Chapter 141
Chapter 141
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 141
Chapter Title: The Stranger from the Distant Sea
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*
A month had passed since the Papal Advisory Council. Fernandez stood in the middle of the training ground, greatsword in hand, staring down the falling snow. Winter was reaching its peak, and thick flurries settled on the blade’s edge.
“Fuu…”
The Mercy Sword Dain—an artifact that would neither shatter nor dull. To recreate King Dain’s signature style, which rent space itself asunder, a blade like this was essential.
The pinnacle of swordsmanship was a vague, abstract realm. Faster sword strokes, nimbler pivots, fiercer swings. Somewhere beyond such technical stages lay transcendence…
-Shing.
Snowflakes whipped through the air. In that single, swift arc as the blade sliced empty space and returned, the flakes encircling his body burst outward in unison.
“Failed.”
“Don’t be so hasty.”
Abel smiled faintly from under the eaves, sipping warm cocoa. Gentle steam curled up from the cup in her hand. Fernandez swung his sword into its sheath and descended slowly from the platform.
“It hasn’t even been two full months since you first grasped that realm. No matter how quickly a person grows, your impatience is over the top.”
“There’s no time for leisurely growth.”
“Fair enough. I’d rather you hole up somewhere and train for years on end.”
“The era is changing, Abel.”
He had slain one archdemon, but four remained. Since the Great Wilderness crisis, the world had veered from the timeline he knew. He could no longer foresee where or what threats might lurk.
And he himself—bereft of immortality—possessed only his sword arm, a somewhat honed physique, and the Bronze Throne’s magic, which he could invoke but a handful of times each day.
More than enough against petty demon cultists or insignificant riffraff. But his ambitions lay far beyond such trifles.
Fernandez winced at the lingering shock in his wrist and sat beside her. Rustle—Abel’s hand stroked his hair.
“You’re trying plenty hard as it is. Your accomplishments, your power—they transcend any mere mortal’s. I’m delighted by your growth, your spirit, and all the radiant glories still within your reach.”
Abel smiled as she pressed the warm cup into his hands. Fernandez stared down at it in silence before taking a small sip.
Snow fell beyond the eaves. The world brimmed with flakes, like a vast curtain unfurled. Monks’ prayers and the bell tower’s clear chimes drifted through the winter mountain monastery.
“You’re here, Benefactor.”
Tap—brisk footsteps rang out. Kirhas Hearttaker peeked over the retaining wall. She wrinkled her nose at the cocoa’s aroma for a moment, then leaped down.
“The Abbot seeks you.”
“Early.”
Long-term operations usually meant weeks before the next assignment—to conserve the inquisitors who shuttled between hellish battlefields. Yet here, not even a full month after the last three-month ordeal, came a new mission.
“Shall I pack?”
“Yes. Resupply weapons from Brother Martirio and wait. I’ll come find you.”
“Yes, Benefactor.”
Kirhas’s gaze brushed Abel’s eyes, then flicked away. Fernandez rose and placed a hand on her head.
“I-it’s sweaty and filthy, Benefactor.”
“It’s fine. You’ve been working hard.”
“…Yes.”
Like Fernandez, Kirhas had thrown herself into intense training over the past month. The power she wielded wasn’t fully her own yet. Internalizing it demanded nothing but her own insights and drills.
Talents and experiences that had mingled with her soul and seeped into her flesh. Just as with King Dain and Fernandez himself, hers couldn’t be mastered in a fleeting instant.
Fernandez gave her hair one final stroke, then draped his cloak over his shoulders.
*
He pushed open the door to the Abbot’s office—and found an unexpected guest. Beorn Shieldbane sat across the massive desk, sharing tea with the visitor.
“I heard you summoned me…”
A slender foreigner in a purple robe sat with his back to Fernandez, sipping tea. Inquisitorial missions were classified by nature. Fernandez hesitated at the sight of an outsider present for an assignment briefing.
“Sit, Brother. You’ll recognize the face.”
“Indeed. Long time no see, Inquisitor.”
The visitor turned and threw back his hood. Long silver hair spilled down like a waterfall. Sharp, dagger-like ears jutted out amid the strands. Blue eyes reminiscent of topaz gleamed with playful mischief.
“Queen Leia. What brings you so deep inland?”
“To see you, of course. Who else on this continent could I have business with?”
Leia smirked and extended a graceful hand toward the seat opposite her.
“Sit. This’ll take a while.”
Fernandez took the chair opposite with care. Leia’s face looked unchanged after all this time, but shrewd confidence still sparkled at the corners of her eyes.
