Chapter 3
Chapter 3
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Valterus's Pilgrim
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Valterus's Pilgrim.
Sword Pilgrim.
Or the priests dubbed Mourning Pilgrims have almost no camaraderie among themselves.
Even if there is any, it's merely for show. Peek beneath the surface, and it's utterly ugly.
Why?
"My sword is what you're after, brother. But alas, you're one step too late."
When it comes to swords, they are utterly selfish.
They harbor no desire for anything else, but when it comes to swords, Pilgrims obsess more than over their own family.
Kallias chuckled inwardly.
His mouth issued a polite refusal, but the glee flashing in his eyes couldn't be hidden.
‘A belligerent bastard.’
What the man wants is clear.
To turn the lord into a sword.
And to seize the sword I possess, turning me—a fellow Pilgrim—into a sword as well!
‘The miracle of Valterus, created to soothe the grudges of the dead, has long since been corrupted.’
Thus, fellow Pilgrims are not allies to pursue goals together.
Ironically, Pilgrims are...
‘The perfect material for crafting Carcass Swords.’
To invoke the divine miracle that creates a Carcass Sword, divine power is essential.
Thus, priests can be called vessels containing that divine power itself.
Sword Pilgrims are the finest ingredients for forging powerful Carcass Swords.
As such, Pilgrims tacitly hunt each other.
Some even challenge openly, which is why the Empire's people hold Pilgrims in poor regard.
But it's unavoidable, for the Valterus Church—lost in faded past glories—believes possessing the finest sword is the will of god.
"Foolish Arsando... was it?"
"...Arsando Mirinae! No, how do you know my name?"
It's commonplace for Pilgrims to slay those with aptitude for Carcass Swords, so that's to be expected, but at the Empire's border.
The young lord of a nearby territory.
‘I remember now.’
The settings and story he wrote through all-nighters began to resurface.
‘The young lord Leone of Torett.’
His mother, who plunged into war to save the crumbling territory, died. The remaining retainers looted the treasury and fled.
Left alone, Leone tearfully became lord by necessity, striving to revive the territory.
‘Headaches from bandits, but he found a mine they occupied and caught a break.’
But only briefly.
The Pilgrim who helped exterminate the bandits turns out to have noticed Leone's potential and kills him, turning him into a Carcass Sword.
‘...’
Kallias looked down at Leone, who sat awkwardly on the floor, staring up at him.
"No need to have come."
Seeing the story he wrote unfold in reality felt somehow unsettling.
"I don't know how you know my name, but since you're still sitting there, I take it you have no intention of leaving quietly."
"Unfortunately, I have business with that kid of yours."
With a jut of his chin, Leone crept cautiously toward Kallias.
The kid had some street smarts.
Well, that's why the Pilgrim targeted him.
"This is regrettable. To commit the sin of brothers fighting... ya!"
Shing!
"Eek!"
Clang! Screech! Grind!
Arsando's sword, aimed at Leone, was blocked by the rapier.
A harsh metallic scrape like nails on iron plate pierced his ears.
"For someone saying it's regrettable, your eyes look awfully thrilled."
He looked positively delighted, as if it was all for the best.
"Sorry, brother! Turning a brother who serves the same father into a Carcass Sword for the first time— I can't contain myself!"
Boom!
Grind! Screech!
"Quite a heavy sword."
A greatsword.
A two-handed blade, broad and long.
Its weight prevented free handling, but each blow landed with crushing force.
A bad matchup.
‘Of all times, with a rapier.’
The rapier was thin and long, optimized for thrusting.
One wrong clash with that massive blade, and it would snap instantly.
Its edge was already chipping.
"Take this!"
Crash!
Dodging the blow, Kallias swung his rapier into empty air and caught his breath.
‘Tough.’
Cracks spiderwebbed the rapier.
Even among Carcass Swords, matchups made all the difference.
Clashing with a power-pushing type like that would chip the blade.
Continue, and it would break.
