While Patriot spoke of the group known as the Confessarrii, Jeanne couldn't help but feel that they sounded less like a mysterious cabal and more like a religious cult.
The name "Confessarius" itself gave her a sense of déjà vu—as if a deity had dispatched them among the Sarkaz specifically to absolve them of their sins. But as she thought it over, the theory didn't quite hold water. What would a group of Sarkaz even believe in? The Demon King? Or some ancient god from Kazdel's past? It all felt slightly off.
What sins were they meant to forgive? And why were they the ones doing the absolving?
After mulling over these questions for a while, they were replaced by a more practical concern: Would the Confessarrii be their enemies this time?
"I suspect the Confessarrii will certainly send someone. But it will not be just them; others are likely to follow," Patriot said, pre-empting Jeanne's question. In his view, it was highly unlikely that Theresis would send mere rank-and-file guards.
While Theresis surely craves the Horn, his priority is securing control over Kazdel. Diverting massive resources just to hunt down an old Wendigo would be putting the cart before the horse. Furthermore, they don't yet know the Horn is actually here; their goal is likely to find Patriot and extract whatever valuable clues might be hidden in his ancient memories.
It seemed the history passed down by the current members of the Royal Court was riddled with holes—to the point where even the long-lived "old monsters" lacked complete information. Then again, so many years had passed, and the Sarkaz had been "harvested" like leeks generation after generation; it was a miracle anything survived at all.
"How do you view this situation then? Do you believe that if the Sarkaz reclaim this object, there is a chance for a true resurgence?" Jeanne asked cautiously. She wanted to gauge Patriot's true stance on the ownership of the Horn.
From the tone of his voice, she sensed a deep-seated rejection of the artifact, almost bordering on disgust. It piqued her curiosity; even if he claimed to have left his kin behind, why such intense aversion? Was the weapon simply too dangerous?
Patriot took a deep breath and remained silent for a long time before responding.
"I do not believe such a weapon can grant the Sarkaz the status or the future they desire. On the contrary... it will only cause the Sarkaz to plunge into an even more terrifying abyss."
His voice was low, as if recalling a traumatic past. His stance, however, was crystal clear. Although he had distanced himself from his people, he would never begrudge using his strength if it truly helped the Sarkaz achieve a better life. That was Kazdel, after all—the place where he and his fellow Wendigos had once fought. How could he not care for it?
"I do not know if other branches have noticed, but ever since we used this Horn, the luck of the Sarkaz race has plummeted. In all this long span of time, we have never known good fortune."
Looking back at history, it was as if the Horn acted as a dividing line for Kazdel. Before the Horn was used as a weapon for conquest, Kazdel was prosperous. Afterward, the race was plagued by bizarre misfortunes.
At first, it was just common storms and gales. Later, it evolved into sudden Catastrophes manifesting directly over military camps and cities, along with a biological predisposition that made them incredibly susceptible to Oripathy. Even in the modern era, the Sarkaz had tried three times to rebuild their nation, only for years of painstaking effort to vanish like bubbles every single time.
While discrimination and hostility from others played a role, many instances could only be described as "cursed luck." By now, the Kazdel that once occupied a third of the Terra continent had weakened to the point where they couldn't even assemble the full Ten Royal Courts.
The Gargoyles had been silent for ages. The Cyclopes had settled in the snowfields of Sami, no longer answering the Demon King's call. As for the Wendigos—once so glorious—Patriot was the only pure-blooded one left. For all intents and purposes, the line was extinct.
Whenever he thought of this, Patriot felt a profound sense of sorrow and loneliness, wanting to scream at the world and ask what the Sarkaz had done wrong. It was as if they were being punished, and no amount of effort could earn them a blessing.
He didn't believe in "fate" or "luck," but the sheer weight of misfortune the Sarkaz had endured across history could no longer be explained away as mere coincidence.
Are the Sarkaz not working hard enough to restore their nation? That was an absurd claim. The number of Sarkaz warriors who had given their lives could form a mountain! Are the people too scattered as mercenaries? Are they all 'evil'? The Kazdel of old was not like this.
"I do not care how terrifying its power is. I do not want this thing to fall into the hands of the current Sarkaz. It will only increase the world's hostility toward us."
The more he recalled his race's past, the more he felt the "curse" of their misfortune. Under such weight, it was difficult for a Sarkaz even to stay alive. He wasn't sure if the Golden Horn was directly responsible, but since every change was linked to it, he had to remain vigilant against it happening again.
As for what the Horn would do in Jeanne's hands, he wasn't sure. In his eyes, Jeanne herself already possessed the power to destroy Terra. With those flames that could ignite resentment and react with Originium, she could likely burn the entire land to ash if she felt like it.
"The way you describe it, it sounds like the entire Sarkaz race has been placed under some kind of eternal hex. Can a curse really last that long?" Talulah remarked.
Hearing Patriot's tale, she felt as if an invisible hand had been systematically dismantling everything the Sarkaz built. Like a precise surgeon, it always stabbed them exactly where they were weakest, ensuring they could never rise again—yet never allowing them to disappear entirely. It was like being pushed into a thorn-filled well only to be handed a single, fraying rope. If a sentient being was behind this, their personality was truly malicious.
"..."
As Jeanne listened, she couldn't help but feel that the "mysterious entity" Patriot was describing sounded suspiciously like her own somewhat petty God. While He showed her endless tolerance, He was certainly capable of such behavior toward those who displeased Him. And if the Sarkaz were linked to "demons," their negative reputation with Him was likely through the roof.
"Hoo. So, you can rest assured that I have no intention of handing this to the Sarkaz, nor can they obtain any information from me."
"No, you misunderstand. I only wanted to hear your perspective on the object, nothing more," Jeanne quickly explained, worried that Patriot thought she was testing his loyalty.
Patriot didn't mind. He simply wanted to make his stance clear.
"However, there is little point in continuing to discuss it here. We lack specific intelligence on the enemy, and my information is years out of date."
Speculation could only go so far. Rather than worrying, it was better to increase their own strength.
"Tomorrow, both of you shall join the drills. I will think of a way to simulate Sarkaz tactics. I only hope the things in my head have not become obsolete."
To prepare for the coming Sarkaz, Patriot intended to let them acclimate to their combat style. It was also a good opportunity to see how Mudrock's mercenaries had progressed under his tutelage.