The Holy Sword's Trial
Passing through the corridor, Ashtain climbed the spiral stone staircase. At the top stood a heavy iron door. Click. Using the key the Bishop Ronin had given him, he unlocked it. The door swung open, revealing the chamber within.
“So this is where the Holy Sword is kept.”
It was the vault known as the Holy Sword’s repository. According to Bishop Ronin, it had once served as a prayer room. A relief of what appeared to be the Goddess of Love adorned the ceiling, supported by dozens of massive pillars. Marble statues stood throughout the room—figures resembling popes, holy knights, nuns, and others. Their craftsmanship was exquisite, drawing admiration from any who beheld them. The space radiated a solemn, majestic beauty befitting a place of prayer.
Ashtain walked forward, examining each statue in turn. At the far end stood a white altar beneath a stained-glass window. Sunlight filtered through the colored panes, casting a brilliant, multicolored glow upon the altar like a spotlight. Embedded in the white stone was a rugged sword—the Holy Sword.
Ashtain stared at the blade standing proud and alone. If I try to draw it, I’ll face a trial, he recalled. Pulling a sword from its resting place felt like something out of an old legend. Without hesitation, he gripped the hilt.
His consciousness snapped away.
When Ashtain opened his eyes again, he stood in a pure white void. The situation was bizarre, but he had been warned beforehand, so he felt no great surprise. As he glanced around, a bright, lively voice rang out.
“It has been some time since a human last came here.”
Ashtain slowly turned his head. A young girl stood before him, dressed in a black dress and brown sandals. She looked to be around one hundred and forty centimeters tall.
“You do not seem startled.”
“I was told what to expect.”
“Even so, could you not at least pretend to be surprised?”
“I dislike empty formalities.”
“How dull.”
Ashtain studied the girl. Her hair, the color of forget-me-nots, cascaded straight down to her waist like a waterfall. Her lashes were long and needle-thin, her pupils a striking blood-red. A small nose and soft, petal-pink lips completed a delicate, doll-like face framed by porcelain-white skin. She was pretty—though not quite on Aria’s level.
The girl regarded him as one might observe a rare animal.
“So you are this generation’s candidate for Hero?”
Ashtain nodded. She crossed her arms and circled him, appraising.
“Hmm. Your build is decent, and your face is rather handsome.”
“……”
Her flippant tone made Ashtain’s expression twist slightly. Seeing it, the girl smirked.
“Does it displease you that I am judging you? You came here because you need me, did you not?”
A headache began to throb behind Ashtain’s eyes. He replied in a calm tone.
“How old are you?”
“This year I turned five hundred.”
Five hundred. Considering Ashtain was in his early twenties, the gap in years was immense.
“You’ve lived quite a long time, elder.”
“Indeed. Time is fleeting, is it not?”
The Holy Sword, speaking in the form of a child, uttered such weary words. Ashtain seriously wondered whether swords could suffer from dementia.
“You are not actually a girl, are you?”
At his reasonable question, the sword shrugged her small shoulders.
“My appearance is that of a girl, is it not?”
“……Why that appearance?”
“It was the preference of the previous Hero.”
Ashtain had no desire to learn about the previous Hero’s bizarre sexual tastes. Then another question occurred to him.
“I heard the previous Hero never managed to claim you.”
A sharp light flashed in the girl’s crimson eyes.
“The Hero I spoke of was not that vermin.”
Her voice carried cold contempt. Ashtain asked without showing his thoughts.
“Then who?”
“I merely referred to the true Hero who once wielded me.”
It seemed the sword branded anyone who failed her standards as a false Hero. Understanding the situation roughly, Ashtain changed the subject.
“Anyway, you cannot change your form?”
“Changing it is not difficult.”
“Then do it. Have some consideration for how others feel seeing a five-hundred-year-old hag in that body.”
The girl—no, the sword—snorted and curled her lip.
“Why should I? You are not my master.”
It was an irrefutable point. Ashtain scratched the side of his head.
“Fair enough.”
A brief silence fell. He had no intention of wasting time, so he cut straight to the point.
“I heard I must pass a trial to become your master.”
The sword grinned.
“Will you attempt it?”
“That is why I came.”
“Very well. Then let us begin without further delay.”
“Do as you like.”
The sword snapped her fingers. The white space shifted. A blood-red sky appeared. The stench of smoke and blood assaulted his nose. Then a black-haired girl materialized before him.
“Your most precious person will appear.”
At the sword’s words, Ashtain stared blankly at the girl before him. For him, the most precious person had always been the same—his older sister, Amelia. So the girl standing here should have been Amelia. It should have been her.
Yet the one who appeared was Aria.
Shock struck him like lightning. So that is how it is. I……
She had changed. Because of that girl. At first he had seen Amelia in her—because their appearances and personalities were similar. But at some point, the differences had become impossible to ignore. She was just as kind, yet far more timid than Amelia, unable to firmly refuse requests. She was more dependent than she appeared. She hated owing others, and when ill she would pout and complain. He had seen all these things.
Only now did Ashtain understand. Aria was not Amelia. Yet she was someone who occupied his thoughts even more than his sister, who had left him behind.
While Ashtain stood dazed, the sword raised her voice.
“Did you not hear me?”
“No, I heard you. Just as you said, my most precious person is here.”
The sword made a slicing motion across her own throat with her thumb.
