Chapter 369
Chapter 369
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 369
Chapter Title: Saint and Completer (25)
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Commoner Geston.
He’d been big since he was a kid, and thanks to tagging along with his woodcutter father from a young age, he had the strength to hoist massive logs.
Geston always figured luck just stuck to him like glue.
Born a full head taller than the other kids in the village, strong enough to draw admiring glances from every girl around. He’d figured he’d end up a woodcutter like his old man, but then a noble recruiter showed up and offered him a spot as a private soldier.
‘What? Selected as a noble’s soldier? And you took it like it was a gift?’
‘Dad! This is our shot! I don’t wanna spend my life chopping wood in this backwater! Noble soldiers outrank regular guards by miles! This is nuts-level luck!’
‘You thickheaded fool! Didn’t I always tell you luck and misfortune are twins that never part? You blind to how shaky the Empire’s been lately? War, boy. War! You’ll be swinging that axe at people!’
‘That’s why it’s luck! Not some castle patrol grunt— a chance to rack up merits! Just watch. Like that woodcutter Scarad who chopped down thousands of undead and got called convict Scarad, I’ll come back loaded with glory! This is a once-in-a-lifetime break!’
‘You idiot, that “luck” is my misfortune....’
His father, standing outside the hut until he was out of sight. Geston shook his head hard, the memory echoing along with that image.
‘Dad, you were wrong. If this isn’t luck, then what the hell is?’
No room for doubt. From here on, his future stretched out like a straight highway.
And proof of it? Right there in front of him.
‘No way! It’s Saint Ayllis the Valiant Warrior! Looks just like the temple murals!’
A saint. For a commoner like him, they were figures he could only imagine from temple murals or crude scrolls.
Word was, one of them just grabbed a serf’s hand and awakened divine power in him, landing the guy a spot in the temple. Beings no different from gods to an ignorant slob like him— and now one was up on the platform, raising his voice for them.
“Make no mistake: those gathered here are entrusted with a sacred mission witnessed in the goddess’s name—”
“Fear not! The coward who retreats in terror will be stabbed in the back, but the first to charge ahead shall wave the banner of victory under the full blessing of Da-Karza!”
“Latura. May the blessing of abundance grace—”
“Every step you take!”
“Light shall accompany you!”
“Wisdom to always watch for danger....”
We were an army bestowed with the gods’ exalted mission.
And not just one— all five of the world’s holiest humans, gathered together. He’d bet his life: anyone doubting victory with them speaking like that would get divine smiting on the spot.
Plenty more fed his confidence.
The young king who appeared after the saint. A figure so grand even border nobles wouldn’t dare look at him straight— and he was a king. The boy king had even granted them the honor of marching in the royal vanguard.
Thud. Thud.
Clank, clank!
The heavy press of metal with every step felt downright reliable.
Shield and sword, gleaming chainmail like dragon scales, and full imperial-issue plate armor forged without stinting on the good steel!
How much blood and sweat had he poured into handling all this? Hiking mountains for two hours straight in the heavy gear, then learning to swing a sword, wield a shield, and hold formation once his body gave out. Botch the drills and you ran laps till sunset, so everyone mastered it desperately. He figured they could hold their own against knights by now.
Lordric troops didn’t even have proper armor— just ragged leather patches pulled over their heads like a one-armed beggar’s rags, reeking of rancid pig fat.
‘They say war sorts the disposable grunts from the ones that actually matter.’
Anyone could see those guys were the disposables, so the opposite— imperial troops— wouldn’t be thrown away for nothing. Made the Lordric stragglers clogging the perfect formation lines a bit less annoying.
Step! Step! Step! Step!
‘Dad, you were wrong! Your son Geston’s gonna be the hero who saves humanity!’
Blessings from five saints.
An army marching with the king.
Bloody training and mastercrafted gear to boot!
In his imagination, he was already a hero. He’d carve through the enemy with the real heroes and raise the victory banner. Come home with a purse of silver so heavy he could barely lift it, rubbing it in his dad’s face after all those “just come back alive” shouts.
