Master of the Holy Sword -4-
[Bang! Bang! Bang!]
"Big brother...! I'm scared..."
"It's okay. If you hide in the closet, he won't find you... Just stay hidden today..."
[Creaaak.]
"There you are."
"Aaaah!! Big brother!!"
"Save me!!"
My life had been wretched. Until I received the title of Temperance, it was nothing but darkness and filth. I spent every day fleeing from debt collectors who pounded on our door without fail, and I lived in constant fear of a father consumed by drink and gambling. Mother had long since run away. All I had was the duty to protect my one and only little sister.
"Don't hit him... Big brother...! Save me..."
That was what it meant to be an older brother. That was my life. A pitiful existence born into misery.
I lived resenting the misfortunes that found me. Then one day—yes, the day I was beaten by my drunken father for no reason at all—I went to a church and prayed. I asked why I had to live such a life. Why everyone else received love in happy homes while only I was visited by this endless misfortune. I prayed to God.
"Please kill our father."
As expected, God gave no answer. The sermons I heard in that church, where I'd gone seeking comfort, were always the same: "Love one another." "Forgive." "Practice temperance." They offered no solution for the misfortunes that kept coming. What kind of god was this? What kind of forgiveness? I was living in hell every single day.
When that fist-swinging father finally wrapped his hands around my sister's throat, I cast aside all blood ties. The world was a dog-eat-dog place. If it weren't for you. If you hadn't created us, we wouldn't have had to suffer like this. Only then did I understand. All misfortune begins with the act of "temperance." Because I had "tempered" myself, misfortune came. Because I had "endured," happiness never found its way to me.
"Haa... haa..."
Only after killing my father with my own hands did I realize it. Temperance was the act of a fool. The law of the jungle. That was how the world worked, yet I had tried to run from it. Once I finally understood the world's true nature, I decided I would endure no longer. I killed for profit. I spread misfortune for money. Wealth accumulated, and with it came threats. People who bore grudges against me. Those who held beliefs that could not be bought with offerings. When I realized, to my humiliation, that their strength surpassed mine, I fell into despair. It was because those who had lived happy lives had shown me mercy.
"I won't kill you."
"..."
"Your life is pitiful enough. Live the rest of it for others."
Then he came to me.
"That look of despair suits you."
"..."
"Do you want power?"
The one who granted the title of Temperance to someone who could not practice it extended his hand.
"..."
Yes. My desire was temperance. The desire to temper myself for the sake of greater happiness.
*
—Grab.
Along with Elysia's smile, the hand of Temperance seized the Holy Sword. It was the result of a single moment of carelessness.
"...!"
Elysia's black magic was the power to make desires reality. The moment one faced her, one could never afford to let their guard down. That was the terror of the Apostle of Gentleness. The arrogant eyes of the Apostle of Temperance, who had always been certain of victory, now reflected Elysia's smile drenched in madness. A crack had finally appeared on that face.
"Khaha...!"
"..."
"I've got you now."
The Apostle of Temperance burst into laughter. If things had come to this, he might as well kill them all. Enduring was the foolish thing to do.
"Yes... I should have killed you long ago."
"..."
"This isn't so bad either. Creating a faithful apostle is far more worthwhile than keeping some half-baked imitation around. It would be better for Him."
"..."
Temperance gripped the Holy Sword and began pouring power into it.
"You think you've caught me...? I'm the one who's caught you, you foolish woman."
"..."
"What can a mere scrap of iron like this possibly do?"
"..."
"Ancient relics hold no sway over me. I am Temperance. An apostle chosen by Him."
But then—
—Crackle.
"...What."
A massive fissure began to form across the hand gripping the Holy Sword. Flesh split open. Convulsions ran through the fingers. The Apostle of Temperance's hand trembled violently, as though rapid aging had struck his body, and his strength began to drain away.
—Drip.
"Ah..."
Temperance wiped his nose and saw the pool of blood gathering on the floor. Staring at the bloodstains on the back of his hand, his eyes trembled.
"Why... my body..."
—Rupture.
As an overwhelming surge of holy power coiled around the hand holding the sword, Temperance looked up with shaking eyes and stared at Elysia.
"What have you done?"
"It seems the Holy Sword is testing your qualifications."
"...!"
"You said you could handle it, didn't you?"
"...Don't make me laugh!"
Temperance yanked at the Holy Sword with trembling eyes, but the blade refused to budge. His pupils shook violently at its immovable weight.
"...Kghhh..."
"Just keep holding it like that."
