Chapter 415
Chapter 415
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 415
Chapter Title: Sword Sanctuary Galatrick
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People naturally feel a sense of divinity toward those who grant the miracles needed in their most desperate moments. Calt had lived his entire life as a non-believer, but right now, in this very instant, he was seriously considering converting to the Delorhim Church.
"Go ahead, smoke as much as you like."
Taari 200.
To Calt, it was nothing short of a miracle in stick form.
The gods might not relieve his exhaustion, but this miraculous rod of tobacco chased away his fatigue in an instant.
"Hoo..."
"Ah, this one has a pretty nice aroma too. You know how Taari 200 has that heavy flavor? It feels like this washes away the aftertaste. Surprisingly good."
"Indeed... Washing away the aftertaste of one smoke with another. Never thought of that."
Following the Taari 200, Calt popped another cigarette into his mouth, and his body went limp. Rak watched with pitying eyes as Calt slumped on the sofa, puffing out thick clouds of smoke.
...He wasn't like this before.
His eyes used to sparkle.
His sharp mind was gone, replaced by the weary gaze of an overworked office drone. Come to think of it, those hollow eyes looked familiar.
When he first came to the North, Natida definitely had...
When he'd first arrived in the North, Natida had eyes just like that. Hollow, drained by exhaustion. He'd thought it was from weakness at first... but seeing the situation now, it seemed like simple overwork.
"The Hero's still the same, I take it."
"No, it's worse."
"Worse than that? Horrifying..."
"You got the letter, right? With the senior prepping for the heretic subjugation campaign, everyone's getting ground to dust around him. No time to rest. No time to..."
Calt muttered with hollow eyes, and Natida nodded vigorously in full understanding.
"Horrifying."
"It is. But the even more horrifying part is..."
"That the Hero himself works several times harder? He's handling double the duties of his superiors... Makes you feel guilty just slacking off."
"Exactly."
Calt snapped his fingers crisply.
"The senior doesn't even get tired. All-nighters are routine for him. Ten straight days without sleep, no days off, sweeping the battlefields like a maniac... How could I whine about pulling three all-nighters after that?"
"I get it. Completely."
It wasn't empty sympathy.
Before transferring to Rak's aide, Natida had served as Lania van Trias's aide. She'd experienced that superhuman workload firsthand.
"You've been through hell. Truly."
A strange bond of empathy formed between them as Calt exhaled one final long plume of smoke. He stubbed out the cigarette, aired out the room a bit, then cleared his throat shortly.
"Sorry for the late introduction..."
Calt grinned sheepishly.
"I'm Calt, aide to Hero Lania van Trias. Rak and I go way back. And this is my first time meeting the Saintess."
Calt pulled a letter from his pocket.
"The reason I was dispatched to Crempelia is to deliver this letter and assist with the mission outlined in it."
"The mission... you mean?"
"Yeah. Rak."
The sword once wielded by Kuntel, now inherited by Calt. Its hilt bore a specific emblem. Pointing to it, Calt spoke.
"You know about the Sword Sanctuary, Galatrick?"
The mission assigned to Crempelia's supreme commander.
It was the investigation of the Sword Sanctuary, Galatrick.
2.
Sword Sanctuary Galatrick.
Located not far from Crempelia, it was once called a sanctuary but now went by the Sword Graveyard. It had produced countless sword prodigies, only to become their tomb as well.
"There's a holy grail there. That's why so many prodigies emerged from Galatrick. Of course, it's broken now and can't fulfill its role..."
Calt tapped the table.
"The divine power contained in that holy grail. The senior judged it 'necessary' before the heretic subjugation campaign."
Heretic subjugation campaign.
Documents had been sent to all participants, so Rak and Natida had a rough idea. Rak nodded, and Calt continued.
"Our goal is to recover that holy grail. And for that recovery, we absolutely need you, Rak... and..."
Calt glanced at her.
"Natida, the Saintess of our time."
"Me too?"
"Only a Saintess can recover the broken holy grail 'intact.' As for Rak, I'm not entirely sure..."
Calt let out a short breath.
"But that sword of yours... the one that strangely glows? Similar to the Sword of Death. He said we need that."
"I think I know why."
"Reasons you can't share, right."
Calt smiled wryly.
He vaguely sensed it involved some condition-locked information. Even without details, it had to do with the calamity.
"The Sword Sanctuary was once the domain of the Sword of Death, Ganikalt—entering it meant risking your life. But not anymore."
Calt pointed to the letter.
"The senior asserted the Sword of Death is now at 'Gehete.' No Ganikalt in Galatrick currently. Sure, traces of death linger... but no calamity encounters."
So, Calt snapped his fingers.
"We go in, grab the holy grail, and get out. No point lingering."
"Understood."
Rak asked when the mission would launch.
"Dawn tomorrow."
The commander couldn't be away long. With the Demon King's army subdued, they needed to move fast, Calt emphasized.
"Think that's everything..."
He muttered about wanting to crash until dawn—could he borrow a tent?—then clamped his mouth shut. He'd seen Natida's face.
"...Something wrong?"
Her face was deathly pale.
