Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: Pine Tree and Wildflowers
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“Eek, thud. It was a pretty nice tool, too.”
Silver Hermit Geher’s face fell as he gazed at the utterly ruined sickle.
One might say all sickles are the same, but there are those who craft tools well and those who don’t. The world is full of masters, and among them are some who make truly excellent sickles.
This sickle had actually cost more than a typical one. Of course, it was still just sickle money—not made of gold, but iron and wood. How expensive could a sickle seem to Geher’s eyes?
Once you reach Master level, you don’t lack for money even if you try. So when he bought this sickle, he’d thought it a bit of a splurge, but hadn’t held high hopes.
A blade too heavy feels unstable when swung, and a dull one can’t even cut weeds properly, let alone people.
He’d loved that he never had to worry about such things while using this sickle, but that arrogant little brat had completely wrecked it. Roca’s blade had done that.
‘And to shatter my stellar aura with enough force to ruin the sickle.’
Strictly speaking, it hadn’t been Roca’s power or the blade’s.
The Moon Maiden Theresia’s Moon Maiden Blade Arts were the real deal, but Geher was also a being worthy of being called a Grand Master in this era. Even if the Moon Maiden herself wielded the Crescent Moon Blade and unleashed her arts, there was no guarantee she’d overwhelm him—what was there to fear from Roca doing it?
“I wonder what that sword taught the kid.”
But at the end, when all her attacks failed to land and frustration boiled over, Roca’s final strike—that one had truly been frightening.
The deep sunset-hued line, unlike with Heron, hadn’t pierced the sickle but had faded away harmlessly. Instead, it wrecked the sickle, turning it into scrap. Now it wasn’t even worth selling as junk.
‘Sunset Slash.’
Truly absurd. Even when wielded by Roca, it had chilled Geher to the bone for a moment—a technique of utter devastation.
Five hundred years ago, if this technique had blazed from Master Heron’s sword, its power would no doubt have annihilated him in a single blow.
‘It’s a technique that transcends realms—no, dominates them. Why would that sword choose something that isn’t always a boon?’
Naturally, it wasn’t a technique the current Roca could control. Whether skill or weapon, they exist for people in the end—when they turn the tables on their wielders, that’s no good.
“That kid... I hope she doesn’t turn into a villain. She doesn’t seem innately wicked, so that’s reassuring...”
When immense power falls into a child’s hands, the outcome is one of two: good or bad.
Usually the latter. That worried Geher. Great power must be wielded by a great spirit—one mature enough to handle it.
‘It’s too soon to judge. Whether that child becomes a hero, a Demon King, or a hermit like me.’
A minor hermit hides in the woods; a greater one hides among people. That was why Hermit Geher lived in the imperial palace yet remained a hermit. Few in the world knew his true identity.
But this hermit had once been the Mercenary King, roaming and thriving across the world. He’d seen many people and learned much. To him, Roca seemed somehow unstable.
For now, something seemed to be steadying that instability, keeping her calm.
But if that crutch vanished, who knew where she’d bolt to— not even her.
*****
Roca returned looking quite pleased with whatever she’d gained. The child had a new blade strapped to her back, one that shimmered with a cool moonlight glow—clearly a treasure in its own right.
It wasn’t on the level of Yurinel’s holy sword. Still, it seemed comparable to the Blood Bullet Magic Spear once used by Duke Schumira?
Even among Demon Kings, few possessed weapons of that caliber. The Empire truly lived up to its name.
Imperial treasury or not, for weapons rolling around in storage to be of that quality. It wobbled, but it had the prestige of the continent’s wealthiest, mightiest nation. The demons hadn’t dared launch reckless assaults on humanity partly because they kept checking each other.
But in my view, it was simply that the demons’ capabilities didn’t measure up. Individually—not always, but generally—demons outclass humans.
As a race overall, though, they’re overwhelmingly outmatched in numbers and quality. Demon Realm might seem vast, but the land they hold is just the continent’s fringes. Mostly wasteland, unclaimed and uncultivated.
They desperately covet the continent probably because they don’t want to keep living on such land. Humanity’s territory, led by the Empire, must look irresistible to them—the very wind carrying scents of abundance.
“This is the Crescent Moon Blade. Master of Masters. The blade used by Moon Maiden Theresia.”
Spotting me, Roca grinned and scampered over, drawing the blade from her back to show me the edge. She beamed like a puppy with a bone in its mouth, then belatedly noticed Rowena and wiped the smile away.
“But who’s she?”
