Chapter 47
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Roberduke
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“The view is nice.”
Kyle, who had taken a seat by the window, gestured outside with his chin. Hearing the excitement in his voice, Luon, sitting opposite him, glanced through the slightly open window.
Beneath a red sky where the sun was beginning to set, a wooded path and a stream came into view. The leaves of a mighty willow, its long branches drooping as if to touch the water, swayed with the movement of the wind.
It was a peaceful scene, fitting for the tranquil evening.
Strabo, perhaps unable to see outside well due to his short stature, craned his neck and said,
“Oh, a willow tree? Maybe I should peel off some bark later. If you dry it well and brew it into a tea, it works as a decent painkiller.”
Kyle shrugged.
“With Igor around, do we really need a painkiller? A quick prayer with clasped hands should do the trick. No?”
At that, Igor, who was resting his chin on one hand, widened his eyes and shook his head.
“That's a terrible thing to say. To speak of beseeching the Mother and borrowing a miracle as if you were haggling for fruit at the market...”
“Is that so? Well, what do I know.”
Kyle scratched his head awkwardly, then cautiously spoke to Luon, who was still gazing out the window.
“Um, Luon?”
Luon, who had been quietly watching a young woman clutching a lute walk down the path toward the inn, turned his head.
“Did you call?”
Kyle, sucking on his lower lip as if contemplating what to say, opened his mouth.
“Has the holy sword shown any reaction yet?”
At the question, Igor and Strabo also stopped talking and quietly turned their heads.
Just before Luon could answer, the innkeeper approached and placed drinks and food on the table.
The innkeeper, looking rather excited, pointed at the deliciously cooked pork.
“This dish is made with fresh meat I got from the butcher today. The texture is excellent, and of course, the taste is...”
Noticing the group showed little interest in his dish, he stepped back with an awkward expression.
Only then did Luon speak.
“It would be a relief if it were just unresponsive.”
He unfastened the scabbard from his hip and placed it diagonally on the table. Then, he slightly lifted the hilt.
Seeing the blade, slightly revealed from the scabbard, Igor let out a low groan.
“...It's gotten worse.”
The blade, which should have been suffused with a gentle light, was now stained with an ominous gray.
At that moment, an unintelligible, sinister whisper shot into Luon's ear as he held the hilt of the holy sword.
*Bring me the heads of your mother and father I will pick out the tender flesh within and gift you unbelievable power...*
Fucking ridiculous.
Luon, his brow furrowing deeply, immediately sheathed the blade.
Fastening the sword—which could no longer be called holy—to his hip, he quickly recalled the past few days.
The start hadn't been bad.
They had managed to escape Bern safely, thanks to their swift action before the situation grew complicated.
The guards, who had been yawning incessantly before their shift change, merely tossed a few perfunctory words at the group for wanting to pass through the gates at the crack of dawn and didn't try to stop them.
One guard who was at least earning his keep noticed the blood on Luon's face under his cloak and was about to say something, but after Kyle discreetly slipped him a few coins, he swallowed his questions and simply shouted.
“Pass—”
The real problem, however, had erupted from an unexpected source: the holy sword.
After absorbing the apostle's power, the holy sword had seemed to grow much stronger at first, but soon its blade began to cloud over, and eventually, it started spouting all sorts of blasphemous words whenever it was held.
It went without saying that it had lost its ability to act as a guide.
For the group, who had believed the sword would finally point them to Belducias's location, this was a truly perplexing situation.
Igor chewed on his lip, his expression devastated as he stared at the holy sword.
“Even for a sacred artifact blessed by the Mother, was it too much to continuously accumulate the power of a great demon? To be corrupted so suddenly...”
“Perhaps.”
Answering curtly, Luon raised a hand toward the innkeeper, who was sneaking glances at them. He pressed a couple of silver coins into the hand of the hesitant innkeeper and asked,
“Got any strong liquor?”
“Aye, that I do. Just a moment!”
The innkeeper hurried into the kitchen and returned a moment later, placing a bottle filled with a bright yellow liquid on the table.
“This stuff will let you know what your own organs look like after just one sip. It's got a hell of a kick. The ingredients alone...”
Ignoring the innkeeper's explanation, Luon uncorked the bottle and, before anyone could stop him, began to chug it. The bright yellow liquid poured relentlessly into his mouth.
After downing the entire bottle in an instant, Luon slammed the empty bottle on the table with a thud. The innkeeper muttered with a stunned face,
“A-are you alright? That stuff makes a man dead drunk in just two sips.”
Kyle laughed awkwardly and said,
“Haha... my friend here isn't in a good mood today. That's why. Don't worry about it and get back to your work.”
“N-no, that's not the point...”
The innkeeper, who was staring at Luon's unchanged complexion in disbelief, flinched and fled toward the kitchen when Luon looked at him with cold eyes.
Kyle asked.
“Feeling any less frustrated?”
“Not really.”
Shaking his head, Luon lightly grasped the hilt of the holy sword. Just as he expected, a whisper came as if it had been waiting.
This time, it was some nonsense about skinning him alive.