Calt questioned her ashen complexion, and Natida slowly opened her mouth.
"It's just..."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "I'm a failure."
Spoke the berserker, Rak van Grace.
His house of Grace was ashes, everything reduced to rubble, yet he still called himself Rak van Grace. As if he had to be.
"She helped me, saved me time and again... but I couldn't stand by her side."
Crackle went the campfire.
As he fed twigs into the flames, Rak continued.
"When she needed help most, I failed her. I dragged her down, forced her to choose."
Blazing branches.
Charred kindling.
"In the end, she chose the other path, and my homeland burned away. By one person. One swordsman... Everything vanished."
Rak smiled bitterly.
"My home, my warriors, my brothers-in-arms, my parents, everything I had to protect. I lost it all."
Why did he have to lose it?
The berserker muttered, then answered curtly.
"Because I was weak."
Weak, so he lost everything.
"Having lost it all, I should have had nothing left to protect. That's why they called me berserker, why I inherited the name Sword Ghost."
Berserker Rak van Grace.
Or the vengeful Sword Ghost.
"But get this. Funny thing."
Blazing campfire.
Rak gazed at the woman sitting across from him.
"I tried to use you. Exploit your traits, hurt you to achieve my goals. At first, that's what I planned..."
Saintess Natida.
A woman whose life was ruined by the Church. One who hated the entire world. An addict who couldn't stay sane without holy relics.
"For some reason, I couldn't."
"...Really?"
"Yes. It happened that way."
Rak sighed deeply.
"Instead, I wanted to protect you."
"Me?"
"Yes. Ridiculous, right."
"Sounds insane. What do you even gain from protecting me?"
"Beats me."
Nothing to gain.
Just a hindrance to his goals.
Rak muttered, then chuckled.
"Guess I just like you."
"Unique taste."
Natida laughed. Her body was already broken beyond repair. A drug-soaked addict, the Church's dog. A wretched shell that couldn't even survive without their treatments.
What about her could he possibly like?
"I don't even know my own worth. What value do you see in me..."
"Does it need to make sense? The world's value is worthless anyway. I just feel drawn to you."
"Casual confession."
"Hate it?"
"Why would I? Your face alone could keep me entertained for a decade."
Natida smirked and shifted seats. Not across from Rak, but beside him. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she said,
"Tomorrow, huh."
"Yes."
"Do we have to?"
"You won't get hurt."
"Not me. You."
"...I'll be fine."
"Doubt it."
"Still, one promise."
Rak said,
"No matter what, I'll protect you."
As those words echoed in her ears, Natida's eyes snapped open. No campfire—just the familiar ceiling. Awakening from the dream, she slowly sat up.
"...Hoo."
Her clothes were soaked in cold sweat.
Natida reached for the cigarettes on the shelf, lit one. Sizzle, flick. As it burned, she wiped away the sweat. That dream again.
A dream that might be prophecy or delusion.
She knew what came next in the severed dream.
The Rak in the dream kept his promise. But he never returned. In the operation, he was used as a sacrificial pawn to buy time and met his end.
...Coincidence? Or inevitability?
In the dream, they were in the Sword Gorge.
By the campfire in the Sword Gorge, waiting with Rak. Their mission: block some entity trying to pass through.
The scenery from the dream.
And the current real-world mission of 'holy grail recovery' kept overlapping in her mind.
"...Damn it."
Natida ruffled her hair.
What the hell was that dream?
Too different from reality to be prophecy. She was saved by Lania, not Rak. She wasn't broken like in the dream, and Rak's house was intact.
So, a delusion?
But too vivid for that...
"Ugh."
Natida winced.
The dream's end. The unknown entity in the Sword Gorge resurfaced in her mind, and blood trickled from her nose.
She couldn't recall its form.
Only its name.
The name Rak had gritted out in the dream—Natida whispered it aloud.
"...Reverse Heaven."
The Sword of Reverse Heaven.
That's what Rak called the entity.
3.
"The Sword of Reverse Heaven...?"
『Yes, senior.』
Calt's urgent message via the communication circuit.
Calt explained: Saintess Natida had a dream, a vision of future where Rak dies to the 'Sword of Reverse Heaven.'
『I played it cool there, but if it's the Sword of Reverse Heaven...』
Calt knew it.
He'd faced the Sword of Reverse Heaven before.
『Isn't that... Kyle Toven?』
Raniel fell silent.
It was a vanished future. Kyle was recorded as the 'Hero,' not the Sword of Reverse Heaven. A future that could never happen now.
But that wasn't the point.
"The key is that she saw the future."
Natida herself was confused if it was prophecy or delusion... but Raniel knew. It was the future.
'Even if it's one that won't happen.'
The fact that Natida had foreseen it somehow.
And prophecies coming as dreams had only happened once in the past few centuries.
"Sword of Death, Ganikalt."
Prophecies always pointed to death.
"......"
Raniel silently unrolled the map.
The marked point didn't budge. The Sword of Death remained at Gehete. He waited there for his end, unmoving.
Bound by a contract, after all.
Raniel pinched her brow.
After a brief deliberation, she spoke.