately went about setting up their tents in the area that the Rangers had marked out for them. Their campsite – and the site of their future settlement – was situated directly on top of the pass below Sierra Norte’s highest mountain. She looked up through the trees at its rounded peak, which was stripped bald by the north wind.

“It’s still green up there,” she said. “Hopefully that means we won’t get an early winter.”

“Does it get cold here?” Saye asked.

“A little bit,” Neia answered. “The big difference is the snow. Down around Hoburns, we never get any, but we can be buried in it up here.”

Her family had come on a trip to specifically experience the snowy winter when she was around eight. That was the first and last time her mother came to the mountains with them.

“Will we be able to set up everything in time?”

“Our first winter here will be in temporary housing,” Neia replied. “You don’t need to worry about comfort, though – log cabins can be pretty nice!”

Once they finished setting up their tent, Neia went around to chat with members of the Corps. Though they had a lot of work ahead of them, many were too excited about their new undertaking to go to turn in for the night. She went to stand at the edge of one of the larger crowds, which was gathered around a bonfire that created flickering shadows in the forest nearby.

“Oh, Miss Baraja! We’re so glad you’ve come to join us!”

The crowd parted and encouraged her to step forward with smiling faces. It reminded her a little bit of the gatherings they had during the war.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you all for coming to help,” Neia said.

“Perish the thought, Miss Baraja! If anything, this is our way of showing our appreciation for your teachings. After seeing how much suffering there’s been east of Lloyds, it’s become clearer than ever how important they are.”

“Mm,” Neia nodded. “That’s right. Without His Majesty’s wisdom, we would be powerless bystanders. But because everyone continued working hard even though the war was behind us, we now have the strength to address all of the horrible things that are happening in the north. It is my dearest wish that everyone we liberate will join us on the Path of Justice!”

“Miss Baraja,” a man’s hand popped up near the front of the crowd nearby. “My boy still has trouble understanding your teachings. Can you help him?”

“Of course!”

A dark-haired boy appeared from between a pair of men near the raised hand. He was probably around Saye’s age, with the awkward lankiness of a youth who had recently gained in height. There were even stains on his pants from tripping on the trail. He fidgeted under the stares of the crowd for several seconds before finding his tongue.

“Everyone says that weakness is a sin,” he said. “That the weak only cause problems for others, which is why we must become strong. But that would mean the weak are sinners. Children and babies are sinners; the frail and elderly are sinners. If that’s true, then we were all born sinners and we will all become sinners when we grow old. How can we follow the Path of Justice if weakness is our fate? Sin is something that we should hate, so should we hate the weak?”

There it is…

It was the question that had plagued Neia in the months after the war. Now, however, she was certain she had the answer. A group of men carried a log over and she stood upon it to speak.

“I, too, have asked myself that question,” her eyes scanned the faces all around. “During the war, the answer seemed obvious. Fiends and Demihumans had invaded our home. We were forced to pay for our weakness; forced to helplessly watch as our friends and families were massacred in the Demon Emperor’s onslaught.

“We were all sinners who believed that the Great Wall would protect us; that the Royal Army would protect us; that our champions would protect us. As we watched our homes burn, we realised, too late, that individual strength was necessary; that, ultimately, we were responsible for upholding our own justice. Too late, we understood that that strength wasn’t something that could be obtained as one might obtain a fish from the market or pay for with taxes.”

More and more people gathered around the bonfire, drawn by the sound of her voice. Night had fully fallen and a chill wind blew through the pass, but the heat of Neia’s passion seemed to drive away the cold.

“Most of us didn’t even understand the heights of strength until we witnessed the Sorcerer King’s greatness,” she continued. “To many, being able to lift a bigger bale of hay or pull in a net faster than others meant that they were strong. We served on the wall and witnessed the strength of the Demihuman tribes for generations, yet that strength was something we believed we could never obtain. It was the strength of Demihumans, Adventurers, and heroic figures, not regular Humans like you and me.

“But the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps proved that all to be a lie! It was laughably easy for us to retake our homes once we embraced His Majesty’s wisdom! At that point, I thought I understood strength…but I was wrong.”

Neia fell silent for a moment, then turned her gaze upon the boy who had asked the question.

“Tell me,” she asked, “what is weakness, and what is strength?”

“It’s like you said, right?” The boy answered, “The power to fight. To protect our homes and loved ones from anything that might come to destroy them or take them away.”

“Do we fight in our everyday lives? Did people come to attack us while we were rebuilding our homes or working in our shops?”

“No, but being stronger did help a lot.”

“For some, it did,” Neia nodded. “For others, not so much. Many who have come to help here work in physically demanding jobs such as woodworking and construction. You’ve undoubtedly reaped the benefits of increased physical strength. But that strength doesn’t help as much – if at all – with other vocations. Not unless they get attacked by criminals or something.

“Because of this, we must ask ourselves again what the meaning of strength and weakness is. The Sorcerer King is justice and thus can never be wrong, so it is our interpretation of his wisdom that is flawed in some way! If we think seriously about it, it should be clear that, while strength is always necessary, what counts as strength varies from situation to situation.”

Frowns crossed the faces of the crowd. The boy crossed his arms, biting his lip with a troubled expression.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What does that mean?”

