Chapter 140
Chapter 140
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Chapter 140 - 본달레스의 명물 (2)
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Bendale's Famous Specialty (2)
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Early morning, before the sun had fully risen.
Upon waking, Rishir first tried to go through his usual routine.
Stretch to loosen up his body, then light training.
Over the past few days.
He had inevitably skipped it due to various tasks, including his resonance with Zarak.
Rishir immersed himself in the stretching with a strange sense of stability.
And just as he finished stretching and was about to begin his training.
The holy sword Zarak spoke up as if it had been waiting.
Over the past few days.
Zarak had spent time with Rishir and watched him closely.
As far as Zarak knew, this was the first time Rishir had diligently started training at dawn.
Perhaps because of that, Zarak's tone brimmed with pride.
Our kid's changed.
"It's not sudden."
At that moment, a voice answered in Rishir's place.
Klana.
She had emerged from the inner world in the form of a girl spirit and was gazing at the holy sword.
"You wouldn't know, but—"
She spoke with a somewhat smug air.
"This is his usual routine. Upon waking, he first loosens his body, then performs training at an intensity that won't interfere with his daily life."
Klana paused there for a moment, then emphasized her next words.
"Using my swordsmanship."
Klana stared at the holy sword.
Her expression was steeped in deep superiority.
Then Klana turned to Rishir.
"Am I wrong, by any chance?"
Rishir shook his head.
Klana nodded.
Her expression was soaked in even deeper superiority.
In that state, she faced the holy sword again.
"That ridiculously diligent guy skipped his morning training the past few days only because some obstacle forced him to."
"Then what do you call a sword with a sense of self that clings to a swordsman who already has his 'beloved sword'?"
Beloved sword?
Rishir tilted his head at the word Klana had emphasized.
The murder ghost's sharp senses caught the motion, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it.
Her expression was steeped in the deepest superiority.
Zarak's usual hearty tone now bristled with thorns.
Tension crept into the atmosphere.
Rishir, who had stepped back to watch the scene, thought to himself.
What the hell is this in the morning.
Should he feel petty about this sudden clash between the two swords?
Or dub it the Holy-Demon Great War and feel a sense of grandeur?
It was a tough question, so he set it aside for now and picked up his sword as planned.
Heading to the center of the room to begin training with sword in hand—
Suddenly, he felt something snag near his foot.
"Klana?"
Looking down to check, the girl murder ghost was standing there before he knew it.
"..."
No action clashed more with her haughty expression than looking up at someone.
But Klana paid it no mind and gazed up at Rishir.
She looked at the blue lotus gripped in his hand.
"Huh."
"?"
A pleased smile spread across the girl murder ghost's face.
She glanced at the holy sword in the corner of the room and repeated the process.
"Huh."
Ziiing.
The holy sword resonated, beginning to emit a faint glow.
"With that word choice just now, I think I need to tell you your goal's gotten even farther away."
Holy sword.
It was, without doubt, the idol of every swordsman.
Furthermore, its prestige was coveted even by laymen and sword masters alike!
Yet to choose another sword over the holy sword!
He had seen plenty of cases where one's original sword was discarded for a holy sword, but the reverse? This was a first.
Not only that—he hadn't even imagined it!
Zarak, facing this unprecedented situation as a holy sword, was at a loss.
He agonized.
What should he do?
How could he make the holy sword appealing!
Probably a dilemma without precedent in continental history.
After all, no one had ever remained unmoved before a holy sword's name and power.
The holy sword had always been the chooser, never the chosen!
It was his first gambit after agonizing.
Zarak issued a threat to Rishir.
"Well, I don't think I'm suited to be a holy sword's master anyway. Don't worry. When someone to your liking shows up, I'll hand you over right away."
"Please choose your words carefully."
The effect was minimal!
No, far from minimal—Zarak had backfired on himself.
At Rishir's words implying the selection could be revoked, Zarak reacted like a death sentence had been passed.
"Hah."
A chuckle escaped Klana, who had been watching from the side.
