Chapter 120
Chapter 120
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 120
Chapter Title: The Saint's Sword
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“But why am I here?”
It was something he hadn’t considered, blinded as he was by the reward.
He remembered collapsing in the royal castle, so why was he in an underground workshop?
Shouldn’t he be in his mansion in the capital or some other medical facility?
“The royal castle was half-destroyed. Your condition was critical, the castle was in ruins, cleanup was underway, there was nowhere to relocate patients, and we couldn’t leave a hero with the soldiers. So we brought you here. Brans and Sir Allen requested it directly.”
Brans was a “guy,” and Allen was a “sir”?
Had Brans pulled some trick on Beatrice?
It was entirely possible from a man who toyed recklessly with his lower half.
“Anyway, your condition isn’t great. Rest a bit more. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”
“No, I’ve slept enough. I’m getting up.”
After drinking the TD Potion Beatrice had devised, his body felt remarkably comfortable.
It was likely because his Dragon Bone physique absorbed the potion’s components more efficiently.
“By the way, Beatrice.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you save me?”
“Hmm…”
Beatrice had no firm reason to save him.
They were merely in a transactional relationship; there was no cause for such devoted care.
“Maybe because it’d be a shame to let you die just yet.”
“A shame to die…?”
“I know you wouldn’t believe me if I just said it. You’ll understand my intentions once you meet him.”
Beatrice nodded toward the opposite side of where he lay.
There sat a burly man draped in tiger hide—a strange sight.
What madman was this? But he quickly realized who it was.
The bear-like giant was gazing at him, eyes brimming with tears.
“Brother.”
Who would call him brother?
The answer was obvious.
“S Cedric.”
He was Cedric.
Cedric Bor Madrichan.
The last follower of the Forgotten Twin Gods.
“I see.”
The moment he saw him, he understood what Beatrice meant.
Cedric seemed to have found the relic of the Twin Gods through him.
The way he called him brother and shed tears said it all.
Had he failed to find it, Cedric wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him, brother or not.
But he had succeeded, and they had made a promise for that moment.
‘Establish a church for the Twin Gods in Carpe.’
He had demanded a church for the Twin Gods in Carpe, and Cedric had agreed if possible.
And Beatrice was a follower of the Whip God Auste.
Not as forgotten as the Twin Gods, but the Whip God was still one forsaken by the people.
Her desires were no different from Cedric’s.
‘That explains why she was with Crasion.’
Crasion was that kind of group.
Followers of gods forgotten by the people—their goals were simple and clear.
“So you found the relic.”
“Thanks to you, brother.”
Good.
He would have been deeply disappointed if Cedric hadn’t found it despite the guidance.
The uninhabited south.
The minority tribes of Barbeluem followed the oracle.
Gaining their recognition was no easy feat, but who was Cedric?
A man with few equals in Crasion save for Ramatu.
He must have earned their approval and brought back the relic.
“Then you plan to establish a church in Carpe.”
Cedric nodded.
But unease clouded his expression, impossible to hide.
“I’m not sure it’ll be permitted.”
“I’ll make it happen.”
It was undoubtedly a difficult matter.
Carpe was a nation born of the sword and risen by the sword. From commoners to nobles to royals, all saw anything but the sword as heresy.
But there was an opening.
Carpe was not a theocracy.
Though intertwined, the church and royalty were distinct. That was the vulnerability to exploit.
The sword had deep roots, but now was the time for change.
The timing was perfect.
The people would be furious, powerless, and enraged by the capital’s fall and the Empire’s invasion.
Carpe lacked strength. It had no means to build it quickly.
Then?
‘Absorb new power.’
Start with the Twin Gods’ authority and gauntlet.
Next, the Whip God Auste.
The whip’s history and reputation were poor, so acceptance was questionable.
‘But the Twin Gods’ church is feasible.’
Opposition would be fierce, but that didn’t matter.
Carpe’s pride was shattered; what it had sworn to protect lay in ruins.
“Beatrice.”
“Yes.”
“Prioritize Cedric first.”
