Chapter 3
Pilgrims of Valterus.
Pilgrims of the Sword.
Or the priests named Pilgrims of the Dirge have virtually no cooperative spirit among themselves.
Even if they do, it is merely something visible on the surface. If you look into their true intentions, it is nothing but ugly.
Because.
"Have you come for my sword, brother? But unfortunately, you are a step too late."
Extremely selfish when it comes to swords.
Even if they have no desire for anything else, when it comes to swords, these Pilgrims are more obsessed with them than their own families.
Callius chuckled inwardly.
Though his mouth spoke of refusal, the ecstasy flashing in his eyes could not be hidden.
'He's a belligerent bastard.'
The bastard wants it.
To turn the lord into a sword.
And to take the sword I possess, and turn me, a fellow Pilgrim, into a sword!
'The miracle of Valterus, created to soothe the grudge of the dead, has long since lost its original meaning.'
Therefore, fellow Pilgrims are not beings who work together towards a common goal.
Ironically, the Pilgrims.
'Are the beings with the best aptitude to be made into Deathswords.'
To unleash the god's miracle that creates a Deathsword, divine power is indispensable.
Hence, the priests who can be said to be the vessels containing that very divine power.
Pilgrims of the Sword are the finest materials to create powerful Deathswords.
Naturally, Pilgrims implicitly target each other.
With some openly picking fights, it's only natural that the perception of Pilgrims among the imperial citizens isn't very good.
However, it can't be helped, as the Valterus Order, drunk on its faded past glory, believes that possessing the finest sword is the will of the god.
"Foolish Arsando... was it?"
"...I am Arsando Mirinae! Wait, how do you know my name?"
It happens so often that Pilgrims kill beings who show aptitude for Deathswords that one might just let it slide, but the Empire's border.
The young lord of the nearby territory.
'Now I remember.'
The settings and story I wrote while pulling all-nighters began to surface.
'The young lord of Toret, Leone.'
The mother who jumped into the war to save the crumbling territory died, and the remaining vassals looted the treasury and fled.
Left alone, Leone became the lord out of necessity and tried to revive the territory.
'He was having a headache over the bandits, but found a mine they occupied there and finally caught a break.'
But that was only for a moment.
The story was that the Pilgrim who helped subjugate the bandits actually recognized Leone's potential, killed him, and turned him into a Deathsword.
'....'
Callius looked down at Leone, who was looking at him while sitting awkwardly on the floor.
"I came for nothing."
Seeing the story he wrote unfold in reality like this felt somewhat unsettling.
"I don't know how you know my name, but seeing you stay like that, it seems you have no intention of going back quietly."
"Unfortunately, I have business with that brat over there."
At his chin gesture, Leone cautiously approached Callius.
The brat has some sense.
Well, he wouldn't be targeted by a Pilgrim if he didn't have at least that much.
"This is truly unfortunate. To think I'd commit the atrocity of fighting my brother... Ha!"
Slash!
"Gasp!"
Clang! Screech! Screeeech!
Arsando's sword, aimed at Leone, was blocked by the rapier.
The metallic sound, like scraping an iron plate, sharply pierced their ears.
"For someone saying it's unfortunate, your eyes are far too excited."
It was an excited face as if to say things had gone rather well.
"I'm sorry, brother! It's my first time making a brother who serves the same parent into a Deathsword, so I can't contain myself!"
Boom!
Screech! Screeeeech!
"Quite a heavy sword."
Greatsword.
A broad and long two-handed sword.
It has weight, so it can't be wielded freely, but each strike is heavy.
The matchup was unfavorable.
'Of all things, I had to be holding a rapier.'
A rapier is thin and long, optimized for thrusting.
If it clashes wrongly with that greatsword, it will snap at once.
Its edge was already starting to chip.
"Try receiving this!"
Crash!
Evading the bastard's strike, Callius swung the rapier in the air and briefly caught his breath.
'It's sturdy.'
A crack formed on the rapier.
Even for the same Deathsword, the difference in compatibility is inevitable.
Clashing with a type that pushes with such force will chip the blade.
And if I keep facing him, it will break.
Power versus speed, the difference between the two.
"Shall we?"
The matchup is unfavorable.
But it's not impossible.
Whoosh.
The desk broke, sending dust swirling. Through the gap, a pile of documents spilled and fluttered.
