Chapter 58
Chapter 58
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: Peace in the North
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"It's peaceful."
It was peaceful.
Peace had finally come to the North, a place that had rarely known calm amid the swarms of magical beasts.
The war's end played a part, but the bigger reason was that the orcs who had preyed on the North had devoured the beasts as food, drastically reducing their numbers.
The North without magical beasts was just a bit cold, making it an ideal time of respite for the residents.
They had wept in grief for lost family members for a while, but now time had passed, and they were helping one another, mustering strength to live diligently once more.
"Nice."
He said it while gazing at Jaybarshu.
They were repairing the crumbled walls.
The residents shared food with the soldiers and strode forward with spirited steps.
The work looked grueling, but their faces weren't so bad.
They lived steadily toward tomorrow.
It was a sight to behold.
"Not bad."
Most of his actions had been for quests, but knowing they had helped these people's lives filled a corner of his chest with unexpected pride.
"Isn't it? Everyone is praising you, my lord."
It was Brans.
Just an hour ago, the man had come rushing in at the news of Kallias's awakening, tears and snot streaming down his face.
He had volunteered as a guide, commenting on the state of things here and there.
"Ah! It's Kallias!"
"The war hero!"
Children called him a hero upon seeing him, and passersby placed hands over their hearts, bowing politely.
Memories overlapped with the past—the days when, as the count's wastrel, they had avoided and shunned him.
The expressions of those from before.
And those now.
The difference was stark.
He felt the poignant shift of eras.
"Scram, you brats."
He could have responded more kindly.
But the Count Family Wastrel trait reared its head even here.
What could he do?
That was Kallias.
Brans spoke in a subtle tone as he watched the children flee screaming, a pleased look on his face.
"Those kids."
"What about them."
"They've been learning swordsmanship from Sir Bernard. They saw and felt so much in the Northern war that they're training quite diligently."
The man wasn't even fully recovered, yet he was teaching in that state?
"How's the old man doing?"
"He's healthy. He lay abed for only a day or two, complaining his body felt stiff."
Even having lost one arm, the paladin's physical prowess hadn't faded; he seemed to be moving about just fine.
It was a relief he was in good health, but a bitter taste lingered unavoidably.
Bernard had sacrificed an arm to buy time, allowing him to slay the beast. But for a lifelong paladin who had wielded a sword his whole life, losing an arm was tantamount to losing his entire existence.
It felt like his fault, weighing on his heart.
"If only I had holy water, I could have at least tried reattaching it."
Unfortunately, no holy water.
He had unrefined troll blood, but reattaching an arm with that would be impossible.
From what he'd heard, they had already cauterized the wound for emergency treatment.
Even holy water couldn't easily reattach a severed limb.
"Where is he now?"
"Probably in the prayer room."
The prayer room.
"I see. With all the mental wounds from the war, plenty must need care."
There would be much to do.
Beyond that, knights like Allen, Aaron, Orphin, and others were busy repairing walls, distributing the food left behind, recovering the missing, and gathering the remains of the fallen—each with their own tasks filling their days.
Even with the war over, the work piled up like a mountain.
"I must be the last to arrive."
Thousands had died this time.
Delivering their remains to families and handling the aftermath was no simple task.
"I should help too."
"No need for that, my lord."
"Why not."
"Those guys came looking for you and said they'd handle it themselves."
"Ah, 'those guys.'"
Just then.
Speak of the devil.
An utterly distasteful figure appeared.
"Well, if it isn't Kallias. Are you well enough to be up and about already?"
The church's emblem.
A mantle bearing the crossed red swords of the Heretic Inquisition.
He spoke with a smiling face, but Kallias saw through the feigned attitude.
"As you can see."
Another ally or unwelcome guest in the North.
Heretic Inquisitor Raibun.
"I see. Ah, surely you'll attend the banquet tonight."
"Was there such a thing?"
"Yes, I vaguely heard there's a dinner to host the guests tonight."
Likely a banquet to honor the Heretic Inquisitors who had aided in the war.
With him awake now, it was probably to repay their help in the conflict.
"I'll go if I can."
"I'd love to hear the war hero's tales. And there are other matters we must discuss... Well then."
Raibun vanished after that greeting implying they'd meet at the banquet.
Kallias clicked his tongue.
The venomous Akasha.
Raibun du Vallus, Iron Heretic Inquisitor.
"A stalker."
"I never dreamed those bastards would come all the way here."
Even Kallias hadn't known.
If he hadn't spotted them en route to the battlefield, he'd have been shocked.
"Did you tip them off?"
"As if! I despise those scum. They hounded me so much I couldn't even sleep properly for a while. Thinking back still boils my blood..."
True enough.
