Chapter 110
Chapter 110
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: Eleonora's Day (5)
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Meanwhile, at that very moment, in the Saintess's office.
Knock knock—
"Yes, come in."
Just like in the chapel, the Saintess was deep in paperwork, standing with her back to the stained glass depicting the benevolent image of the Goddess. At her words, the firmly shut door opened.
And from there emerged an elderly man with a full head of white hair, clearly advanced in years, flanked by two Holy Knights on either side.
Since the Saintess had personally ordered him to be brought here, it was less like he was accompanied by them and more like he had been escorted, brought, or ushered in—but...
"Ah, I've been waiting for you."
The white-haired elder who had entered the Saintess's office with the Holy Knights knelt carefully before the Goddess's proxy and prostrated himself. The Saintess immediately rose from her seat, pulled a large crystal orb from her desk drawer, hugged it to her chest, and approached the old man.
"This wretched old body is truly honored to meet the Goddess and Her proxy."
"No, no. It is I who am honored to meet you, who has devoted your entire life to Him even before I was born."
The old man's identity was none other than the blacksmith who had crafted the armaments for the Goddess's Crusaders.
Including the two beautiful swords now defiled by Eleonora's urine, every piece of equipment bestowed upon the Crusaders from her had been born from this man's hands.
Though time had bent his back and filled his head with white hair, his limbs boasted muscles rivaling those of any young man, clear traces of his life's work.
Out of respect for this senior devotee who had served the Goddess since before her own birth, the Saintess stood before him for a moment, offering a quiet prayer infused with the Goddess's blessing, and said,
"I've heard that you remember every single armament forged by your own hands."
"Though my days are numbered and I sometimes forget where I left my hammer, I've never once forgotten them."
If a sow has the pride of a sow and a knight has the pride of a knight, then a blacksmith naturally has the pride of a craftsman who wields fire and iron.
Even with eyes unsteady from years of staring into flames, at the Saintess's words, the old man recalled his past with a spark in his gaze. Witnessing this, the Saintess once more showed her respect by carefully kneeling on one knee before him and saying,
"I need your help."
"For Him, I am prepared to offer this body entirely, but all I know is wielding fire and hammer..."
"You must know that recently, brothers of the Church have departed to His side."
How could he not know?
Before meeting the Saintess, he had heard the full story from the Holy Knights who came to escort him, even down to which brothers had passed.
Aware of this, the Saintess extended the crystal orb she held to the old man and said,
"This is a crystal orb used to store memories."
"Yes... I know of it, but why...?"
This recording device, commonly used in trials of criminals—what for? The old man let out a puzzled hum but soon realized and replied,
"To track the armaments I made."
"Yes. Not just any armaments, but those you forged with your soul infused. Then the soul you imprinted on them should allow us to trace their whereabouts."
The last memories of the Holy Knights were no longer accessible, as their souls had fully departed to the Goddess's side. But what of the swords they cherished like extensions of their own bodies, infused with this blacksmith's soul?
And not the memories of those who had died and vanished, but the memories of this man, alive and breathing right before her?
Without hesitation, the old man began pouring his memories of the armaments he had created into the crystal orb. Soon, two streams of gray mist seeped from near his temples and were sucked into the orb.
"I hope this old man's memories prove helpful to you, Saintess."
"How could I doubt you, who has devoted yourself to Him more than anyone here? I believe in you."
With the brief process complete, the Saintess placed the crystal orb on her desk and, to express her final gratitude, grasped the old man's hands firmly with her delicate ones.
"Thank you. This was a great help."
Overwhelmed by the Saintess's compassion in grasping his rough, burn-scarred, calloused hands without hesitation, the old man shed tears unwittingly. Fitting her role as the Goddess's proxy, the Saintess bestowed a blessing upon her senior devotee.
As the old man left the office with the Holy Knights, the Saintess cautiously approached the door, locked it to ensure no one could enter.
It was preparation for any unforeseen circumstances.
"Christia would surely object if she knew..."
Having nearly been swayed by the immense corrupt energy glimpsed in the brothers' final moments, Christia would undoubtedly try to stop her from probing those memories again.
That was why she had secretly obtained the old man's memories during Christia's absence.