“I know.”
“You’ll need to show your prowess in the coming war.”
“You speak as if war is inevitable.”
“It is. Soonest in three years.”
It could be as early as one or two.
But this time, the Empire would come fully prepared.
‘I need to prepare too.’
Honestly, he once thought differently.
Use minimal strength to protect Carpe until he grew, then abandon it.
Carpe was too difficult.
Guarding it intact was impossible.
No—being born as Kallias made it hell-mode from the start.
Anyone else in Carpe wouldn’t have suffered this much.
But he was Kallias, forced to wield the sword.
‘And now it’s different.’
He had a master, a father.
Followers, comrades shoulder-to-shoulder.
‘Above all.’
He had a daughter watching his back.
He needed to grow stronger.
He wasn’t a master yet.
“You okay? You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine. First… I need to see Her Majesty.”
“That might be tricky.”
“Why?”
“She’s holding her funeral.”
“Her…?”
Her expression told him.
If it was a funeral the queen must hold, he knew.
“It’s Lady Sullivian’s funeral.”
“Yes.”
Sullivian’s death was long past.
The delay stemmed from her will, discovered late.
Prioritize Carpe’s safety over her funeral.
“And Grand Duke Cloy?”
“He hasn’t woken yet.”
“I see.”
Eroded by magi, he wouldn’t stir for a while.
Long dominated by madness too. Escaping it would take time.
“Will you go?”
“If it’s Lady Sullivian’s funeral, I should.”
“But brother, your body…”
Cedric asked with worry.
He was conscious, but Kallias’s state was far from whole. Even for a queen-led funeral, absence wouldn’t be rude.
“No.”
The funeral of a near-saint was no ordinary affair.
Even if it were.
“…I must go.”
He had a duty.
Her death was his intent.
He bore responsibility.
* * *
In the capital’s outskirts.
The vast plains of Rustable.
A cemetery for the nation’s heroes, royals, and the honorably fallen.
Today, there.
Lay a woman who had given much and devoted herself to many in life. Though not buried, her tombstone stood.
“Glory to her.”
“May the gods be with her.”
The funeral, begun at dawn, stretched beyond three days and nights.
Endless lines mourned her passing.
Even foreign nobles she had saved rushed to pay respects.
This time, no blame for differing faiths—just shared grief.
Priests rang bells, reciting prayers; mourners placed flowers by her side.
Beside Sullivian’s coffin—looking as if asleep—stood the queen and Esther.
The pope too.
All looked unwell.
The pope seemed a decade older, bloodless; Esther’s pale face ghostly.
Queen Clara, who called Sullivian aunt, fared no better.
Days into the funeral.
Yet with each mourner, the sacred power permeating the air thickened.
‘Is it nearly ready…?’
Their mourning.
Each prayer and tribute seeped into the atmosphere.
Sullivian’s flesh, blessed by mourners’ prayers.
For her lingering body and soul, the rite would follow the funeral.
Her will.
[All I have to Esther]
Today.
She would become a sword.
The pope’s eyes fixed on Sullivian.
‘I should have been with her.’
The elder found no place to die.
Murmurs rose.
The line parted.
A uniformed man strode through, black hair flowing, ash-gray eyes fixed ahead—like nobility incarnate.
From House Jerban’s wastrel to the nation’s savior.
Kallias von Jerban.
“He’s here.”
“Yes.”
He looked ready to collapse, wounds unhealed.
Lips cracked, eyes shadowed.
Yet it only heightened his allure.
The pope swallowed a hollow laugh.
“Sullivian, a handsome youth has come. You must be pleased.”
Ignoring Esther and the queen’s tearful gazes.
Kallias drew a white flower from his breast, lips moving.
Infused with his sacred power, it bloomed vibrantly.
The queen’s eyes widened at its purity, then softened in a smile.
“For Sullivian, honorable to the last.”
Plop.
Whoooosh—!
He placed it atop her.
Silver sacred power rippled outward.
Thick holy essence filled Rustable’s plains.
