Chapter 252
Chapter 252
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 252
Chapter Title: Destination (2)
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Why was the Weaponmaster in Bolt-Hammer City?
Demian didn’t know the exact reason. It wasn’t in the information extracted from the Weaponmaster’s disciple, either.
That said, he could make a guess. He had seen it in his previous life.
‘He’s probably trying to craft that demon sword.’
A demon sword was a clone created by a demon to exert influence on the earthly plane. As such, it contained the demon’s power and authority in full.
But the demon sword the Weaponmaster aimed to create was no mere ‘demon clone.’
He planned to use the corpse of a high-ranking demon to forge it. In other words, the Weaponmaster’s demon sword would be the demon itself.
‘It was made from the corpse of a duke-class demon that descended to earth long ago and was subsequently purged.’
That was why the demon sword held the full authority of a duke-class demon.
The Weaponmaster used the sword’s authority to slaughter countless knights.
Even master-class swordsmen, who were considered powerhouses in their own right, perished before it without mounting any proper resistance.
“Bolt-Hammer City, huh...”
Demian was lost in thoughts of the Weaponmaster when Molta stroked his goatee and asked a question.
“Why the sudden interest in those blockheads?”
“If even you call them blockheads, Molta, they must have quite the personality.”
“Quite? They’re beyond that—stuck-up pricks rejected even by their own kin. I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole.”
Molta shook both hands as if to ward off the very idea.
“Dwarves are a bit insular by nature, sure, but those guys take the cake! They won’t let anyone into their city—not even their own kind!”
“That bad?”
“Once, we lost contact with Bolt-Pattern City for decades. Turns out a plague had ravaged the whole place. And they still refused outside help to the bitter end!”
If Molta’s words were true, it wasn’t just insular—it was extreme.
“I’ve heard rumors that Bolt-Pattern City preserves the ancient knowledge and mysteries of their ancestors intact. That might explain the intense isolation.”
Then, out of nowhere, Molta spoke up with a puzzled look.
“But that’s weird. Me calling them blockheads? Makes it sound like I’m the blockhead.”
“No way. Just a slip of the tongue.”
“Yeah?”
Molta still looked skeptical. Demian quickly changed the subject.
“Then you wouldn’t know how to get into Bolt-Hammer City.”
“Nope! Not me, not anyone else. We only know its rough location. Want that much, at least?”
“Please.”
“No big deal, so sure. But first things first—fixing this little beauty.”
Molta patted Dawn as he spoke.
“How long until Dawn is complete?”
“Give me three days. I’ll make her even more magnificent by then.”
Molta declared with brimming confidence.
“Got it? Now scram. I’ve got work to do on her.”
With that, Molta turned his full attention back to Dawn.
“You adorable little thing! How can I make you even prettier? Straight quenching won’t cut it...”
In an instant, Molta had retreated into his own world.
He seemed to have completely forgotten Demian and Agnes were even there.
“Sir Demian, please bear with him. His skills are top-notch, but he has no eye for others’ feelings...”
Agnes said with an awkward smile. As far as Demian was concerned, as long as Dawn got fixed properly, he didn’t care.
“You must be tired. Allow me to show you to some lodgings. Our sect has plenty of empty rooms—pick whichever you like...”
Suddenly, the forge door burst open. A petite woman strode in confidently.
Oddly, her eyes were tightly shut. Yet she navigated without bumping into a single obstacle, heading straight for Molta.
“Molta, sir.”
“...Need to add more materials. Dawn’s made of cloud iron, so pair it with some fitting rare metal.”
“Molta, sir?”
“...How much rare metal’s left in storage? Not much, I think. Maybe mix in divine iron instead. Wonder if His Holiness would spare some.”
“Molta, sir!”
The woman shouted sharply. Only then did Molta turn his head.
“Who’s making all that racket... Oh, it’s you? What now?”
“High Mountain’s tone sounded all murky this morning. Came to ask you to take a look.”
The woman presented the sword clutched tightly to her chest. Molta took it and flicked the blade with his finger.
A clear ring echoed through the forge. Molta pressed his ear to it.
“Hmm? Uh-huh? Yeah, the tone’s a bit off.”
“Right? I’m counting on you, Molta, sir. Take good care of High Mountain.”
“Can’t. No time right now.”
The woman tilted her head at Molta’s firm refusal.
“Didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Molta, sir.”
“No joke.”
“Have you gone blind like me? This is High Mountain—your own spirit-grade holy sword. You threatened me to bring it running at the first sign of trouble.”
“True. But right now, I’ve got something more urgent than her.”
Molta held out the sword as he added,
“So ask someone else.”
“What kind of nonsense is that? Entrust our High Mountain to another dwarf? I wouldn’t sleep a wink from the worry!”
The woman cried out in horror. Clearly, she wasn’t exactly normal herself.
“Look at High Mountain right now!”
“No.”
“Why not! What sword could possibly be more important than our High Mountain?!”
As the woman fumed, Molta held out Dawn from beside him.
“Gotta turn this one into a stunner.”
The moment she saw Dawn, the woman’s expression changed completely.
She took Dawn in both hands. She fondled it here and there, marveling.
“Oh my, what a splendid sword. I’ve never seen one so straight and true.”
“Right? My finest masterpiece.”
“And it’s not just the looks. It’s brimming with power. Feels like a spirit-grade holy sword. Who’s the owner?”
“That guy.”
Molta pointed at Demian. The woman turned to him and gasped in surprise.
“Oh! There’s a person here. Sorry. When I get worked up, my senses narrow.”
The woman strode right up to Demian.
