Chapter 274
Chapter 274
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 274
Chapter Title: The Paladin Doesn't Believe in God (4)
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◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Destel gazed at the map spread out before him.
The Berta Gorge, which had been painted bright red until just recently, was now dyed blue. It meant they had successfully reclaimed it.
'Took a while.'
The Berta Gorge was a strategic key point.
At least for the Demon King's army, not humanity. Even after the Black Dragon, once its master, had died, it left behind thick demonic energy.
And demonic energy was material for necromancy.
The Berta Gorge, infused with the demonic energy left by the disaster's death, was the perfect place for necromancers to set up workshops. And that's exactly what happened. The necromancers had built dozens of towers in the Berta Gorge.
Every day, bone soldiers were mass-produced from those towers.
Undead soldiers that felt no fear or pain, even in death, were churned out endlessly. The eastern front had been forced into a war of attrition against the flood of soldiers.
'Now we can finally catch our breath.'
But not anymore.
The towers in the Berta Gorge had been toppled, and priests were chanting purification spells day and night... They would never use that place as a workshop again.
Thanks to the success of the annihilation operation.
Having executed a long-prepared plan with near-perfect success, Destel felt a touch of accomplishment.
"But hey."
As he smiled with that sense of achievement, Destel turned his head to look at the girl sitting in the corner of the tent.
"Why are you still hanging around here?"
"Professor Lania told me to seek knowledge from you as well, Sir Destel."
The next Hero candidate, Chloe.
She was looking at Destel with shining eyes. Destel found that gaze terribly burdensome. Not just because of her heretical appearance.
"What do you expect to learn from me?"
"Yes."
"Is there anything to learn? Haven't you learned enough from Garahal? You'd probably learn more from him than me."
Destel himself thought there wasn't much to learn from him. At best, maybe some cunning tricks.
"You aiming to be a staff officer or something?"
"No?"
"Then why?"
Chloe blinked and asked back.
"Sir Destel, you're the most realistic Hero there is."
Destel flinched, his body stiffening.
'Realistic Hero.'
He had once been called that, but now no one referred to him that way. In the world, he was only known by the derogatory title "Craven."
It couldn't be helped.
A realistic "Hero" had to pursue ideals even while compromising with reality. It no longer suited him, who had stopped chasing ideals. Destel let out a short sigh and opened his mouth.
"That's an old nickname..."
"What you told me from the watchtower was really helpful. It gave me a chance to think things over."
"...That was helpful?"
Chloe nodded.
"That being a Hero isn't just like some fairy tale. That to realize ideals, you naturally have to consider realistic aspects too."
The still-immature girl beamed a bright smile.
"Watching Sir Garahal and you, I learned a little. So I want to study harder."
Chloe nodded.
"To become the Hero I aspire to be, I have to."
There was no wavering in her gaze.
It was the look of someone who had steeled their resolve and chosen their own path. Faced with that unwavering gaze, Destel fell silent for a moment.
The silence in the tent was broken with a scrape as Destel pushed back his chair and stood.
"......"
Destel wordlessly walked to the corner of the tent. There was a coat rack. And a single garment that hadn't felt human hands in a long time. Destel reached out toward it.
Flutter.
He shook the coat-like garment in the air once, then draped it over his shoulders.
"Well, whatever..."
The standard-issue uniform for Heroes.
Destel hadn't touched it since being called Craven. But now, with it draped over his shoulders, he pointed outside the tent.
"I don't have much to teach you."
He lightly tapped Chloe's head.
"But I can give you some advice."
2.
"But is that young lady strong too?"
As we walked toward the sparring ground with Garahal, Kariot tossed a question my way.
"She can hold her own in a fight."
"Yeah? Oh, right, she said she was the sister of that Ashen Mage guy?"
I nodded.
Kariot laughed out loud.
"Makes sense she'd be good then. So, how's her big bro doing? I heard he retired, but no word on what he's up to."
How's he doing, huh.
I gave a wry smile and answered.
"He said he found a new job."