Gazing at the sight.
The pope rose.
“I shall conduct her carcass rite.”
He asked Kallias.
“Will you assist?”
“Gladly.”
Familiar faces abounded.
Golden Lion Paladins and knights gathered.
Even a wounded master.
All to see Sullivian off.
Dazzling light rose.
From her flesh, saintly sacred power caressed the area like a gentle breeze.
That day.
Sullivian became a sword.
“…”
The pope gazed at the sword in his hand.
Elegant as a petal, unbreakable—strong.
Like beholding young her, his eyes reddened.
But he was not its wielder. Wiping tears, he beckoned the blue-haired knight.
“Come.”
Esther wiped her face with her arm and approached. She took the proffered sword carefully.
Her eyes gleamed gold.
Golden light spread like waves.
“His wounds…!”
“A miracle.”
“His body’s healing…!”
Even as a sword.
Sullivian tended the injured.
* * *
The restored royal castle.
In the queen’s audience chamber, Kallias shared tea with her.
“Is that so.”
“The Sixth Corps greatly contributed to defeating the Empire’s remnants after you fell.”
“Glad they were useful.”
“And the squires training at your mansion?”
“…Yes.”
The kids.
What of them?
“They fought and won against Empire soldiers, even aided pursuits.”
Those brats?
Surprising.
He hadn’t expected that from them, let alone the Sixth.
“Among them… your young lady shone brightest. I hadn’t known she had a child so young. Even Pope Pelliche took notice.”
Kallias’s lips twitched.
“Quite clever, that child.”
“And her mother…?”
“Dead.”
“Ah, I see. Sorry.”
“No need.”
Sorry, yet smiling?
Kallias couldn’t fathom it.
“Count.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my duty.”
“Many shirked that duty, even targeting my life. And… thank you for saving Grand Duke Cloy. I wanted to say it myself. He’s my last blood kin.”
Loneliness flickered in the queen’s eyes. Kallias pretended not to see.
“Ask for anything. I’ll grant what befits a national hero.”
Here it came.
Kallias spoke without hesitation.
“I want one thing.”
New power.
A vessel of a nation to hold it.
“Embrace the Twin Gods.”
“The Twin Gods…?”
Victor’s eyes twitched.
Unlike the unknowing queen.
He knew what they were.
The queen looked to Victor.
“Do you know them?”
“Yes. Gods vanished long ago.”
“Their line persists.”
“Are you telling Carpe to adopt a new faith, Count?”
“Yes. Precisely.”
“Are you… a heretic, Count?”
“No. But I believe Carpe must embrace their power.”
Carpe had lost much to the Empire’s invasion.
Its national pride shattered.
When the castle fell, none wanted to believe, but realized:
Carpe walked the path of decline.
“…This is bewildering. I never expected such a request.”
“The Empire has grown vast. Their defeat came from arrogance. Next time, they’ll commit fully. I doubt we can stop them. Thus.”
“Accept new power.”
“Yes.”
Clara pondered.
From another, it’d be heresy, cast out.
But from the nation’s hero, her protector.
No dismissing it.
“Victor.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Your thoughts?”
“Carpe’s sword is not weak.”
“So, no need?”
“Nor strong.”
Victor’s gaze met hers squarely, steeling her resolve.
“I can’t. Carpe’s rise was by the sword—we can’t deny it. Centuries of sword history. Not just me; nobles and commoners revere it. No room for other gods in that bone-deep place.”
Kallias added nothing.
Eyes firm with resolve.
“But.”
Her pale pupils fixed on him.
“Since it’s your request, I can’t ignore it. I’ll meet the Twin Gods’ follower.”
Yes.
That sufficed for now.
Feeling their power would force the queen to reconsider.
She was right, after all.
A nation revering the sword for ages.
Though separate from the church, Carpe’s roots were sword—undeniable.
“But that doesn’t count as reward. The Twin Gods matter is a personal favor. So I propose this.”
“Yes.”
“Teach me the sword.”
Kallias’s lips curved.
“Gladly.”