Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: The Unyielding Wall
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A dark night where even the moonlight was shrouded by clouds.
In the training ground, only several flickering candles pierced the gloom.
At the center sat Kallias.
Sword at his side.
Kneeling with knees folded, he remained utterly still, like a statue lost in thought or regulating his breath.
One minute passed, then ten, then a full hour. At that moment, as a surge of holy power rose visibly around him, Kallias moved.
Whoosh—he rose slowly, gripped his sword, and drew it up to his head.
His eyes stared into empty space, but reflected on his retinas was one man.
The bastard with hair shimmering like the sun who had taunted him.
The church's traitor and apostate, Luteon.
Fwoooosh—!
Killing intent spread outward.
Dozens of candles winked out one by one, until the last one died.
Clang—
Kallias tossed his sword aside.
The dying candles reignited, devouring the smoke once more.
Sweat trickled down his cheek, soaking the training ground floor.
“Doesn’t work.”
It wasn’t coming together.
What wasn’t?
The Other Shore Flower, obviously.
He could force it, sure.
First, unleash Flower Breaking Path.
Then White Mist.
Probe the subtle intersection of the two, wind them into one around the blade.
It looks like a sword beam but isn’t—contain the clashing composite forces as one, collide with the enemy’s holy power, and detonate.
That’s the Other Shore Flower.
But it took too long.
Too many preparatory motions and techniques to form it.
Flashy moves, to be sure, but Kallias had succeeded once before. Now he wanted to wield the Other Shore Flower freely.
Without the sequence.
“If I can wield this freely, I might grasp the clue to Four Peaks…”
It wasn’t greed.
Phantasmic Bud Formation was stuck at Three Peaks, with no progress in growth.
He was at an impasse.
Ever since leaving the North, he’d gathered holy power in his lower abdomen whenever he could, but not a single clue to Four Peaks emerged.
It was hard.
Too damn hard.
He missed the power of Death-Time Insight.
He’d even considered engineering a near-death state on purpose, but without holy water or anything prepared, it was impossible.
One frustrating roadblock after another.
“The wall’s too high.”
That sensation.
The feeling when he slew the warlord lingered vividly in his hands.
But he hadn’t been in his right mind then. Every attempt to recreate it now ended in failure.
“No progress.”
He’d hit a wall.
Kallias’s growth had stalled, just as his grumbling suggested.
He’d made leaps and bounds compared to the North, of course. But he was still hungry, catching the scent of a feast just beyond that solid barrier ahead.
If only he could break through it.
He’d shoot straight ahead!
“This just won’t work.”
Kallias plopped down cross-legged.
Introspecting inward.
[Phantasmic Bud Formation—Three Peaks]
Three sturdy buds nestled in his dantian, each harboring a Seed of the Defeated God.
Could he exploit them further? No dice.
He trained daily without fail, experimenting in spare moments, but no results yet.
Since then, it had gone quiet, as if its role was done. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure where the seed was in his dantian anymore.
It had vanished like it fully permeated him.
He prodded the buds suspecting it was there—nothing but silence.
If only someone would tell him.
“Back to training.”
Kallias focused on Three Peaks.
More precisely, the Sacred Meridians.
Sacred Meridians.
Thread-like channels connected to the buds of Three Peaks.
Channel holy power into them, and they burrow through the body like living roots.
From the dantian, they extend to the sacred vessels throughout.
Like tree roots.
“This is the limit.”
But they don’t reach the end.
Currently, only up to the solar plexus.
That’s the limit.
Release focus, and the threads retract to the dantian.
Back to linking with Three Peaks.
He’d already verified the Sacred Meridians’ effects through trials.
“With Sacred Meridians active, holy power circulates faster and in greater volume.”
Holy power drawn from outside.
Sacred vessels receive it first. With meridians, circulation speed and volume double or triple.
Moving one box normally? With meridians, it’s like carrying two or three while sprinting.
Efficiency skyrockets.
Purer holy power.
Faster output for high-speed combat.
Quicker, stronger reactions than others.
When Three Peaks blooms, it amplifies explosive physical enhancement and shortens the time to gather holy power in the dantian.
Sacred Meridians’ utility isn’t bound by realm, so persistent training should extend their reach.
“Whew.”
Sorting his thoughts, Kallias pulled a silver chalice from his bosom.
Items from the North all had designated uses.
He’d given one of three Spirit Stones to Emily, leaving two.
Those for when he was sure he could breakthrough the wall.
But this one baffled him.
Click.
Silver chalice.
The Chalice of the Defeated God.
“What even is this?”
What’s its purpose?
Chalice screams purification, so he tried water—no reaction.
Blood? Nothing.
