Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: House Jerban's Wastrel
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Rattle, rattle.
Inside a cart modified into a dog sled for traversing the snowy fields.
Kallias sat within, gazing at the girl facing him.
The same hair color as his.
The same shade of eyes.
Emily von Jerban.
The two stared at each other in wonder.
Emily's two maids whispered among themselves, gossiping about Kallias. Brans wasn't thrilled with the situation.
After leaving the mountain stronghold and reaching the village, they'd hired a cart with extra coin and set off north.
And now, half a day later.
Kallias and Emily, who watched him, hadn't exchanged a single word.
Anyone in the Kingdom of Carpe knew of the Jerbans in the north.
Black hair.
Ashen eyes.
Anyone could see Kallias and Emily hailed from the same house.
'No way the young master married, so maybe a cousin.'
Emily's maids seemed to think along those lines.
Ahem.
Here, he—as Kallias's servant and close confidant—needed to step in.
"Ah, allow me to introduce our young master... a pilgrim devoted to the great Sword God Valterus, majestic and..."
That was when.
Emily's cute voice cut Brans off, dropping a brutal fact.
"The wastrel of House Jerban."
Gasp! Brans and the maids jumped in shock, sucking in their breath.
"A dullard with no talent for swordsmanship since childhood. Arrogant enough to look down on others and lecture them despite having nothing in that thick skull. A lecherous wastrel who squanders the family fortune, disowned and infamous as the church's black sheep—a monumental piece of trash."
Brans blinked rapidly.
Setting aside the truth of her rapid-fire words, it was hard to believe this doll-like cute girl had uttered them.
He rubbed his ears, wondering if he'd misheard.
But no, she'd said far too much for that.
Brans swallowed hard.
The Kallias he knew was a merciless pilgrim in battle.
A man who drew his sword without hesitation and staked everything when victory demanded it—a true man's man.
'No talent for swordsmanship...?'
It made no sense to him.
Brans glanced at his master.
Even after an insult from a child, Kallias's face remained serene.
"Emily. How did you know I'm House Jerban's wastrel?"
"All the direct and collateral Jerbans are out conquering the White Forest at this time of year."
Emily pointed at Kallias's neck and the backs of his hands.
"And the rosary around your neck, the divine stigmata. I heard you're the only male descendant of Jerban who's a pilgrim. Wastrel."
"You're sharp."
"Unlike you."
Snicker.
Kallias let out a chuckle.
A little over twelve years old, maybe.
Wise beyond her years, clever.
A true child of House Jerban.
Anyone bearing Jerban blood should be this capable.
It befitted the house's storied achievements, praised by all.
'House Jerban...'
He'd come north for Bernard, but hadn't expected to meet a Jerban first.
"But why were you captured by bandits?"
"I don't want to tell you."
Quite hostile.
She must have heard the rumors and family tales about him.
'Well, can't blame her.'
Kallias wasn't just tarnishing the family name—he was slathering it in filth.
Even a child raised on those stories wouldn't view him kindly.
'This is why I stayed away.'
No reason to meet, nothing good from it.
His ties to House Jerban were a hopeless tangle.
Better to sever than unravel.
That's why he'd become a pilgrim and never set foot in Jerban lands for three years.
'But whose kid is Emily?'
He didn't recall setting her up.
'If direct lineage, I'd know.'
Probably collateral, he guessed.
'Doesn't matter much.'
An amusing connection, but his focus was the Spirit Sword owner, Bernard—not Jerban.
Still, as blood kin—niece or somesuch—he'd drop her off.
Especially since bandits had nabbed her; it worried him a bit.
'Seems sharp on the surface, so why'd bandits catch her?'
That piqued his curiosity.
"Emily."
"Don't call me that familiarly, wastrel."
"Can't you wield a sword?"
"Better than you."
"Then why were you caught in a bandit lair?"
"Don't want to say."
"Guess you lack talent for the sword."
"I told you no! You, who only besmirch the family name—you could never understand!"
She clamped her mouth shut, saying it was pointless.
"Not that grand a tale, I bet."
"There's a grand hidden truth you couldn't grasp."
"Caught by mere bandits—what grand truth? Involves bandits, so it's already worthless."
Bearing Jerban blood.
Yet nabbed by mere bandits.