One of them was annoyance enough, yet they'd brought two more captains.
"They're definitely here to drag me off."
They must have learned he was in the North and, intimidated by House Jerban's fame, requested reinforcements.
But with the North in the midst of war, they had no choice but to help.
No matter their role in hunting heretics, it would be odd not to draw swords against barbarian heretics worshiping outer gods right before their eyes.
They'd ended up helping by circumstance.
"Even without the North's own funds, what could we possibly offer those lot?"
"Does the North lack money?"
"What can the North even produce? Barren land blanketed in snow year-round."
Can't turn it into a tourist spot with magical beasts everywhere, and the meager crops from poor soil lack taste and nutrition.
Specialties amount to herbs and beast byproducts.
Even so, selling those to the church or kingdom was the North's sole income.
"Hmm."
Money.
The North faced many dangers ahead.
Orcs were decimated this time, so no worry there for a while, but the Imperial Army was different.
To those seeking to subjugate Karpe, the North was a thorn in their side—war could erupt anytime.
House Jerban, called a pillar of Karpe, had long been renowned.
"With money, replenishing lost forces would be easier."
Main Northern forces were returning from the kingdom, but even with them, the war's damages were severe.
Replacing sacrificed knights and soldiers required time and funds.
'Money shortens time, but the North's earning methods are limited—tricky.'
However.
Kallias knew a way to make big money.
'The North has mountains of unprocessed orc corpses.'
And the North hosted hundreds of church priests.
"No harm in screwing over those harassing an innocent man."
* * *
"How was he?"
"Ordinary. With the typical noble speech and arrogance."
A textbook noble.
His appearance was the most aristocratic among nobles, of course.
Raibun adjusted his glasses and eyed the gathered men.
Third Squad Captain.
Orkal du Vallus.
Sixth Squad Captain.
Druma du Vallus.
And Fifth Squad Captain.
Raibun du Vallus.
Including himself, three captains assembled in the guest quarters of Jaybarshu's inner castle.
Three of the seven captains— all Swordmasters, proven strong and devout leaders of the Heretic Inquisition.
"That's not what I meant. Besides that?"
"...His divine power level was hard to gauge. The aura I sensed was faint."
The divine power was faint.
To the point rumors of his war heroics seemed exaggerated.
Far from an Orc Warlord.
Even against a Great Warrior, he seemed like an ordinary knight who'd lose.
"Faint? How faint?"
"The amount felt like Rank 4."
Divine power's quantity or quality doesn't solely determine a knight's strength...
But Rank 4 was average knight level.
"What, that's it?"
Less divine power means less time and amplification for physical enhancement.
Higher ranks boost overall physical specs.
No matter the swordsmanship, without the body to back it, it's mere play.
"How pure was it?"
"Purity was decent. But that puts it at Rank 3 at best."
"Wasn't the Warlord teetering on master level? I thought he'd be insanely strong since he killed that thing—what gives."
"Rumors aren't reliable."
"But all the soldiers and knights who fought say the same?"
That without Kallias, the war would have been a defeat.
"Not all hypnotized, surely."
"We saw it too. That sight was reverent, even."
"Hmm."
The scene they'd witnessed firsthand lingered vividly.
They had seen the Warlord dead, Kallias bleeding before crowds of knights.
Traces of fierce battle everywhere, knights weeping.
Mere words aside.
Having seen it themselves, it was hard to dismiss as lies.
"Still, Raibun, you wouldn't misjudge. If he's weak, just take him."
It was Third Squad Captain Orkal.
A young man with curly brown hair and a boyish face.
Seemingly innocent and youthful, yet the Heretic Inquisitor Captain crueler than any.
"How?"
"What do you mean how? We've done this plenty. Even nobles—our job is rooting out heretics."
"But no evidence."
Who didn't know that?
Yet there was none.
Moreover, Kallias was the eldest son of House Jerban, one of Karpe's four great nobles.
No arresting on suspicion alone without proof.
"Then make evidence."
The deep voice of Sixth Squad Captain Druma.
The taciturn man fitting his voice opened his mouth—surely with a sharp idea.
"How?"
"Isn't the suspicion of heresy because a total dullard and wastrel's swordsmanship suddenly skyrocketed?"
Right.
He possessed a sacred relic.
Unknown what, but the kingdom's top dunce and worst wastrel had transformed.
Into a completely different person.
His stagnant sword level had surged—no doubt.
Possessing such a tremendous relic without reporting to the church made him a heretic.
'But his status hinders forced interrogation...'
If not House Jerban.
If he were still that worm of a wastrel, no such worries. But with Jerban alive and him a Northern hero, dragging him off by force was impossible.
"Then make him a Heretic Inquisitor, and the problem vanishes."