Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: The Escort to Oliorro
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Kallias returned to Cedric's VVIP room and sat on the bed, gazing at the jewelry box with a cautious expression.
When he cracked it open slightly, a refreshing and warm energy wafted out.
A saint's holy stone.
It now rested in his hands.
"An escort..."
The one who had so readily handed over the holy stone was a high noble of Carpe.
Count Artemion von Ormian.
It was a sudden and secretive proposal.
But the reward was too great.
"You simply need to escort the item I move."
"Where is that place?"
"Oliorro."
"...The place occupied by the rebels?"
"Yes, that's right."
Count Artemion answered boldly.
As if there was no need to hide it.
His words brimmed with confidence that no hardship would make him refuse the offer.
Kallias saw through his intentions but didn't show it.
"Is that all?"
"Yes. Simple, isn't it?"
It probably wouldn't be simple.
Anyone who hands over something this valuable so freely makes it obvious.
It would involve mortal danger.
Indeed, from the moment he grasped the holy stone, its color had shifted to red.
Finishing his thoughts, Kallias clenched the holy stone in his hand.
Swoosh.
The saint's holy power filled the stone.
A portion of it began seeping into Kallias's body. Amid the gentleness lay a latent, intense force.
His body glowed with sacred silver light, filling the bedroom with radiance.
"An incredible power."
As the light faded, Kallias's ash-gray eyes slowly opened.
It was a holiness that made his own holy power seem less than an ant's urine.
He could feel the difference in quality.
But the holy power that had entered his body returned to the stone.
It felt as if the holy power itself had a will, rejecting his flesh.
As if declaring this was no place for it, it left not a single strand behind and returned to its origin.
"Amazing."
Kallias was thrilled.
To think a holy stone of this size held such power.
When just a handful of its holy power entered him...
He had been exhilarated by a sense of omnipotence.
Drunk on the arrogance and hubris that he could do anything.
When it left, a strange sense of exhaustion followed, but he couldn't hide his excitement.
Kallias immediately placed the holy stone back in its case and sat in a meditative position.
Tasting a saint's holy power had brought him a slight advancement.
'Thread.'
The holy power in the holy stone was like a thick, tightly woven and twisted thread.
It looked as thin as fine silk thread from the outside, but peering inside revealed densely woven and coiled strands.
Looking deeper...
It felt like strands woven in a honeycomb pattern gathered to form cords.
As if the holy power had been divided to the molecular level and compressed into that form.
Kallias decided to imitate it right away. It might not be perfect, but he could probably manage something close.
An hour later.
"Damn it."
He spat out a curse.
It was still too high a wall for him.
He couldn't even imitate it.
Lumping it into crude masses was his current limit.
He couldn't create the intricate weave of the holy stone.
Of course.
If he could do that from the start, saints wouldn't be called saints for nothing.
But that didn't mean there was no gain.
He had glimpsed the direction of holy power.
He saw the path. Now it was a matter of effort and time.
"Practicing the Phantom Rod Technique will benefit too."
Thanks to this, he felt like he had glimpsed the path in the Phantom Rod Technique's divine art as well.
It was regrettable, but no need for disappointment.
He had found the thread; continuing like this would soon lead to the first form of the Phantom Rod Technique.
Kallias stored the jewelry box containing the holy stone in his stigmata.
"It'll be dangerous, but no choice. I have to do it."
The escort to Oliorro.
If it felt too dangerous, he could just run.
There would be other top experts forming the escort team besides him.
The count probably wanted to use Jerban's name to intimidate and scare the enemies.
That was likely all Count Artemion expected from Kallias.
Jerban's name carried that much weight.
"Not telling me who the escort target is a flaw, though..."
He had a rough idea.
Since Count Artemion was a figure from his own mind.
The one he was assigning for escort to Oliorro would be...
"That beastly bastard."
Another figure from his mind.
Scratching his head vigorously, Kallias shook off the thought.
He had agreed to give his answer on the escort in three days anyway.
Count Artemion, trusting Jerban's name and handing over the holy stone, probably assumed acceptance already.
Either way, there was much to prepare in that time.
'First, holy water production.'
He had bought all the related equipment.
A simple production setup could be made in one corner of this spacious room.
He wasn't aiming for proper holy water, so this was enough. Brans and Dexter were installing the equipment, so it should be done in three days once started.
[Valterus's Tears] x 8
[Chachilagini's Venom Fang] x 20
[Karma's Dew Poison] x 15
[Orte's Poison Sac] x 20
He had bought moderate quantities.
Poisons were useful even without making holy water.
Mixing them in certain ratios should yield something close to holy water. Using the three-color eyes to check midway would make it easy.
He wasn't aiming for near-perfect holy water, and Valterus's Tears would absorb most impurities anyway.
The rest just needed holy power infusion. Simple.
'Next is Dexter.'
Brans could just tag along, but Dexter was trickier.
One porter was enough.
Brans could die anytime without issue—a dispensable presence—but Dexter was different.
He was necessary.
Not someone who should die easily.
"Leave him with Cedric."
Provide a suitable residence and workshop. Dexter wouldn't think of running with just that.
Dwarves disliked owing debts of the heart, so bestowing such grace would make him repay it on his own.
Once trust was built...
'I might learn where the other dwarves are.'
That had to happen.
It was the only way to survive.
"Hmm... And next."
Having sorted out the urgent matters to handle here first in his mind, he finally read the note by the bedside.
"An apostate... I don't recall committing apostasy."
He had already heard from Cedric on the way back to the room.
Cedric had given a meaningful smile at the word apostate, but Kallias had nothing particular to say.
'But why he's after a sacred relic from me, I don't know.'
