Chapter 169
Chapter 169
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 169
Chapter Title: Ballista Fortress
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Banten was the Ikenia Kingdom's most critical stronghold, blocking the Dragon Mountains and the Holy Empire's southward advance.
Put another way, from the Holy Empire's perspective, Ballista Fortress served as a bridgehead for continental unification and a wall holding back the Dragon Mountains.
In other words, Ballista Fortress was a keenly sharpened sword, ready to move at the emperor's command from the Vatican at any moment.
Maintaining that edge was impossible through Duke Camille's power alone.
After all, battles and wars weren't fought single-handedly.
To keep that sharpness honed, Duke Camille had training grounds installed throughout Ballista Fortress for the imperial soldiers' drills.
Among them was one dedicated to the empire's pride and joy: the paladins.
In the heart of Ballista Fortress.
The training ground for the 7th Paladin Order was unusually rowdy today—quite a bit, in fact.
Buuaaaang!
A warhammer the size of a man's head came hurtling toward the paladin's torso, slicing through the air with a vicious shriek.
It was a deadly strike, but lacking aura, it would seem merely threatening to ordinary soldiers.
Yet the paladin facing the warhammer didn't dare underestimate it, dodging with utmost caution.
It wasn't out of some reverent attitude, like a lion hunting a rabbit with full focus.
He had seen a comrade's right side shattered—bones half-broken—after dismissing the hammer swung by that young knight.
Kuwaaaang!
The warhammer grazed past by a paper's thickness and slammed into the wall at the training ground's edge. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the impact point across the surface.
'This lunatic! He just wrecked the training ground wall with what, a plain hammer swing?'
No, it wasn't plain anymore—not when he wielded such a massive weapon as lightly as a dagger!
Cold sweat beaded on the brow of the paladin who had barely evaded.
It was a swing without a trace of aura, and that made it all the more terrifying.
How immense was his innate strength to produce such destructive power without even using aura?
But before that—
Kuwoong!
"Kuhuk!"
Unable to dodge in time, he blocked with his aura-clad sword. His feet carved furrows into the training ground as he was shoved back.
'How the hell does a hammer with no energy behind it overpower aura?!'
"What, I thought paladins were the empire's elite pride and joy. You're nothing special."
Hoong! Hoong! Hoong! Hoong! Hoong!
The knight who spun the hammer like a windmill, leaving the shoved-back paladin behind, slung it over his shoulder and spoke. It was Miron.
Pajik!
For a brief moment of fluster, a thick vein bulged on the paladin's forehead at the cheeky words from the blue-blooded brat.
"...Insolent whelp. I'll make sure you can't walk out on your own two legs."
"Please do. Make it worth the hype about the empire's elites."
Miron scoffed at the paladin's murderous threat. As the paladin charged again, Miron gripped Jerome's custom(?) warhammer from his shoulder and assumed his stance.
Of course, beneath that facade of leisure, his insides churned with anxiety.
'Uwaaaah! Young master, is this right? This is how it's supposed to go, right?!'
Miron was still underage, despite his massive build.
In this enemy territory, surrounded tightly by foes, the endless spars were making his head spin.
But he had to pull through. This was the first mission on this journey from the young master he had sworn to serve.
'Yeah, die once, die twice—what's the difference!'
...Still, it'd be nice if he didn't have to die at all.
Kuwaaaang!
Miron's warhammer clashed against the paladin's longsword, erupting in a thunderous boom.
The reason Miron was locked in these brutal spars with the paladins on the training grounds went back a few days.
"So, you mad bastard. Now that we're in Ballista, what's your next move?"
"Oh, surprisingly calm? I figured you'd be bawling and causing a scene."
"If I bawl and cause a scene, will you let me off?"
"Of course not."
Saladin sighed.
"See? I never thought you'd just let us suck honey without a care. So spill it."
He knows me too damn well now.
Tsking inwardly, he alternated glances between Misha and Saladin.
"Listen up. The key to this operation is you and Misha."
It wasn't for nothing that he and Luna had treated the others like air back in the Vatican.
If any of them stood out and drew attention, it would spell trouble. That's why he hadn't brought them to Byzantium either, leaving them holed up at the inn.
All for this very moment.
"Misha, from now on, summon spirits and scour every corner of Ballista. But absolutely avoid that tall spire in the center. No matter how rare spirit sorcerers are on the continent, someone like Duke Camille might sense their energy."
Misha flashed a pretty smile.
"Finally, a chance to be useful to you, young master. Got it."
"Archbishop Luna, visit the Golden Lion Church parish inside Ballista. It's clichéd, but the church headquarters is the most likely spot where Mother is being held."
Placing Luna's shackle—her mother—in the Golden Lion Church might seem too straightforward. Paradoxically, though, nowhere was safer.
No one would expect Luna to head straight to Ballista like this, and there was no need to expose internal church affairs to a power player like Camille.
It was a blemish on the Golden Lion Church, after all.
"Saladin, discreetly attach 'threads' to people coming and going from military facilities. Tracking would be ideal, but don't push your luck."
"Gotcha."
"I'll coordinate with Joseph and the others on the merchant group as much as possible. With Duke Camille and most of Ballista's eyes on me, I can't move around freely."
All eyes would be on him.
"Starting tomorrow, we'll all be busy, so rest up today."
