Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Three Years Ago
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Three years ago.
"Under the great name of Valterus, I appoint you as a Sword Pilgrim."
Inside the Valterus Church.
"Kallias. I bestow upon you Valterus's stigmata and emblem..."
The stigmata will caress the back of your hand, proving you are a son of the god.
The emblem will weigh upon your neck, reminding you that your father watches over you.
"Never forget that a pilgrim's purpose on the journey is to find their sword."
As the stigmata was imprinted on the back of my hand.
And the rosary was hung around my neck.
"Ah..."
I was reborn as Kallias, a devotee of Valterus and a Sword Pilgrim.
And only then did I realize.
That this reborn world was the one I had created.
[Pilgrim's Path]
A massive corporate game project I had contributed to as a story writer and developer. Just as the game neared completion.
'I was murdered.'
I don't remember why I was murdered.
But the cold sensation of a blade stabbing into my lower back and the chilling feel of my throat being slit still torment me.
Yes. I was murdered.
And.
"I was reborn."
That was one fact I had learned while wandering ever since.
I had no choice but to know.
Because every person in this world was something I had created.
Kallias.
Even the existence of the man who was now my name was my creation.
So how could I not know?
It was a massive project, and the story portion alone took up an enormous volume.
Ten years of development.
I poured stories into every single character. In any other game, I wouldn't have gone that far.
But in [Pilgrim's Path], I had no choice. The game began with turning dead characters into swords.
People become weapons.
That was the idea [Pilgrim's Path] started from.
Even an NPC from a nameless village.
As long as they were alive, anything could be made into a weapon.
Because of that setting, I had to write stories for every character, which is why I quickly realized this was the world of the game I worked on.
And thanks to that, I knew.
'Who I need to turn into a carcass sword.'
Who I needed to forge to maximize my chances of survival.
A carcass sword's stats vary greatly depending on what it was made from and who.
Their presence in life, potential.
And the sum of their influence on the world determines the carcass sword's power.
The more central they were to the story, the more world-shaking the sword's power becomes when forged. It's only natural.
'A nameless person's carcass sword is usually just a bit stronger than an ordinary blade.'
But soldiers on the battlefield.
Knights and above are different.
There are five grades of swords.
Carcass, Life, Spirit, Vision, and at the pinnacle.
The divine sword called a god sword.
My goal is to obtain a god sword and preserve my life from the empire's heretics targeting me, the pilgrim, and the Kingdom of Carpe.
And if possible...
'Resurrect the god.'
A small wish that Valterus might know why I ended up here.
But right now, even just surviving is a challenge.
"At best, five more years."
In five years, the exiled heretical gods and their followers will destroy the Kingdom of Carpe, and Valterus and his devotees will be wiped out.
Even I, a pilgrim of Valterus.
I won't escape their eyes.
'This body can't apostatize anyway.'
Jet-black hair like midnight, ash-gray pupils.
One of the sacred seven houses resembling the god's form: Jerban. I now live as Kallias von Jervan.
With such a standout appearance, apostasy would get me killed by the church before the heretics.
The one silver lining.
"I'm the writer."
The unfinished game's story was mostly written by me.
Kallias.
The connections and ties to this body.
I know all the stories tied to those connections.
Five years until the kingdom falls.
I must find a way to protect myself in that time.
There are two main paths.
"Find a powerful sword and grow stronger."
Or the request of the sword.
Fulfill the corpse grace and gain power as reward.
Swoosh.
Among the corpses at my feet.
My eyes can see it.
The grudge they harbored in life twinkles like faint moonlight, radiating presence.
Ordinary pilgrims can't see it, so they swing their swords and train their faith to grow stronger.
But I'm different. I can see it.
Corpses steeped in resentment.
Turning them into carcass swords gives another path to growth.
Known as corpse grace.
A secret quest. Grace of the corpse.
Among the many corpses scattered at my feet.
I turn the one with the strongest grudge into a carcass sword. If I fulfill their dying wish, they share their power with me.
What they give is unknown.
'The quest rewards weren't my department.'
For nearly three years, I've listened to these trivial carcass swords' tales, resolved their grudges, and achieved basic growth.
Now, I can beat battlefield knights barehanded, and handle border beasts as meat without weapons.
But I'm not satisfied yet.
This isn't enough against the empire's zealots.
Shimmer.
Silver light swirls, and a new form is born in my grasp.
Click.
