Chapter 92
Chapter 92
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Reckless Judgment
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"Your Majesty."
The man addressing the king of a nation had hair as white as snow, yet his resolute spirit and imposing stature showed no signs of decay.
A knight among knights.
One of Carpe's five Masters.
Gerald Gestaff, the Judge of Lutz Paladin and lord of Trista.
"Have you heard the rumors circulating lately?"
"Well... which rumors do you mean?"
The queen, who was braiding her snow-white hair, tilted her head.
"It's about House Jerban."
"I've heard about Jerban too. They say he's the Heretic Inquisitor Captain who beheads nobles, and at the same time, a count called the Judge."
You're a Judge too, she said with a smile, but Gerald continued his report with his head bowed.
"Yes, that's right. That's why the nobles' resentment is growing these days."
Because that thunderbolt maniac is rampaging around, chopping off nobles' heads.
"But from what I know, all the nobles he's beheaded have been confirmed to have broken the kingdom's laws for their own gain. They were the ones rotting Carpe from within even before that."
The reason the Judge could rampage was his judgment sword.
His actions were certainly extreme, but he was fulfilling the justification perfectly.
"Yes, exactly. From our position, it's like getting our noses clean without lifting a finger."
Whether intentional or not, Kallias's actions were benefiting the royalist faction.
By killing corrupt nobles and weakening the noble factions' power, the royalists had gained some leverage even in the royal council.
That was why they could somewhat shield the mad-raging Kallias from the noble factions' pressure.
"But..."
He's killing too freely on his own whim.
"It's too excessive, you mean."
"Yes. Squeezing out pus and digging it clean is only right, but carving it all out at once risks the body not recovering and falling into critical condition."
"He's too hasty, then."
Squeezing out pus is good.
But the chaos until the wound heals is inevitable.
Territories lose function smoothly until a new lord is appointed after losing theirs.
Yet the current Count Jerban wasn't considering any aftermath, just chopping off lords' heads day by day.
There wasn't even time to clean up.
They needed to give it some leeway.
"Alright. Then... shall I summon him and give him a stern scolding?"
The queen scolding...
He worried whether that fragile queen could make the wastrel listen properly.
"...He's extreme, but there's no fault in his actions, so if Your Majesty encourages him and tells him to show restraint, that should suffice."
"Hehe, summon him then. I've been wanting to see his face. Carpe's greatest wastrel becomes a count and is called the Judge—it's truly fascinating."
Gerald agreed with that.
He hadn't expected House Jerban's direct heir to return as a human—no, more than that.
'What the hell is Elbton thinking...'
He'd received reports from the north, but most were hard to believe.
Especially about Kallias.
The guy who couldn't even hold a sword properly had unfolded a sanctuary with the Northern Storm Sword? That didn't sit right.
Even Masters don't reach that realm easily.
"Sir?"
"My apologies. I was lost in thought about him for a moment. In any case, I'm worried he might be rude to Your Majesty."
"Rude how?"
"They say he's fond of women, so this old man worries he might harbor impure thoughts toward Your Majesty..."
It was then.
Urgent footsteps of a knight approached the audience chamber.
And a mad aura spreading out.
Gerald shot to his feet.
At the same time.
"Y-Your Majesty!"
"What is it?"
"The prince is berserk again!!"
Right on cue, a beastly roar echoed throughout the palace grounds.
Queen Clara's face paled instantly as she rose hurriedly from her seat.
"I must go to him first."
"I'll follow shortly."
The way to subdue the prince's mania was to let him fight endlessly.
Or have Your Majesty soothe him.
They couldn't kill or save the royal bloodline...
"If he hadn't drawn that sword."
Regrets over the past were pointless.
Subduing the prince came first... Gerald gripped the sword at his waist tightly and dashed out.
* * *
"Impressive and beautiful."
A straight blade that stretched out, a flat so wide it could shield the whole body.
This was the family heirloom Viscount Arpen had mentioned.
"This one?"
"Yes, they say it's the Arpen Family's heirloom."
[Galaximen]
Grade - Spirit
Dwelling Soul - Galaximen de Arpen
Unique Ability - Hardening
"I see."
Crunch.
As he infused a bit of holy power, hardening spread across the arm gripping the sword.
Tapping it, it was tough enough that ordinary swords wouldn't leave a scratch even if blocked with the forearm.
If filled with holy power, it seemed it could block a spirit sword momentarily, and depending on use, harden the whole body, not just the arm.
There would be limits, but it was a sword with clear merits.
No wonder it was a heirloom.
With this hardness, he could employ flesh-offering, bone-chipping swordsmanship.
Pretend to expose vitals, harden to block, and strike the neck while the opponent falters.
Depending on the user, it could fell even stronger foes.
"A fine sword."
But there was a fatal flaw.
The sword was too big and heavy.
The blade neared two meters long and was shield-wide.
Naturally heavy, most knights couldn't even lift it properly.
Too long for anyone not tall enough.
For Kallias, who valued speed and variability, it wasn't viable as a main weapon.
"Now I see why they just kept it enshrined."
With stats enhanced by divine grace, Kallias could use it, but there was no need to force it.
No point straining with so many good swords already.
"Anyone want it?"
His sixth squad members, who'd all tried holding it once, shook their heads.
"It's hard enough to carry around—how could we use it? Pass for us."
"The captain's holding it one-handed."
"How do you even hold that one-handed?"
No one stepped up.
To wield this sword, it'd take at least a tall, massive knight with superhuman strength.
Kallias had no choice but to store Galaximen in his Subspace and survey the surroundings.
"Any wounded or dead?"
"Twenty wounded, no fatalities."
"How bad are the wounds?"
