The Nebula's Civilization

Chapter 213: The Old Storyteller

When Phils and the other agent raised their guns at the Lizardman, Sarcho thought that there would be no real fight. And Sarcho's assumption was correct. Only the victor was different from the one Sarcho had in mind.

Before the triggers were pulled, the Lizardman charged forward, swinging their sword, and two streaks of lightning struck the two agents. The electric currents were weak, only producing a faint crackling sound, but they were enough to immobilize the two.

The Lizardman then slid smoothly and slashed both agents’ throats in order, and the depth of the cuts suggested the blade had passed between their neck bones.

Sarcho asked, "...Who are you?"

The Lizardman replied, "Are you asking what I do? Or are you asking for my name?"

"Both."

The Lizardman sheathed their sword and said, "It's tricky. If I tell you what I do, you might find it hard to accept, and if I tell you my name, you probably won't recognize it."

Sarcho instinctively brushed the tip of their fur out of anxiety.

"I need to know what you do to understand why you helped me, and I need to know your name to thank the person who saved me, don't I?"

The Lizardman then habitually took out a tobacco pipe and filled it with herbs, igniting it with a spark from their fingertips. They took a long draw from the pipe and exhaled the smoke.

"Ever heard of the Wandering Lizardman?"

"What? That's just a folk tale..."

"That's what is commonly believed. Not all stories about the Wandering Lizardman are about me. But some of them are. For instance, there's the tale where I told old stories to a one-handed Halfling."

Sarcho took a deep breath.

'A character from a tale is standing in front of me?'

The Lizardman said, "By the way, my name is Owen."

***

Sarcho followed Owen into the back alleys of Shubanel.

"Perhaps due to the revolution, some houses became vacant."

"I've heard that some nobles left Shubanel after the revolution. There are ongoing investigations into the vacant houses, but it seems they're a bit busy..."

"In that case, it should be alright to borrow them for a while."

The house Owen had invited Sarcho into was on the third floor of a building. It appeared that no one had set foot inside recently, as the floor was covered in dust.

Then Owen sat down on a chair by the window and said, "Although I have a guest, regrettably, I don’t have much to offer. I do have some jerky. Would you like some?"

"No, thank you. Rather, I have something I want to ask. Actually...I have many questions."

Owen took a piece of jerky from his pocket and bit into it.

He said while chewing, "I guess the night might grow long. Go ahead and ask."

Sarcho took a moment to think. Sarcho was curious about many things, but they wanted to ask the most important question first.

"...Are you, indeed, one of the chosen ones?"

Even though Sarcho had never been part of a war, they could never fail to recognize the lightning Owen used. The infamy of the followers of the Devil Night Sky, known as the chosen ones, was well-spread even in Shubanel, the farthest place from the battlefield.

These chosen ones, treated somewhat as saints, had been killers for the Devil since the time of Apostle Lakrak, burning enemies on the front lines with lightning. It was also said that on stormy nights, soldiers who had encountered the chosen ones on a battlefield and were fortunate to survive would go mad and plead for forgiveness from the Devil.

Owen responded, "Yes."

Even though it was an obvious fact, hearing confirmation from the person himself made it hard for Sarcho to breathe.

"Then, being a follower of the Devil...why did you save me?"

"Hm."

Owen scratched his chin. "Those words seem a bit misleading, young friend."

Sarcho didn't answer and looked at Owen with a suspicious gaze.

Owen continued, "I didn't save you as a follower of the Blue Insect God. Of course, I still follow his will, but, um, how should I put this..."

After contemplating, Owen nodded slightly. "Oh, right. Aren't you a friend of Dain?"

"I prefer the term comrade, but yes."

"Then you must've heard the story I told Dain."

"Oh, yes I have."

"That's my story."

The story of the Lizardman tribe suffering under the Frogman tribe. Sarcho remembered the story, but shook their head.

"We have been out of that tribal life for nearly 300 years. There might still be such tribes somewhere, but I took it as an old tale."

"That's right. You're correct."

"What?"

"It being nearly 300 years ago and it being an old tale, both are correct."

Sarcho's expression slowly changed from suspicion to surprise.

"Are you saying you've been alive since then?"

"Yes. What age do you think I appear to be?"

Sarcho observed Owen, who was illuminated by the moonlight. It was generally challenging to guess the age of other species, especially Lizardmen, who didn't exhibit visible signs of aging.

"I can't tell."

"I'm 298 this year."

