The Cabin of Resolve
A little over ten minutes' walk from the northern exit of the Great Temple of Holy Martial Arts led to the only patch of greenery in all of Elia—a small forest. Vera stood at its center, gazing at the cabin before him. The dilapidated structure clearly hadn't been inhabited for ages. Spiderwebs draped everywhere, dust blanketed the railings in a pale haze, and the half-hanging door all combined to exude an eerie chill.
This was to be Vera's new home.
Looking at the secluded cabin and the dense trees encircling it, a satisfied smile tugged at his lips. He had been offered a room inside the temple, equipped with every convenience, but he had turned it down to choose this place instead.
'At least I won't go mad here.'
The temple lodging, like every building in the Holy Kingdom, was painted stark white from top to bottom. Not just the walls—the furniture and fixtures inside were all white too. Vera doubted he could stay sane in a place drowned in that much white.
"Are you sure this place is all right, sir?"
Vera turned his head. At the end of his gaze stood the leader of the holy knights he had just sparred with—Norn, the middle-aged man with his straw-blond hair neatly combed back.
"Yes. It's quiet. I like it."
"If you're satisfied, that's what matters... but it needs repairs, so I'll send someone over."
"Thank you."
"Then I'll take my leave. Let us know if you need anything."
"Yes."
With that brief exchange, Norn departed. Vera watched him go, then approached the cabin and pushed open the door. It creaked with a shrill 'kiiik', revealing the interior—and Vera's brow furrowed slightly.
'...Yeah.'
It definitely needed fixing.
As that thought crossed his mind, Vera spotted a table in the center of the room and made his way over, settling into a chair. He brushed off the dust stirred by his movement, then his expression darkened as he recalled the events leading up to this moment.
His confrontation with Vargo Saintroar and the exchange that followed. At the end of it, he had let slip words driven by emotion. That was why his face had fallen.
'That snake of an old man.'
Vargo had dragged the truth out of him. The elder had cackled for a good while, clearly amused, before leaving with a casual, "Do your best, then," and vanishing. Norn had been the one to guide him here afterward.
Vera let out a short breath, suppressing the surge of irritation.
'...At least the outcome is good.'
Vargo's attitude had clearly signaled acceptance. He had permitted Vera's naturalization. That was why he had granted him this lodging.
Objectively, things were progressing well. He had taken the first step toward his goal. Sure, the old man's mocking tone stirred his temper, but Vera wasn't foolish enough to let emotions derail him.
Crossing his legs, he continued his thoughts. What came next.
'The Apostle's Pilgrimage.'
To be recognized as an Apostle and command the God's Saint's escort, he had to undergo that rite.
Vera knew all about the Apostle's Pilgrimage—it was always a hot topic whenever the Holy Kingdom came up. It was the trial of proof for the nine Apostles chosen by the Nine Gods, and the platinum Rosario the Saint had worn around her neck in his previous life was the mark bestowed upon those who completed it.
'The problem is what trial will be given.'
The Apostle's Pilgrimage was a rite where one proved themselves by overcoming a trial revealed through divine revelation. Naturally, the content of the trial varied each time, and so did the time it took to complete.
Fifty years ago, the current Holy Emperor, Vargo Saintroar, had received a revelation to judge the continent's evils and spent about a decade traversing it, forging his legend. The twin guards at the city's gates now stood there to truly understand what guardianship meant.
As Vera's thoughts flowed, the face of the God's Saint suddenly flashed in his mind.
'The trial given to the Saint...'
It had probably been her secret pilgrimage, something he had overheard in passing in his previous life.
Vera's hand clenched into a tight fist.
'...I have to finish mine within four years.'
His own trial had to end by then. The Saint, upon receiving her Stigmata and entering the Holy Kingdom, would be sent to the slums for hers. Vera didn't want to leave her to face that place alone. When she arrived there, he had to be by her side.
Hadn't he sworn to live this second life that way?
Vera exhaled shortly and rose to his feet. According to Norn, the revelation would come in a week, and the pilgrimage would begin immediately after preparations.
He recalled what he needed to do by then.
—Like a dog in heat.
Vargo's words. A denial of his entire life—but one he couldn't refute.
Vera spread his palm and stared at it blankly, lost in thought. This hand had always taken. His life had been one of wielding a sword to seize.
But now, it had to change. His place was at her side. What he had to do was not take, but protect.