“Then kill her. That is my trial.”
Kill her? Aria? Ashtain looked at the sword.
“Is that all?”
“It is.”
The content was extremely simple. Was the Holy Sword’s trial always this straightforward? Then why had the previous and the one before him failed to obtain it?
Ashtain drew the sword at his waist and swung. Slash. Blood sprayed. The sword spoke with clear displeasure.
“……I never told you to cut me.”
A long gash ran from the sword’s right shoulder to her left hip. Ashtain smiled coldly.
“I thought you were asking me to cut you.”
The sword quickly reconstructed her body and snapped at him.
“You act so high and mighty when you know I am merely a construct. It is not as though I asked you to kill the real one.”
“Is it fun to toy with people’s hearts, Holy Sword?”
Creating his most precious person out of nowhere and demanding he cut her down—did that not trample a person’s emotions without mercy?
“Did you truly believe you could obtain me without the resolve to kill your most precious person? How laughable.”
Laughable. Ashtain raised his middle finger at the sword who said such things.
“If obtaining you requires breaking my convictions, then I will give up.”
Yes. Even if it meant his own death, he would protect his people. That was Ashtain’s conviction—and Aria was becoming that conviction. In other words, it was impossible for Ashtain to cut Aria down.
“Then the trial ends in failure.”
“I suppose it does.”
The sword asked, “Do you not regret it?”
“Do I look like I do?”
Perhaps the sword saw something in Ashtain’s face. She let out a dry laugh.
“Ha. So you never intended to take the trial in the first place.”
The accurate observation made Ashtain’s eyes widen.
“Can you read minds?”
“No. After living this long, one can usually guess a person’s thoughts from their expression, demeanor, and tone alone.”
“Mind reading, huh. I cannot underestimate experience.”
Ashtain had realized that while he was away, the cult planned to harm Aria. That was why he had played along with their game—so they would reveal their true colors.
The sword poked her own cheek with her index finger.
“Do you know where the Saintess is right now?”
At the sudden question, Ashtain tilted his head.
“What do you mean?”
“It seems you do not. She is in the dark chamber beneath the cult’s headquarters.”
“……The underground dark chamber?”
She waved her hand as if bored.
“You had best not be late. If you miss the timing, you will witness something most unpleasant.”
“What do you know?”
“Would it not be better to hear it from the Saintess herself rather than from my mouth?”
The sword snapped her fingers. Ashtain’s consciousness grew hazy. His flickering vision crumbled. He tried to protest, but no words came. Just like that, he was expelled from the space the sword had created.
Left alone, the sword murmured quietly.
“Let us meet again.”
* * *
Ashtain opened his eyes. Cold sweat drenched his entire body. How much time had passed? He released the Holy Sword. In any case, there was no longer any reason to remain here. By now the cult would have laid their hands on Aria.
The dark chamber in the cathedral basement, she said.
He hoped he was not too late. Leaving the room where the Holy Sword was enshrined, Ashtain descended the stone stairs, passed through the corridor, and headed toward the entrance to the cathedral’s basement. Having already noted the route beforehand, he moved swiftly without hesitation.
When he reached the basement entrance, one of the two paladins guarding it spoke.
“Is that not the Hero? I thought you were taking the Holy Sword’s trial……”
Ashtain answered curtly.
“It is over.”
“I see. Then what brings you here?”
“I heard Aria is here.”
“……This area is off-limits to anyone but authorized personnel. Even if you are the Hero……”
The paladin had made a mistake. He should have claimed Aria was not here. That might have bought him a little time.
“Move.”
“No matter who you are, such rudeness is……”
Ashtain struck the paladin’s side with his sheathed sword. The motion was too fast for the man to react. Thud! The paladin flew into the air and rolled across the floor. He did not rise again. He had lost consciousness.
The other paladin, seeing this, raised his axe in alarm. The massive weapon traced a smooth arc like a falling meteor and came crashing down toward Ashtain.
BOOM!
The paladin struck only empty floor. The marble could not withstand the impact; fragments scattered everywhere. Ashtain had already dodged aside. The paladin’s wide swing left him open. Without hesitation, Ashtain closed the distance. Realizing this, the paladin forced his axe upward despite the strain. The blade rose from below in a threatening arc meant to cleave Ashtain in two.
Yet an attack that missed was meaningless. Slowing down would only make him the axe’s prey. So he needed to accelerate further and slip past it. The principle was simple, but executing it required skill. So what? He simply had to move faster, swifter, more nimbly.
Whoosh!
The axe grazed the tips of Ashtain’s hair. The moment the blade cut hair instead of flesh, the tide had turned. Ashtain smiled thinly. Gripping the sheath with both hands, he thrust without the slightest hesitation. The paladin’s stance was wide open after his consecutive attacks. Now was the chance. The target was the solar plexus.
“Hup.”
A short kiai. The strike shot forward like a beam of light, a flash. It slammed into the paladin’s chest.
“Guh!”
The man would struggle to breathe. It was a vital point that could cause fainting or death. Whether he lived or died was of no concern to Ashtain. He should consider himself fortunate not to have been killed outright.
Thud!
The paladin collapsed. Quite a commotion had been made, but it did not matter. The Holy Sword had said not to be late—that he would witness something unpleasant. Ashtain had always been a step behind in life.
“I am coming, Aria.”
He walked toward the place where she was.