Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Benedict Style
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The warehouse was a complete disaster.
Relics and personal effects from those executed here over decades past had been left to rot in the church's indifference.
In stark contrast to the fragrant scent in Damian's office earlier, the musty stench of mold and moss now stabbed at my lungs.
"Doesn't look like there's much worth taking."
I grimaced as I scanned the dilapidated shelves.
Magical artifacts that once held special functions lay scattered like empty husks, unable to withstand the flow of time.
Whirr—
A few occasionally emitted faint magical reactions, but they were limited to things like emitting light or casting low-level buffs.
With raw power being what I needed right now, auxiliary gear took a back seat.
"Might as well find some half-baked martial arts manual or a blade instead."
I moved past the shelves toward the bookcases shrouded in thick dust.
The books were in better condition than the artifacts, but even they had swelled and softened from the humidity.
I brushed off the dust and began flipping through the stacks one by one, checking their contents.
I figured something decent might turn up if I kept looking.
But...
[Item: Church Basic Dagger Technique]
[Description: A book compiling the foundational dagger techniques used by the church. Written for those new to daggers.]
This was the best of the bunch, and it wasn't even that great.
"Haa... Of course there wouldn't be any hidden manuals stashed in a place like this."
Those greedy priests would've swept every remotely useful item off to the holy relic vault by now.
Just to be sure, I skimmed the contents, but it was truly nothing special.
The stuff I'd learned in the military was more useful, even.
I swallowed my disappointment and returned the booklet to its place.
'Still plenty left to check. Too early to give up.'
I carefully examined the blue windows filling my vision as I ventured deeper into the thick darkness.
After hours of straining my eyes in focused search...
I'd managed to narrow down some promising candidates.
[Item: Imperial Army Mana Operation Method]
[Description: The mana operation technique learned by imperial elite soldiers. Effective for basic physical reinforcement and mana circulation.]
[Item: Imperial Mid-Grade Recovery Potion]
[Description: An imperial potion capable of healing moderate to severe wounds.]
Considering the state of this place, it wasn't a bad haul.
Taking these would let me reinforce my frail body and prepare some minimal insurance against whatever surprises lay ahead.
Still, a hollow ache lingered in my chest.
To escape this place, I'd inevitably have to face Damian—and these supplies were woefully insufficient to scale that massive wall.
And according to the original story, villains stronger than Damian would pop up like weeds, so I needed to bolster my strength as much as possible this time around.
In the end, I turned toward a completely different area from what I'd searched before—the farthest, most forsaken corner of the warehouse.
It wasn't even a proper storage space anymore; it was a literal dump for worthless junk not fit to categorize.
The fishy stench choked me, but I bit my lip and pressed on.
"Alright, let's do this."
Suppressing my dry heaves, I roughly tore into the nearest pile.
Crash.
Shards of broken pottery sliced across the back of my hand, and acrid dust from tattered clothes clouded my vision.
My face was soon caked in sweat and grime, my lungs burning from the foul air.
My palms were covered in cuts from sharp fragments, but I didn't stop.
If they'd hidden something in a trash heap like this, there was only one reason.
It was either something too ominous for the church to handle—or a deadly secret that couldn't see the light of day.
How much time passed?
Clunk—
My fingertips caught on an unfamiliar texture.
Amid the filthy rags, a pitch-black metal hilt that absorbed even light revealed itself.
At first glance, it seemed like just another scrap of junk.
But the moment I reached for it, a blue hologram flickered to life, shattering the silence with information.
[Item: Black Iron Stiletto]
[Description: A dagger forged from the rare metal black iron. Someone's memories slumber within.]
It was superior to any weapon I'd seen in the warehouse.
No—even if I asked Mirabel to procure one, getting anything better would be next to impossible.
But what truly captivated me wasn't its value as a master blade.
It was that strange phrase at the bottom of the description window.
'Someone's memories.'
The instant I registered those words...
My hand had already gripped the jet-black hilt tight.
At that moment, a chilling cold surged from the stiletto, racing up my wrist to my brain.