Klana was a swordsman before she was a murder ghost.
She understood the weight carried in the term "holy sword."
No swordsman—
No.
No human could escape that weight unscathed.
Nevertheless.
Right now, Rishir was prioritizing the blue lotus over the holy sword.
Prioritizing Klana's legacy over the hero's legacy.
How utterly absurd.
Klana understood perfectly.
Of course.
A murder ghost didn't cling to others' opinions.
Reputation. Respect. Admiration.
They held no weight whatsoever for a murder ghost.
Whether someone prioritized her over a holy sword or not—it was all the same to her.
Even if that someone was the first person to catch the interest of a murder ghost who viewed humans solely as prey.
Thus, Klana reacted to the whole situation with utter composure.
"Hehe."
The murder ghost let out a deranged sound in extreme composure,
and formed a vacant smile with perfect nonchalance.
It was the very image of the cold murder ghost that struck terror into all.
And so, as the two swords' fortunes diverged,
Rishir's training began.
"Rishir. How is it?"
How much time had passed since training started?
The girl murder ghost, arms crossed as she watched Rishir, spoke up.
"How is what?"
"It's been a while since you wielded my sword."
"A while? It's only been a few days. Well, even so—"
Rishir swung the blue lotus this way and that before speaking.
"This really suits me best."
The mission and duty one ought to bear as a holy sword's master.
For Rishir, whose reasons for learning sword and magic were simply "to eat well and live well," they were far too burdensome.
Rishir's words were a lament about that burden.
"...I see."
The girl murder ghost gave a small nod.
She grasped the meaning behind Rishir's words immediately.
Something off, but she got it anyway.
"Hehe."
Rishir missed the smile because Klana had turned her head.
Zarak didn't.
He clearly saw that smile drenched in superiority and bliss.
Holy sword.
Gazing at the magic sword ensnared by positive emotions while ensnared by negative ones himself.
The training hall had gone awry in every way.
"Whew, let's call it here for now."
His unwashed shirt was soaked through with sweat.
After finishing training, Rishir set down the blue lotus and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Hey."
At that moment.
Rishir's gaze shifted to the lower left.
The girl murder ghost.
She was holding out a towel.
Her eyes sparkled mysteriously beneath her usual composed demeanor.
"..."
Rishir accepted it with an awkward expression.
This person.
Why is she like this.
Ignoring the holy sword's clumsy outburst amid its jealousy, Rishir pondered.
Something he had forgotten.
"Ah."
He remembered.
Rishir's gaze turned to the desk in the corner of the room.
On top of it.
The buried left hand, wrapped in purple cloth.
Last night.
He had shared his energy with the buried left hand, which had exhausted itself to the brink of death.
What had become of it after receiving that energy?
Just as Rishir moved to check—
A knock sounded from beyond the door, followed by Fienne's voice.
Rishir immediately set the buried left hand aside and welcomed the guest.
"Fienne? What's the occasion? This early."
"I heard. You got tangled in something weird again?"
"Wait, are you worried about me!? So worried you couldn't sleep and rushed over at first light!?"
"Yes... How... did... you... know."
Fienne spoke in a soulless tone and expression as she scanned the room.
Spotting Rishir drenched in sweat, she gave a wry smile.
"Full of energy from the morning. Can't contain yourself because of the holy sword?"
"Huh?"
"Don't play dumb. I can picture you swinging that holy sword all excited. Like a kid who picked up a stick resembling a sword."
Instead of replying, Rishir glanced at the blue lotus he'd just set down.
Fienne's refined features crumpled slightly. Tilting her head, she said,
"What is it? You... not using the holy sword...? How to put it. Not using the holy sword?"
"No need to set aside my original sword for it."
Hehe.
"Huh? Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"No, that deranged laugh just now... Never mind, not important."
Fienne stared fixedly at Rishir.
"?"
"...Hah."
At length, she shook her head.
With a hopeless expression.
"In this world, anyone else get a holy sword and react like that besides you? Anyway. If it's in character for you, it is."
