Chapter 64: I’ll Scratch You!

“Little Marlon, I hope that in your future publications, as well as in the works you create using your virtual film technology, you can make frequent mention of the name of My Lord.”

That—was the one request made by Lisp Copperbeard to Marlon.

Marlon understood immediately. So this was, essentially, a divine product placement—a holy advertisement slot for the God of Contracts and Machinery.

Still, it wasn’t a demand he could—or would—refuse. Without hesitation, he agreed with a bright grin, even promising that he’d make time to visit the temple to offer prayers whenever he could. After all, aside from wanting to avoid being cemented into the Wall of the Faithful after death, it was only proper to show a little more piety toward a deity who had treated him fairly through their covenant.

And really, this sort of mutually beneficial arrangement was always worth agreeing to. Why say no when saying yes could only bring advantages?

“Ah, by the way, Elder Copperbeard,” Marlon added quickly, “as a follower of the God of Contracts and Machinery, would it be acceptable if I also pay homage to the Forest Goddess? It wouldn’t contradict the doctrines of the Contract and Machinery Temple, would it?”

He took the opportunity to voice the concern that had lingered in his mind. Although Master Claw, the druid, had already pounded his chest earlier and guaranteed that it was fine, Marlon thought it best to confirm directly with Lisp Copperbeard.

“There is no problem,” the dwarf cleric replied, his deep voice warm with calm assurance. “The Forest Goddess is a righteous and benevolent deity. Her domain does not conflict with that of My Lord.”

As expected, Lisp Copperbeard nodded, his stance echoing the druid’s words perfectly. The old priest’s eyes gleamed kindly behind his bronze-rimmed spectacles.

“Little Marlon, the night grows late. I shall take my leave.”

After a few more words of casual conversation, Elder Copperbeard rose to his feet. Marlon tried to persuade him to stay longer, but could not. He had no choice but to walk the venerable dwarf to the front gates and watch him disappear into the moonlit distance.

Just as Marlon turned back and had taken only a few steps, a familiar sound reached his ears—the deep, rhythmic rumble of a steam engine, one he could recognize anywhere. It was the distinctive growl of Inspector Bernard’s steam police car, thundering down the road from the direction of the orphanage.

Marlon stopped where he was, waiting by the roadside as the mechanical roar grew nearer. Moments later, just as he had guessed, Inspector Bernard’s bulky police car turned in through the gates and screeched to a halt beside him.

“I think I just saw Elder Copperbeard a moment ago, didn’t I?” That was the first thing Bernard said as he jumped down from the car, his voice weary and roughened by exhaustion.

“Yes,” Marlon nodded. “Elder Copperbeard just left not long ago. He came to help me gather twelve of White Sand City’s finest goblin gem-cutters and dwarf blacksmiths!” After a pause, Marlon tilted his head. “Why? Did something big happen at the precinct again?”

“Not a major case,” Bernard muttered, rubbing his temple. “Just a gang of habitual thieves caught breaking into homes.” He hesitated, his tone growing heavier. “But… according to their confession, Marlon—your aunt’s death may be connected to them.”

Marlon froze for a heartbeat. Then it dawned on him—by “aunt,” Bernard meant Little Anvi’s mother.

The inspector seemed to take Marlon’s silence as grief. He sighed and clapped a large, calloused hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Listen, kid,” he said gruffly, “don’t you worry. Your uncle Bernard will see to it that every last one of those disgraceful bastards—those scum among our own veterans—gets sent exactly where they belong! They’ll face the justice they deserve.”

Scum among the veterans?

That phrase echoed sharply in Marlon’s mind. In that instant, a memory flared to life—the day of his aunt’s funeral, when Nephthu–Ekramon, that mysterious divine-blooded descendant of Eshilia, had sent him a telepathic message.

“Let me tell you a secret, boy with elven blood in your veins. The ones who killed your poor aunt… are the very people you pitied so much. Heh. I bet you’re curious why, aren’t you?”

So that’s what he meant. Nephthu’s “secret” wasn’t some cryptic riddle—it was this: the same filthy veterans who murdered his aunt were the very same group that had robbed the Sols Bank—those six men and one woman who’d once served and then fallen.