“Oh? But you’re not a holy knight? You’ve got mana, so just a regular knight? Oh my, what immense mana—it’s been ages since I felt anything like it.”
She exclaimed repeatedly.
“And someone this impressive visits the church, and I never knew? May I have your name? I’m... hmm... a title might be easier to grasp than a name.”
She placed a hand politely over her heart.
“They call me Greenwind.”
The sect leader who commanded the Bound Wind Sect.
One of the five absolutes symbolizing the church.
Greenwind, one of the Five Saints, stood before him.
‘It’s been a while.’
Demian had recognized her the moment she entered. He had fought her in his previous life.
Among the Five Saints, Greenwind was the youngest. Which meant her skills were the weakest.
But only compared to the other Five Saints.
Greenwind was a terrifying powerhouse worthy of the title.
‘We clashed for over two days.’
Demian had pressed her relentlessly, day and night, stealing all her techniques and insights.
Then crushed her heart and killed her.
‘...This nauseating feeling’s been a while, too.’
Meeting someone he’d killed in his past life wasn’t pleasant. It was like confronting his own sins.
“An honor to meet one of the renowned Five Saints.”
“Oh, no need. I’m nothing special.”
Greenwind replied with a gentle smile.
“I’m Demian Haksen.”
But the instant Demian gave his name, Greenwind’s face changed completely.
“...Demian Haksen?”
She spoke with obvious disgust.
“...What’s a turncoat doing here?”
* * *
Greenwind’s words froze the air.
Agnes was the most flustered. She hurriedly wedged herself between them.
“Lady Greenwind, that’s too harsh. Sir Demian is an honorary holy knight acknowledged by His Holiness himself, and a valued ally of the church.”
“I know. I get it. But he abandoned the church for the Empire—that arrogant bunch who mock the gods.”
Greenwind’s voice cut like a blade.
As she said, the Empire didn’t believe in gods. They deified their founding emperor. That bred constant friction between the Empire and the Holy Church.
“It’s a misunderstanding. Sir Demian has never sworn loyalty to the Empire.”
“He received a sword from the Emperor, teaches at the Academy, and is close with the Sword Saint. How am I supposed to believe that?”
“Well...”
Agnes fell silent. Truth be told, it was a situation ripe for misunderstanding.
“I never imagined the one asking for sword repairs was you. A turncoat exploiting our headquarters’ skills and manpower? I won’t allow it.”
Demian recalled the past. Come to think of it, Greenwind was the most rigid of the Five Saints.
“Leave the headquarters. Now.”
Greenwind said firmly. Demian sighed inwardly.
“Lady Greenwind, I’ve never turned coat.”
“I told you I don’t believe that.”
Greenwind showed no sign of accepting anything Demian said.
“If you won’t go, I’ll have to call guards. Unless you want trouble, walk out on your own...”
“Go ahead.”
“...What?”
Demian produced the honorary holy knight’s insignia from his pocket.
“My status was granted directly by His Holiness. Not even you, Lady Greenwind, have the authority to arbitrarily label me a turncoat and expel me.”
Greenwind outranked him within the headquarters.
But with his ties to the Holy Emperor and Azureflame, Demian could push back this far.
“...Keep resisting, and I might have to handle you myself.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad.”
Demian replied nonchalantly.
Greenwind was one of the Five Saints, true. But Demian’s skills now rivaled hers.
‘Strictly speaking, she’s still a bit ahead.’
Not enough to make him yield to threats.
“If you want me gone, petition His Holiness for formal approval.”
That was why Demian could defy her order.
“...”
Greenwind stood silent for a long moment.
Killing intent suddenly radiated from her. Demian braced himself.
Then the forge door flew open. Someone shouted,
“Both of you, stop it.”
She was a woman so stunning the word ‘beauty’ came to mind instantly.
Greenwind looked puzzled as the woman appeared.
“Radiance? Why are you here, sis...?”
“Came to see Sir Demian. Heard he was here, and...”
One of the Five Saints, leader of the ‘Dazzling Pain’ Sect.
Radiance glanced between them.
“The mood’s awfully tense. Greenwind, you’d better explain yourself.”
“Nothing to explain. This turncoat came to have Molta repair a holy sword, so I’m stopping him.”
As she spoke, Greenwind glared at Demian again. Radiance sighed deeply.
“Greenwind, how many times have I told you not to? Rushing in without checking facts first.”
“No need to check...”
“And whether Demian Haksen turned coat is for His Holiness to decide. Not for you to judge on a whim.”
The smile vanished from Radiance’s face. She fixed Greenwind with a stare.
“Greenwind, didn’t I tell you? I hate meddlers most of all.”
Greenwind paled. Sweat beaded on her brow.
“S-Sis... Th-That’s...”
“No time now—talk later. Demian Haksen? Come with me? We need to head to the Holy Palace pronto, or you’re in trouble.”
Demian blinked in confusion at Radiance’s words.
“Trouble?”
“Oh? You haven’t noticed the commotion outside?”
Radiance flung the door wide. That’s when Demian saw them.
Holy knights and priests packed densely outside.
“That’s Demian Haksen!”
“Demian Haksen! The knight who killed that vile Slara!”
“It’s really him!”
The holy knights and priests erupted at the sight of his face.
“Demian Haksen! Thank you! Thank you so much for killing Slara!”
“Taking down that damned heretic! You’re the best!”
“Pandemonium! Those filthy bastards must be quaking in their boots! All thanks to you, Sir Demian!”
The cheers crashed like waves. His ears rang.
Radiance shut the door. The noise dropped sharply.
“See? They’re swarming to catch a glimpse of you.”
She pointed outside.
“Try leaving now, and you won’t get a step away?”