"Hey, Fienne. Interested in a holy sword by any chance? Need it? I can give it."
Zarak wailed at Rishir's casual tone, like offering spare bread.
"You heard? Rishir. Don't let the holy sword go to your head. Show some restraint."
"What are you, my mom?"
"Well, knowing you. Take this."
Fienne handed Rishir the document she held.
"What's this? A poem you wrote thinking of me?"
"Something like that."
"Oh."
Rishir brightened as he checked the contents.
His pupils spun for a moment.
The document was packed tight with seemingly intricate details.
"Not too passionate?"
"Special Inspector Sir Rishir. Info that'll help you in your role as special inspector going forward."
"...This? Did I accidentally take on some massive concurrent duty?"
"It looks dense because I wrote it in detail for clarity. Reality's nothing much."
"Aha."
Rishir skimmed the document once before speaking.
"Speaking of, what's a special inspector do? First I've heard of it."
"It vanished long ago and got revived for you. Duties are simple. Monitor and observe targets deemed threats to the city's safety and peace."
"And?"
"That's it."
"?"
"Fancy title for an honorary position. Way back, created by a city bigwig for his incompetent kid."
"Oh..."
Rishir's eyes sparkled at Fienne's explanation.
"Sounds like sweet no-work honey pot?"
"Exactly. No actual work, but your rank in the city is ridiculously high."
City councilor.
Fienne emphasized the words.
"The only ones in this city who can give you orders."
"So just city councilors above me?"
"Yes."
"Insane."
"Like it?"
"Like you wouldn't believe. Almost feels like I was born for special inspector."
The two exchanged gazes, each wearing a different smile.
At length, Fienne said,
"Well then. Time for me to go."
"Already? Breakfast together at least?"
"If you beg, I'd have no choice but join, but I've got a lot to handle right now."
"Handle?"
"First off, rest a bit. Thanks to someone, been nonstop busy."
"Damn. How do I even express this gratitude."
"Ah, it's fine. Don't worry about it."
How can I not.
As Rishir opened his mouth to say as much—
"How you show your sincerity? I'll think of something."
tantamount to a blank check.
Fienne flashed a very impish smile.
"Objections?"
"Uh, none...?"
"Thought so."
She beamed.
An elegant smile graced Fienne's refined face.
"Then."
Clack.
Clack.
Regular yet oddly upbeat footsteps echoed from beyond the closed door.
"Now then—"
Rishir, having completely forgotten his original goal.
He perched on the bed and began reading the document from Fienne.
Sweaty clothes itched, stomach growled—
But Rishir quickly entered a state of focus.
He wanted above all to honor Fienne's effort on his behalf.
In his deep concentration, Rishir was utterly unaware.
Rustle.
Rustle.
Of the faint movements from the purple cloth bundle on the desk.
"Huh?"
The room was bathed in sunset glow filtering through the window.
Rishir snapped out of his focus at the presence near his feet.
Thinking it was the girl murder ghost again, he spoke without lifting his eyes from the document.
"Klana?"
"?"
But the voice came not from his feet, but from the inner world.
Not Klana?
Rishir tilted his head and said,
"Verbandes...!?"
"Who itty!"
Then came an energetic voice so vigorous it almost sounded angry.
Clearly from somewhere other than his feet.
Rishir finally tore his eyes from the document.
Directing his gaze toward where the baby spirit's voice had originated.
"!!!"
The baby spirit stood near the desk, her face alight with her trademark energy.
Her tiny finger pointed squarely at Rishir's feet.
"Who's that!?"
"?"
That?
Rishir's gaze followed Verbandes' finger down to his feet.
He shifted the obstructing document aside to look.
"..."
Beyond emotionless, utterly inorganic.
A face seemingly devoid of all emotion.
A purple girl spirit, appearing around Verbandes' age, stared blankly up at Rishir.
"...Who might you be?"
Rishir asked cautiously.
"..."
The girl wordlessly pointed toward where Verbandes stood.
No.
Toward the desk beside Verbandes.
On it.
The purple cloth bundle lay unraveled.
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