Chapter 174: Great Warrior (3)
Chapter 174: Great Warrior (3)
My heart thrummed, syncing with the rhythm of a deep, steady breath.
This was the essence of Refinement. It required heating the blood of steel and perfectly transferring the Caravan’s power into the blade. However, the Third Form of Steel had a fatal flaw: it was utterly impractical. The preparation for Refinement was excessively long. In a duel where victory and defeat were decided in a heartbeat, who would wait for their opponent to stop mid-fight and stroke their blade?
"Oh, dear."
The old woman spread her hand toward me. Simultaneously, a massive cross manifested above my head and plummeted with terrifying velocity. I barely managed to dodge, rolling across the ground just as a thunderous boom shook the earth. The spot where I had been standing a second ago was decimated, looking as if it had been struck by a boulder from a catapult.
One hit and I’m dead.
The power was insane.
Despite the scale, the attack was incredibly fast, and her only preparation had been a simple reach of her hand. If I let my guard down for even a second, that cross would crush my skull. I’d be erased without a trace.
"Do not flee, Caravan."
What a shameless thing to say.
Don't flee? After launching an attack meant to kill me instantly?
"This cross is the penalty you must endure. Do not seek to escape your punishment. Accept the full weight of your sins. The Son of Sin and Punishment decreed that every being must pay the price for the sins they have committed. The more one avoids the penalty, the heavier and more severe it becomes. Do not turn away from your sins, Caravan."
"Who are you to judge anyone?"
"What an ignorant question. I am the Great Warrior chosen by the Son of Sin and Punishment, and his most faithful servant of the Cross. I am Ismael, the Great Warrior of Condemnation. The Lord himself bestowed this name upon me. All for the sake of a better world."
"A better world? Don't make me laugh."
Thump, thump, thump.
Crosses fell one after another.
I couldn't even begin to guess the principle behind this technique. The old woman who called herself Ismael—the Great Warrior of Condemnation—showed no signs of exhaustion despite relentlessly unleashing such overwhelming power. No, it wasn't just a lack of fatigue; she likely wasn't getting tired at all.
Because she isn't using her own power.
Through my eyes, steeped in Doubt, I could see it clearly.
A faint, shimmering presence hovered behind Ismael. It was a figure with hair and a beard soaked in blood, a crown of thorns biting into its brow, and limbs nailed to a cross. Its eyes were filled with the sorrow and rage with which it beheld the world. Piecing together these distinct traits, it wasn't hard to guess its identity. One of the Seven Chief Gods, the Son of Sin and Punishment worshiped by the Cross Order, was directly bestowing power upon Ismael at this very moment.
"Stop your unsightly struggling and accept your sins."
Crash! With a horrific roar, a piece of my earlobe was torn away.
Hot blood splattered, running down my cheek.
It’s getting faster.
I was at a disadvantage.
Ismael’s attacks weren't becoming sloppy or slow; if anything, they grew faster and more exquisite as time passed. It felt as though every time I dodged, the next attack was empowered. Just as she said—like a 'sin that grows heavier and more severe the more it is avoided.'
Conversely, I was slowing down.
No matter how much the Caravan’s Heart of Steel favored sustained combat and rapid recovery, it didn't mean I could fight forever. Stamina is a finite resource. It was bound to run out eventually, especially when I had to squeeze out every drop of speed just to stay alive.
This damn impractical sword...
The thunderous impacts drew closer.
The destructive force of the falling crosses far exceeded that of mere heavy ornaments dropping from the sky. This was on par with siege engines or war magic. I continued to pour mana into the blade as I rolled across the ground. Covered in dust, I looked around to find the earth already bristling with crosses.
"Do you truly believe you can escape?"
"..."
"A noble soul might, but no sinner can ever defeat me. Never."
Ismael walked toward me with slow, deliberate steps.
I glared at her and spat back, "Ridiculous. You'll judge anyone who has committed a sin?"
"Indeed."
"Then what about the Swordmaster?"
"..."
"Years ago, when Swordmaster Carlos was beheading innocents in the Iron Kingdom, what were you doing? What did the Cross Order, which claims to govern sin and punishment, do for those dying unjustly? When the Eastern Continent was crushed and broken by the armies sent by the Great Land, where were you people?"
