Chapter 555: Do Not Forgive My Sins
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 555: Do Not Forgive My Sins
In a land of polytheism, where the worship of many gods was the norm, being branded a heretic meant being abandoned by every single deity.
Simply put, in a society built entirely on the foundation of faith, a heretic was no longer considered human.
Once the brand was burned into your reputation, there was nowhere left to go. In a world where life revolved around established cities, where could a pariah find refuge? They were forced to become bandits or flee to the lawless oasis villages of the West or the desolate frontiers of the East.
Of course, such a journey was rarely successful; it was a desperate gamble where one staked their very life against the elements.
A scholar once pointed out that the witch hunts and heretic purges spreading like wildfire were the primary cause of the continent's rising banditry. However, he too was accused of heresy and burned at the stake, so most people found it best to turn a blind eye to that truth, even if they knew it in their hearts.
To be a heretic originally meant believing in concepts that contradicted the fundamental faiths of the continent or worshiping forbidden idols. In other words, cultists—those rejected by all gods and defined as enemies of the divine—were heretics in the truest sense.
In reality, any accusation of heresy beyond that was merely a matter of convenience. It was an arbitrary label—a nose ring if hung on the nose, an earring if hung on the ear. Unless one possessed fanatical faith or was incredibly naive, everyone living in these lands knew this to be the case.
By right, accusations of heresy outside of actual cults should have been rare, but the world was seldom just or honest. There was a reason the term "witch hunt" existed.
After all, how many people actually had the courage to hunt a true witch? Mages were exponentially more dangerous on their own turf. To kill a witch in her own sanctuary? Even if someone possessed the bravery to try, they would surely die in the attempt, leaving no one alive to tell the tale. Besides, why bother a witch who was minding her own business? Most spent their entire lives sequestered in their sanctuaries, obsessed with magical research.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Even though there were witches among the cultists who still harvested the hearts of children to prolong their lives, the Holy Order often failed to punish them. They could always manufacture whatever excuse suited their needs.
The reality of the witch hunts proclaimed by the Holy Order was often enough to make a man sick to his stomach. While such blatant atrocities were less common these days, they had not vanished entirely. The world was absurd, and that absurdity always fell hardest on the weak.
It was this very absurdity that had branded Audin a heretic.
‘Father, have You forsaken me?’
Audin had doubted himself countless times and had even tried to abandon his faith. Yet, the God had never once stripped him of the proof of His love.
The blessing granted by the God of War—his divine power—remained firmly rooted within him. It had been there when he was expelled from the Holy Order, and it remained there now. In truth, if he were a genuine heretic abandoned by the heavens, his divine power should have vanished instantly.
But it remained. His power was intact.
Because the Holy Order had no way to erase a God's gift, they had been forced to settle for placing a restriction on him. This was the truth behind the man known as the Heretic Audin.
"You are a heretic."
That was the judgment the Holy Order had passed on him.
Why? Because of a truth he had once vaguely sensed but ignored, and now clearly recognized but preferred not to face: a brand of heresy was often decided regardless of a God's teachings, serving only the Holy Order's political interests.
He was a symbol of that corruption. A man born with immense talent who failed to fulfill his duty as an Inquisitor and ultimately chose to stand against the Holy Order.
As he spoke to Encrid, Audin lowered his gaze to his hands gripping the reins. He saw a phantom of blood dripping from his palms onto the dry earth. These were the hands that had committed countless wrongs, hands that had wrongfully captured, imprisoned, and broken innocent people in the name of righteousness.
‘Do not forgive my sins.’
Audin silently recited the first line of the dawn prayer he offered every day. It was a plea that had never changed since the day he walked away from his position as an Inquisitor.
At Audin’s confession, Encrid raised his head. He had been riding in deep thought, silent for most of the journey. A spark of focus returned to Encrid’s eyes, which had been staring blankly at the horizon. He turned his head, and their eyes met. Rem, riding on the other side, also looked at Audin.
Rem’s expression clearly asked what kind of nonsense this "damn bear" was spouting now.
Encrid sat upright, reins in hand, but his shoulders were relaxed. To maintain such a loose, natural posture on a moving horse required considerable equestrian skill. The horses trotted lightly, the autumn breeze carried a pleasant chill, and the sunlight felt sharp against their skin. Yellowed grass, crushed beneath hooves, carpeted the path.
