Episode 182
“… Altea. How… No, why. Why are you still here…?”
The first reaction to Altea’s voice came from Older Brother Sooho.
His tone conveyed disbelief that she was standing so obviously alive before me.
“Am I doing something wrong?”
As I stared at her, wide-eyed, Altea questioned hesitantly. I quickly dropped my gaze.
Soo-ho maintained his silence after her initial query, not out of the lack of words, but from an abundance of them that left him speechless.
“… No, you haven’t.”
Her feigned ignorance didn’t seem deliberate.
Was Sooho’s voice no longer audible? It appeared Hector Cassas was a special case.
Though already 98% certain from Brother Sooho’s reaction earlier, I cast The Eye of Mimir to be 100% sure.
[Name: Altea Bathory]
[Alias: The Third Hero, White Blaze Altea, Angel of Death.]
[LV. 421]
[HP: 950/950 MP: 4300/4300 Condition: Normal]
[Strength: 1130 Agility: 73 Intelligence: 191 Hero Sense: 99]
No anomalies emerged.
This genuine Third Hero, the final one who’d alongside Sooho halted the collapse of the world, had arrived.
‘This is the first time I’ve met someone over level 400.’
Post-level 300, leveling up feels nearly impossible. Most demon kings hover between levels 150 to 300. Even Eldritch, absurdly powerful in his own right, was now weaker personally compared to me.
For heroes who slay such foes to gain levels, it’s natural that growth slows around this point.
‘Living impossibly long while grinding out countless monsters—that’s what it takes to surpass level 400.’
I scrutinized Altea’s stats closely through my widened eyes but soon furrowed my brow.
‘Why are her stats like this?’
Setting aside her Hero Sense reaching the max level of 99, which makes sense after 500 years of living, there’s still something incongruous.
Intellect-based characters usually have high MP. Strength-based ones possess elevated HP, Strength, and Agility. Though not necessarily rigid rules, efficiency ultimately leads to such patterns.
‘But this?’
Her HP is lower than mine, yet her MP eclipses even Elfride’s. Her Strength stat even outshines a thrown Grenade.
What the hell. Did they beat Gandalf here or something?
As I indulged in silent contemplation, Altea suddenly brought her hands together in a cheery gesture.
“If you know this patient…”
I was startled from my silent performance to find her looking at me warmly.
Matching her gaze briefly, I watched as she examined Aldcon before gently questioning,
“Are you acquainted with Mr. Skaro as well?”
“…!!”
Instinctively, my body responded before my mind. In a flash, I had gripped both her shoulders tightly.
Shaking her back and forth, I shouted,
“Skaro?! Do you know him? Where is he?! He’s alive, right?! He must be alive!”
“Aah… please, this hurts…”
Altea frowned and held my hands, attempting to loosen my grip. She could’ve easily shaken me off with her likely superior strength but instead chose to wait patiently until I regained composure.
“Sorry…”
I finally released her, now embarrassed.
Her amused yet understanding smile reflected recognition of my reaction.
“Skaro and I have been taking care of the patients together. Right now, he’s up in the middle reaches of the Valley of the Dead gathering medicinal herbs.”
“… The Valley of the Dead? They have medicinal herbs there? No way.”
Unbelievable. I’ve been around this area for months now.
Unknown cause, unknown cure. The disease began to spread about a year after Zadkiel’s summoning. It’s so severe people claim ‘Zadkiel caused it,’ but apart from that, there’s absolutely no other information about “Black Blood Disease.”
“If a cure existed…”
Would anyone worship Zadkiel as a deity? The sheer desperation explains why so many fall for it.
As I stared at her skeptically, Altea nodded confidently.
“Not exactly a cure, more like a suppressant.”
“… A suppressant?”
“Yes. The middle reaches of the Valley of the Dead are scattered with suppressants that inhibit the spread of symptoms. Here.”
She rummaged through her tattered clothes and placed something in front of me.
It was a flower. Its blue petals shimmered with an ethereal glow, contrasting with its vivid red stamens, leaving a distinct impression.
Captivated, I stared at it. Altea provided further explanation,
“The Dreaming Amaryllis. When brewed, it temporarily restores bodily stability.”
“Hmm…”
She added,
“During the day, I care for the patients while Skaro searches the upper reaches for the plant. We then switch duties at night.”
I accepted the blue bloom, observing it carefully before returning it to her.
Initially filled with suspicion, my gaze towards her now harbored more hostility.
Because of Hector Cassas. My perception of the first heroes isn’t exactly positive.
“Who told you about this, and why are you here doing this act?”
“Why… what are you talking about? I-”
“Breathing and moving fossil from 500 years ago, and now playing holy woman? That’s surprising.”
Altea’s crimson eyes widened suddenly.
Of course, any inference to her origins provoked this response.
“What… did you just say?”
Her direct gaze that had been piercing me shifted behind me, passing Lucy, and stopping at Yuria.
The tension in her furrowed, agitated eyebrows slowly dissolved, replaced with an uncontrollable wistfulness.
“… You’re Sooho’s descendant. I recognize you. Do you remember me?”
Altea slowly approached Yuria.
No hostility emanated from her, so I didn’t interfere.
“…??”
Yuria initially hesitated but, upon meeting Altea’s tearful gaze, gradually relinquished her resistance. Eventually, her retreating steps halted.
Plunk. Altea embraced Yuria, who let out a low groan.
“Sorry. Truly sorry. None of you—or me—wanted it to come this far… But, how did it turn out like this?”
Altea, holding Yuria tightly, kept mumbling incomprehensible words, her voice thickening as she tried to stifle her tears.