Strength versus speed—their difference.
"Let's see."
Bad matchup.
But not impossible.
Whoosh.
The desk shattered, dust billowing. Amid it, stacks of papers spilled and fluttered.
Flutter, flutter.
Through the papers drifting on the wind, the man's form was glimpsed.
His face full of ecstasy contrasted with him hoisting the massive greatsword.
The blade tip sliced through dust, lightly tracing an arc.
Then, in one motion.
Boom! He swung down.
"Rather rat-like!"
His charge was like an enraged bull.
The momentum of the descending strike was like a massive boulder falling.
Flutter. The flying papers flapped, obscuring their vision. Arsando's sword rose again.
Tap.
"What?!"
"Fool."
He hadn't considered the sword's reach.
The blade hit the ceiling, exposing a glaring opening.
Kallias didn't miss it.
Thud! Crunch!
His pushing foot cracked the office floor as he lunged.
The rapier drawn to his waist shot forward like an arrow—sharp and fierce as a spear.
Slash!
The rapier pierced the fluttering papers between them.
"Urk!"
The blade tip rushed before his eyes. Arsando's head twisted grotesquely.
Crack!
Impressive reflexes.
The twist was so violent his neck bones cracked audibly.
A grin curved Arsando's lips as he evaded the sure-kill strike.
"Foolish."
But as if that too was a feint, Kallias retracted his sword and twisted its trajectory oddly. Slice. Thud.
"Gaaahhh!!"
The severed arm fell limply to the floor.
Kallias shook the blood from his blade and spoke.
"A honest sword."
The weasel-faced man wielded brutally straightforward swordsmanship. Thrusts and overheads. No tricks, just honest strikes.
A heavy sword swung purely by force.
Thus, seizing the advantage had been easy.
"That's why I dislike greatswords. Lose one arm, and you can't fight."
"Grk! Graaaah!!"
Arsando Mirinae.
He tried to lift the sword with his remaining arm, but it was futile.
Slow even with two hands—how could he fight with one?
"Those eyes! Those ashen eyes! You, you're a Jerban?!"
Kallias's eyes narrowed.
Arsando's bloodshot eyes looked as if witnessing the impossible. He couldn't comprehend.
If the man was truly Kallias von Jerban, this shouldn't be possible.
He shouldn't wield such swordsmanship.
"How did the Jerban House wastrel come to wield such a blade!!"
"What does it matter to a dying man."
Slash!
Thud, roll.
"If the corpse is too damaged, it won't turn out well... No helping it."
He spat dismissive words, but even so, the man was a Pilgrim.
A rare strong foe after so long.
Had Kallias been another Pilgrim, or if not confined to this cramped office, it wouldn't have ended so easily.
With Arsando dead, the greatsword he held clattered to the floor.
"Hmm... whatever."
The rapier was in pitiful shape too.
Against another Carcass Sword with a bad matchup, cracks marred it everywhere. Unusable now.
"Leone."
"Y-Yes? How do you know my name..."
"Your mother."
Kallias thrust the rapier before Leone.
"M-Mother...? My mother fell in the Lutens Plains..."
"I swear on the name of Kallias, son of Valterus and Sword Pilgrim. This is your mother's Carcass Sword."
Your mother...
"Wished to return to you."
The reason was probably...
"To protect you."
Leone reached out in shock toward the rapier.
Battle-scarred with nicks and cracks everywhere.
Wounds galore.
It was as if retrieved from the battlefield where his mother fell.
No, it embodied his mother herself—defying death through grueling combat to become a warrior.
Leone's eyes reddened.
Hot tears soon streamed down his cheeks, soaking the floor.
The dusty office floor was soon stained with Leone's tears.
"Mother...?"
His trembling hands, like aspen leaves, grasped the rapier.
Shimmer.
As if waiting, the rapier dissolved into silver motes of light.
"Ahh..."
The sparkling silver particles rode the wind toward the office window.
Leone stumbled to the window, watching the fading glow.