"Four seriously wounded, sixteen lightly."
"I see."
The squad members trained at the mansion had mostly minor injuries.
The seriously and lightly wounded rest were those who hadn't joined the training.
"......"
"......"
As Kallias stared pointedly, the reporting squad member and the one beside him awkwardly averted their eyes.
They'd caught on to how this situation was unfolding.
The Arpen viscounty knights weren't incompetent, so it had taken time.
Looking at his mostly injured squad, Kallias spoke.
"I won't force you. But think hard on what difference there is between you and them. I'll be fighting frequently from now on too."
That would do. No intent to coerce.
Leave them be, and they'd gather on their own.
"Where to now?"
"Originally, we'd head south to the Valentin Count's household."
But Kallias could only click his tongue watching the bug crawl along his finger.
'Orkal's third squad scouted ahead first—good move.'
After taking the viscount, they'd push south immediately to hit the county.
If barons and viscounts banded together, it'd be a hassle.
The plan was to wipe them out in one go before they could clump up and scheme.
But from the reports, heading south now seemed impossible.
-The eldest son of House Luidren has arrived at Valentin County.
Eldest son—Luteon's older brother.
Captain of the South's Golden Lion Knights.
Luen von Luidren.
Among the kingdom's knights.
One of the Five Stars, deemed closest to Master.
* * *
Clop, clop—the sound of hooves echoed across the plains.
Riding at a steady pace, neither slow nor fast, was Pilgrim Esther in Valterus's signature pure white cloak and robes.
She was carrying out a request to exterminate bandits that had appeared not far from Caladi.
A relatively simple task for her, so her mindset was light.
Unsure when Sellivian might take a turn for the worse, she couldn't venture far, so the quests she accepted were of this scale.
Her diligent nature made idling impossible, so she took on such jobs to help people and the Church.
Killing beasts encountered on the road.
Killing bandits.
Aiding those who sought help.
As a sword practitioner, it was regrettable not facing strong foes, but knowing even small deeds helped someone filled her with fulfillment.
This time was the same.
She hadn't worn her pilgrim's pure white cloak and robes.
Instead, ragged, worn clothes.
To lure the bandits.
"But who did it?"
She'd followed rumors to where the bandits were active, but they were gone.
Only corpses remained.
Esther examined the bandit-like attire and sword wounds, following the trail to what seemed their lair.
They hadn't been dead long, and tracking the bodies led to fences and cabins in succession.
Those too were piled with corpses.
Someone had already wiped out the bandits.
Esther slowly drew her sword.
Before the bandit corpses stood three knight-like figures, all hooded, faces obscured.
No guarantee exterminating bandits made them allies, so she pointed her sword.
"Who..."
But before she could finish.
Esther was attacked.
The shortest one charged like lightning, thrusting.
Small build, but fierce strike.
But who was Esther?
The Church's top genius, called the strongest pilgrim.
She easily blocked and twisted her wrist to disarm, binding like a snare.
"Ah."
Startled, the hooded figure dropped the sword and kicked the hilt with their foot.
"Uh."
The moment it was kicked, the hood flipped backward in a somersault, snatching the spinning sword midair.
Fluid, seamless motion.
As Esther moved to speak.
"Hyaah!"
A massive hooded figure swung a greatsword down.
Boom! Earth flipped, dirt scattered.
Esther sidestepped lightly, then parried the charging third hooded figure's sword.
Their trio's linkage was smooth, each one's swordsmanship honed in real combat.
No noble showmanship—pure killing intent, strikes meant to end lives in one blow.
Esther noted their features.
Their swordsmanship and habits, easily identifying them.
'Northerners.'
Northern swords were this intense.
No pretense—just for battle.
Swords to kill beasts, to exterminate northern barbarians.
Esther liked northern swords.
As a swordsman seeking normalcy, preferring practical over flashy noble styles was natural.
'And not just any knights.'
The first attacker was likely a child.
Short stature, small hands peeking from the cloak screamed kid.
Impressive swordplay and quick thinking for a child.
Probably Jerban blood.
Because the other two fought guarding the child.
Esther calmly parried and dodged the three swords, creating distance.
Probing over.
"Damn."
"She's a master. Be careful."
The hoods fell, revealing their faces one by one.
The giant looked like a bandit, the medium-built one a dull blond youth with an eyepatch over one eye.
And the last.
"You—who are you? Your moves aren't just some bandit's."
A young girl's voice.
Fallen hood revealed black bobbed hair.
A girl with flashing ash-gray eyes glared at her.
Jerban lineage indeed.
"Young Lady, be cautious. She's no ordinary foe."
"I know."
As if awaiting an answer, the Jerban girl waited silently.
Esther realized her House Jerban status and northern origin, nearly sheathing her sword, but held back.
The sword the girl held.
It felt familiar—it was the one she'd given Kallias as proof of defeat and respect.
'Lucen.'
Yet it was with the girl.
Meaning.
'His disciple.'
The wastrel's disciple, holding her sword.
Impossible not to be intrigued by the disciple of the one who'd dealt her sole defeat.
If it was Kallias's disciple, she wanted to cross swords more.
About twelve years old, maybe.
Realizing such a young girl's sword was this sharp sparked admiration, pride, and curiosity in Esther.
"No intention of answering, huh."
It stung her conscience, but Esther sealed her lips.
First, Kallias's disciple.
She wanted to see more of the girl's skill.
If she learned from dueling her, that wasn't bad either.
"Come, disciple of Kallias."
With a faint smile, the girl's eyes changed.
"You're Daddy's enemy."
Killing intent unfit for a child stabbed at Esther.
But more shocking than the intent.
......Daddy?
Calling the wastrel Daddy.