Chapter 132
Chapter 132
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Holy Sword's Trial (3)
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“...”
Jane gazed back and forth between Rishir’s barrier and her own with a grave expression.
More precisely, she alternated her gaze between the spot where Rishir’s barrier had stood and her own barrier.
Rishir’s single strike had annihilated his barrier.
Only her barrier remained.
Which meant it was her turn.
But—
Jane shifted her serious gaze back and forth between Rishir and the Sword of Valor.
Huh? The Sword of Valor was still there?
Huh? Hadn’t she been the one to approach the Sword of Valor first and seize the initiative?
A chain of question marks.
Jane barely shook off the mounting thoughts, which grew only more tangled and chaotic instead of clarifying.
And then—
“...”
She reached out and grasped the Sword of Valor.
Then she swung it.
Literally, she merely gripped it and swung it experimentally.
Swish, swish.
Even a shambling corpse might swing it with more vigor than that.
It was a swing that naturally evoked such impressions.
Afterward, Jane returned the Sword of Valor to its place without a second thought.
She then fussed with adjusting her clothes or brushing off nonexistent dust.
Rustle, rustle.
The faint noises from her actions only heightened the awkward silence permeating the chamber.
The silence was shattered by Elysia’s dumbfounded voice.
Her voice then spiked with irritation.
Bellota nodded vigorously from a distance.
Ah. I get it. That feeling.
When confusion hits a breaking point, it flips to rage, huh? You too?
Bellota felt a warm sense of kinship toward her comrades, who were belatedly catching up.
Sensing the emotional gap close, she finally approached them with light steps.
Soon enough, Elysia’s aimless frustration zeroed in on him.
After a chain of deliberations, she arrived at a highly convincing conclusion.
Elysia exploded once more at Zallak’s maddening repartee, which seemed to drag her IQ down just by engaging.
But Zallak was truly indignant.
After all, if anyone here was the most flustered, it had to be him.
The Sword of Valor.
As its name implied, the power of Valor was an utterly iconic force to Zallak.
Whenever the Hero of Valor faced a pivotal moment, Zallak was invariably present—along with the power of Valor.
Zallak had time and again provided decisive aid to the hero through that power of Valor.
It had been the same back then.
The inaugural Hero.
And the Demon King.
That clash of the ages.
That fateful instant.
When the Hero landed the killing blow on the Demon King, he’d unleashed every tool at his disposal—and the power of Valor had played a pivotal role.
In other words, a power even a Hero required.
A power no Hero could replicate.
Zallak took immense pride in that reality.
He brimmed with immense confidence as well.
The power of Valor.
Who could refuse such power?
Who could deny that euphoria?
Zallak intended to ensnare him completely with the power of Valor.
Rishir.
That prospective Hero of Valor(?).
The holy sword chooses its wielder.
Zallak had already selected Rishir as his master deep in his core.
The holy sword’s trial—for those not fully chosen—was a needless step for him.
Yet Zallak had pressed on with the trial to demonstrate the new Hero of Valor’s worth before witnesses.
Of course, Zallak knew full well.
Awakening the power of Valor in a single day bordered on the impossible.
No matter the talent, one needed extended communion with the Sword of Valor to wield it adeptly.
But.
With Rishir, perhaps it could be different.
Maybe he could extract something from the Sword of Valor’s depths in this brief window—and wield at least a fragment of the power of Valor.
And.
In that process, he’d succumb to the power of Valor’s allure.
Zallak’s flawless scheme.
Yet here was the twist.
Rishir had concluded the trial without so much as touching the Sword of Valor.
Two facts had been proven in the process.
1. Rishir could wield a power akin to the power of Valor.
2. Thus, he might harbor no attachment to the Sword of Valor.
This scenario—where his pride and hopes were doubly refuted—was wholly alien to the holy sword.
And so Zallak dove headlong into denial.
"Unique ability?"
Rishir offered no cooperation.
"...Ah, weren’t you calling all enhancements of this nature collectively the power of Valor?"