If that were true… then yes, it was his mercy, his misplaced compassion, that had led to his aunt’s death.

Was he blaming himself? A little, perhaps.

But the emotion rising inside him wasn’t simple remorse. It was a tangled storm—grief, anger, helplessness, bitterness—all mixing in the pit of his chest.

If only… If the National Assembly had passed that “Minimum Living Guarantee Act” before this tragedy happened—would things have turned out differently? If he’d submitted his manuscripts earlier, if he’d learned sooner that a resurrection was possible so long as the corpse remained intact, the soul unbroken, and a gem worth more than five thousand gold coins was offered—would she still be alive?

But “if” was a useless word. What had already happened could never be undone.

Marlon was no reborn hero granted a second life. He wasn’t some saint who could resurrect people with a word. He was just a half-shut-in young man thrown into this strange new world, trying his best to survive.

Seeing Marlon fall silent, Inspector Bernard said nothing more. He only patted the boy’s shoulder again—a heavy, reassuring thump—and trudged into the house, his steps slow and weary.

Beneath a star-filled sky and the faint fragrance of night-blooming flowers, Marlon stood there for a long time before finally gathering his thoughts.

Standing here would achieve nothing. Instead of wasting time drowning in guilt, he could channel it into words—hundreds, thousands of them. Each story he wrote would earn him manuscript fees, and with that money, he could help others like Little Anvi’s mother—women too weak and poor to fight their fate.

Maybe… he could even establish an organization, a charitable foundation devoted to helping vulnerable women. Yes, that sounded right.

The only problem was finding someone suitable to run it. Unless… perhaps he could seek cooperation from one of the temples of benevolent deities? That way, he could help more people and build stronger ties with another divine faction. Two birds with one stone.

As his thoughts spiraled under the starlit sky, the gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers, clearing his mind. He had already begun mentally listing which temples he might contact first.

It wasn’t paranoia. After everything that had happened that day in the civic square, Marlon finally understood the truth—the gods and their temples still held immense power in this world. Fanatics were rare now, yes, but nearly everyone still worshipped some deity. And there would always be schemers willing to wield divine authority as a weapon to suppress others.

If he wanted to move freely, he had two choices: either defy the power of the gods completely—or collaborate with their representatives.

Marlon was no revolutionary. He didn’t crave rebellion or upheaval. So naturally, he chose the latter.

With that thought, he turned toward the house. But after only two steps, he stopped again.

There, beside a budding iris under the moonlight, stood Amy, his little fox girl, watching him silently with worry-filled eyes.

The soft silver glow bathed her slender figure, making her sapphire-blue hair and fluffy tail shimmer with a starlit luster.

“I’m fine, Amy. Don’t worry about me,” Marlon said quickly, forcing a big, cheerful grin onto his face. The last thing he wanted was to make the girl he liked feel troubled for his sake.

But the little fox-girl merely gave her tail a small, uncertain flick. She had overheard everything—the entire conversation between Marlon and her father.

Realizing his smile wasn’t working, Marlon sighed softly, walked up to her, and crouched down so their eyes met at breathing distance.

“What’s this? Has Amy stopped believing in big brother Marlon?” he asked gently.

Perhaps because of how close he was, the little fox-girl’s ears twitched nervously. She turned her face away slightly, letting her gem-blue eyes wander toward the iris beside her, as if the flower were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Ah, so Amy doesn’t believe me anymore?” Marlon said in mock despair, lowering his voice dramatically. “Then what’s the point of living? I might as well go find a loaf of bread and… bash myself to death with it.”

Her fox ears perked up instantly.

Big brother Marlon wants to… what? That was impossible!

Amy spun around in panic—only to find the “hopeless” Marlon smirking mischievously at her. Realization dawned. She had been tricked.

Her small mouth puffed up in indignation as she pouted, her blue eyes narrowing.

“Big liar…!” she huffed softly, tiny claws twitching. “I’ll scratch you for that!”

Previous chapter | TOC | Next chapter