Chapter 377
Chapter 377
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 377
Chapter Title: Vacation, Relaxation, Rest
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Vacation, relaxation, rest.
How heart-stirring these words were.
Stretched out on the bed, Natida let out a long sigh as she savored the softness of the blankets. Back at the front lines, whenever she tried to rest like this, Lania would somehow show up and dump some new task on her before leaving.
But this place?
This was the North, far beyond Lania's reach.
It meant she could finally relax without a care. And in Natida's eyes, she had more than enough justification for taking a vacation—no need to worry.
"Hmph, humph humph."
She even started humming a little tune. That's when the letter paper on the bedside table flashed brightly, signaling an incoming reply. Natida reached over casually to check it.
"...Huh?"
Natida blinked.
She read the contents several times, tilting her head in confusion. Show her the sword? What on earth did that mean?
'To begin with... doesn't that guy use an axe?'
The guardian of the North, Rak van Grace.
She'd never heard of him wielding a greatsword. Did he have some decorative greatsword lying around? Puzzled but undeterred, Natida called a servant and asked them to summon Rak.
He arrived shortly after.
Rak skimmed the letter Natida handed him—the one from Lania—and blinked. If there was one thing that qualified as the greatsword mentioned in the letter, it was this.
'The First Holy Sword.'
A family heirloom and historic holy relic—not something to show outsiders lightly. But if it was a request from Lania, who had played a decisive role in acquiring it, that changed things.
"Yes, understood."
Without a moment's hesitation, Rak nodded.
He set the letter aside, flicked his wrist lightly, and extended his hand into empty space. The air rippled, swallowing his wrist whole.
"Huh?"
Natida's eyes widened for a moment.
Slowly, Rak's hand emerged from the void. It gripped something that poured forth radiant light as it fully materialized.
Flash!
Brilliant starlight flooded the room.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Far in the distant past, in an age now forgotten.
There was a hero who led a glorious era.
Ganikalt van Galatric.
He stood at the forefront, facing disasters before anyone else—a true hero, a true warrior. In his hand was always a platinum-glowing holy sword, and the world called him the incarnation of Delorhim.
Hero, warrior, saint, apostle of the gods.
Whenever he swung his sword, no one could help but feel faith before the wave-like cascade of light. Even nobles who checked the church, and the people of barren lands who feigned disbelief in gods—all sensed divinity in Ganikalt. That made him a saint.
Hundreds of years had passed since then.
Though no one remembered that era anymore, the First Holy Sword still evoked the same awe in those who beheld it. Natida was living proof.
"Wha, wh-what...?"
Natida blinked, staring ahead.
There was light.
It was impossible to describe—just light. So brilliant it threatened to blind her. The more she gazed, the wider her mouth fell open. What she felt was mystery... and shock.
What is that thing?
Natida had seen countless holy relics during her time with the church. But none could compare to the light before her. If the relics she'd known merely dripped a single drop of divinity onto an object...
This was something made entirely of divinity.
Holy relics are inevitably influenced by the virtues, feats, and faith of their wielders. In that sense, the 'First Holy Sword' Rak had drawn forth was the most potent relic imaginable.
Before the church's fall.
In its most sacred era.
The zenith of the Delorhim Church, founded to purify evil and save all humanity. Before such an artifact from that golden age, even Natida—who despised the church and loathed the gods—could not deny its divinity.
"......"
Natida's eyes glazed over blankly.
The tangled flows within her body unraveled in an instant. Her labored breathing eased, her persistent migraine vanished.
All that remained was a pleasant euphoria.
"Hee... hee..."
Looking ready to drool, Natida shoved her face toward the holy sword. Ignoring Rak's flinch, she rubbed her cheek against its blade.
It felt like being drunk.
Intoxicated by the relic's divine power, Natida nuzzled the sword for a good while before locking eyes with Rak. He stared at her with profound regret in his gaze. Snapping to her senses, she pulled back.
"Ahem, ahem."
Such unbecoming behavior.
Muttering to herself, she hastily peeled her face away from the sword and straightened her disheveled hair. She wiped the drool from her mouth and turned to Rak.
"Um, young master."
"...Yes."
His reply came a beat late, but she decided to ignore it. Savoring the lingering euphoria from the divinity, Natida flashed a bright smile. Watching her, Rak thought to himself, 'The face a warrior makes after drinking all night.'
"Just, um, hypothetically."
Her pupils dilated, unfocused.
Drunk on divine power, Natida gazed at Rak and asked.
"Are you... an angel?"
Like the nonsense a warrior babbles when wasted. Rak gave a perfunctory reply.
"I'm a warrior. Same ending syllable, at least."
To be precise, it was a different character, but the pronunciation matched, so close enough. That was Rak for you.
2.
One year ago, the young man Zitapan—suddenly thrust into the Pope's seat at the Delorhim Church—let out a long sigh. Lately, his sighs had been piling up.
Clunk.
Inside the crude, speed-optimized carriage that rattled periodically—hardly fit for a Pope—Zitapan gazed out the window.
The scenery whipped by at high speed.
The carriage headed for what humanity called the front lines. The reason was simple: to prostrate himself and beg forgiveness.
'It's not like we committed some grave sin...'
This time, it was a matter of attitude.
Of course, no royal could force the church's de facto leader, the Pope, to kneel without committing high treason. But there was one being in the world who could make the Pope kneel for even a 'trivial' reason.
The one who had single-handedly toppled the church a year ago.