Perhaps due to [Demon Judge], he didn't suffer any direct impact from the voice, but it still felt just as foul.
Luon said,
“If we leave it like this, it'll soon be fit to be called a demon sword. We need to do something before that happens.”
Igor nodded in agreement.
“It'll be difficult to get help from a small church, so we'll have to find a temple or a larger church. We're not in a position to be picky, even if it's not a place that worships the Mother.”
Just then, Strabo, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat with a loud *ahem*.
As his gaze shifted to Strabo at the sound, Luon noticed the meat was getting cold and spoke.
“Right, let's eat first.”
“Ah, no, that's not it...”
Strabo, waving his hands hastily, suddenly let out a heavy sigh and began to speak haltingly.
“...There might be a way to fix... that sword...”
None of the group had expected such words from Strabo, so they all spoke at once, as if on cue.
“What are you talking about?”
“Strabo, are you serious?”
“You're kidding, right?”
The dwarf, who usually enjoyed being the center of attention, squeezed his eyes shut as if the gazes focused on him were a burden this time.
Pressing his temples with his thumbs, he slowly began to speak.
“My family runs a forge about ten days from here...”
Seeing Strabo uncharacteristically mumbling and trailing off, Luon asked without delay.
“You don't mean Roberduke, do you?”
“Ah, you know of it?”
Luon nodded.
“I went there once to get some gear. Couldn't get in because they said I wasn't qualified, though.”
As he spoke, Luon recalled the dwarven city he had visited long ago.
Unlike other cities where various races mingled, Roberduke's population was composed almost entirely of dwarves.
Of course, Luon didn't know why that was.
However, he was well aware that the equipment made in Roberduke was, without exception, of outstanding quality.
It was even said that artifact-grade gear, which was hard to find elsewhere even if you searched with fire in your eyes, could be seen without much difficulty in Roberduke.
Before he had his current superhuman body—that is, back when he relied heavily on the performance of his equipment—Luon too had visited Roberduke, hoping to acquire an artifact.
Of course, he had been turned away at the gate for not being qualified.
Luon, who had since grown strong enough to crush boulders with his bare fists and had naturally forgotten the city's name, now repeated it and said,
“Keep talking.”
Strabo, as if his throat were dry, tossed back his beer and said,
“There's not much more to say. My family might be a bunch of ill-tempered bastards, but their skills are top-notch. They might be able to fix that sword that's lost its mind. That's all.”
Igor looked puzzled.
“Strabo, I don't mean to disrespect or belittle your family's skills, but... the holy sword isn't in a state that can be improved or worsened by hammering it. This is a case of holy power and a great demon's power getting tangled together...”
Before he could finish, Strabo snorted.
“Igor, just as you draw upon Tivela's power as her priest, we have blacksmiths who handle the flames of Duermyure! They're not just some common folk who melt ore, pour it into a mold, and hammer away like crazy.”
With Strabo putting it that way, Igor, seemingly out of words, shrugged and fell silent.
Just then, Kyle lightly patted Strabo's slumped shoulders and asked,
“Then isn't that a good thing? Why the long face? You get to see your family after a long time and fix the holy sword. Killing two birds with one stone.”
At those words, Strabo trembled as if he'd been struck by lightning.
“Sh-shit.”
After spitting out the curse like a dying scream, he added with a grim smirk,
“The problem is, even if the sword gets fixed, I might die. Ahh, and I thought I'd die a glorious death at the hands of a great demon... to think my fate is to be hammered over the head until my skull cracks.”
Igor tilted his head.
“You've mentioned a few times before, haven't you? That you ran away from the forge... Is this related to that?”
*He could make a face like that?*
Watching the dwarf nod silently, Luon let out a dry laugh.
Seeing Strabo, who had never shown even a hint of gloom before, looking so miserable, it was clear there was some story behind it.
Come to think of it, for someone who was a bizarre combination of a dwarf and a druid, it would have been stranger if he didn't have a backstory.
The way he went on and on about adventure and romance until your ears bled also pointed to it.
Luon said, his voice tinged with amusement,
“I don't know what the story is, but I'll at least help you avoid dying by hammer. Like you said, if you're going to die, it should be at the hands of Belducias, right?”
“...Luon, you don't actually think that's comforting, do you?”
Before Kyle could finish his worried remark, Strabo shouted loudly.
“That's right! If I'm going to die, it has to be by his hand! That's what romance is all about!”
Kyle shook his head from side to side.
“I was worried for nothing.”
Just then, a pleasant *diriring* sound echoed through the inn.
Turning toward the sound, they saw a woman standing on a small stage, clearing her throat while holding a lute.
As people's gazes fell upon her, the woman offered a faint smile. Then, she plucked the strings with her slender fingers and began to sing in a soft voice.
Strabo, completely absorbed in the lyrics praising the great deeds and valor of heroes of old, muttered with teary eyes,
“...If we kill Belducias, our deed will become the lyrics of a song, won't it?”
Sniffling, he nodded as if he had made up his mind.
“My friends! Our next destination is Roberduke! Let's hurry up and get this holy sword fixed. Shit!”