Flutter, flutter.
The bastard's figure could be glimpsed between the documents falling on the wind.
Contrary to his ecstatic face, he lifted the heavy greatsword.
The tip of the sword parted the dust and lightly drew an arc.
Then, all at once.
Crash! It struck down.
"You rat-like bastard!"
His charging figure was like an enraged bull.
The momentum of the swinging sword was like a giant boulder falling.
Flutter. The fluttering paper obscured their vision. Arsando's sword rose once again.
Thud.
"Ugh!"
"Idiot."
He seemed to have forgotten the sword's reach.
The bastard's sword hit the ceiling, exposing a wide opening.
That opening.
Callius did not miss it.
Step! Crunch!
Callius's stepping foot shattered the office floor as he charged.
The rapier drawn to his waist was thrust out as sharply as an arrow and as fiercely as a spear.
Slash!
The rapier pierced through the fluttering paper between them.
"Ugh!"
The sword tip instantly reached before his eyes. Arsando's head twisted bizarrely.
Crack!
It was an incredible reflex.
He twisted it so wildly that bones cracked in his neck.
A smile formed on Arsando's lips after evading the certain-kill strike.
"How foolish."
But as if that too was a feint, Callius retracted his sword and oddly shifted its trajectory. Slash. Thud.
"Aaaargh!!"
The bastard's severed arm fell helplessly to the floor.
Callius shook off the blood on his sword and opened his mouth.
"It was an honest sword."
The bastard looked like a weasel, but his swordsmanship was extremely honest. Thrust and strike down. Honest swordsmanship with no other tricks.
It was a heavy sword that only smashed down with force.
But because of that, he could easily seize the upper hand.
"This is why greatswords suck. You lose an arm and you can't fight anymore."
"Grrrk! Kuaaaaagh!!"
Arsando Mirinae.
He tried to hold the sword with his remaining arm, but it was useless.
It was slow even when held with two hands, how could he fight with one?
"Those eyes! Those ash-gray eyes! Are you perhaps a Zervan!?"
Callius's eyes narrowed.
Arsando's bloodshot red eyes looked as if he had witnessed something impossible. Arsando couldn't understand.
If he was truly Callius von Zervan, this couldn't be.
He shouldn't have been able to display such swordsmanship.
"How did the prodigal son of the Zervan family come to handle a sword like this!!"
"What's it to you, you're going to die soon anyway."
Slash!
Thud, roll.
"Mutilating the corpse too much isn't good, but... it can't be helped."
He spat out dismissive words, but even so, he was a Pilgrim.
He was a strong foe he hadn't met in a long time.
If it had been another Pilgrim instead of Callius, and if the location hadn't been a cramped office, he wouldn't have fallen so easily.
As Arsando died, the greatsword he was holding rolled away.
"Hmm... Well, I guess it doesn't matter."
The rapier's condition was also disastrous.
He faced another Deathsword, and since the compatibility was poor, cracks formed everywhere. This was unusable now.
"Leone."
"Y-yes? How do you know my name..."
"It's your mother."
Callius planted the rapier in front of Leone.
"What? Mother... My mother died in battle on the Lutens Plains..."
"I say this on the name of Callius, son of Valterus and Pilgrim of the Sword. This is your mother's Deathsword."
Your mother.
"Wanted it to return to you."
The reason was probably.
"To protect you, it seems."
Leone reached out his hand toward the rapier with startled eyes.
From the fierce battle earlier, the blade was chipped in several places and cracks had formed.
Covered in wounds.
It seemed exactly as if it had come from the battlefield where his mother died in action.
No, it was like his mother herself, who fought to the death in a grueling battle.
Leone's eyes reddened.
Soon, hot tears streamed down his cheeks and wet the floor.
The dusty office floor was soaked with Leone's tears.
"Mother...?"
When he grabbed the rapier with trembling hands like an aspen leaf.
Whoosh.
As if it had been waiting, the rapier began to turn into silver dust.
"Ah..."
The sparkling silver dust flowed on the wind toward the office window.
Leone trudged to the window and watched the disappearing cluster of light.
No, he watched his mother.
[Leonel Toret's Lingering Attachment.]
[Divine Power +2]
Callius was watching the disappearing Leonel when he suddenly flinched.
"Ugh!!"
A fierce pain soon followed.