The one who swept away the upper echelons and installed the low-ranking Zitapan as Pope. Zitapan knew he had to stay in her good graces—or face hell.
Clunk, clatter.
They were drawing closer to the destination.
Zitapan reflected on his 'fault' inwardly. Strictly speaking, he hadn't sinned; one of the church priests had bungled things.
'Do not approach that child, Natida.'
'No contact, no approaches, no letters—nothing. The moment I catch you trying, I'll raze you all.'
Despite her warning, one priest had contacted Saintess Natida en route to the North. Zitapan sighed deeply.
"I hope she lets it slide easily..."
Remembering her figure from a year ago, Zitapan shuddered.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Near the front lines, in an occupied zone.
In the prepared reception room, Zitapan sipped tea nervously. Naturally, the front lines had believers and holy knights from the church, so he could have received lavish treatment—but he refused.
He'd only recently ascended to Pope.
Memories of his similar station made such deference uncomfortable. Besides, he didn't want them seeing him bow.
Creeeak.
How long had he waited?
The heavy door slowly opened. Zitapan's shoulders trembled as he set down his teacup. He swallowed and bowed his head slightly.
Click, clack.
Footsteps echoed in the silence.
The presence stopped before him. Zitapan slowly raised his head. There she was.
"...I, Zitapan, greet you, Hero Lania van Trias."
"Hey. Long time no see, Zitapan."
Addressing the Pope by name without honorifics, Lania lounged on the opposite sofa. Zitapan gulped, stealing glances at her.
Lania van Trias.
A year ago, she had witnessed the church's atrocities against Saintess Natida and razed the entire institution. Zitapan vividly remembered the fate of the church's boasted holy knights and the multi-layered prayer halls.
"Reason for the visit?"
Lania asked curtly.
At her chilling tone, Zitapan spoke slowly.
"As you might expect, to apologize."
He bowed deeply and swiftly.
No hesitation.
Zitapan never forgot.
The sheer magnitude of the being before him. This woman seated across was humanity's pinnacle.
'Holding the front lines single-handedly...'
Even scouring centuries of history, had any individual wielded such power? Certainly not. Zitapan reminded himself not to be fooled by her gentle appearance. The entity before him...
'...could exterminate humanity in a single night if she willed it.'
A blade aimed at humanity's enemies.
Should that blade turn, no one in humanity could stop her if her wrath targeted them. Zitapan had learned that the hard way.
"F-Forgive our sins."
"Gods... Gods... Gods..."
Beings called divine weren't confined to the heavens. A year ago, Zitapan had seen one standing firmly on the earth.
-Crunch, craaaack.
Recalling how the church's barriers shattered with each swing of her hand, and the holy knights crawling on the floor gnashing their teeth, Zitapan poured his heart into every word of apology.
"The offending priest has been punished immediately and permanently excommunicated from the church..."
He bowed repeatedly if needed.
If bowing resolved it, he'd bow a thousand times. Zitapan meant that sincerely.
He was a realist.
Not overly devout despite his position, he might lack as a cleric—but his grasp of reality made him fit to lead the church. That was why Lania had placed him on the papal throne.
"...That concludes my statement."
Finished, Zitapan peeked up to gauge her reaction. Trembling at what she might say, he blinked in surprise.
"Huh...?"
Lania was tilting her head.
After blinking for a moment, she finally spoke.
"Wait, that's what you came for?"
"Y-Yes... it is..."
"I thought it was something else."
Lania sighed deeply.
"I figured it was some big deal."
"We violated the warning you gave, so this is a big deal..."
"Zitapan, that's not the kind of 'big deal' I mean."
Lania smiled wryly.
"Playing around with people's lives. That's what I mean. I thought the church had messed with some village or something."
"We're striving to prevent such unsavory incidents."
"Good. That's all that matters. You didn't need to come in person for this."
Relaxing her shoulders, she brushed back her hair. Ashen strands flowed like waves between her fingers.
"Zitapan."
"...Yes."
Her low voice made him shudder. He still feared her as much as ever. Smiling wryly at his reaction, Lania continued.
"I didn't put you on the papal throne because you're devout or a master of divine arts. You know that, right?"
"Yes, I haven't forgotten."
"You're quick on the uptake, reasonable, not a fanatic, and you know how to survive."
She valued that highly.
"I didn't destroy the church that day because people still need religion—a place for spiritual solace."
Words he'd heard before.
Before the ruins of the church's main cathedral, Lania had said the same to him. And even now, she emphasized 'still'.
"Still, that is."
Lania said, propping her chin.
Then she tossed out a casual question.
"Preparations going well?"
It had no overt purpose.
Zitapan answered immediately.
"...We're currently researching in collaboration with the Lord of the Ashen Mage Tower."
"Progress?"
"We've confirmed it can deal damage. But meaningful impact is still impossible. Issues persist in the critical output phase..."
"Sounds like it's coming along, at least."
Lania quipped.
"Two years at most."
The promised deadline.
"In two years, the church might not be needed anymore. Want me to hook you up with a decent job then?"
Lania chuckled, sipping her tea.
To her, Zitapan seemed competent enough to keep under her wing.
"It-It would be an honor... but let's discuss that later..."
"Sure. Think it over."
Sipping her tea, Lania leaned back. Though the ceiling blocked it, she felt eyes upon her.
A gaze from far away, high in the sky.
Sensing the stars' watch, Lania let out a laugh. Who'd have thought she'd conspire in apostasy—the ultimate taboo—with the Pope himself?
'You learn something new every day.'
Lania thought to herself.