"Oh dear, looks like I misunderstood the trial. So, how exactly do you use this power of Valor?"
What behaviors were absolute taboos in a trial?
Probably acing it after botching the instructions.
At any rate, his reply made it clear.
He hadn’t tapped the Sword of Valor’s contained power for some inscrutable reason.
He’d drawn forth superhuman strength purely through his own might, beyond his baseline.
Zallak voiced a perfectly valid question.
Cursed swords. Demon swords. Black magic. Blood magic.
Among such aberrant powers existed branches that could summon strength beyond one’s innate limits.
Yet every one shared a grim commonality: a steep toll.
Black magic demanded one’s very being offered to demons, for instance.
Cursed swords eroded the self.
Huh, hold on.
Come to think of it, cursed swords too?
"Yes?"
"Huh?"
Elysia, observing this live descent into stupidity from a third-party vantage, came to a realization.
The power Rishir had just unleashed had zero connection to Zallak.
He’d conducted the trial without a shred of favoritism.
Then what was it?
"Huh?"
And so, Rishir and the two holy swords found themselves ensnared in a loop of dwindling wits.
That’s when the Transcendent Hero sprang into action.
Zallak was yanked from the loop by force.
Jane had seized him from midair once more.
Confusion.
Doubt.
Suspicion.
The fleeting shadow on his face had already lifted.
His steadfast eyes restored, he advanced with unwavering resolve.
He positioned himself before the golden barrier.
Gripping the Sword of Valor, he assumed perfect form.
Elysia, freed alongside him, cried out in alarm.
She still trusted Jane implicitly.
He embodied the Transcendent Hero ideal, his innate gifts unmatched—or so she steadfastly believed.
Thus, Elysia sought to restrain him.
This trial tilted overwhelmingly in Rishir’s favor.
It was already decided, even.
A man wielding the power of Valor sans the Sword of Valor.
Who could suit the Sword of Valor better?
Holy swords choose their masters, yet this was the exception.
Rishir could claim the Sword of Valor at will, beyond refutation.
Stepping forth now to fail and lose would only blemish the transcendent name.
"No. I must."
"Because letting it fizzle out like this means we won’t truly know."
The Transcendent Hero poured every ounce of focus into the Sword of Valor clutched in his hand.
"Just how monumental a feat Rishir pulled off."
"And we don’t know that for sure, do we?"
An idealistic smile graced his features.
"Maybe he’ll pull off something even grander than I imagine."
Not a trace of doubt lingered there.
In that instant.
Golden brilliance bloomed, etching across its blade.
Transcendent Hero. His resolute blue eyes slowly suffused with the blade’s golden glow.
Moments later.
The instant his eyes mirrored the Sword of Valor’s luster.
The Sword of Valor arced toward the golden barrier.
A stance beyond reproach.
A strike beyond reproach.
"...Hoo!"
And breath control beyond reproach.
He withdrew the blade and inspected the barrier.
"...Ha!"
The Transcendent Hero barked a hollow laugh.
Not a single nick marred the barrier.
Gazing at it, he laughed in empty defeat.
"How in the world did you do that?"
The Sword of Valor’s master was thus confirmed.
"Well, no upsets after all."
As the mood settled, Fienne sidled up to Rishir.
"Congrats? Rishir. Or should it be Hero now?"
Hero.
Hero.
Fienne murmured the title repeatedly, then chuckled with a pfft.
"Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. Feels mismatched for you, somehow."
"Then what title fits me?"
"A title for you..."
Fienne recalled the prior trial and chuckled anew.
"Does one even exist?"
"What?"
"Just Rishir’s fine. Nothing screams Rishir like Rishir."
"Turning a name into a common noun..."
"Anyway, you did great. Gave me a rare show."
With that, Fienne turned on her heel.
"Seems wrapped up, so I’ll be off."
"Already? Business?"
"Yup~ Piles of it. Courtesy of someone~"
"And you stuck around anyway? What’d I do without Fienne?"
