Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 23: The Wall of the Faithless
“Marlon… my nephew… thank you for watching over little Anvi… I will protect you, and for you… I will light the road ahead.”
Once again, Marlon had that dream—the same dream that had haunted his nights like a lingering echo. He saw the candle flame burning with starlight, heard the gentle voice repeating those words, a voice that carried both warmth and sorrow.
And then—Marlon woke.
His eyes fluttered open. He realized he was lying sprawled across the broad, furred back of the giant, piebald wolverine known as Lukas.
Groaning, he forced himself to sit up, his body heavy, his head still clouded. The first figures he saw were familiar: Inspector Bernard, stern and broad-shouldered as ever, and beside him… a most unexpected sight. On the sun-bleached sands of the midday beach stood Delft, the three-ringed mind sorcerer who had once delivered him that invitation to a masquerade.
Marlon blinked, dazed. Strange… why in the world would Delft be here?
He rubbed at his temples, trying to banish the fog from his mind. Though his head still throbbed, at least his thoughts were beginning to sharpen again.
When he finally looked around, he realized there were far more people gathered than he had expected. Amy was there, bright-eyed and anxious; so was little Anvi, Adele, and the ascetic Musa Mein. Even the band of old veterans were present—wounded men, one of them still clutching a musket despite his injuries. Around these battle-worn figures clustered two or three dozen frail elders, women, and children—faces drawn tight with fear.
“Where… is this place?” Marlon murmured, his voice low as his eyes traced the gloom around them. The world beyond was pitch black, as if they had all been swallowed by the night.
“On the road to the orphanage!” Bernard snapped, his expression like thunder. His voice carried both irritation and relief, and without pause he scolded Marlon harshly:
“You foolish brat! At a time this chaotic, instead of retreating toward the safety of the orphanage, you ran headlong into the city center! If it weren’t for my precious Amy being there, you’d better pray your soul was rescued before it got pinned onto the Wall of Faith by the gods. You’re lucky I might’ve found a priest skilled enough in resurrection to drag you back!”
The Wall of Faith?
Resurrection of the dead?
Ah—that was right. Marlon remembered. This wasn’t Earth. This was that other world.
In this strange land, it was said that mortals who had no god to worship would, upon death, have their souls nailed onto the Wall of Faith—left to suffer endless torment until their very essence was consumed.
For ordinary folk, the existence of that wall was a nightmare, a cruel mechanism that forced belief, demanding that mortals surrender their devotion to some divine power.
But during the legendary war between darkness and light, that balance had been broken. The gods had clashed, the Wall itself was shattered, and even the death god who once guarded it abandoned the task out of spite. Now, in this so-called Age of Light, the rule had weakened. At most, perhaps twenty or thirty percent of faithless souls were still dragged to that wall.
As for resurrection—well, higher-ranking priests could perform that miracle. Any untimely death could, in theory, be undone… provided one could offer a gemstone worth no less than five thousand lants, a price steep but not impossible.
All of this resurfaced in Marlon’s muddled thoughts. And with that realization, he exhaled softly, relieved. This world—this bizarre place where even death could be reversed—suddenly didn’t feel so terrible after all.
“Uncle Bernard,” Marlon asked, his voice steadier now, “how did you get here? What’s the situation?”
He made a motion to slip down from Lukas’ broad back, but Bernard’s sharp glare pinned him where he was.
“You stay put!” the Inspector barked. “The situation? Bad, of course. Even White Oak Street has fallen into chaos. More than twenty intruders broke into our home amidst the confusion! If this old man hadn’t suddenly appeared to help, I doubt I’d be standing here intact to scold you now.”
As he spoke, Bernard jabbed a finger toward Delft, the three-ringed mind sorcerer.
Delft, however, did not react to the insult of being called “old man.” His face remained calm, expression unreadable. He merely inclined his head in acknowledgment to Marlon.
“Marlon Lister,” he said evenly, “tonight has proven beyond doubt that a properly trained mind sorcerer can easily detect—and repel—the assassination attempts of the dark assassin, Xionado.”
Indeed, Xionado had not only attacked Marlon tonight, but also Inspector Bernard.
With slow, deliberate movement, Delft produced once more that ancient scroll—the Van Helsing mind sorcerer Manuscript. He extended it toward Marlon.
“Marlon Lister, I believe that now, more than ever, you would welcome this gift. Consider it a token from one mind sorcerer to another.”
Would Marlon accept? Would he change his mind, take the scroll that promised him the ability to sense and repel Xionado’s blade the next time it struck?
Of course. Without hesitation.
Even in a world where death was reversible, Marlon had no desire to gamble his life, no wish to stand helpless again. He did not want to rely on Amy—the little fox-girl who should have been under his protection, not the other way around.
“Mr. Delft,” Marlon said solemnly, as he leapt down from Lukas’ back and bowed with proper form, “this is a debt I will repay, no matter how long it takes.”
Bernard, surprisingly, said nothing. The Inspector merely watched with narrowed eyes, and for the briefest moment the corner of his mouth curved in something almost like approval.
“No need to wait for repayment,” Delft replied. He lifted his gaze toward the northern sky, where flames licked high into the darkness. His next words did not pass his lips but instead rang directly in Marlon’s mind:
“Marlon Lister, your plan—the one that benefits you, your publisher, and that banker-vampire alike—was clever. But now a greater crisis looms: this sudden slave revolt. It threatens to stain the reputation of the Secretary of State of New Coventry. Do you… have a new plan? A way to turn disaster into another threefold victory?”
A new plan? To turn crisis into opportunity?
What do you take me for—Zhuge Liang? I can’t just frown and summon strategies out of thin air!
But aloud, Marlon forced himself to answer, keeping his voice low. “That depends. I’d need details first. And a face-to-face discussion before I can draw any conclusion. I can’t promise I’ll find a solution.”
As he spoke, his eyes flicked, almost unconsciously, toward Musa Mein—the ascetic cloaked in rags. Yes… Musa Mein. Hadn’t he once claimed he could turn a simple scrying crystal into a shard of dimensional projection? A tool that allowed the soul itself to enter and witness events firsthand? The price was steep, of course. A costly crystal would be consumed, reduced to endlessly replaying a single fragment of time. The process drained three thousand Lisente of energy at minimum. But still—
Marlon straightened and added quickly, “Mr. Delft, I’ve heard that airships carry command-level projection crystals, capable of recording entire battles. If someone could deliver me one containing tonight’s riots—and a charged mana crystal, filled with at least five thousand Lisente—I might have a chance.”
In this world, Lisente was the measure of magical energy stored in such crystals. To Marlon, it was easier to imagine them like kilowatt-hours of electricity. A single Lisente could, by rough estimation, power a hulking steam locomotive for twenty kilometers.
But his words were cut short. Delft had already slipped a ring from his finger and pressed it into Marlon’s palm.
“What you need is inside,” Delft’s voice whispered into his mind. “The unlocking phrase is… ‘msn.’”
He followed this by placing an expensive communication crystal directly into Marlon’s hand.
“This will allow you to speak to me whenever necessary.”
Aloud, he finally said, “Then, forgive me. I must take my leave.”
But even as he melted into the shadows, his mind-voice lingered with one last promise:
“The five-thousand-Lisente mana crystal will be in your hands soon. That, I guarantee.”
And then he was gone.