“Why not just send a herald? Something foolish like that better not cross your lips. My people can’t set foot inland, so I had no choice but to come myself.”
“There must be more half-elves than just you, Your Majesty.”
“Those children lack experience—I can’t trust them. Best to handle it myself for certainty.”
Leia tittered and took a sip of tea. Fernandez gripped his teacup and turned to Beorn.
“Is this mission another dispatch?”
“I’d rather not have sent you again so soon. But circumstances differ this time.”
Beorn shrugged, recalling how Fernandez had nearly died on the last outing.
“Won’t drag on long. You humans are awfully finicky about ages, aren’t you? Relax, Inquisitor—you’ll be our top VIP, safe on a cozy winter sea voyage.”
“What’s the job?”
“Always so direct. Ahaha.”
Leia cackled for a good while before drawing a scroll from her bosom and handing it over, her expression turning grave.
“Maleyrn. Maleyrn of the Thousand-Corner Magic Tower. That old king who claims one of the Elf Serpent King thrones is approaching the North Sea. Skirmishes have broken out. But we’ve failed to destroy their flagship.”
That figured. An Elf King’s flagship could only be felled by a dragon’s breath, dwarven artillery, or an archdemon’s curse. To them, the ship was castle and territory alike—something to guard with paranoid zeal.
Leia narrowed her eyes at him.
“In this age, few things can destroy an Elf King’s flagship. Yet our goddess has commanded us to subjugate every last Elf King. And among those I know, one possesses the knack.”
“It was coincidence. No confidence I could pull it off twice, and no resources for it anyway.”
The Grasp of the Five Thrones—Feizashi Wildcast’s mightiest destruction spell. It could shatter an Elf King’s flagship.
But casting it demanded conditions: a situation to weather the backlash, ample nether mana to wield, an immortal body. Without all three, it was impossible.
“The seas teem with sunken treasures. No royal house hoards more ancient relics than the Elf dynasties. Inquisitor, we’ll procure whatever you need. Just wreck their flagship once—just a little damage. After that, we handle the rest.”
Fernandez propped his chin, lost in thought. What would it take to recreate the Grasp of the Five Thrones? Toppling the Elf dynasty would aid human civilization without question. Hard to pass up.
However…
“Wasn’t Maleyrn’s domain the West Sea? Do you know why he’s pushing north?”
“They’re hunting gods.”
Leia’s eyes narrowed as she spoke.
“Lesser deities barred from the Pantheon. Demigods, quasi-gods—likely for reasons like our father’s. I don’t know their success rate or methods, but…”
“If they’re lifting their race’s curse, that’s not so bad for you either, is it?”
“By burning through divine sanctity? Possible? Who knows for sure. But we have a reliable plan. Lady Melisildur promised to lift our curse if we free every shred of the goddesses’ divinity the Elf dynasty hoards. Far surer and safer.”
In his past life, right before the final war in the material world, the Elf dynasties had vanished from the earth like bursting bubbles. No one knew where or how. Evaporated, just like the dwarves.
Feizashi had spared it no thought amid the war. A potential foe erased? All to the good.
But for Fernandez… he wondered what plots they harbored, what deeds they might commit. And beyond that…
‘Full control of the northern seas would block Erik’s invasion cold.’
The pitch-black Erik and his northern hordes needed the ocean to strike. If the seafaring Elf dynasty’s armada stood guard over the continent, the threat could be crushed in its cradle.
He had to look beyond Leia’s proposal. Defeat Maleyrn, cement her kingdom’s naval supremacy, and one massive peril to civilization would vanish.
“It won’t be a long voyage. We’ve already scouted their anchorage. The northern seas are our domain. Not a single minnow slips away. Let’s strike their heart in one blow and plant our flag across the four seas, Inquisitor.”
Leia grinned warmly. Beorn, who had listened in silence, narrowed his eyes.
“Our brother destroyed an Elf King’s flagship? I’ve had no such report.”
“Er… divine favor was upon us.”
“Details, Brother. I’ll need them.”
“Ask, and it shall be given unto you. The Lord knows your needs and will provide. It rang true, indeed. Amen!”
Beorn studied Fernandez’s face at length before chuckling softly. He clapped his hands with a smack.
“Fetch the mission proposal form, Brother. If you’re game, it’s not a bad case.”
“Not even heresy?”
Beorn shrugged as if it were the most amusing thing.
“How is a god-hunting atheistic king anything but a heretic?”