"A new job. That guy's capable of anything."
"He's just that talented."
Ahem, Garahal cleared his throat awkwardly.
I ignored Garahal, who was glaring at me with narrowed eyes, and kept walking.
"The kid tried hard, that's for sure."
Kariot nodded as he spoke.
"So, is he finally enjoying life a bit these days? That guy."
"Enjoying?"
"He lived such a boring life. Rumor has it he never even got to have fun downstairs."
I flinched briefly.
Kariot clicked his tongue.
"A guy who's never spent a hot night calling himself a sage. Ridiculous, right? Tell him to have some fun. The world's full of pleasures."
"...He doesn't have the leisure for that."
"It's not lack of leisure. He just couldn't."
Grip.
My fist clenched tight.
It wasn't that he couldn't. He just didn't. Because I had no intention of whoring around like Kyle.
"Then tell him to start enjoying life from now on."
"It's not like that...!"
I was shouting when I looked at Kariot's face and shut my mouth. He was smiling bitterly while gazing off into the distance, not at me.
A bitter, poignant smile.
"A young pup like that, who's done as much as he's done and hasn't done even more... Strutting around like he's seen it all isn't a pretty sight."
3.
Thud!
When Kariot set down the coffin strapped to his back, the ground trembled faintly. He nudged the cross-shaped coffin with his foot.
"I use a lot of weapons."
He tossed the drawn weapon into the air. The blades that floated up pointed downward and plunged toward the ground.
Thud.
The blades sank smoothly into the earth.
Each at different depths, they looked chaotic at a glance... but there was a consistent pattern among the embedded blades. One only Kariot could recognize.
"Well then, Hero of the Holy Spear."
Kariot drew a claymore.
A thick scent of blood wafted from the blade. But only for a moment. As he raised it to cover his face, the blade gleamed platinum.
Holy power(?).
No more blood stench emanated from the blade infused with holy power. Kariot, hiding his face behind the glowing blade, looked like a noble paladin. The scars covering his upper body couldn't mar his nobility even slightly.
"Care for a bout?"
In response, Garahal gripped his holy spear with both hands. The spear tip pointed at Kariot.
A single exchange of glances.
A single blink.
Without warning who went first, they kicked off the ground and charged. Clash! The holy spear met the holy-infused blade with a sharp crack.
Garahal had the edge in physical ability.
His spear swings were faster, the power in his weapon greater. But the moment spear met blade, Garahal's instincts screamed.
He had to retreat.
Instincts honed over long years on the battlefield. And those instincts proved right. Kariot's blade traced a bizarre arc, slipping past the spear shaft toward Garahal.
Clang!
Garahal spun the shaft to slap the blade away and stepped back.
"Whoa."
Kariot rubbed his wrist and exclaimed in admiration.
"As expected of a Hero. No ordinary foe. This technique usually lands on first sight(?)."
Tsk, Kariot smacked his lips and hurled the claymore at Garahal like a javelin. The platinum blade streaked in a line toward him.
Clang, predictably deflected.
As Garahal casually swung to knock it away, Kariot was already low and charging, different blades in each hand.
Clang clang!
Sparks flew.
Garahal swung the shaft, and Kariot crossed his blades to block.
Crack.
But he couldn't prevent strain on the weapons. Garahal's holy spear was infamous among the star armaments for its weight. To wield it properly, Garahal had trained nearly a year.
That training didn't betray him.
Snap!
The shaft crushed Kariot's blades under sheer force. As it aimed to smash his shoulder, Kariot released the broken weapons.
Then spin.
A half-pirouette evading the shaft. Crack! He stomped the embedded shaft with his foot.
But Kariot was now unarmed.
As Garahal anticipated no counter, Kariot reached back, as if grasping something distant.
Humm.
The blades in the ground floated up. They flew toward Kariot in unison.
Holy spell, Attraction.
Originally for lifting light objects... but with holy power rivaling the Pope's, the result changed.
Dozens of blades hurtled toward him.