"What is this...?!"
Before my curiosity could turn to caution...
My consciousness plummeted into darkness like being sucked into a black hole.
As my mind sank into a profound abyss, an alien landscape began unfolding before my eyes.
It was the life of some man.
A boy raised in a rural village grew up, joined the church, displayed exceptional talent, and was appointed a heretic interrogator.
The church hadn't fully corrupted yet; those he interrogated were all apostates guilty of crimes.
He carried out his duties mercilessly, like an iron statue come to life.
Decades later, now middle-aged, he answered a summons from the Papal Palace and headed to the holy city.
There, he received the black stiletto I'd just found, then left the camp bearing a heavy mission.
The scenes shifted relentlessly.
One day, he slit the throat of an old priest attempting to defile a young sacrifice in his lavish villa, splattering blood over a hoard of gold bars hidden beneath the bed.
Another day, he severed the tongue of a priest embezzling donations from the poor, then dunked his head into a vat of holy water the man had hoarded for his vices.
In the back alleys of a cathedral buzzing with festival energy, his hand never trembled as he beheaded holy knights running a covert drug ring.
I could only speculate that he was the silent executioner who judged those corrupting the church's name for personal gain.
He had stood at the forefront of purges, staving off the church's decay.
But as the rot spread from the roots, the eyes of those who once praised him changed.
The scene flipped in an instant—he was surrounded by comrades.
Overwhelmed by numbers, the man finally broke and was cast onto the cold floor of Camp 1.
He'd stained his hands navigating the church's ugliest depths for its sake, only to meet a miserable end without even a name remembered.
Bathed in blood, he breathed his last clutching the black stiletto. There, the vivid panorama halted.
'So these were the stiletto's memories.'
Having fully shared the man's experiences...
A bitter taste lingered in my mouth, even though these were memories I'd never witnessed in the original story.
As frozen darkness descended...
Drip—
The man, sprawled on the floor, slowly lifted his head.
His piercing gaze bored into me as he spoke.
"Tell me. What resolve drove you to grasp this blade?"
His question carried a heavy pressure.
This wasn't mere probing.
A clumsy answer might trap me here forever.
I fell silent for a moment.
Grand ideals like justice or revenge weren't mine.
I just wanted to stop someone's misfortune.
"There are four people I must save. Even if it costs my life."
A strange smile curved the man's lips at my words.
"I see. If you'd claimed to save the whole world, I wouldn't have believed you."
He approached slowly and extended his hand.
The moment our hands clasped, the essence of his combat techniques flooded my mind.
Vast information, but I widened my eyes and absorbed every sensation, marveling.
Skills honed through thousands of real battles. Precise mana control over every muscle.
A pinnacle refined solely for executing the wicked.
"What is this technique called?"
At my question, he replied nonchalantly.
"No grand name here. I merely inherited it from my predecessors."
"Then at least tell me your name."
"Call me Benedict."
I nodded, savoring the name.
"Understood. From today, I'll call it the 'Benedict Style'."
He burst into incredulous laughter at my suggestion.
"Flattery, eh? You're a sly one."
He stared at me with an odd expression, then gathered his shadow and passed it to me.
A metallic chill wrapped softly around my wrist.
"Truth be told, I peeked into your memories a bit. This is my final gift. Something worn away in this warehouse corner—it'll surely prove useful for that child you're trying to save."
His faintly smiling form began dissolving into hazy dust.
I sensed intuitively that our meeting was ending.
"Are you leaving?"
Benedict replied with a serene expression.
"I've waited far too long. Now I can finally rest my eyes."
He gave me a brief nod.
"Save those four you spoke of. No matter what."
Flash—
My vision blinked white, and I was back in the warehouse.
The only changes: the jet-black stiletto in my hand, and a silver pendant clutched alongside it.
The pendant's surface was worn smooth by time, yet it emanated a subtle energy.
Activating Emotion to check its info, my eyes widened.
'...Thank you, Benedict.'
I murmured my sincere gratitude inwardly as I tucked the pendant into my bosom.