Ismael’s eyebrows twitched.
"I chose to protect the sacred and sublime land instead of a land defiled by greed. I chose the southern lands blessed by God over the outer continents."
"Blessed lands, you say? Isn't it your Cross Order that is trampling those lands right now? You cause chaos, pick fights over nothing to start wars, and you're turning into the exact same people from the 'outer continents' you look down on."
"We are different. Clearly."
"No, you're the same."
She kept trying to act so pure.
"There isn't a single difference. Besides, even if you chose the southern lands, what was your God doing? If the Son of Sin and Punishment says that sinners will eventually be punished, why didn't he protect justice in the outside world?"
"..."
"A ridiculous God for a ridiculous Great Warrior. A convenient iron hammer for a contradictory doctrine. You stood by when a Swordmaster ran rampant, you turned away when those truly seeking salvation prayed, and you only act all noble by demanding 'sin' from the weak when there's a profit to be made."
I'm sorry. But no matter how strong you are, you can't beat me in an argument.
"You only judge what's convenient, only question sins that are easy to judge, and only seek out the weak who are easy to bully. If that's the case, the Cross Order isn't a group of faithful believers carrying out rightful punishment; you're no different from bandits using minor sins as an excuse to commit violence and line your pockets. And the God such bandits serve is neither holy nor great. Based on your actions, your Order's actions, and your words... your God and your Order are nothing more than hypocrites."
Religion is naturally vulnerable to Doubt. Especially a group where blind faith is considered the ultimate virtue.
And someone like her... trying to preach faith to a chronic doubter like me?
"...You are indeed a foul Caravan."
Her voice came out chillingly dry.
The voice echoed, and Ismael’s eyes turned toward me. Her eyes, streaming tears of blood, were no longer just red; they had turned a dead, pitch-black. It was a sight that triggered an instinctive revulsion.
"Caravan, Doubt is the greatest sin of all."
Ismael’s snow-white hair stained red. It wasn't a beautiful crimson, but the dark, murky color of dried blood. Simultaneously, the crosses embedded all around me began to vibrate in unison. Wait, was this not just a technique to drop them on my head?
Damn it.
Amidst the vibrating crosses, the sky turned red along with a bone-chilling scream. Red crosses floated like clouds in the crimson sky, and sinners hung from them, shrieking and weeping tears of blood. With a wet thud, emaciated hands burst from the ground. Voices crying "Save me, save me" rose from beneath the earth. The voices of the damned.
"To not believe is a sin. To doubt the greatest God is an unforgivable crime. It is a sin that should not exist. Do you understand? You—the words you just spat out are the most horrific of sins."
I frowned and looked around.
The residents of Vicente, the mercenaries of the Black Archipelago, Zeppelin Gold—they were all gone. In the world reflected in my eyes, there was only the Great Warrior of Condemnation, Ismael, and the wailing sinners. It felt as if I had been dragged into hell by her hand. Was this an illusion? Or was it a type of sorcery that expanded a spiritual world, like the one Orc Shaman Sherdic used?
「It is neither an illusion nor sorcery.」
"Then what is it?"
「An Authority that can only be inherited by a Great Warrior—the closest being and representative of the Seven Chief Gods and Nine Goddesses.」
As the sense of foreboding spread, the sensation felt strangely familiar.
Yes, it was just like—
「Descent .」
The aura Witch Elizabeth gave off in the Great Forest.
"Your sin!"
With a deafening roar, Ismael’s form merged with the shimmering figure behind her. A crown of thorns appeared on her head, and Ismael was no longer an old woman, but a god stained with rage and sorrow. The vibrating crosses rose into the air, and countless hands and feet sprouted from them. It was a grotesque sight. I hurriedly swung my sword to cut down a cross, but strangely, the blade wouldn't bite.
"Your punishment!"
It felt like striking a boulder with a wooden stick.
Even though I had wreathed the blade in the Flame of Doubt, it was the same. The flames didn't burn the cross; they couldn't even spread to it. It was as if the fire recognized the cross as something it could not consume.