"Beats me~ Anyway, sending someone early tomorrow—bedtime soon~"
"My mom now?"
Fienne waved over her shoulder.
Before Rishir could respond, her pure white skirt fluttered as she departed.
Next, Tua and Mangnus approached, clapping his shoulder.
"No surprises."
The scene echoed Fienne’s.
Casual well-wishes, as if they’d foreseen it all.
A clean exit, no lingering.
Through it, Rishir sensed something odd.
'Feels like I was the sideshow freak.'
He realized belatedly.
Fienne, Tua, Mangnus.
Their presence at the trial wasn’t cheers—it was popcorn time.
Finally, Jane’s party approached Rishir.
"Rishir."
Jane regarded him with eyes brimming goodwill and esteem.
A stark contrast to his party’s deflated crew, drained of spirit.
He proffered the Sword of Valor.
"Congrats. Just the final rite left."
"Final rite?"
Rishir voiced his open tedium.
Jane laughed at the reaction.
"Honestly, words fail. Incredible. Across all past heroes combined, you’re the only one reacting like this on the cusp of holy sword mastery."
"Hero..."
Rishir savored the word.
As Fienne noted, it clung awkwardly to the tongue.
"So, what’s this final rite?"
"Relax. Pure formality. Our party bears witness to your succession."
"Witnesses?"
"You’re affirmed as the holy sword’s rightful master; I, wielder of another holy sword, attest."
"Oh, much obliged."
Jane beamed, summoning his comrades.
"Bellota? Camilla? And Elysia."
They joined him, flanking closely.
Unlike Jane’s pure respect and warmth toward Rishir, Camilla and Elysia simmered with discontent.
Natural, really.
Cheering someone else’s windfall after watching the ultimate prize slip away? That’d be the oddity.
'This guy edging out Jane for the holy sword...
Besides, they still deemed Jane the prime fit for the new holy sword.
Holy sword bearers needed prowess, sure—but nobility above all.
Which birthed the query.
Was this Rishir truly noble?
Yes.
Irrefutable.
The Sword of Valor acknowledged him.
Plus undivided Special Task Force trust.
His caliber was unimpeachable.
But.
Nobler than Jane?
Worthy of heroic burdens?
They could declare, from Jane’s track record.
No.
Jane was the true Hero.
Their lingering regret stemmed thence.
"Ready, Rishir. Zallak."
"Then..."
Rishir eyed the Sword of Valor in his grip; Zallak bellowed.
The ultimate trial.
Trial of nobility.
This capstone—now dubbed succession rite—once unfolded before throngs.
The holy sword’s radiance scaled with the aspirant’s virtue, per lore tying glow to nobility’s measure.
Awaiting Rishir’s reply.
Elysia and Camilla nursed petty hopes.
His glow would pale beside Jane’s, undoubtedly.
"Dunno... Honestly, still kinda shell-shocked."
Rishir mumbled sheepishly to the holy sword.
Elysia tamped inner gripe.
Lacked any gravitas fit for a holy sword’s lord.
Zallak echoed the sentiment, perhaps.
Flustered, he parroted.
"Maybe someone suits this sword’s mastery better than me? Someone who needs it more, y’know. See—"
Rishir hoisted his Blue Lotus sword, flashing a roguish grin.
"As you see, I’ve already got my blade?"
Holy swords lavished masters with vast might—supreme treasures.
Their worth tempted even virtuous heroes already armed thus.
Hence, Rishir’s riposte blindsided all.
Wooong.
The Sword of Valor thrummed, birthing radiance.
Jane beheld the fierce glow.
'As expected...!'
The others beheld it.
'Huh, unexpectedly...?'
Rishir’s radiance outshone expectations.
On par with Jane and heroes past—no contest.
The very moment their view of Rishir began shifting.
Fwoooosh!
The glow erupted, engulfing all.
"..."
No.
This was.
A bit much?
Eye-searing brilliance.
They clenched shut their lids, lost in turmoil.