Encrid spoke, his voice steady. "Are you looking for an insult? I can give you one if that's what you want."
On the surface, it was an incredibly indifferent remark. To react so casually when someone had just shared their darkest, lifelong secret was classic Encrid.
"An insult? I'll do it! Come on, you big bear, what kind of insult do you want?" Rem eagerly chimed in. It was a small mercy he didn't call him "youngest" this time.
Audin was momentarily speechless. Even as he spoke, he had anticipated Encrid’s reaction. Given the time they had spent together, he had expected something like: I know. So? What of it? He thought Encrid would show he knew the rumors but didn't care.
But this response was different. An insult? Why would he offer that?
"Wasn't it because you wanted to be insulted?" Encrid asked, following up.
At that question, Audin realized a small, piercing truth. It was a lightning-fast realization born from a brief exchange.
‘Did I want to be insulted?’
The captain had likely guessed the truth behind the rumors long ago. Even so, why had Audin confessed? Had he wanted someone to condemn his sins? To punish him?
The God had not punished him. Therefore, in his mind, he had not yet been held accountable. Audin, with his fastidious and noble faith, truly believed that he was still waiting for his penance.
"Self-harm is a poor hobby," Encrid added, his tone still indifferent.
"What do you mean, self-harm? Let's just curse him out! He said he wants it," Rem shouted. "Hey, you damn bear! You're the kind of oaf who gets stung in the eyes while trying to steal honey from a tree!"
Rem had recently been practicing "civilized" insults, but the attempt was a disaster.
"I don't think that's quite it," Encrid muttered.
"Tsk, yeah, even I felt that one missed," Rem grumbled.
Audin didn't even hear the barbarian’s nonsense. He was focused on Encrid. The captain was right. What he was doing was mental self-harm.
The scriptures forbade mistreating the body given by the Lord Father. But did that teaching refer only to the flesh? What about the mind? The soul? The heart?
Audin had never neglected his physical training, but he had utterly failed to care for his heart. He had spent years whipping himself. Was that true penance? An act for spiritual growth?
No. Audin had repeatedly torn, crushed, and lashed his own soul while dwelling on his past. He had done so without questioning why. If asked, he would have simply said he had to. Though his sins could not be forgiven, he felt he had to acknowledge them before the Lord Father.
It was a silent cry, begging for a punishment that never came.
"Ah."
Audin let out a long sigh of realization. His deep voice resonated through the air.
Lord Father, You have granted me another teaching.
If self-harm stood in opposition to the scriptures, was it not a path leading to further error? Therefore, he had to stop.
‘I shall never unleash my divine power for my own sake for the rest of my life.’
Even if death came for him, Audin would hold to this. It wasn't even an act of atonement, for Audin did not dare to hope for forgiveness.
Within his body, sealed by the restriction, his divine power surged. It sought to burst forth with the light of his new realization, but Audin calmed his mind and suppressed it. If he were to release the restriction now, the divine power accumulated through his insights would erupt like a tempest. But he would not let that happen.
‘This power is not meant for me.’
High above, an eagle circled.
Screeech!
To Encrid, the cry sounded like a whistle dagger. Rem heard it too.
"If that was a confession, then I'm a Westerner," Rem joked.
"Right, and I'm a Continental," Encrid added.
Audin smiled his usual rough smile. It was their way of showing consideration—telling him to stop talking nonsense because they already knew he wasn't a "real" heretic. To hear such words even from the lawless barbarian showed that the bond they had forged was deep.
Screeech!
Following the eagle's cry, the shriek of a demonic beast tore through the air. The resonance was different—one was clear and awe-inspiring, the other an unstable, unpleasant dissonance.
In the distance, a few harpies flapped their wings. They weren't close, but they weren't far either. While it was rare for demonic beasts to run rampant near the capital or the Border Guard, they were appearing more frequently in areas where the Safe Road had not yet been fully established.
When monsters were driven out of their territories, they often gathered in displaced colonies. Though there were only a few harpies, they would be a nuisance to travelers.
"I'll handle it," Rem said. Encrid nodded.
To a merchant caravan, harpies were a lethal threat. To Rem, they were target practice. The barbarian kicked his horse’s flanks and surged forward, a cloud of dust rising behind him. The dry autumn weather made the dust thick, momentarily obscuring their vision.
After watching the dust settle, Audin spoke again.