「Your flame that dismantles Mystery is, in the end, just another Mystery. It is bound to fail against those who wield power that transcends the Mysteries of the Middle World.」
"This is—"
「You cannot burn the world with a single spark, young descendant.」
My hands felt like they were breaking.
Nausea surged as my head spun. At that moment, a grotesque hand sprouting from a cross grabbed my wrist and pulled. Simultaneously, the world turned red, and a high-pitched ringing filled my ears. I felt like I was sinking into a swamp. A swamp from which there was no escape.
"For every sin, there must be a fitting punishment!"
With a sharp crack, the red world was washed in blue.
Legend. The Authority of liberation held within Ascension set me free. The grotesque hands holding me shattered and scattered, and the world began to flow slowly. Very, very slowly.
I turned my head.
Infinite crosses. A world reminiscent of hell.
「Forge it.」
The master of this world stood in the center.
「Since you cannot burn it, do not exhale the flame. Keep it within you and forge a single blade. A protruding awl pierces the heavens and opens the path to a higher sky.」
Despite her horrific appearance, an undeniable, untouchable power radiated from Ismael. She felt like a monster, yet infinitely holy. My existence, invited into this terrifying world, felt insignificant. I felt small and shabby.
A small, shabby existence.
For an insignificant and unworthy being to truly exist in this world, they must earn their qualification. And I knew how to earn that qualification before a great being. Had my ancestor, my master, the First Caravan, not personally taught this to the Last Caravan?
"Whew—!"
Refinement.
The preparation of ceaselessly stroking the blade was finally over. The moment I took my hand off the blade, a subtle light flowed from my sword. It was a light different from the one the blade usually emitted, carrying a mysterious atmosphere. Along with it, the Flame of Doubt flowing from me completely vanished. The flame wasn't being expressed outwardly; it was swirling within, forging me. Forging my blade.
"You say doubting and not believing is a sin?"
In the blue world, I saw a long line bisecting the deep blue sky and earth. The moment I captured that line, my Steel Wings fluttered, and my body shot toward Ismael as if taking flight.
"If one does not doubt, they only rot away. The existence that says what is wrong is wrong must not disappear. If only those who say everything is unconditionally right and just remain, things will inevitably become twisted. Doubt is not a process of regression or denial; it is the process of finding a better answer and a more righteous path."
When I opened my eyes, I was right in front of Ismael.
The moment I reached her, I unleashed the Second Steel: Polishing. With a sharp whoosh, the layers of defense surrounding Ismael were peeled away. In that still world, I adjusted my grip on the sword, imbuing it with Steel Mana to its limit, and held the newly forged blade.
"Do you know what happens when you grow old while trapped in the thought that you are unconditionally right and everyone else is wrong, without ever doubting?"
Refinement is a technique that compresses mana and infuses Mystery to forge a sword capable of cutting down 'higher beings' that my current, insignificant self could never touch. According to my master, it was a sword to be used when aiming at 'shining beings.' But this sword did not end there. If it did, it wouldn't have been classified as a single movement of swordsmanship.
For a shabby being to aim at a shining being, for a lowly one to reach a high one, one must not only possess a sharp blade. One must also have a way to make that blade reach its target.
And my great master, naturally, had prepared that method as well.
"An ugly old hag like you."
I exhaled sharply.
"Today, the one receiving punishment will be you."
At that moment, the mana and Mystery I had compressed and pushed into the blade while stroking it exploded. Amidst the surging power, countless paths appeared before my eyes. Sword paths that could deliver the most lethal strike. No matter which one I chose, it would be life-threatening.
But I didn't need to choose among them.
The Caravan’s wings. The Steel Wings are the wings that can fly the farthest and are the most powerful. The hardest wings can traverse not just one path, but many. The Third Steel was a sword that utilized those Steel Wings to their absolute limit.
"—!"
I lowered my stance, crouching as if drawing a sword from its scabbard. In the next instant, within the blue world, I split into countless lines following numerous paths. For a very brief moment, what I swung was not a sword, and I was not a human. I was a burst of brilliant light.
A split second later, I stood behind Ismael. The many split lines merged back into one. When I turned my head, the old woman’s body was frozen. And all over Ismael’s body, brilliant, blindingly bright lines were etched.
The space where the old woman stood... it was as if the world itself had been carved out.