Another stroke began to carve itself into the stigma on the back of his hand.
"Wh-why are you like this? Pilgrim-nim!!"
"Grrrk!!"
Callius knelt and grabbed his wrist, cold sweat streaming all over his body.
It was proof that his divine power was rising as the price for completing the quest, and its level was elevating further.
A stroke was drawn across the stigma, which had originally been in the shape of a simple sword, changing its appearance.
A crescent-moon-like stroke was added to what was originally a sword-shaped stigma.
"Uhh."
A silver light spread like wildfire from Callius's body, and soon, a more purified divine power bloomed like a flame.
"Hah, hah..."
His body felt much better.
'To think my divine power would rise.'
Although his physical abilities had increased many times, this was the first time he received divine power as a reward. Divine power is literally the proof of faithfulness in serving the god one worships.
The corners of Callius's mouth went up.
The amount of divine power he directly felt had increased significantly and became more purified.
Since his rank had gone up, his overall physical level had also risen.
He was lucky.
[Callius von Zervan]
[Class] – Pilgrim
[Holy Rank] – 4th Class
[Divine Power] – 2971/3251.
[Talent] – [Bard's Blessing - Highest]
[Traits] - [Corpse Grace] [Noble's Duty] [Vagabond of the Count's Family] [Death Erases Past Wrongs] [Prodigal Son of the Order] [Glutton]
[Stats]
Strength – 19+(10)
Agility – 15+(10)
Technique – 7
Vitality – 15+(10)
Faith – 20
Until now, Callius's Holy Rank was 5th Class.
It seemed to have risen to 4th Class this time.
The level of Holy Rank can be said to be the measure of a Pilgrim's power.
The higher the Holy Rank, the exponentially higher the physical level of the believer.
Depending on the level of the Holy Rank, the body changes to become slightly closer to that of a god.
'As the quality of the Holy Rank went up, even Strength, Agility, and Vitality rose.'
Callius clenched and unclenched his fist in satisfaction, then glanced at the bastard's corpse lying in the corner.
Knowing that his Holy Rank had risen, it was time to make a Deathsword next.
He roughly reattached Arsando's severed arm and head and reached out his hand.
"Oh, great god Valterus. Let the abandoned twilight burn into dawn."
Swoosh.
As purified divine power emanated from his fingertips, a strange wind flowed from Arsando's flesh.
Soon, the flesh was enveloped in a cluster of light, and a sword was created in Callius's grasp.
"Oh."
A Deathsword with a darker blue blade than before was created.
A blue blade signifying a Famous Sword.
The deep blue blade of the Deathsword proved it.
'Famous Sword.'
It was Callius's first time making a sword from a Pilgrim.
His first time holding a Famous Sword.
From the grip, it fit perfectly in his hand; a Famous Sword was indeed a Famous Sword.
"This is why they say gear is everything."
Arsando.
No Corpse Grace came from the bastard, but it didn't matter.
He had no intention of performing it anyway.
Callius casually thrust Arsando into his waist and looked at the young lord Leone, who was still sniffling.
'But it's strange.'
This wasn't how the story originally went.
'For the player's benefit, Leone should have died, and the Pilgrim should have been executed, achieving two birds with one stone...'
Leone didn't die.
Originally, he was an unfortunate character who would get caught in the fight, be struck by a wayward sword, and meet his death.
Furthermore, his potential was extraordinary, so if Leone himself was made into a Deathsword, it would possess an aptitude to be created as more than a Famous Sword.
'But he didn't die.'
What kind of change was this?
Callius looked at Leone with strange eyes.
'Should I kill him?'
A sword greater than a Famous Sword might come out.
He didn't remember the exact settings, but having one more Famous Sword-grade Deathsword wouldn't hurt at all.
"Hmm..."
But Callius, who had been crossing his arms and pondering, let out a deep sigh.
'He is a pitiful guy.'
He was pitiful, but at the same time, he was curious about what would happen.
Leone, whose potential was greater than a Famous Sword.
If he left this guy alone, how would he grow and what kind of impact would he have on this world?
Callius was curious.
"How long are you going to keep crying? I delivered your mother and saved your life. Treat me to a grand meal and wine."
"Yes, of course, huh? Wine?"
Leone was flustered by the brazen demand, unbecoming of a priest.
"I want some wine."