Hell, maybe he’d even become a noble. Lounging in a big mansion, listening to his personal bard, bragging to the kid on his knee: “Son, that story’s hero? That’s your dad.”
Just picturing it was sweet—
Clang!
“Gah!”
“Geston! How many times I gotta call you? Don’t zone out like a moron! Mutes incoming!”
“...Incoming?”
Squad leader Badel snapped him out of his daydream.
“Form up!”
“Glory to the Empire! Shield wall, advance!!!”
『Advance!!!』
Step! Step! Step! Step!
“Uh, uhh... R-right. Forward. Forward!”
His mind, loosened by the dull march, snapped tight. He had no clue what was happening, but the shrill orders drilled into his ears kicked his body into reflex.
A wall of shields lined up. And the ground quaking so hard his shield-gripping shoulder rattled.
‘Mutes!’
A number vast enough to shake the earth and churn the air. Geston thought it looked like an avalanche of butcher-shop meat. Irregular lumps of pale pink, red, and white all mashed together.
Rumble-rumble-rumble-!
Screeeeech!
Splat! Splat!
Skreeee!
‘A hundred? Ten thousand? No, n-never heard it was this many!’
‘Where are the saints? The heroes? The king and his knights? They ditch us and go where?’
‘E-enemies closing in... Even with death right at our noses, shields can’t see past, huh?’
The meat-wave bore down, and strength drained from his shield arm. Thoughts of disposable troops versus the keepers looped in his head. What if the shieldbearers like them were the disposables? What if they were meant to trade their lives to blunt that mindless charge before the heroes made their move?
“Brace for impact!!!”
Skreeeeeeeeee!!!!
Boom! Thud, boom-boom! Clang!
Splaattsh!
“Ughhhhhhh!”
The small ones, child-sized, hit like bulls. Dents rang out from shields everywhere, mixed with groans and the shrieks of shieldmen shoved back.
“Above! Spears up!”
‘...Above?’
His shoulders and back already felt shattered, and now more? As the spear-bearers raised their weapons, he heard small claws gouging the earth.
Thump!
Only then did he catch a clear glimpse of the enemy hidden behind the shield wall.
Beady yellow eyes gleaming. A single square tooth, top and bottom.
Like slapping a white skull and claws onto the soft pink body of a newborn rat.
Geston figured the thing leaping the shield wall would get skewered on a spear, but that was the mistake of a soldier green to Mutes.
“Screeeeeeeeech!!”
Splaattsh!
Thud-thud-splat. Splorch!
One sprang off a dead comrade’s corpse, raked its own body open with scythe-like claws, and showered the troops in its blood and guts.
“Uh, uhh... ughhh!”
Spurt!
It crashed down amid the blood and entrails, slamming a massive claw into the face of a dazed spearman.
The same nightmare everywhere. The monsters rammed shields till their bodies pulped, then vaulted up, shredded themselves, and barreled in.
“Ugh... aaagh! Blood! It’s mutant blood!”
“H-hold formation! Don’t break ranks!”
“Priests! We need priests! Get outta there!”
The phalanx, solid enough to repel a storm, shook in seconds. War with Mutes wasn’t like border skirmishes or even brutal monster raids. Monsters ripping themselves apart to attack? Where in the world did shit like that even exist?
The Empire’s vaunted heavy infantry legion was unraveling in moments. Amid the hell of blood and guts raining like a storm, Geston clung to his shield like it was his one ticket out alive.
Crunch-
“...Huh?”
He didn’t notice. Stronger than most, he’d held, but the other heavy infantry lines had fallen back a full step.
Or the wet chunk of flesh and claws slithering up over his protruding shield to peer down at his trembling self.
“Screeeech!”
“U, uaaagh— mmpf!”
“Keep your mouth shut if you can. Get that blood in you, and no priest can save—”
Thwack!
He didn’t notice the two gasping figures charging straight at his exposed position either.
