Chapter 137
Chapter 137
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 137
Chapter Title: The Trial I Must Endure (4)
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Ma-gyeong, the Sword's Tomb.
The Sword's Tomb, nestled between two sheer cliffs, wasn't originally called a demon realm. It certainly wasn't known by such an ominous name as a tomb.
'The Sword Sanctuary, Galatric.'
That was the land's true name.
'The Sword Canyon, the Sword Sanctuary.'
It had forged countless sword supermen.
It had tempered innumerable famed blades.
No matter where they were born or what race they hailed from, for any who gripped a sword, the Sword Canyon was like a homeland in their hearts. Etching one's name on the monuments standing tall in the sanctuary... Well, it was a dream every swordsman walking the path had harbored at least once.
But now, all that was in the past.
The sanctuary had crumbled.
The monuments honoring great swordsmen had been shattered.
Countless sword supermen had been buried beneath the canyon.
The forges' unceasing flames had gone cold.
All glory had been interred beneath the earth.
And so, the Sword Canyon became a tomb. Instead of "sanctuary," it earned the derogatory name of Ma-gyeong.
'Then why a tomb, of all things?'
That question holds no meaning.
Stand at the canyon's entrance. Gaze upon the sanctuary turned demon realm. And you will naturally understand.
Why it's called the Sword's Tomb.
Swords broken and bent, stabbed into the ground.
To a swordsman, a sword is one's very life. The ruined canyon was filled with discarded lives.
What was buried were the lives of those who had gripped them.
What was broken and bent was their pride.
Follow the bent, broken, and defiled ones... and you'll reach the tomb's heart. At the center looms a massive sword scar. A trace soaring up the cliff as if to cleave the heavens themselves.
"......"
There he stands at the scar's end.
Utterly still, like a statue.
Death's Sword, Ganikalt.
The calamity that single-handedly razed the sanctuary.
The calamity embodied as death.
He slowly opened his bandaged eyes. Black pupils gleamed through the cracked helm. What do those eyes behold? His own hand.
"...So that's it."
A human hand, not a beast's.
Ganikalt gripped his sword with his armored hand. The greatsword embedded in the ground slid free smoothly. He gazed upon it.
A greatsword riddled with holes.
Shadows trickling from the punctures.
He sees the shadow sword. But his mind recalls the star sword he once wielded long ago. His gaze upon the blade grew distant.
Death's Sword, Ganikalt, is a swordsman.
Like those who live by the sword clinging to their blades, Ganikalt had never once forgotten his beloved sword. A sword is a swordsman's companion, half his soul.
"You've found it."
Someone had seized his other half.
His worn soul quivered.
The half he'd left in a distant place called to him.
"You've finally found it."
Time, stagnant for centuries, began to flow once more.
The forgotten era, the ashes of the burned-away age, sought to ignite anew. Ganikalt murmured the name of those ashes, sword in hand.
"Armiel."
A cherished name.
So achingly cherished.
2.
Thump, thump.
My heart pounded fiercely. Blood raced through my veins. My eyes darted wildly, my throat parched dry. Swallowing hard, I forced my gaze steady.
Death's Sword, Ganikalt.
That monster wasn't here. I couldn't even sense his presence. No suffocating pressure gripped my breath. Yet cold sweat trickled down my spine.
'Ganikalt's symbol.'
Death's Sword.
The calamity blade so named.
A greatsword no spell could shatter, unscratched even by Kyle's holy sword—the one thing that all-slaying holy blade couldn't cleave.
And there it was, right before my eyes.
'Identical.'
No mistaking it.
This was undoubtedly it.
Having once parried that blade, remembering exactly what happened when it swung—how could I stay calm?
My mouth tasted like ash.
Swallowing again, I racked my brain.
'Why the hell is this here?'
Only questions filled my head.
It had to be connected to Death's Sword. Definitely. No baseless hunch.
'Shape, holes, something dripping from the holes.'
I narrowed my eyes.
Of course, what dripped was different. From Ganikalt's sword, filthy sludge had oozed... but from this one flowed platinum starlight.
Drip, drip.