"Alright, now... I have to track them down. Their true identities."
The Saintess sat in her chair, gripped the crystal orb on the desk with both hands, and closed her eyes.
'Just as I tracked the brothers' souls, this time using His memories as a base—trace those fragments scattered across the world, finding the two soul fragments with wavelengths matching this memory most closely.'
To use Christia's analogy, if the Saintess was the great root, then the Holy Knights and devout believers like the old man just now were the fine roots connected to her.
What the Saintess was doing was following those to find even finer roots branching off.
She knew it wasn't easy, but as the Saintess sworn to protect light and justice from this budding evil corruption, she had to succeed. She delved into the old man's soul.
How he had hammered the iron, tempered the swords, gazed upon the finished blades—such things.
Fragmentary memories, but following the trail of his soul connected to her own, she at last located souls emitting the same wavelength as the swords in this memory.
Since they were swords, not people, visualizing their form was challenging at first. But having already found a matching wavelength once, peering into the memories unfolding around these swords posed no issue...
'Something's wrong. They're fading. If these are the swords our brothers cherished like their own bodies their whole lives, there should be at least some traces of them left. Why aren't there?'
Though their souls had departed, these were swords they had treasured like parts of themselves. Such swords should bear the marks of their lives—yet there were none.
As if something had been overlaid upon them?
Or had she latched onto the wrong wavelength?
As the flustered Saintess scrambled to cross-check the memories and wavelengths, she sensed intense rage emanating from the old man's soul she was tracing and peered deeper.
Just as with the brothers, if the soul imprinted on these swords was raging, then these were indeed the two swords she sought.
'Moreover, it's being erased! Just like the brothers' traces, the old man's soul is being wiped away!'
Some absurd will was defiling their souls and overwriting them with itself.
'This time, I won't make the same mistake as before. With Christia absent, I must be even more careful!'
Hoo, hoo.
After several deep breaths to steady herself, the Saintess focused her gaze on the swords. Slowly, like a freshly developed Polaroid photo, the scene with the two swords began to manifest before her.
And then,
"Wh-what... is this?"
-Hagggghhh...♥
"?!?!?!?!?!"
Suddenly, her vision went pitch black, followed by relentless slurping sounds like something being sucked in without end, and a woman's lewd cry echoing. The Saintess lost her composure and flailed in panic.
"Wh-what is this? I wanted to see the moment the brothers witnessed... Ah!"
It had been erased!
Just like the departed souls, no memories of the brothers remained on these two swords. But since the sword's creator was still alive, the scene should have shown the past—instead, it was reflecting what was happening right now.
Though too dark to see, judging by the man's voice from before and the woman's cries, it was undoubtedly them.
But why, why was there only this oppressive darkness? It felt so ominous, like standing before an abyss one should never gaze into or peer within.
A strong sense that she shouldn't look further gripped her.
But
Gulp.
"It... it's fine. This is also to recover the brothers' swords, but strictly speaking, it's to uncover the identity of that absurd energy that tried to corrupt me back then!"
Besides, this voice!
It was the voice lingering in the fragments of memories the brothers saw and heard!
"Huh? This voice... it feels familiar somehow..."
Where had she heard it? The Saintess tilted her head in thought when
-Heeeehhh... Asshole, sword in the asshole, this is the true human swordsmanship...♥
"Wh-what is happening...?!"
What on earth was this before her eyes? Like a living creature wriggling, these squelching sounds, these filthy noises accompanied by the moans...
And what did she say?
"A-asshole...? No way?!"
It couldn't be. It couldn't be what she was imagining. No way!
Her face flushed crimson as she shook her head furiously in denial, but
Soon, the woman added as if delivering the killing blow right to her ears.
-Sow inspection for Master... With the hands of Master's first sow, this xxxxx, I must forge the continent's strongest, most wicked swordsmanship...♥
She had to disconnect now. The stimulation was too intense, too depraved. She was a holy Saintess, not a lewd one!
"I... I couldn't hear the name properly... If I can just catch the name, I'll cut the connection. The owner of this foul energy doesn't seem present, so a bit more..."
Unknowingly, the Saintess gulped and began scanning the woman.