Chapter 578: Four Hundred and Forty-Eight
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 578: Four Hundred and Forty-Eight
Encrid approached Audin. Blood trickled from the giant man’s eyes, nose, and ears.
Encrid remembered Audin dying as he unleashed his Halo.
He remembered Audin appearing from behind when they faced the Duke.
He remembered Audin teaching him the Isolation Technique.
He remembered Audin praying for him.
Encrid recalled every moment of the past Audin had shared with him.
Plagued by guilt?
Could that burden really be blamed on this giant, pure-hearted man? Truly?
Audin's hands trembled again, and blood poured from his mouth. He was dying; anyone could see it.
"Tell me what you want," Encrid said softly. "I will do it in your stead."
This was the man who had been his teacher. Encrid wanted to carry on Audin's will.
Audin looked up and smiled. Even while covered in blood, he managed a faint grin.
"Do you want to sweep them all away? Do you want to excise the rot?"
Did he want the Holy Order to walk a straight and righteous path? If so, Encrid would make it happen. For the Audin he remembered, Encrid was more than willing to perform a dance of blades. Just as Audin had unleashed his light and refused to stand by and watch Encrid die, Encrid would do the same for him.
"Speak."
Audin’s smile remained as his lips parted.
"Please... punish those with false divinity. Whether they are Paladins, Crusaders, or priests... if they walk the wrong path, punish them. Do not let them terrorize the people with the word 'heresy.' Let the hearts of true believers find peace. Let the Holy Order become one that helps the poor and the pitiful."
This was likely Audin’s true, deepest desire. He paused for a moment, then spoke again.
"Actually... please just forget everything I just said. Instead, Captain Brother, achieve your dream, just as you wish. That is what I truly desire."
Audin did not pass on his duties or his burdens. With those final words, he closed his eyes.
And then...
Flash.
He snapped his eyes open again. It seemed he still had lingering regrets.
"Ah, please tell the Barbarian Brother and the other brothers that when we meet in heaven later, I’ll give them some private training."
If this was indeed his last will and testament, it was a rather amusing one.
"I will pass it on," Encrid replied.
"Please tell Sister Teresa to simply move forward in accordance with her faith."
"I will."
"When Sister Dunchabel returns, please don't nag her too much about washing up. Honestly, she doesn't even smell that bad, does she?"
"She smells sour, Audin."
"Please... do not let the Shepherd Brother berate others for their lack of talent. That won't be good for him either."
Just listening to him made it clear how much Audin cared for those around him. Encrid waited quietly for the death of the man who had been his teacher, his squad member, and the very core of his order.
The battle to honor him would likely be a brutal one. Even if he had to burn down the entire Holy Order, Encrid would fulfill Audin's wishes. That was also how Encrid would achieve his own dream.
Once Audin passed, Encrid would declare his intent here in words, and eventually, he would prove it through his actions. So, he waited.
"The weather is nice," Audin murmured.
"Because it's autumn."
"When winter comes, please steal Brother Rem's thermal leather and hide it. I think it would be fun."
"That's a bit too harsh for a prank."
Rem hated the cold to a pathological degree. If anyone suggested crossing a mountain range in winter, he would probably swing his axe at them first.
"Brother Ragna will probably never find his way properly for the rest of his life."
"Be realistic."
Audin remained on his knees. He clasped his hands together in prayer. Was this truly the end? He began to pray—a silent murmur in his heart. Perhaps he was asking the Lord Father, whom he always spoke of, to come out and greet him.
After a brief prayer, Audin spoke.
"It hurts."
"Of course it does."
Encrid stayed by his side until the very end.
"Whew."
Audin exhaled. Encrid blinked a few times.
He couldn't help but think that Audin was talking far too much for someone on the verge of death. Was that an irreverent thought? To think such a thing while his teacher and comrade was dying? Still, this was getting a bit long-winded.
Meanwhile, Sinar approached and spoke up.
"Isn't he doing a bit too well?"
Everyone was staring blankly in their direction. The sight of the dying Audin and Encrid watching over him had looked so tragic. Besides, hadn't Encrid's back spoken volumes? He had exuded an aura that made it clear he would not forgive anyone who dared to interrupt. Even Shilma, who was clearly half-mad, hadn't dared to say another word.
And yet...
"Hmm."
Audin raised a hand and wiped his eyes. The bloody tears had stopped. His entire body ached and throbbed, but he didn't feel like he was about to die. The trembling in his hands had ceased.
Above all, though he had felt completely drained as a backlash of unleashing his Holy Light, strength was returning to his body. While he couldn't unleash the Holy Light again immediately, he wasn't at death's door either.
Clenching and opening his hands a few times confirmed it. Since his Regenerative Body had enough leeway to activate, his condition was gradually improving. While it wasn't to the extent of regrowing limbs like Frok, his current wounds would surely heal.
"Hmm."
Audin let out another soft groan. Why was he alive? There had to be a reason. When he broke his restriction, he had prepared himself for death. His restriction was self-imposed, but because it had been in place for so long, undoing it should have been like peeling away thin cloth, layer by layer. Ripping it off violently should have ruined his internal organs. Even if he didn't die from the backlash, half of his bodily functions should have been destroyed.
"Huuup."
Audin took a deep breath and exhaled. Though it was slightly uncomfortable, his lungs were perfectly fine. His stomach throbbed, but his sphincter hadn't lost its grip, nor did he feel like he was about to soil himself.
In other words, he was fine.
Was there anything different from before? Audin fumbled at his waist, and there lay the reason.
The Counterfeit Holy Relic.
It was the item Encrid had brought back from the West. Audin had poured his heart and soul into removing the curse bound to it. There had been only one way to do so: transferring a portion of the curse to his own body and burning it away.