"A rapier, huh."
A thin, long rapier.
Three centimeters wide. One meter forty long.
Well-balanced, flexible yet sturdy.
A carcass sword close to famed blade status.
"Rapier... So you were a knight here."
Couldn't tell with the helmet.
But the sword's condition suggests decent potential in life.
I looked at the rapier.
The faint light emanating from it began conveying her dying wish.
It's said simply, but it's not.
Their grudge enters my mind and shows me what they desire.
The wishes of those who died in chaotic times are usually similar.
Wrongful deaths demand vengeance.
Or linger on what they left behind.
"Picked up a troublesome one."
The carcass sword's memories flowed into my head, flashing images of a castle and various faces.
Among them, the image of a blond boy who looked like her son was clearest.
This time, probably.
"Find her son, huh..."
The lingering regret of a mother worried for her son she left behind.
* * *
A small fief near the northwest border, Torett.
Too small and shabby to call a proper fief, more like a rural village.
Traces of the rapier's owner lingered here.
Kallias wandered the fief briefly before heading straight to the lord's castle.
The residents glanced and whispered about the pilgrim.
'They don't reject me.'
No stones thrown, so that was fortunate enough.
Not a noble house, or the treatment would be abysmal. Kallias sighed unwittingly.
Feeling pathetic for being relieved at no stones.
"Pilgrim, sir, please take this."
"?"
As he sighed.
A young girl approached with a wildflower.
"..."
Receiving his first flower gift in life, Kallias froze.
Three years of stones and blades flashing by like a panorama.
"You're here to catch the bad guys tormenting our village, right, Pilgrim sir?"
The girl gazed at him with sparkling, admiring eyes, clearly fond of pilgrims.
Snapping out of it, Kallias refocused.
"Pilgrim sir too?"
Her words implied something.
"Any other pilgrims besides me?"
Kallias's eyes sharpened.
"Yes! He wiped out the bandits in Torett! Now we can go outside the village easily."
"Hey, Eri! That's rude to the pilgrim!"
A villager called the girl's name and bowed to Kallias.
Eri winked with a smile and vanished. Kallias pondered.
"Where is that pilgrim now?"
"At the lord's castle! Bye-bye!"
Eri disappeared, and Kallias bolted to the castle.
'Pilgrims don't offer favors without reason.'
Current Valterus pilgrims don't give charity.
A church that only turns corpses into swords—what could they offer villagers with nothing to gain?
'A pilgrim's goal is swords alone.'
Stronger swords. More powerful blades.
Nothing else.
So if a pilgrim showed favor, there must be a reason.
'This could be bad...'
Corpse grace. Lord's castle. Pilgrim.
Assumptions snapped together in his mind. His grip tightened on the rapier.
"Wh-what!"
"Who are you!"
He bypassed the gate guards and vaulted the wall.
Three years of training made it effortless.
Whoosh!
Thud!
Leap!
Seeing Kallias charge like the wind, they shouted.
"Who the hell are you!"
Not the lord's castle guards.
'Their gear is trash.'
Patched leather, scavenged rags.
Scarred faces, filthy and unkempt.
Mercenaries.
"What are you doing! Stop him!!"
Kallias's shoulder pulled back, fist clenched.
Then launched.
Pow!
"Gahk!"
The mercenary flew back from Kallias's punch, rolling on the ground.
Seeing the big guy drop in one hit, they flinched.
"Dieee! Khek!"
Kallias grabbed the throat of a charging mercenary with a weapon.
Thud thud! His face turned red, choking.
Nothing special about these mercenaries.
Plus, three years of quest-honed physique outclassed these rabble.
"Where's the pilgrim."
Kallias hoped his suspicions were wrong.
But it nagged.
'I think I wrote a story like this.'
Not exact memory, but something similar.
Ten years of sub-stories blurred details.
But young lord.
A pilgrim targeting such a lord.
It rang a bell.
"In... in the office with the lord..."
"You idiot! Why say that!"
"But the captain's dying."
Thump!
Dropping the so-called captain, Kallias dashed to the office.
'No need to go this far, but...'
Click.
The rapier at his waist.
No scabbard.
Scabbards are where swords return.
But carcass swords have no scabbards. Their home is the god's embrace, not a sheath.
Drawing the rapier, Kallias kicked open the office door.
Bang!
And there.
"Ah..."
A young lord with a sword at his jaw.
And an unknown pilgrim holding it.