Sarcho shook their head. "But...but Lizardmen, no matter how long they live, usually die by the age of 80. Even species with long lifespans like Elves rarely live beyond 120."

"There are always exceptions."

"No one can live that long."

"Are you certain about that?"

Sarcho couldn't immediately respond.

Owen continued, "In a world full of forces we can't understand?"

Sarcho understood the meaning behind those words.

Owen explained, "Originally, I was a wanderer. Even in my old age, I couldn't settle. So I decided to travel as far as possible before my time came to an end. Crossing the ocean, which was then the edge of my known world, I arrived at this continent."

Owen took out another piece of jerky and chewed on it.

"Life was pretty much the same everywhere. The divine revelations I once received stopped coming, and I wandered aimlessly. Then, I discovered an ancient relic. After navigating through trivial traps, a small glass bottle was at the end. Thirsty as I was, I drank what was inside. Hm..."

Owen laughed.

"For about 30 years, I just thought it was water. I believed living a long life was just part of my fate, but as I aged, my vitality never decreased, rainy days no longer made my limbs ache, and they regained the strength from my youth. My mind also became clearer, brighter. As time went by, I realized the only significant event I could trace it back to was emptying that bottle."

Sarcho, somewhat taken aback and skeptical, asked, "Can you prove it?"

Owen shrugged.

"If I prove it, would you be able to confirm it? King Lakrak always began his game of Go from the center. Even when told it was a losing strategy, he'd stubbornly say it was just a game and he'd play as he pleased. The funny thing is, he still managed to beat me several times, even though I consider myself a decent player."

Sarcho decided to simply believe him. "I understand that after coming to this land, you could no longer sense the Devil's will. But why did you save me?"

Owen replied, "You might not know, but in Black Scale, I was known as a storyteller."

"A storyteller?"

"I wandered around, telling tales in exchange for meals. Of course, not just any story. The story I told Dain was my own, and the Lizardman who helped me in that story was Lakrak."

"...I see."

Sarcho suddenly realized why the story seemed familiar. Being a priest, Sarcho was educated about the Devil and their followers, and Sarcho remembered a similar tale from the era of when the order of the Night Sky religion was getting established.

Owen continued to say, "I owe a debt to Lakrak, to the god, and to those who had to die because I lacked courage. When King Lakrak saved me, I thought to dedicate my life...but perhaps my sins were so immense that I am still alive."

Sarcho sensed the emotional numbness and fatigue in Owen over the long years he had lived. This elderly Lizardman seemed to deal with any situation with composure and humility. However, that didn't mean he didn’t have any feelings at all. Even so, his resilience, built layer by layer over the years, was something that mere passage of time couldn't break down.

"...But I don't believe in your god. I believe in the Angry One."

"I know. But haven't I already mentioned? Our interests align."

"Wasn't that when you were disguised as a Fang agent?"

From Sarcho's understanding, that was the case. Naturally, the Fang agents would also believe in the Angry One, so they would oppose Dain joining hands with the Rubeil revolutionary faction.

But if that Fang agent was actually this elderly Lizardman and he still followed Night Sky, it would be a different story. Wouldn't the Lizardman want the Independent Republic of Collegoton to worship Night Sky?

"Not exactly," Owen denied. "If the Rubeil revolutionary faction gets in touch with the Independent Republic of Collegoton, they might gain the protection of Night Sky, but it would also provide the Angry One a reason to intervene directly. Of course, Night Sky would then thwart the Angry One as always. But in the meantime, the ones who would suffer are your comrades living in this city. Isn't that so?"

Sarcho nodded slowly. "...You're right."

"That’s why our intentions match. It's not about religion. It's about how we can ensure more people survive."

Sarcho asked, "...Is that your intention? Ensuring more people survive?"

Owen briefly looked out the window.

"It's hard to put it that simply. What's the point of life if it's merely about existing? Ideally, one should live freely and happily. For that, sometimes one needs to risk everything they have, and there's no rule against risking one's life for it."

"...."

"But not everyone can be entrusted with such a task. Nor can we force those who do not wish that. So all I did was find someone suitable for the job and kindle their desire. Those who were prepared and just needed a nudge in the right direction. You understand what I'm saying?"

Sarcho replied, "...But I don't understand. Didn't you interrupt the grand will of the Devil by preventing the Rubeil revolutionary faction from entering Collegoton?"

Owen nodded like he also found that plausible now that he heard it. "But there's an old saying."

"An old saying?"

Owen said, "Among the warriors of the Black Scale Tribe, some would defy the chief's orders if they deemed it necessary."