“Consider Merchants,” Neia said. “What would a Merchant consider strength? Is it the ability to fight monsters or carry heavy loads? Do they learn how to cast magic or gain supernatural abilities?”

“No.”

“Then what counts as strength to a Merchant? What makes them stronger than other Merchants in a Merchant’s eyes?”

“Um…being better at business? Or maybe having more money?”

“Indeed,” Neia said, “those can be considered a form of strength.”

“But business can be interfered with,” the boy said, “and money can be taken away by someone better at fighting. That’s what the Nobles are doing to all these suffering people, aren’t they? A Merchant who’s strong that way can’t do anything about something like that.”

“That’s true,” Neia said. “But framing things like that is too simplistic. A warrior is only as good as their equipment and training, so just because they can take what they want from a Blacksmith by force doesn’t mean that the Blacksmith is weak. Indeed, that is part of the very trap that mires us in weakness! A strong Blacksmith creates strong equipment, which allows a strong warrior to be even stronger. Yet, we of the Holy Kingdom are not raised to think that way.

“It’s crazy, in hindsight. Why would a master Blacksmith not aim to become a grandmaster? Why would a grandmaster blacksmith settle with forging steel? Why not mithril, orichalcum or adamantite?”

“Because it’s next to impossible,” someone said. “Smiths who can work with adamantite are even rarer than Adamantite-rank Adventurers.”

“Is it next to impossible?” Neia asked, “After embracing the Sorcerer King’s wisdom and experiencing the gains that you have, can you honestly say it’s not within the realm of possibility? That it wasn’t simply the culture of weakness in the Holy Kingdom that turned what you say into common sense? Much of our common sense has already been overturned – who’s to say that this bit is also wrong?”

The crowd nodded along with her words. Being liberated by the Sorcerer King’s wisdom, they all keenly understood what she was getting at.

“Fair,” the man said. “But even if we become ‘strong’ enough to forge adamantite, it doesn’t solve the problem of supply. A thousand grandmaster smiths who can forge adamantite don’t mean much when there’s none of it to forge.”

“Even if that’s the case,” Neia said, “why is it that people always seek them out, even if it’s to craft equipment out of steel? Why do people come to artisans who have embraced the Sorcerer King’s wisdom over anyone else?”

“Oh…”

Understanding dawned upon the faces in the crowd.

“I see,” the man said. “Even if we can’t work with better metal, better smiths can still make superior products. We just didn’t do it because we operated according to guild standards. I don’t know why I didn’t think of things that way before.”

“This is what I mean by a ‘culture of weakness’,” Neia told the crowd. “Every aspect of our lives is steeped in mediocrity! The Guilds claim that they exist to regulate the market and maintain standards of excellence, yet, if you look at things from our perspective, it is a standard that tells both artisans and their customers what is ‘good enough’. Everything about our society compels us to wallow in weakness! We lived a life filled with comforting lies that encourage us to embrace the very sin that the Sorcerer King’s wisdom tells us to reject!”

“That’s horrible!”

“Why would they do that to us?”

“It’s like they wanted us to stay weak!”

“A conspiracy!”

“A conspiracy of weakness!”

“They turned us into sinners!”

A multitude of angry voices filled the air. Neia raised a hand to call for silence.

“You are right to be angry,” she said, “but anger alone is not enough. We must transform our anger into action, and, through action, we must bring about change to the Holy Kingdom! The injustice forced upon our people not only lies with the schemes of the nobility – it is also woven into the very fabric of our society! Our justice can only prevail if this insidious injustice is purged from Roble!”

“But what about the other things I asked about?” The boy said, “If weakness is a sin and injustice must be purged, does that mean we need to get rid of the young who are weak in every way?”

Neia smiled slightly at the boy’s expression. He looked like he expected to be purged on the spot.

“Humans are not Demihumans or Heteromorphs,” Neia said. “We are not born strong. The true problem lies in the terrible fact that we were raised to be weak by our culture of weakness, and therein lie the obstacles to the Path of Justice. We are told that it is pointless to improve after a certain point, and this is what keeps us on the path of sin. Weakness without the drive to improve one’s self is a sin! Everyone must strive towards the goal of becoming stronger. This truth must be made known to everyone far and wide!”

The crowd visibly brightened. This was surely the real truth of the Sorcerer King’s wisdom.

“How should we become stronger?” Someone asked, “Should we be training to strengthen ourselves against violent threats as we have before, or should we strengthen ourselves to become better at our craft?”

“With our understanding of the truth,” Neia answered, “that should never be a question. The limitations that we once placed on ourselves are lies. The Path of Justice demands that we cultivate the strength to uphold our justice. That strength is both the strength to fight against those who try to violently force their own justice upon us and the strength to create a strong society.”

“So we should continue to train as we have, becoming better at fighting and better at our civilian vocations.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Neia said. “By doing so, our people will have the flexibility to face as many challenges as possible. No longer will we be helpless against the trials that we should rightly be able to overcome.”

Excited chatter rose in the wake of the new epiphany. Neia stepped off of the log, and then noticed Saye silently looking up at her. At first, she thought the Bard had finally been touched by the Sorcerer King’s wisdom, but her expression was decidedly unexcited.

“Is something wrong?” Neia asked.

“No,” Saye turned around and walked away with a sigh. “I’m just a bit tired.”