With the sword in this hand, based on the vow etched in his soul, he had to safeguard her.
Once more, Vargo's words echoed in his mind.
'Form and intent, he said.'
Once more, Vera's fist clenched tight.
'...I'll show you.'
He would embody it fully. He would mock the old man for doubting something so simple.
Vera harbored no thought of failure. Swordsmanship was still the one thing he was most confident in.
*
In the center of the Great Temple, Trevo knelt before the mural of the gods in prayer. Vera let out a small sigh of relief only after finally tracking him down. Finding him had been no easy task.
An presence so faint it was undetectable even when right in front of you. That was the problem.
No matter whom he asked, they all said Trevo was somewhere in the Great Temple, so he had wandered endlessly until stumbling upon this spot.
The reason he sought Trevo was to learn Holy Martial Arts.
Vargo's words about form and intent. The surest way to infuse them into his swordsmanship was through Holy Martial Arts, so he had gone to Norn—but the knight had shaken his head, refused, and recommended Trevo instead.
—An Apostle's Holy Martial Arts differs from the standard kind. Trevo the Apostle would know best.
How absurd that had felt.
—You didn't know? Trevo is an Apostle too. Bearer of the Stigmata of Wisdom.
He had called himself the Great Temple's manager—how was Vera supposed to guess?
Hearing that, Vera had once again recalled his thought from his first moments here.
'The gods really are insane.'
What kind of criteria did they use to grant Stigmata? Every Apostle was an utter eccentric.
Vera sighed at the thought, then approached Trevo with deliberate, heavy footsteps.
Trevo turned his head right after.
"Ah, Vera. I hope you're well."
"Good to see you."
Vera gave a slight nod in greeting, then cut straight to the point. Prolonged formalities didn't suit him.
"I was searching for someone to teach me Holy Martial Arts, and heard you were the expert, so here I am. Could you instruct me?"
"Ah."
After that long-winded question, Trevo let out a soft sound, then nodded with a gentle smile.
"Indeed, you've come to the right place. Holy Martial Arts using Stigmata is a field most holy knights wouldn't know well."
Saying so, Trevo rose and gestured inward, continuing.
"Shall we talk inside?"
Vera nodded and followed.
*
Deep into the temple they went, until they reached a room in the heart. Vera eyed the scene before him with quiet doubt.
'A laboratory?'
That was the apt description for the space Trevo had led him to. Flasks and reagents scattered about, scrolls plastered across the walls—it all screamed research.
Trevo smiled faintly at Vera's scanning gaze and explained.
"A bit messy, isn't it? I've been preoccupied with holy spell research."
"Holy spells... you mean?"
"Yes. For reinforcing the demon-sealing barrier."
Vera nodded at Trevo's words. The demon-sealing barrier. The transcendent-grade ward enveloping the Holy Kingdom Elia, absorbing all external magical impacts and making it an impregnable fortress.
"You manage that, Trevo?"
"Yes. It's the duty passed down to those granted the Stigmata of Wisdom."
Trevo cleared a corner table, guided Vera there, and continued.
"So, you have questions about Holy Martial Arts."
"Yes. Sir Norn said you'd know the most about an Apostle's version."
"I'm flattered."
Chuckling at the compliment, Trevo propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hand.
"Hmm... So, Vera, what do you know about Holy Martial Arts?"
"A body reinforcement technique using divine power, as I understand it."
Vera met Trevo's gaze as he spoke. Truth be told, he knew little of the details. In his previous life, he had scoured for info to better use his Stigmata, but the Holy Kingdom's secrecy made it hard. He could have dug deeper, but risking exposure wasn't worth it.
Trevo's response came as those thoughts swirled.
"Yes, well... Standard Holy Martial Arts is much like what you described. Similar to knights' mana reinforcement."
A affirmation of Vera's words.
"However."
Then came the caveat.
Trevo shifted his posture and extended his hand, forming a fist.
"When Stigmata are involved, it changes."
Divine power rose from Trevo. A blue glow, like the summer sea. It wove into lines, etching tattoo-like patterns across his body.
Vera's eyes widened at this unprecedented use of divine power. It was natural—his own Stigmata use had only ever amplified the power flowing from him, nothing like this.
Trevo, seeing Vera's shocked expression, continued in a cheerful tone.
"Incorporating Stigmata into Holy Martial Arts lets you imbue divine power with Apostle powers."