As everyone steeled themselves, the burliest one, Miron, timidly raised his hand.
"Um... young master. What should I do?"
Miron wore the expression of a large dog with drooping ears, as if assuming he'd be sidelined again.
Don't worry, Miron. How could I forget you? Your task is crucial.
"Miron, your job is simple."
"...?"
"Starting tomorrow, hit up the training grounds. Pick fights with the paladins and make a huge, flashy scene."
Was it the playful curl of his lips?
Miron's eyes began to waver uneasily.
Kuuwuuung!
"Kuhuk!"
The paladin who took a direct hit to the shoulder from Miron's warhammer spewed blood and flew back.
"Hoo, hook!"
Miron caught his ragged breath.
Blood poured endlessly from gashes inflicted by the paladin's blade across his body.
"Stubborn bastard. That's three already."
"We took you for some no-name whelp who couldn't even handle aura. Guess the Vatican escort had some real skill."
Miron turned to the murmuring paladins and bellowed.
"Haha! Another fun training day! Look forward to tomorrow!"
Despite his boisterous front, Miron struggled to hide his trembling legs.
Three straight days of nonstop spars had drained his stamina plenty.
But as he scanned the paladins, his eyes sparkled instead.
'Just like young master said—the number of paladins watching the spars is growing.'
To his anxious self, Jerome had explained: Unlike Misha or Saladin, he couldn't hide his knightly build, so he'd surely attract covert surveillance.
Then, Jerome said, flaunt it. Scratch their pride raw, grab every paladin's attention, and hold it.
True enough, many of Ballista's paladins were scrutinizing his spars to probe him.
An ogre-like physique mismatched with his boyish face.
And martial prowess surpassing sword experts, without even using aura.
When Ballista's army marched south, Banten was a pass they had to breach.
They were trying to steal glimpses of a potential foe—a knight nurtured by Banten—just as Jerome's group was doing.
'This is my limit. Time to call it today.'
Seeing the fallen paladins and the rising bloodlust in the training ground, provoking more would be unwise.
Besides, with stamina low, who knew when Frenzy might erupt? He could block aura thanks to the alloy Jerome made him, but...
Miron's true power was his Heterogenous Power: Frenzy.
Better to hide it for the critical moment.
Plus, flaunting Heterogenous Powers in the empire offered zero upsides.
'Young master, have I done enough? How long do I have to keep this up?'
Jerome called it training too, but after three sleepless days of spars, the hammer genuinely felt heavy now.
Tonight back at the lodgings, he'd beg Archbishop Luna for a strong healing potion. A really potent one.
An underground chamber, bereft of even a sliver of sunlight.
Sure, this vast continent had its share of natural caves deep underground, but this one was undoubtedly man-made.
No natural cavern would feature such perfectly balanced structures lining up in rows.
And the robed figures scurrying between them proved it wasn't a natural site.
Bubbling! Bubbling!
A rectangular structure long enough to mistake for a coffin.
Inside the stone sarcophagus, some unknown reagent bubbled ceaselessly.
Plop! Splatter!
Did the bubbles boil over? Reagent splashed out from a burst bubble, and one robed man peering intently at the sarcophagus scowled.
"Argh, damn it! Talk about bad luck!"
The bubble had barely grazed the hem of his robe sleeve.
It was too meager to call a 'stain,' but the man shook his arm frantically as if the world's filthiest muck had soiled him.
"Kekekeke, looks like you've got bad juju clinging to you."
The others nearby mocked him, deepening the furrows in his brow.
"Shut your trap! I'm in a foul mood already!"
His colleagues shrugged at the irritable outburst and dispersed.
"Goddamn it, monster bodily fluids staining my robe... Why the hell does His Excellency bother researching this filthy crap?"
It was the command of Duke Camille, the empire's great sword he revered endlessly, yet the grumbling persisted.
The empire was invincible without this nonsense, and he clearly chafed at Duke Camille's excessive caution.
"Damn, if only I could head topside right now."
Another robed figure snorted at his words.
"Hmph, so that's your angle? Forget it. His Excellency strictly forbade going up until those Shield Family scum clear out. Instant execution, no questions asked. Just hold out a bit."
"...Fuck. What the hell did they come crawling in here for anyway? Can't they wrap up and piss off already?"
Cursing, the man glared at the ceiling far above, invisible from down here.
"Bunch of ragtag losers keeping us from sunlight...!"
"Quit whining and get back to the experiments. Finish this, and we won't have to skulk in the shadows anymore."
Sighing at his comrade's urging, the man shuffled to the next sarcophagus.
"Sigh, fine. Whatever. The Shield Family trash will be gone soon anyway. Just a little longer."
He snipped off the stained sleeve with scissors, soothing himself.
Endure this minor annoyance, and a path of endless glory awaited.
As he resumed checking the sarcophagus, another bubble burst.
Splurt!
"Ow, fuck!"
"Keep it down! If sound leaks out, we're all dead!"
His comrade scolded him as he bellowed over the latest splash. The man just scoffed.
Caution taken too far was a disease, with all these timid fools around.
How could anyone imagine a facility like this in these deep depths?
If noise could really escape, they'd have been busted long ago.
But whether from fixation on the sarcophagus or three days of laxity dulling their vigilance...
The man and his comrades failed to notice.
High on the ceiling above, a translucent brown mole was watching the scene intently.