No, watching his mother.
[Leoner Torett's Attachment Cleared.]
[Divine Power +2]
Kallias watched Leoner fade, then flinched.
"Urk!!"
Intense pain soon followed.
A new stroke etched onto the stigmata on the back of his hand.
"W-Why, sir Pilgrim!!"
"Grraaah!!"
Kallias knelt, clutching his wrist, cold sweat pouring from his body.
Proof that his divine power rose as quest reward, elevating its level.
The stigmata, once a simple sword shape, now gained an additional crescent stroke, altering its form.
Originally sword-shaped, now with an extra half-moon line.
"Uh, uh."
Silver light blazed like flames from Kallias's body, purer divine power rising like a blaze.
"Haa, haa..."
His body felt much lighter.
‘Divine power increased.’
Physical boosts were common, but divine power as reward was a first. Divine power was the mark of sincere devotion to the god served.
Kallias's lips curved up.
The directly felt divine power had surged in quantity and purity.
With the grade risen, his physical level rose overall.
Lucky.
「Kallias von Jerban」
「Occupation」 – Pilgrim.
「Divine Grade」 – 4th
「Divine Power」 – 2971/3251.
「Talent」 – [Blessing of the Bard - Supreme]
「Traits」 - [Corpse Grace] [Noble's Duty] [Count Family Wastrel] [Death-Time Insight] [Church Renegade] [Big Eater]
[Stats]
Strength – 19+(10)
Dexterity – 15+(10)
Technique – 7
Vitality – 15+(10)
Faith – 20
Until now, Kallias's divine power was 5th grade.
Now risen to 4th.
Divine grade measures a Pilgrim's power.
Higher grades exponentially enhance the faithful's physical prowess.
The body gradually transforms toward godlikeness by grade.
‘With divine power quality improved, strength, dexterity, and vitality all rose.’
Satisfied, Kallias clenched and unclenched his fist, then glanced at the corpse slumped in the corner.
Knowing his divine grade rose, next was crafting the Carcass Sword.
He roughly reattached Arsando's severed arm and head, then extended his hand.
"Great Sword God Valterus. Let the forsaken dusk burn into dawn."
Sss.
Pure divine power emanated from his fingertips, and an eerie wind flowed from Arsando's flesh.
Soon, the body enveloped in light formed a sword in Kallias's grasp.
"Oh."
A Carcass Sword with a deeper blue blade than before.
A blue blade signifying a masterwork sword.
The deep blue blade proved it.
‘A masterwork.’
Kallias's first Carcass Sword from a Pilgrim.
His first time holding a masterwork.
The grip fit perfectly—truly, a masterwork was a masterwork.
"That's why gear matters, gear matters."
Arsando.
No Corpse Grace from him, but no matter.
No intention to nurture it anyway.
Tucking Arsando at his waist, Kallias looked at the still-sniffling young lord Leone.
‘But it's strange.’
This wasn't the original story.
‘The player should gain double benefit: kill Leone and the Pilgrim for two birds with one stone...’
Leone hadn't died.
Originally, caught in the fight, struck by a blind sword, and met an unlucky end.
Moreover, his exceptional potential meant turning Leone into a Carcass Sword would yield better than masterwork.
‘But he didn't die.’
What change was this?
Kallias eyed Leone oddly.
‘Should I kill him?’
Might yield a sword beyond masterwork.
Settings fuzzy, but another masterwork-grade Carcass Sword was nothing to sneeze at.
"Hmm..."
But arms crossed in thought, Kallias sighed deeply.
‘Poor kid.’
Pitiful, yes, but also curiosity about his fate.
Leone, with potential beyond masterwork.
What would happen if left alone? How would he grow, what ripples in this world?
Kallias was curious.
"How long will you cry? I delivered your mother and saved your life. Treat me to a grand feast and liquor."
"Y-Yes, of course— liquor?"
Leone flustered at the un-priestlike bold demand.
"I'd like some wine."