Chapter 155
Chapter 155
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 155
Chapter Title: Toward the Holy Land (2)
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The holy land of Parzan, where the Festival of Swords was held, lay at the heart of the continent. It had taken them a full five days to get there, and from a certain point onward, they were forced to proceed on foot.
There wasn't any hard rule about it. It was just that the natural terrain surrounding Parzan was so ridiculously unforgiving that walking was the only option. Ronan and Schlieffen were experiencing that harshness firsthand on the second day of their journey. Ronan spoke up.
"By the way, Instructor. I've got a question."
"What is it?"
"Why'd we pick this godawful route? Not complaining or scared—just genuinely curious."
The sky was clear without a single cloud. The three of them trudged along a narrow trail. The wind howled with enough force to knock a person off their feet, making it hard to even keep their eyes open.
Horses or carriages were out of the question; the path was so narrow that even one or two people had to walk single file like they were playing soldiers. The backpacks they carried were heavier than a decent-sized kid.
That much they could handle, but the real problem was that this damn path ran right through the middle of sheer cliffs. Ronan glanced down at his feet and let out a curse.
"Shit."
About ten meters below, white mist churned like an ocean. The sky above was blindingly bright, but for some reason, the fog clung only to the depths below.
One misstep, and it was straight to the afterlife. The mist obscured the true drop, but judging by how long it took for a dropped pebble to hit bottom with a faint echo, it was way too far to leave a body intact. Naviroje replied.
"This is one of the better paths."
"Figures."
"You don't look convinced. We can still turn northwest if you want. Scaling the cliff walls for three days isn't a bad experience."
"Did I mention how especially radiant you look today?"
"Terrain like this weeds out the amateurs. Quit yapping and follow."
In the end, Ronan fell silent and kept walking. It seemed best for his sanity to think as positively as possible.
Yeah, it's just a rough path. No monsters or bandits popping up—that's something, right? Ronan was in the middle of rationalizing when a guttural screech tore through the air from high above, like it was ripping his eardrums.
"Pwyoooooot!"
He knew that sound all too well. Soon, a massive shadow loomed over their heads. Looking up, he spotted four tiny dots in the distance growing larger. Recognizing them, Ronan scowled.
"Ah, shit."
Three bull-sized griffons were diving with wings folded, clearly marking Ronan's group as prey.
They were closing fast—five seconds tops before they arrived. Ronan rested his hand on his sword hilt, sighed at Schlieffen, and said,
"I'll handle it."
"Got it."
Schlieffen nodded. Ronan drew his sword. Lamancha gleamed red as it drank in mana.
The griffons were now close enough to make out scars on their beaks. Their massive talons, deadly enough to instant-kill an orc, glinted in the sun.
"Pwyoooooo!"
"Too bad. These would fetch a nice price."
The gap narrowed. As the wind from their wingbeats tousled Ronan's hair, Lamancha arced through the air. A fan of slashing energy sprayed out like water droplets. Shwaaaaack! Hundreds of liquid-like blades pierced the griffons' bodies.
"Krok...!"
Blood sprayed. Guts spilled from torn flesh. Sunlight streamed through holes riddling their wings. The beehive-riddled griffons plummeted into the mist. Schlieffen remarked with interest,
"I thought the same during our spar the other day. Nice technique."
"It's decent."
Ronan nodded in agreement. It was a skill he could finally wield freely after his long sea voyage.
Definitely more powerful coming from the real core than Bajura's fake one. Though its capacity was still low, so he needed more training. Then, far below, one griffon burst from the mist.
"Krek! Kreееk!"
"What's that?"
Ronan raised an eyebrow. Despite being mangled, it was still moving—must've lucked out and dodged a fatal hit. Gauging the distance, he clicked his tongue.
"Damn, missed it."
Too far for his slash to reach. The fierce wind would throw off Schlieffen's Storm Sword too. Oh well. Ronan was about to sheathe his blade when the staggering griffon halted its wingbeats.
"Grruk...?"
"Huh?"
Not just wings—its limbs were limp, like it'd been hit by a paralyzing arrow. But moments later, as it fell, it flapped again and began climbing.
What just happened? As Ronan puzzled, Naviroje suddenly whipped her greatsword irritably without looking back. Shweeeeack! A crescent blade of energy sliced through the air and nailed the griffon.
"Krek!"
Incredible range and precision. The bisected corpse tumbled into the mist. Ronan turned to her.
"Instructor?"
"Hoo... huuu..."
Naviroje panted like she'd sprinted full-tilt. Seeing her heaving shoulders, Ronan frowned. He'd witnessed her like this once before.
"...Instructor?"
He called again. She turned belatedly.
"Huuu... yeah."
"...!"
Their eyes met. A chill raced over Ronan's skin. His arm stiffened; he nearly dropped his hilt.
Naviroje's pupils had narrowed vertically, like a snake's. She flinched at his shock, covering her eyes with her palm.
"...Griffons call reinforcements, so you have to finish them clean. Letting even one escape is a headache."
"...You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine."