“… Ah… Brother.”
Though Yuria seemed perplexed the entire time, hearing the sorrow in Altea’s voice stirred an empathy within her, leading her gently to caress Altea’s back.
A complex array of emotions emanated from Altea’s bowed back, indescribable by mere words.
“… So, you’ve come to destroy the Witch’s dreams and memories, haven’t you, Guiding Raven.”
Having judged it futile to conceal further, Altea released Yuria and spoke.
A compassionate smile graced her lips shortly after.
“Your arrival here must mean Hector failed to alter the prophecy, right?”
“…!”
I stared wide-eyed at Altea, startled by the sensitive name that slipped from her lips.
A burning resolve was evident in the red eyes that gazed down upon me, certainly not friendly towards me.
“Raven, I won’t help you.”
She dismissed me outright.
“Just leave. Don’t try to learn anything. Please don’t disturb the fragile peace I’ve barely managed to preserve.”
She turned her back on us dismissively and returned immediately to her care for the patients.
However, I didn’t retract. Instead, I drew closer and spoke to her back.
“Whatever this is about witches, dreams, or nonsense doesn’t matter to me. I’m here to kill Zadkiel.”
“…”
“I’m not even asking for your help. You mentioned patrolling the middle reaches of the Valley of the Dead — enlightening indeed. Just, if you know anything about the deserting heroes around here, I’d appreciate it. It’s what you’d want.”
“…”
“Not expecting me to reciprocate your kindness, but you could tell me, right? Killing Zadkiel will stop the plague. Wouldn’t that benefit you too…?”
“Go back. What you intend to do holds no meaning for me.”
Altea continued to ignore my words, eventually glaring at me in irritation before dismissing me.
And without hesitation, she returned to treating the patient.
“Here, have this.”
She fed the boiled flower water to Aldcon.
The bizarre chitinous limbs and fleshy appendages flailing around like an alien organism gradually stilled. The pained and tormented face of Aldcon slowly regained tranquility.
‘Fair’s fair. Life’s life. Screw it.’
I observed quietly for a while before reluctantly bowing my head as a sign of thanks.
“Thank you, for looking after my friend.”
With lingering discomfort, I headed toward the makeshift church tent’s exit.
Compelled by the atmosphere, Lucy and Yuria hesitated momentarily before following closely behind me.
“There’s no need to thank me.”
As if sensing this, a whisper-like murmur reached me from behind.
“… I just wanted to atone, that’s all.”
An enigmatic woman who speaks incomprehensibly from start to end. Is it from her 500-year-old outlook? Screw it.
With a derisive snicker, I exited the church.
*
Night descends quickly in the valley. Even though we’d only just arrived, we had to think about lodging.
With no incoming population, it’s only natural; there’s no inn in this town.
“Still, it’s good to find a place to rest easily.”
Every day without fail, a patient turns completely insane into a monster, only to be silently eradicated by Altea. Their houses then become vacant.
Empty homes are everywhere due to these circumstances, so grabbing a spare tent and sleeping wherever seemed fine.
“At least it’s one of the better places; no complaints, right?”
I muttered while lounging on the sofa, which was decent aside from the protruding springs poking my back.
“Ugh… This… This blanket is sticky… Wretch!”
“…!”
As Lucy and Yuria’s complaints indicated, this was a tent formerly used by a Black Blood Disease victim. Consequently, strange bug scales, unknown mucus, and other unsettling residues clung to every corner of the house.
I flicked my finger over a small shelf in the corner of the tent, revealing sticky yellow slime, which looked and felt utterly grotesque.
“If you’re uncomfortable, you can go to the church and sleep with the unlucky Spider-Man or choose homelessness. No one forces you.”
“… Ugh…”
I tossed out a quick sentence. Magically, the complaints ceased.
Looks like these two prefer social distancing from the infected. Even though, if the rumors about Zadkiel are true, Lucy, being his peer, would be immune, it made sense they were uneasy.
“Anyway, you two stay here. I’m stepping out for a bit.”
After muttering briefly, I rose from the sofa without hesitation.
Lucy glanced at me, wide-eyed, with sudden curiosity.
“Huh? Where are you going, Hero?”
“Going to kiss some bugs.”
“Ugh… Even if you say that…”
I hastily dismissed it and left the tent.
Lucy looked oddly uneasy, yet unlike the Lucy I’ve known, she didn’t insist on tagging along, which was unusual.
Honestly, in this creepy place, it’d be natural not to want to roam around aimlessly, but there was a subtle difference in her reaction that left a slightly bitter taste.
‘Forget it. It’s better that she’s obedient.’
I decided to think nothing of it.
Placing my hands into my pockets, I strolled through the plague-ridden town. With one hand, I drafted a message on a magical communicator to send to Knightrea.
[Information is needed on a woman named Altea Bathory, the human hunter Dyrus, and the fugitive hero Moskden known as the Lonely Hunter. Please find everything, even minor details.]
I added this request before closing the communication, hoping the information department of Unterland might somehow have relevant data, even if it’s like clutching at straws.
And soon enough, I returned to the church I had visited that morning. Slowly lifting the tent entrance, I cautiously peeked inside.
“… Skaro.”
Sure enough.
Just as Altea had said that morning, Skaro was there attending to the sick.
“Hmm? Oh.”
His distinct yellow slit-like pupils faced me. His eyes widened with surprise before he smiled. A kind smile, though more weary than the last encounter during the Trial.
“Long time no see, my friend.”
“… It’s been a year.”
This was the moment of reunion with my best frog middle-aged buddy in the worst form possible.