The moment Elysia's hand moved to crush his throat, the Apostle of Temperance's eyes flew wide open. He severed the hand that gripped the sword. He could feel his strength draining the longer he held it. If this continued, he wouldn't even be able to restrain the man behind her, let alone Elysia. With that realization, he made his decision. Staring at his severed arm, Temperance let out a hollow laugh.
"Khaha..."
He burst into mad laughter, staring straight into Elysia's eyes.
"Khahaha!! How amusing... Truly amusing."
Elysia stared back at him, her own smile growing wider. Madman against madman.
'Terrifying.'
Watching the apostles fight, I clicked my tongue and sighed. Even I found the battle between these two lunatics frightening. The only regret was that Temperance had cut off his own hand. If he'd held on a little longer, one of his black magic abilities might have been sealed. He might even have been retired.
I didn't know the Holy Sword's exact abilities, but the author had at least left some setting regarding the qualification test.
—Q. What happens if a cultist forcibly draws the Holy Sword?
—A. Their black magic gets sealed or they die. The Holy Sword is a rather prickly fellow, after all.
Beyond the fact that it granted its wielder countless blessings, I knew nothing about the sword. What I did know for certain was that the current Apostle of Temperance could not defeat Elysia.
I gave Elysia a small nod, meeting her gaze that longed for revenge. I was telling her she didn't have to hold back anymore.
The moment the signal fell, chilling mana began to twist the space behind Elysia's back. The power distorting the air was far too great to belong to a villain who had been forced to exit without showing their true strength.
'...?'
It was stronger than even the awakened Olaf. Elysia bowed her head in gratitude and murmured softly.
"Glory to the Saint."
It was a good thing I'd recruited her. If I hadn't, that mana might have been directed at me instead.
Elysia's hand seized the Apostle of Temperance's face and hurled him violently toward the corner.
—Craaaash...!
Space itself warped. Every inch of space Elysia saw began to fracture like shattered glass.
"Temperance. No... I suppose I should call you Jehar."
"...You insolent wench..."
Temperance staggered to his feet and began spreading a massive magic circle across the ground. His black magic was the power to create and enforce the law of "temperance." The power to suppress death. The ability to restrict magic within a certain area. It was a fraudulent power that could impose countless rules and seize control according to his will. Of course, there were limits to those rules, but it was powerful enough to have restricted aura during his fight with Rowan in the novel. It was the power to become a god within a designated zone.
But—
—Rumble rumble rumble.
Elysia, who knew his ability well, was no different. She was an apostle too, after all. Her eyes glowing blue, Elysia warped space and spoke in a cold, quiet voice toward the Apostle of Temperance.
"I've waited so long for this moment."
"Don't get cocky, Gentleness."
"It seems to me you're the one being cocky. Aren't you afraid? Of what kind of gift I might have prepared?"
"How ridiculous."
Temperance began reciting his rules in a frigid tone.
"Black magic. Regulation."
"..."
"From this moment onward, within this space, I restrict the black magic of Apostle Elysia."
"..."
"Struggle all you like, foolish woman."
Elysia smiled faintly.
"Holy magic."
"...!!!"
"Ritual Flame."
Pure white flames began to dance across Temperance's body. At the same time, flames also bloomed on Elysia's form. For one who had abandoned God to wield high-ranking holy magic was an act that invited divine punishment. It was a double-edged sword that would return to Elysia as well.
But—
"Kghhh...!!!"
The key point was that holy magic inflicted far greater wounds upon the already injured Temperance.
"Your rules are wavering."
"..."
"In that case, I suppose I'll have no choice but to exploit the opening."
"Stop...!"
"Like this."
—Craaaash!!
With the rules faltering, Elysia smiled faintly and warped space once more. At the same time, Temperance's magic circle split in half and began clashing against the domain she had created. The black magic circle symbolizing regulation and Elysia's blue mana collided in violent waves, dividing the space where the Holy Sword slept into two separate realms.
—Crack...
—Craaaack!!!
Elysia's explosive mana writhed as though it could no longer be contained, only to recover and writhe again.
"Struggle harder."
"..."
"If you die, your sister will be in danger."
Elysia stared straight at Temperance. She looked directly at the color of his emotions with her own eyes—the color of emotions trembling with fear—and smiled. It writhed. The color of Temperance's emotions. Red, symbolizing rage, and—
"Aren't you going to ask?"
"..."
"What color your emotions are... Aren't you curious?"
"...Shut your mouth!"
"Right now, the color of your emotions is..."
The color symbolizing fear.
"Blue."
A deep, vivid blue.