Was it my imagination? Shadows seemed to flicker behind Roca. Rowena met her eyes and gave an awkward smile.
Suddenly, a breeze whispered in my ear. I’d heard elves were adept at infusing mana into nature’s elements to summon spirits.
—You’re raising a terribly dangerous child.
The wind spirit carried Rowena’s voice to my ear. Then her real voice followed.
“Don’t worry, little miss. I’ve no intention of romancing a human. I’ve seen far too many of my kin fall in love with humans, only to be left alone by their short lifespans and regret it.”
Roca scowled silently at Rowena, who waved her hands in defense. Anyway, Rowena let out an inscrutable laugh and turned back to me.
“Alright, Priest. You promised first, so you must keep it. Don’t forget—you’ll definitely stop by Elvenhome. I’ll do my utmost to help, too.”
“What promise?”
Roca’s voice sharpened. I patted the child, and only then did she soften her glare with a sheepish “Hehe.”
Well, at this point, even I couldn’t pretend not to know.
Roca was fiercer than expected. She just didn’t show it around me, so I hadn’t noticed.
That aside, Roca needed to know exactly what the promise was.
“Roca. Do you know about the trouble in the Citadel Republic?”
Roca made her usual face. I could read her expressions now.
‘It means Roca knows nothing.’ A face she made only for me.
“I told you before about Grimudo and his monster legions. Among those monsters, the mightiest—the Phoenix—is stirring near the republic’s Calderan Mountains.”
At the word Phoenix, though, the child’s face lit up in rare surprise. Normally, my Roca would’ve worn a “So what?” look, but this was genuine fluster.
“Phoenix... that Beast Emperor?”
“You know of it too. Yes, that very Beast Emperor. Countless have targeted it for subjugation, but none succeeded.”
Monsters are ultimately Grimudo’s creations. I don’t know exactly how he made those giants, but once they appear, they rarely vanish.
Even those capable of slaying monsters couldn’t ignore Grimudo lurking behind them. So monster subjugations are rare enough to count on one hand.
There was already the Manticore precedent. He hadn’t seemed to care about that one’s death, but problems remained. Monsters aren’t easy to fell.
Among them, the Phoenix—called Grimudo’s crown for its closeness to him and matching strength—is truly dangerous.
I could say that with confidence.
Our party had encountered it once.
‘Yurinel, Pannel, and Lucia all kept growing stronger afterward, so it wasn’t our peak, but even at our peak, I doubt we could’ve taken it down.’
Even graced by the Bluebird’s Feather, strong enough to fell the third-ranked Demon King Grozam, our party could only barely hold our own and drive it off.
Even that was more like the Phoenix choosing to leave rather than fight more.
Lucia had gritted her teeth at the red bird, spewing hatred, but couldn’t pursue. That alone showed our odds weren’t good if we’d kept fighting.
Naturally, I couldn’t take Roca before such a thing.
Even if Roca matched Yurinel, Pannel, and Lucia combined, victory wasn’t assured. At her current level, facing the Phoenix meant Roca wouldn’t survive.
‘No choice but another way.’
If the Empire and the temples allied, pouring every ounce of strength, maybe subjugation was possible. But that’s pure idealism.
I didn’t think the world worked that hopefully.
The Lord aids us precisely because we can’t manage it ourselves.
‘Nothing for it but to use the Night the Milky Way Blooms.’
Interests clash sharply here. If I could persuade His Majesty the Emperor and the three Archbishops with words alone, ignoring all that for unity, it wouldn’t be rhetoric—it’d be brainwashing. Naturally, I lack such power, and the Lord, who respects free will, wouldn’t grant it.
No expectations mean no disappointments—or letdowns.
Help from others would be welcome, of course, but I can’t expect them to sacrifice themselves for me. Wishes don’t make it happen often, and I shouldn’t wish for it anyway.
Sacrifice can’t be demanded of others. Who could tell someone to abandon their interests for another?
The Lord could. But I, a mere human, can’t demand it of others like I’m something special.
‘My life, foretold for ascension, isn’t as precious as others’.’
If others’ lives are cherished flowers that bloom and wither once, ending all, mine is a pine standing green year-round.
I can’t urge flowers to bloom fully just because I keep green leaves in winter. They die in the frost with no second chance.
I merely change form upon death. So in such moments, sacrificing myself to save more is right—smiling as I walk that path. That’s the price of the Lord’s special grace to me.
“Roca.”
But I’d prefer to walk that path alone, if possible.
“You stay here.”
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