She lowered her hand. Her jade-green eyes were round again. Ronan ventured carefully,
"...It hasn't fully healed yet, has it?"
No doubt about it. She'd just tried to activate her Aura, Mansa. The snake eyes proved it. She bit her lip silently, then turned away.
"Let's move. Long way to go."
Thud...! The delayed crash of the griffon echoed from below. Ronan said no more. Neither did Schlieffen. Only the mist's flow and the wind's wail filled the silence.
"...So the Instructor needs to 'get it up' for the big event, but bad memories from the past are holding her back. Probably psychological. It's just an analogy, so let's skip the gender thing."
"Crude."
Schlieffen shook his head. Ronan scowled. He'd explained it simply, but the attitude grated.
"Hey, this could happen to you anytime. It's more serious than you think."
"I vaguely noticed she couldn't use Aura after losing to Zaifa earlier this year. Didn't realize it lingered."
They were discussing Naviroje's condition. She'd seemed fully recovered, but apparently not. Ronan clicked his tongue.
"Must've hit hard. A lifetime undefeated, then losing twice to the same guy."
Ronan tossed pre-gathered branches into the campfire. Sparks danced with crackles. It was the third night of their journey, in some nameless forest.
The sky overflowed with stars. Shooting stars streaked occasionally. Without city lights, they shone brighter than in the capital.
"I regret her state too. But I doubt we can help."
"Yeah. She dodges the topic like a ghost whenever it comes up..."
Ronan lit his pipe. Since the incident, Naviroje had treated them normally.
But she stonewalled anything about her Aura or condition. Glancing around, Ronan shrugged.
"Speaking of, where'd she go? It's been a while."
"Said she was stepping out for air."
"...Right."
Ronan exhaled smoke. Her sleeping bag and gear were untouched. After a moment's thought, he stood.
"I'll go fetch her."
"Where to?"
"We arrive in Parzan the day after tomorrow—no time to talk then. Gotta loosen her up with booze or something. Guard the fire."
Ronan turned and left. It nagged at him; best to clear it up. Luckily, the soft soil held clear footprints.
Into the woods.
He followed. The high altitude kept the forest sparse. Unfamiliar night birdsong echoed through scattered trees.
How far'd she go?
The tracks went on forever. No sign of her. Irritation building—then Ronan froze, sensing something off.
...This smell.
He sniffed. An alien scent mingled in the night air, fresh and unlike anything before. It took no time to peg it as water.
A spring nearby?
Clear, not fishy, with faint wildflowers. Not bad. He heard rippling too.
Ronan turned toward the sound. Her tracks led there too. How long he walked, he didn't know—then the trees parted, revealing a lake. Overwhelmed, Ronan stopped.
"...Damn."
Two full moons glowed. One high in the sky, one rippling on the surface. Fireflies blinked amber along the shore. A breathtaking scene that drew a wry smile.
Ronan pocketed his hands, admiring the moons. Journey fatigue melted away. He strolled the shore.
She's close. Couldn't pass this up.
Naviroje would appreciate the romance. Then—a splash.
-Splash.
"Hm?"
Ronan halted. Too big for fish. Probably a wild animal bathing. What kind lived here? Casually turning—
"...Lord almighty."
He froze. A woman bathed nearby. Between the moons, her nude form gleamed like sculpted marble.
Moonlight traced her bronze skin. Wet ash-gray hair clung to her waist.
Her curves formed a perfect hourglass. Moons and lake faded. Ronan stared, forgetting to hide.
Born lucky. Would've been happier in the south.
Enraptured—Shwaaack! Naviroje's right arm erupted from the water, gripping her greatsword hilt. Water dripped from her hand.
"Huh?"
Why bring a sword to bathe? As Ronan reacted, she swung without turning.
A vast arc toward him unleashed a massive crescent blade. Shweeeeack! It tore night air; Ronan's eyes widened.
"Son of a—!"
Snapping to, he dove aside. The blade grazed overhead, ravaging the forest.
BOOM!! Dozens of trees toppled, severed. Only then did Naviroje turn, glaring ferociously.
"Who's there."
"J-Jeez... Don't people usually shout before shooting?"
Ronan lifted his head from the dirt, alive by luck. Despite her empty left hand, she made no move to cover up. Meeting his eyes, she lowered her sword.
"...Ronan?"
"Sorry, Instructor. Total accident."
"What are you doing here."
"Just followed the water sound and..."
As he spoke, his gaze hit her abdomen. A long scar ran from collarbone to below navel. Ronan's expression twisted.
Hm?
Scars weren't odd. But this shape was weird. Five large gashes, evenly spaced—not blade work.
Recent too, maybe months old. Battlefield veteran Ronan knew wounds. He tilted his head.
"...What's that scar?"
"Ha."
"Claws? No way... Zaifa..."
Pieces clicked. Only then did Naviroje cover herself—specifically the scar—with her left hand. Ronan approached the lake, forgetting her nudity.
"...Busted, huh."
A wry smile tugged her lips. Sighing in resignation, she swept back her hair.
"Wait there. I'll come out."