Kallias eyed Emily, who glared venomously.
"You—your sacred meridian blocked?"
Emily's fists clenched tight.
'Looks like I hit the mark.'
The royal house and founding families like Jerban bore unique traits.
Results of divine baptism from the kingdom's founding.
Thus, they had unusual eye or hair colors, or divine stigmata somewhere on their bodies.
They wielded holy power without baptism.
Jerban too.
Ashen eyes were marks from the god.
Thus, Jerbans were born with holy power, handling swords with ease.
'But Emily's divine aura is so faint.'
Not absent, but oddly subdued.
Like when Kallias wore [Vivi’s Bracelet]—her presence felt dimmed.
But no child would have such an artifact.
Her sacred meridian—the channel for holy power—must be blocked.
"Accident? Or someone sealed it on purpose?"
"......"
Emily sealed her lips.
Tears like chicken droppings welled pitifully in her eyes.
She fought them back desperately, a heartbreaking sight.
Seeing her stare at the floor to hold them in, Kallias turned to the view outside.
'Some story she can't share.'
Curious, but he wouldn't pry. She clearly didn't want to tell, and he had no interest in Jerban woes.
Just temporary companions.
Parting soon.
No need to care.
Three or four days passed like that.
The cart reached House Jerban's territory. A vast expanse of land, villages, and at its end, a grand castle.
Jaybarshu Castle of House Jerban.
"Here we part."
Kallias bid Emily farewell at once.
She huffed and turned toward the castle.
"No need to go in, sir?"
Emily and her maids braved the fierce snow toward the castle.
Towering walls aimed skyward, castle perched on sheer cliffs like a natural fortress.
Jaybarshu Castle—Emily von Jerban's rightful place.
"Jerban lands. They'd recognize me, and nothing good comes from that."
"Supplies are running low... And we have stuff to sell."
"Quiet."
The locals revered Jerban blood. Guardians of the north—they knew their own.
Thus, Kallias avoided Jerban territory.
If locals spotted and greeted him, word would reach the family.
'A family-besmircher lurking nearby? No good.'
Lucky if they didn't chase him off with swords.
"Let's go."
Urgent was Bernard, Spirit Sword owner—not Emily.
"But who is this Bernard you must find, sir?"
Brans's question twisted Kallias's lips.
His eyes sharpened, hand on his sword hilt.
"That damn old coot."
* * *
Jaybarshu Castle.
Clank, clank.
Thick chains rattled as the massive gate swung open.
Rumble. Emerging: one girl and two maids.
Black hair, ashen eyes.
Neat bob with hair ornaments catching the eye.
Emily von Jerban.
As the gates opened, she stormed straight to the chapel.
She flung the doors open. There, a white-haired elder guzzled booze before a Valterus statue.
"This is holy water..."
Drunk as a skunk, face flushed, liquor dribbling down his white beard.
Hardly a proper cleric at first glance.
"Grandpa. Guess where I was?"
"Huh? Who're you?"
"It's me, Emily! Don't you even remember me now?"
"Ah, Emily~ my sweet granddaughter!"
"No, not your granddaughter—more like grandniece."
"But where've you been? Your maids were looking everywhere."
Emily plopped sulkily in a corner of the chapel.
"I drew my sword on bandits."
Then got caught.
"Oh dear. Why such recklessness? Told you it's too soon."
"I've never killed anyone. Albert said you become a true knight through murder. That's how my blocked sacred meridian opens."
The cleric gazed pityingly, patting her shoulder.
"But how'd you escape?"
"...Someone helped."
"Oh, blessed be they. Who? I'll offer thanks in your stead."
"You know him too, Grandpa."
"Hm? Me? Gilbert? No, he's at the front... Charlie? Nah, he's hunting beasts in the White Forest."
Who, then?
"House Jerban's wastrel."
The drunken cleric's eyes narrowed slyly.
"Hoo...."
"The wastrel... saved me."
"How was he?"
"Handsome. Called me sharp."
"But rude?"
"Yeah... Just like you said, Grandpa."
Heh heh heh!
Chortling merrily, the cleric fondled the sword hilt at his waist.
"Kallias. That bastard's back."
His name was Bernard.
A paladin who'd completed his long pilgrimage and found his own sword.