Starlight trailed down the blade into the spring. That was the source of the faint glow shimmering in the waters.
I see, I realized then.
This place resembled a mana spring but wasn't one. The reason was this starlight. Mana infused with it grew more potent, taking a form utterly unlike ordinary mana.
'Just like Kyle's mana.'
A greatsword stabbed into a mana spring.
This had altered the spring's nature entirely.
'Then why does starlight flow from that sword?'
I asked myself, but no answer came.
Why starlight poured from a greatsword mimicking Death's Sword, why it was plunged here where Rak's ancestor left his treasured weapon.
I couldn't grasp any of it.
Not even guess.
'...Rak's ancestor is Ganikalt?'
That made even less sense.
The Grace family founder was, as I recalled, from after antiquity at earliest. From the era after the four calamities revealed themselves.
And I'd never heard he was a massive skeleton.
"...What the hell is this?"
I frowned.
Taking slow, deep breaths to steady myself. In the end, only one thing was clear.
'That greatsword.'
Something was hidden in that ominous blade.
'If something's hidden...'
I'd have to pull it out.
Usually, smashing or shattering such things yielded answers. I strode forward. Water splashed with a splash. Crossing the stream, I approached the sword at the spring's center.
A sword resembling Death's Sword.
A sword full of riddles.
I reached for it. Whether this was the family's sanctuary or whatever, it didn't matter now. I meant to draw it.
Grab.
The moment I grasped the hilt.
Sizzle!
Heat seared my palm. My glove melted. The blaze pierced layers of mana, scorching my skin. I heard flesh sizzling.
'Hot.'
Painfully hot, but bearable.
Frowning, I gripped harder. Clunk—the hilt budged slightly free.
'It's coming out.'
Not impossible.
Stubbornness would see it drawn now. As I prepared to unleash a stocked spell—
Thoom!
The sword vibrated violently. My hand was flung off. It sank deeper into the ground than before.
"...What the fuck."
I blinked dazedly.
As if the sword rejected me. Like it had a mind of its own. The starlight pouring from it repelled my mana.
'This feels just like...'
Forcing Kyle's holy sword. When I'd snatched it from that bastard to use it myself... exactly this happened.
'Rejecting my soul itself.'
Like the holy sword, wieldable only by the chosen, star-blessed one... this blade demanded some condition. Meaning, I couldn't wield it.
"...Hah."
A sigh escaped my lips.
'What a pointless farce.'
Rubbing my blistered palm, I glared at the sword once more. Maybe shatter the ground... But doubtful it'd work.
"Tch."
I clicked my tongue, turning away. Then flutter—cloth wrapped on the hilt stirred in the breeze.
Worn, frayed cloth.
At a glance, just hilt-wrapping, meaningless. But for some reason, I stared, entranced. Cloth on a hilt hot enough to blister my palm. It had to hold something.
'...Letters?'
Staring pierced through. Letters were engraved on the cloth.
I grabbed the fluttering strip. Unwound it. The sword didn't resist, as if permitting this much.
Swish.
Unfurled from the hilt, lines of text connected.
「Ganikalt van Galatric.」 「In honor of you, prouder than any other.」 My eyes lingered on the cloth's corner at last. There, someone's name, as if the writer.
「Cardi van ■■■■.」 A name erased.
But the front was enough.
"...Cardi."
The inscrutable ancient elf.
Seeing his name, I fell silent. My eyes chilled. Like ice water dumped on my head.
-Go north, Raniel.
-Go north, climb the Kurakt Mountains. Answers await there.
Our recent conversation echoed in my ears.
I tore my gaze from the cloth. Looked beyond the sanctuary. Blizzard obscured it, but the towering snow peaks' silhouette pierced my sight.
The north's highest range.
Forbidden to all feet.
'...If I climb there.'
If I reach the place you spoke of.
"Will I learn what this is too, Cardi?"
I hope so.
Otherwise, I'll wrench the answers out by force this time.
3.
"This phalange points to the Kurakt Mountains."
The cardinal gulped at Draka's words.
"...The Kurakt Mountains, you say?"
Kurakt Mountains.