“Not for storing holy power. Spirit Stone? Nada. Could’ve at least included instructions.”
Tsk. Kallias pocketed the chalice, clicking his tongue.
The surroundings had brightened.
Lost in thought, night fled as the sun rose over the mountains.
“Solo training’s getting stale. No progress, no point.”
A master would be ideal, but none available.
Pride stung, too.
“Wonder what old man Bernard’s up to.”
A brief wave of sentiment, then he shook it off and stood.
‘Even with the old man, one arm would limit his help.’
“Speaking of, sparring’s today, right?”
No proper exertion since arriving in the capital.
The vice captain’s been itching for a bout—perfect chance to thrash him and assess his training state.
“Maybe pen a letter after.”
That old coot.
Probably cursing him for not writing.
* * *
“That punk’s got no manners.”
“Dad’s always been like that.”
Ha! Hah!
Watching trainee knights swing swords, Bernard badmouthed Kallias with Emily.
She didn’t blink at insults to her father.
Just propped her chin, bored, eyeing her peers.
“No match for you?”
“None my age.”
“Jerban kids your age might differ.”
“They’re similar.”
Battle-hardened against orcs, after all.
No way she’d be satisfied with peers.
“Ahem. If he hadn’t pulled that stunt, he’d be here by now. No word—Emily, maybe he ditched you.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“And yet ‘Dad’ rolls off your tongue easy. Must think it often? Kallias never heard it—harsh on him, eh? Kahahaha!”
“Stop drinking. You stink.”
“Holy water! Holy water! Heh heh heh!”
Gulp gulp.
“Kya—! Worth living for.”
“Always boozing. Spar with me then.”
“With this one-armed geezer?”
“You’re still strong.”
“Enough, kid.”
Flick. Bernard emptied his bottle and exhaled hotly.
“Emily. Time to spill. Where’d Liban and Rini go?”
“Why ask?”
“Curious. Safe to tell now—they can’t hide being Jerban anywhere.”
Black hair and ash-gray eyes impossible to conceal.
“They didn’t tell me specifically. I just know roughly.”
“So, where?”
Capital of Karpe.
“Following him, as expected.”
“Only path to survival. No shadow to hide in, up North.”
“Will Kallias shelter them?”
“He won’t kill them.”
“You didn’t go?”
“I… said I’d wait.”
The bowed girl’s eyes held longing for her father.
“With his manners, he’ll rush back? You’ll wait till adulthood at that rate.”
“Then… should I go too?”
* * *
Same time.
I scowled.
“Why are you here?”
“We greet the next Jerban heir.”
“Not count now?”
“You’re Heresy Inquisitor Captain. Better call you Captain.”
From left: Orphin de Riofing.
Rini von Jerban.
Last, Liban von Jerban.
“We’re not inquisitors. Call me Count.”
“You’re Jerban, Lady. Next heir fits.”
“Highest is Count. Calling you that looks best publicly.”
“Understood. Then, Count.”
Thud.
Orphin knelt. Liban and Rini followed.
“Please accept us.”
A lady knight’s knee.
Rare sight.
But.
“Refused.”
Brans suffices for dead weight. No obligation.
“No…! I’m fine! But these two…”
“What about them?”
“Nowhere to go.”
“Sold your Northern home? Head back North.”
Why’d they come down?
“We’ll die then.”
Rini pleaded.
Grown a bit? Just months apart, seems taller.
“Why die? You’re Jerban.”
Branch family, still Jerban.
Who’d dare kill Jerban?
North threats: only beasts and orcs.
“Die by Jerban hands.”
By Jerban.
Didn’t see that.
“Know what they call us? Jerban’s shame! Traitor’s spawn. Knights who gifted us before now frown.”
「Jerban blood runs cold and congeals.」
Jerban’s iconic crest.
Useless, hardened blood gets shed.
No intent to tolerate traitor’s stain forever.
Kallias overlooked as direct kin; branch families cull each other often.
Elders likely preempted.
‘House head told me to handle it—forgot amid the bustle.’
“Mercy!”
“Please!!”
“P-Please.”
Pitiful, save Liban’s prideful kneel.
Pondering, Brans arrived with the carriage.
“Whoa whoa. Huh? What’s this?”
His pathetic drawl shattered the mood.
“Stand first. Got business.”
“What…”
I scratched my nose bridge.
“Vice captain challenged me.”
“Me too!”
“Me…”
“May we join?”
“Carriage too small for all…”
About to say narrow.
“…dragged out an oversized one.”
Needlessly huge carriage rented.
“Good, right? Inquisitors’ll rediscover your grandeur!”
Useless as ever.
“Tch, hop on.”
“Yes!!”