They moved like this was routine: one swung a metal club to bat the Mute aside, the other yanked Geston back into the formation.
“Huff, huff... th-thanks, thank—”
“Knew it’d go down like this. Empire boys are all weak sauce, eh? First time with Mutes?”
“Hey, they held this long. Beats the hell outta when just the centurion and me crawled out alive— these punks are elite rookies.”
“Spot on, it was just me. You, Todd? Forget I dragged your ass?”
The pair in bizarre leather smeared with pig fat. Lordric grunts, right at home in the gore shower, wiped the blood off Geston’s face with a filthy rag while shooting the breeze.
Shove!
The leather hood they slapped over his head stank of the same rancid pig.
“Stinks, but deal with it. Oiled it good— should block splatter.”
“Th-thanks...”
“Save it. You lot stay alive so we can rotate out and rest later. Mute fights are grim marathons. Catch your breath and get back up front. This swarm... figure three hours minimum.”
“Uh, centurion! Charles, bro! One’s breaching front! On it!”
“Damn it! Run, Todd! Hey, buddy! Catch you on the line!”
Geston shuddered as the two vanished into the fray after their quick bailout.
‘Catch me on the line? Back to that hellhole trusting one shield?’
He’d been a fool. Dad was right, like always. Now all he craved was shuffling home for a cup of his father’s root tea.
Corpses already mounded into hills, but the meat-wave showed no end— Geston backpedaled instead of advancing.
Thud!
“Where you headed?”
A muscle-bound man strolling out like on a walk grabbed his shoulder.
‘Priest... of Valor!’
A cleric who proved himself in battle. True to his Empire roots and devotee of the Valor creed, Geston dropped to his knees before the reassuring priest and burst into sobs.
“Priest! I was a fool! I ain’t no hero or brave soul! I wanna live. Go home alive! Sniff! In Valor’s name, by Da-Karza’s grace, watch over me!”
If he picked the most desperate prayer of his life, this was it.
Did the fervor work? The priest, armed in radiant holy power, smiled gently and hauled him up.
“You’re a brother in faith. I get it. Who wouldn’t wanna live?”
“Aah, priest...”
“No worries. I’ll show you the path to survival.”
Shing-!
The priest drew a massive greatsword that suited his burly frame and bellowed a laugh.
“P-priest?”
“Warrior! Once your feet hit the battlefield, Da-Karza watches! Step forward, and her blessing follows— step back, and death by neglect is only natural! I, Bolad, priest of Valor! I’ll aid you with all I got so Valor’s grace shields you too! Now, forward!”
Whoosh!
The priest’s swing grazed Geston’s forehead. Blood spurted— proof this madman meant to shove him straight into the meat grinder.
“P-priest! Why! Aaaagh!”
“Hahahaha! Can’t turn a fellow Valor worshipper into a faithless coward! Chant with me! Latura, Dakaaaaaargh!”
“Sniff, Latura... Latura, Da-Karza... hic!”
“Louder! Latura! Dekaaaaaarghhhhhh!!!!! Hahahahaha! The battlefield’s only lifeline is calling you, brother!”
The faster he fled from that greatsword, the faster the priest chased. The blood and screams, briefly distant, closed in again. Running empty-handed, Geston snatched an axe rolling at his feet instead of a discarded shield.
The grip molded perfectly to his palm. The familiarity, worlds apart from the shield he’d handled three months, stirred old nostalgia.
Like always, the choice came quick. The regret? Fashionably late.
“Aaaargh!”
Slash!
‘Misfortune. Just like Dad said— payback for a lifetime of good luck crashing down as the worst luck imaginable!’
Sword wind grazed his neck; he poured on speed and swung the axe at the pink flesh lump inches from his face.
Far off, two Lordric grunts flashed him thumbs-up as he flailed the axe through tears.
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“That guy? Pulled himself up to the front line solo and lived? One tough-luck bastard.”
Of course, to the saint observing from afar, it didn’t look half bad. Better than he’d planned, even.
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