The cardinal knew them well. Where the north's fiercest blizzards raged. Devourer of countless adventurers lured by treasure rumors... the harshest snow peaks clustered there.
'Even if the Sword Ghost is superhuman...'
Climbing Kurakt was impossible.
Once, a prophesied saintess had pointed there as the way to vanquish calamity. Then, an expedition led by the indomitable hero challenged it.
'And they were utterly crushed.'
Only the Indomitable survived.
He hadn't even crested the midpoint.
'Even the hero couldn't.'
No way the Sword Ghost could.
Yet glancing at the first saintess's phalange in his hand...
The Sword Ghost had claimed he found it in an ancient kingdom's depths, where even stepping foot was impossible.
A man who'd achieved the impossible once.
The cardinal couldn't swear he wouldn't twice.
"...Can it be climbed?"
"Normally, no. I've tried every trick these past dozen years to no avail."
But, the Sword Ghost said.
"Lately, a way to climb Kurakt emerged."
He pointed out the window.
Even here, the Kurakt Mountains were visible. From anywhere in the north.
"Recently, the snowstorm encircling Kurakt weakened. Now, every few days, days come when the blizzard calms."
"...Weakened?"
"No idea why. Just that it has... and I won't miss this chance. Right, Cardinal?"
Draka's eyes narrowed.
"I'll climb the range. Follow this phalange pointing to the peak and..."
A brief pause, then.
"Claim the first saintess's remains."
Voice brimming with certainty.
Meeting Draka's gaze, the cardinal held his breath unwittingly. Those bloodshot eyes burned with obsession. Madness.
'...Chilling.'
The first saintess's remains.
A miraculous relic enabling anything.
Why this apostate-obsessed man coveted it—the cardinal knew.
'Even a ghost...'
The Sword Ghost was once human.
Humans always regret. Cling to the past. Bound by irrecoverable memories.
"If you truly intend to retrieve the remains..."
Thus.
"We'll prepare as well."
Humans seek to reclaim what's lost.
Even if it means breaking taboos.
"The resurrection ritual."
Resurrection ritual.
The cardinal's lips twisted naming it.
'Undeniable heresy.'
Severing providence.
Defying fate's flow.
Called alchemy, forbidden.
Thus deemed apostasy.
That was Draka's pursuit. With the saintess's remains, not impossible. Legends said the first saintess once revived the dead; records of her holy rite lingered as forbidden tomes in the church's depths.
And Draka had read them.
The cardinal who'd lent them knew their contents.
"Good, you're quick. Leave the altar to you. I ask, Cardinal."
Knowing full well, he requested the "altar" lightly. For face, the cardinal asked.
"...It'll demand many sacrifices."
The resurrection was possible only for the first saintess, closest to the stars. Even with her remains, shortages remained.
'To fill them...'
Something equivalent must be offered.
Not a small number, even roughly tallied.
"Aren't offerings prepared for that?"
Draka answered flatly.
His pointing finger aimed at the vacant-eyed children.
"Alchemy to revive the first saintess. Sacrificed for that... isn't it an honor?"
"...Ah."
A smile crept to the cardinal's lips.
"Indeed. Understood."
Formal questions done.
Now, refine the plan.
"So, when does the expedition start? We must build the altar to schedule."
"Three days."
Draka held up three fingers.
"Three days hence, when the blizzard is calmest."
He said.
"We'll begin then."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Thinking of skipping training for three days."
"...Pardon?"
Rak dropped his spoon mid-slurp of soup. It clattered loudly. Eyes wide, he asked.
"Skipping... lessons?"
"More training than lessons. Anyway, no training in three days, so no need to come."
Class canceled.
The word floated in Rak's mind.
Utterly sweet. Just thinking brought a smile.
'But can't show I'm thrilled.'
He sensed instinctively.
Suppressing the grin, he cleared his throat. "Ahem."
"Something come up?"
"Nothing major."
She answered.
"Just need to climb a mountain."
Author's Note
Lately, it feels like I'm packing in plenty.
Worried that if I slip back to average length, readers might think, "Hey, owner, isn't this portion kinda skimpy?" ...A bit scared.