Raibun, the Iron Heretic Inquisitor.
He called Kallias an apostate and pursued him while seeking a sacred relic.
An apostate who stole the church's sacred relic.
"No way he mistakes the Valterus's Tears I took for a sacred relic?"
Nah, no way he'd make that mistake.
"Probably framing me for someone else's crime."
To cover a big incident, shoot all arrows at an innocent scapegoat.
Moreover, Kallias was the church's black sheep.
The count family's wastrel.
Perfect notoriety for pinning crimes on.
This was likely part of that.
"A body that attracts misfortune. Death comes even if I stay still."
Unjust, but what could he do?
He had made Kallias this way himself.
So, accept it.
Overcome it.
'Master of the poison-sowing Acacia.'
Raibun, the Iron Heretic Inquisitor.
A tricky foe.
Best: avoid meeting.
Next best: flee.
Worst: confront.
If confrontation was unavoidable... Kallias looked at Arsando.
"Might need a new sword."
Knock knock.
"My lord! The potion production setup is complete!"
"Got it. Coming soon."
Whatever, holy water first.
More insurance, the better.
* * *
Count Artemion's hotel.
In the hotel restaurant, he sliced a thick slab of meat with fork and knife.
The lamb tenderloin and accompanying sauce tickled his tongue like waves.
His throat, slick as oiled, swallowed it effortlessly.
"Delicious."
"My lord, are you sure this is wise?"
"What do you mean, Baron Manong?"
"The Jerban wastrel."
"Oh, wastrel? Mind your words. Insulting Jerban is akin to insulting the kingdom."
"Hah, but... you know."
"I'm well aware, which is why I gave the holy stone to Sir Kallias."
He needed the name value.
Not the man himself.
The immense honor built by his bloodline.
That was all.
"Just needed the name of the family that founded the kingdom with it. For an unrelated Jerban name, that small holy stone was a bargain."
"But..."
"Don't worry. Jerban will accept my proposal for the holy stone before him, but in the near future, he'll pay dearly for gobbling that sweet bait."
No matter a discarded child of Jerban.
He was still Jerban's legitimate firstborn son.
"Even Count Jerban can't just ignore it."
No matter the discarded child.
Blood bends toward the arm.
* * *
"What is Kallias doing?"
"He's holed up in his room for three days without leaving. Probably avoiding the Heretic Inquisitor's eyes."
Apostate.
Marked as such, it made sense.
Cedric pondered how Kallias of Jerban became an apostate. The answer was one.
Stole a church sacred relic.
Why?
And why did he reveal the Twin Gods' sacred relic locations to him?
How did he know of the Twin Gods?
The answer came upon reflection.
'Right, captivated by the allure of fists and kicks over the sword.'
From what he'd learned, Kallias had no talent for the sword since childhood.
Family pressure, public scorn.
That must have cowed him. Then he chanced upon tales of the Twin Gods.
As a pilgrim on pilgrimage, he sought their stories.
Thus, he knew the sacred relics' locations.
Kallias probably...
'Wants to become a saint of the Twin Gods like me.'
Otherwise, he wouldn't spout nonsense about becoming brothers.
Now all his actions made sense.
But granting faith, becoming brothers—it was too soon.
Too many suspicious corners.
"Is he keeping quiet?"
"Yes, as ordered, we gave big payouts to the casino guests. With your reputation, Sir Cedric, they won't breathe a word."
"It's brother's business. Handle it thoroughly."
"Understood."
Clank.
After his subordinate left.
"Brother..."
The word brother slipped out unwittingly, sticking oddly well to his tongue.
Raised as an only child, he thought it would feel awkward and absurd.
Even he found it ridiculous.
"The uninhabited island in the south, Barberyum."
An island name he'd never heard before.
But Kallias spoke with certainty. A hidden island.
There was an oracle's sacred relic, the greaves, and saints serving the Twin Gods.
"I'll need to be away for about a year."
Given the distance, that much time seemed necessary. A hidden island at the southernmost tip.
He couldn't be sure, but everything depended on confirming with his own eyes.
"No time to dawdle. Finish minimal prep and go."
If he found the sacred relic, he could etch "brother" into his heart.
"Kahaha! Time to prepare!"
* * *
"Hoo."
His body was drenched in sweat.
For three days in the makeshift production room, he infused holy power.
He was utterly exhausted.
He maintained the holy power's intensity carefully while infusing.
Sleep when depleted, infuse upon waking—for three days.
"Not meaningless."
It was meaningful.
Before his eyes sat six vials of holy water brimming with sanctity.
One Valterus's Tear per vial. Low holy power quality meant incomplete impurity removal, but holy water was holy water.
Two failures, but excellent for a first try.
Self-satisfied, I called Brans waiting outside.
"Yes!"
"Open your chest."
"Y-yes?! O-open my chest... here?!"
The phrasing was a bit off. Brans's eyes filled with confusion.
"I mean show the wound."
"Ah... Yes!"
He promptly bared his chest, revealing the sword wound from Lutens.
A shallow scar healing, but pressing with a finger drew bloody ooze.
"Ugh."
"Quiet, Brans."
I uncorked a holy water vial, dabbed some on my hand, and applied it to Brans's wound.
The effect appeared immediately.
"Gahhhh! It hurts! It hurts like dying! I'm dying! Fuck, I'm dying!! Don't touch my body!!"
Brans writhed on the floor in agony, foaming at the mouth and rolling his eyes back. It hurt terribly.
'A side effect?'
But smoke rose from the wound, proving the effect was good.
A few hours, and it'd heal.
Leaving the motionless, fainted Brans, I smiled in satisfaction.