Kariot caught the first with both hands—a massive greatsword.
Swinging at point-blank range.
As the greatsword lunged, Garahal didn't dodge. Tucking the shaft under his arm, he slammed his palm down.
Rumble!
The shaft burst from the ground.
Kariot's stance crumbled. Garahal struck immediately.
Kariot dropped the greatsword, grabbing incoming weapons one by one to counter. Clang, clang—the clashes rang out.
Sparks amid the fray, Garahal realized.
'Tricky.'
Not using Starlight, yet a headache.
He'd faced many paladins, but none handled weapons "like this" so variably.
Unpredictable.
Seemed like tricks, but transitions smooth. Proper grips. Each strike vexing.
Battle-honed, not drilled. For survival, not dueling.
Clang!
Attacks traded.
Watching from afar, Raniel chuckled unwittingly.
"Must be a pain, big time."
She'd fought Kariot before.
Seen him clash with Kyle.
'Tricky opponent. Especially that cross sword... a real nuisance.'
No paladin righteousness in Kariot.
His swordplay wild. Not mastering one weapon, but many... made him more annoying.
No decisive blows.
But full of tricks.
"Above all, he doesn't stick to just swords."
As Raniel muttered that.
Kariot gripped the cross necklace at his throat. Surging holy power enveloped his breaking blade.
Thus, his sword endured one more strike.
Discarding the shattered blade, he reached for another. Incoming weapons varied.
Delorim Church arms, knights' gear—even Demon King army spoils.
Kariot used anything.
If he could wield it, that sufficed. He switched weapons repeatedly, prolonging the fight.
Clang, clang!
The bout dragged; the ground littered with shards. Only a cross-shaped greatsword remained for Kariot.
"Whew, unreal. Struck it so many times, not a wobble..."
Kariot wiped sweat from his brow with a wry smile. Garahal was the same. Despite breaking all Kariot's weapons, no finish.
Garahal felt surprise.
Not underestimation. Just hadn't imagined this level. As he marveled, Kariot spoke.
"I held one back, actually."
He pointed to the sword in his hand.
A cross-shaped blade, stained deep crimson with blood.
"This is my real weapon. My wife packed it full of blessings."
"...You have a wife?"
"High priestess in the Church. Great woman. She's gone now."
As Garahal was speechless, Kariot gripped the sword casually.
"Made of rare metal, won't break... but feels off for sparring. Bout's decided anyway."
Kariot shrugged.
"Looks like I lost, huh?"
Could continue, but this was enough.
Kariot thought so; Raniel watching agreed.
He called the power in the cross sword a "blessing"... but to Raniel, it was far from one.
More like a curse.
"Whew. Thought I'd need to sharpen 'em all... this is bad. Gonna cost a fortune."
Kariot kicked the scattered blades into a pile and approached Garahal.
"Good bout."
"I learned a thing or two."
After a light handshake, Kariot asked.
"So, what'd you wanna ask me?"
After brief thought, Garahal posed his question.
About why Kariot sought superhumanity, and why he stayed on the battlefield.
"Same question as Heinkel's."
Chucking, Kariot plopped onto the closed coffin.
"Reason for fighting's simple. To carry out my god's will, I gotta lead the charge."
"God's will, you say?"
"Haha. That face says you don't get it. Makes sense; to Heroes called apostles of god, I must seem weird. But I'm a paladin too."
A paladin who believes in god and borrows his power.
Muttering that, Kariot lifted the cross from his neck. Tarnished, but still gleaming.
"The god inside me hates kids fighting. Hates them getting buried even more, and despises their deaths most."
Exhaling shortly, he pointed at Garahal.
"Seeing young pups like you Heroes risk your lives shames me. Always. That's why I'm on the front lines. So I won't be ashamed of myself."
"...Pardon? I'm not that young..."
"How old are you, Hero?"
"Twenty-eight."
"Still a brat."
"...Pardon?"
Kariot laughed heartily.
"Anyone younger than me is a brat."
Violence logic.
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