"I was an Inquisitor."
If admitting he was a heretic was self-harm, this was a true confession.
"I see," Encrid replied. His reaction was unchanged.
Audin told Encrid his story. It wasn't long. He condensed his life into a few clear lines: an orphan, a priest he loved like a father, the doubts that grew while judging "heretics," and the life he spent turning his back on the Holy Order. He omitted his specific reasons for joining the Border Guard, focusing only on the weight of his past.
Encrid realized Audin had no talent for storytelling.
"Yeah."
Encrid didn't offer deep empathy. He simply accepted the facts. It wasn't his place to judge. What was the point of dwelling on the past? Should he tell him to live better? To never make mistakes again? Who was he to preach?
As an Inquisitor, Audin had sent many to the Holy Order’s dungeons. As he revealed this, he asked himself: Were they truly sinners?
Now, he knew they weren't.
As he spoke, Audin’s mind began to settle. It was a strange sensation. Instead of offering empty sympathy, Encrid simply listened. He sat upright, attentive and without pretense.
"I don't think it's your fault that the Holy Order is corrupt," Encrid said.
He spoke only the facts, offering neither pity nor comfort. Audin couldn't quite bring himself to agree—his sins were his own, regardless of the Order's flaws—but he appreciated the perspective.
This was how Encrid approached life. Everyone said it was impossible for a commoner to become a knight, but since he had declared he would become one, he simply lived as a knight should. Audin’s heart dictated his path, so he followed it.
Encrid had no intention of forcing his worldview on others. Everyone lived by their own will. Besides, Audin was not a man who would be easily swayed by a few words. If he were, he never would have attained such strength.
Backbone. Will. Determination. Without those, overcoming the walls of cultivation was impossible.
As Encrid conversed with Audin, a dilemma in his own swordsmanship—one he had been pondering for weeks—suddenly resolved itself.
‘Steadfastness.’
To be firm and unyielding.
Had his mind become rushed because he had finally caught a glimpse of true talent? Had he become intoxicated by his own skill after the Ferryman assisted him? Recently, he had hit a wall with the Wave-Blocking Sword, the style he designed to utilize repulsive force. Because he had learned so many different sword styles, he had instinctively tried to find a "detour" around the problem.
He had wanted to solve it before reaching the Border Guard, but he realized now that rushing was the wrong path.
‘The method itself isn't wrong.’
It just wasn't the right approach for his current self. For someone else, a detour might work. But every life had its own pace. The Wave-Blocking Sword simply had to find its own way forward, step by step.
They continued their journey under the autumn sun. No rain fell this time, so they didn't need to seek shelter in caves. They stopped at Zaltenbuck, where Encrid lightly sparred with a mercenary who challenged him. Word of his identity had spread, and the local mayor and nobles visited him day and night.
"You won't... cut off my head, will you?" some of the nobles asked, trembling at the sight of Rem.
Rem had tried his best to be polite at the banquets, but his reputation preceded him: a madman who, having lost his parents to nobles, would split open the skull of any aristocrat he saw.
"Dammit! Why would my parents be killed by nobles? I'm from the West! We don't even have nobles there!" Rem complained. Despite his frustration, he didn't actually hit anyone.
They encountered no bandits, but they never ignored monsters. Whenever they saw a gathering of beasts, they stopped to "warm up."
"I shall send you to the Lord!" Audin would roar as he charged.
Watching Audin fight, Encrid began to pick up hand-to-hand combat techniques from him. It was a productive journey—real combat, excellent teachers, and constant growth. Rem scolded him occasionally, but that was just part of their daily routine.
"You're basically a knight now, shouldn't you get this on the first try? How frustrating!" Rem would huff. In a true duel, it was hard to say who would win between them, but Rem still enjoyed acting the senior.
Finally, they returned to the Border Guard. Encrid settled back into his routine of training and sparring. As Krang had advised, it was time to eat well, live well, and build his strength.
Then, Encrid officially announced the formation of his own unit at the Border Guard.
"The Mad Knight Order? Why on earth would you name it that..." Krais muttered, shaking his head.
But the name was already official. The news of a new order of knights spread across the continent faster than anyone expected. Such an event was rare—most couldn't remember the last time a new order had been sanctioned.
Along with the news, rumors of the core members of the Border Guard began to circulate—rumors fueled by the legendary exploits of Rem and Audin.