In the process, he had endured pain akin to being branded with a hot iron. Since they weren't in a position to send the relic to the Holy Order, Audin had taken it all upon himself as a form of penance. In the process of erasing the curse, a portion of his own divinity had naturally been imbued into the relic.
When he unleashed his divinity moments ago, the relic had absorbed some of the burden placed on his body. It wasn't a massive effect—just a tiny bit of help—but that was more than enough. Audin's robust body could handle the rest.
To think it would turn out like this.
It could be seen as a coincidence, or perhaps destiny.
"Whatever you bestow, it shall return to you. Fortune returns from whence you sowed it."
To borrow the words of the Goddess of Fortune, it was something like that. Audin felt deeply embarrassed. He had thought he was going to die, but he was far too healthy.
He felt Encrid's gaze, those piercing blue eyes, fixate on his face.
"Ahem." Audin cleared his throat.
The gaze remained fixed. It seemed he needed to explain himself.
"Th-the matters of the Holy Order... I will handle them myself."
Encrid continued to stare.
"There is also no need to postpone the training for Brother Rem and the others."
"Ah. So, you're alive?" Encrid spoke, his face completely expressionless.
Audin smiled sheepishly. Since he was embarrassed, he might as well smile. Encrid stared blankly at Audin before nodding. To be honest, he was incredibly relieved. It had turned into a farce, but he was glad he could still say these words:
"Just don't beat everyone in the Holy Order to death."
In Encrid's view, with the Holy Light Audin had displayed earlier, a mere tap from him would probably explode the head of an average priest.
"As if I would do such a thing."
"Brother Alma!"
Only then did Shilma cry out. It was the moment the clock, which had been forcibly stopped by the brief farce, began to tick once more.
Alma rolled his eyes for a moment, then, having made up his mind, raised his hammer high.
"Everything is for the glory of the Holy Order!"
Usually, he had his two disciples carry a ring each. Those rings were items that stood on the opposite side of divinity. In other words, they were forged by a demon.
There was a reason he had secretly smuggled items from the Demon Realm and forced his disciples to carry them. The rings held by the disciples instantly absorbed human life force and transmitted that power to a third ring. Through this, Alma could temporarily surpass his own limits.
The previous disappearance of his two disciples had been for this exact reason. It was a shortcut to power. Why did he do this? It wasn't because Alma had despaired over his lack of talent. He had chosen it simply because it was easy.
Such was Alma's life. He had always chosen the easy and comfortable path. He lived in direct opposition to the teachings of willingly taking the path of hardship. Because of that, his divinity had long since lost its luster. This was why, despite being a Crusader at the level of an Associate Knight, he was relegated to such menial tasks.
"What?"
"Huh?"
The two disciples let out short cries, followed by screams.
"Aaaargh!"
It was a scream of agonizing pain. Encrid tore his gaze away from Audin and looked at Alma. At a glance, it was obvious some kind of demonic power was at play. This wasn't his first time experiencing this; there was no reason to be flustered. He had already seen something similar from Count Molsen.
Is playing with demons the trend these days?
It was a carefree thought, but he couldn't help it. Compared to the demonic powers he had witnessed so far, what his opponent displayed was rather pathetic.
Associate Knight Alma's two disciples shriveled up, turning into dry firewood. The light faded from their eyes, and they collapsed to the ground. Their final screams were their last words.
Leaving the fallen pair behind him, Alma spoke. He didn't even spare a glance for his dead disciples. He was a man who thought only of himself.
"Can you withstand the power of a Knight in your exhausted state?"
The light he emitted was incredibly turbid. It was hazy, with black, grain-like specks floating within it—the price of selling his soul. Encrid knew very well that even if he was exhausted and injured, he would not lose to a pseudo-knight like this.
Above all, Sinar was perfectly fine. It would be a problem if Overdear interfered, but...
"How lamentable."
Overdear was shaking his head. No, he didn't stop there.
"Step back."
Encrid thought those words were directed at Alma, but they weren't. At those words, the Inquisitor named Bert reacted instantly, sidestepping as if fleeing.
Shilma, already knowing Alma's secret, was not surprised. She believed that even demonic power, if used for a righteous cause, was the correct path.
"You simpletons," Overdear spoke.
His tone was completely different now. His polite manner of speech was gone, replaced by a casual, weary authority. He raised his two rods. Their direction was clear—the opposite of before. Encrid watched silently, then couldn't resist speaking up.
"Hey, Count Molsen already did that."
He meant he had already dealt with this pseudo-knight play. Of course, Crusader Alma had no idea who Count Molsen was.
"What are you babbling about!" Alma roared.
It was understandable. Feeling such sudden omnipotence would make anyone feel invincible. Only in his mind, though.
The hundred-year-old man, still hale and hearty despite being struck by Audin, raised his rods.
"You should have remained a martyr instead."
It was a bitter remark.
To jump straight to the conclusion: Alma had his head bashed in with just two strikes of the rods. Shilma hastily tried to conceal herself with a divine spell, but her legs were severed by an energy blade swung by Sinar.
"My thanks, young elf," the hundred-year-old man said, expressing his gratitude in his altered tone.
"I am four hundred and forty-eight, young human," Sinar spat back.
That was the end of it. The situation was resolved.
"Lord Overdear."
The only one remaining was the man named Bert.
"I believe we need to talk," said the hundred-year-old man, who had seemed briefly taken aback upon hearing Sinar's age. He wiped the blood and brains of the pseudo-knight Alma from his rods onto the man's own martial priest robes.
Encrid stared at the old man who, while perhaps not harboring outright hostility now, had been ready to eliminate them all if things had gone differently.
Pitter-patter.
Raindrops began to fall. The atmosphere surrounding Paladin Overdear shifted completely.