Chapter 92
"Your Majesty."
The one calling the king of a nation was a man whose hair had turned white with age, yet whose steadfast spirit and imposing frame had not diminished.
A knight among knights.
One of the Five Masters of Karpe.
The Paladin of Lütz and lord of Trista—Gerald the Judge.
Gerald Gestaf.
"Have you heard the rumors circulating lately?"
"Hmm. Which rumors might you be referring to?"
The queen, braiding and smoothing her snow-white hair.
Clara tilted her head.
"Rumors regarding Zervan."
"Zervan? I've heard those as well. The Grand Inquisitor who beheads nobles. Simultaneously a count, and one called the Judge."
At the queen's words with a gentle smile—"We share the same title of Judge, don't we?"—Gerald continued his report with head bowed.
"Yes, that is correct. Because of that, the nobles' complaints have been frequent as of late."
It was because of that bastard who ran rampant like a thunder-naked madman, lopping off nobles' heads.
"However, from what I understand, all the nobles whose necks he has severed have been confirmed to have violated national law for their own personal gain. They were ones who had been eating away at Karpe from before."
The reason the Judge could run rampant was because of that judgment sword.
His actions were certainly extreme, but the justification he crafted was impeccable.
"Yes, that is correct. From our position, it's solving the problem without lifting a finger."
Whether intentional or not, Callias's actions were aiding the Royalist faction.
By killing corrupt nobles and weakening the noble faction's power, the Royalists had gained some influence even in the Royal Council.
Because of that, they could provide some measure of protection for the pressure the noble faction was placing on the madly rampaging Callias.
"However..."
He was killing far too recklessly.
"You're saying the degree is excessive."
"Yes, it is proper to squeeze out and excavate pus, but if you cut it all out at once, there is a risk that it cannot recover and the condition becomes critical."
"You're saying he's too rushed."
Squeezing out pus is good.
But the confusion until the hole left behind is filled is an established sequence.
A territory that has lost its lord does not run smoothly until a new lord is appointed.
Yet the current Count Zervan, without even considering such aftermath, was cutting down lords' necks day after day.
There wasn't even enough time to settle things.
A little leeway was necessary.
"I see. Then... shall I summon him and give him a stern scolding?"
The queen, scolding...
Would that executioner even properly listen if this frail and delicate queen scolded him? That was the concern.
"...While he is extreme, there is nothing wrong with his actions, so it would suffice to encourage him while telling him to exercise restraint."
"Hehe, please summon him. I wanted to see his face as well. Karpe's number one ruffian becoming a count and being called the Judge. It's truly fascinating, isn't it?"
Gerald agreed with that as well.
He had thought the direct eldest son of Zervan was no proper human being, yet he had returned as a human—no, something beyond that.
'What on earth is that bastard Elberton thinking...'
He had received reports of the events in the north, but most were hard to believe.
Moreover, things regarding Callias were even more so.
A guy who couldn't even properly hold a sword had deployed a sanctuary as the Storm Sword of the North—that point was particularly dubious.
It was not easy even for Masters to reach the realm of forming a sanctuary.
"My lord?"
"My apologies. I was deep in thought about him for a moment. Regardless, I am concerned that he might commit an act of disrespect toward Your Majesty."
"Disrespect?"
"They say he is fond of women, so I worry whether he might harbor dark designs toward Your Majesty—that is what this old man is a bit concerned about..."
It was then.
The urgent footsteps of a knight approaching the audience chamber could be heard.
And the arrogant, surging aura that spread outward.
Gerald leapt to his feet.
At the same time.
"Y-Your Majesty!"
"What is the matter?"
"The prince's madness has struck again!!"
Right on cue, a thunderous beast's roar reverberated throughout the royal castle.
Clara, whose complexion instantly turned pale, hastily rose from her seat.
"I must go first."
"I shall follow shortly behind."
The way to suppress the prince's madness was either to make him fight endlessly.
Or for His Majesty to coax him.
Neither able to kill nor let live the royal descendant's bloodline...
"If only he hadn't drawn that sword."
It was useless to regret the past.
Suppressing the prince was the priority now... Gerald gripped the sword at his waist tightly and ran out.
* * *
"Big and beautiful."
A straight blade, a sword face that seemed capable of defending the entire body.
This was what Viscount Arpen had mentioned—the family heirloom.
"Is this it?"
"Yes, it is said to be the Arpen family's heirloom."
[Galaximen]
Grade - Spectral
Imbued Soul - Galaximen de Arpen
Innate Ability - Hardening
"I see."
Rattle rattle.
Upon infusing a bit of divine power, hardening progressed along the forearm gripping the sword.
Tapping it, it was so solid that an ordinary sword wouldn't leave a single scratch even if blocked with the forearm.
If fully infused with divine power, it would become hard enough to momentarily withstand even a Spectral Sword, and depending on usage, it seemed possible to harden not just the forearm but the entire body.
There would be limits, but it was definitely a sword with merit.
It wasn't a family heirloom for nothing.
With it becoming this hard, one could employ a sword style that gave flesh to shave bone.
It was possible to feint offering a vital point, harden to block it, and strike the neck while the opponent was panicked.
Depending on how it was used, it was a sword that could fell even opponents stronger than oneself.
"A fine sword."
However, there was a fatal problem.
The sword was too big and heavy.
The blade's length was close to two meters, and the width was as large as a shield.
Naturally, it was also heavy, so most knights couldn't even lift it properly.
Because the length was so long, it couldn't be used unless one was quite tall.
For Callias, who valued speed and unpredictability, it was a sword he couldn't use as his primary weapon.
"I see why they just kept it stored away."
For Callias, who had stats enhanced by Shi-eun, it wasn't unusable, but it was a sword with no need to force himself to use.
There were many other good swords, so there was no need to strain himself using it.
"Does anyone need it?"
The guys from the Sixth Division had all tried holding it once and all shook their heads.
"It's hard enough just carrying it around, how would we use it? We pass."
"Captain, you're holding that in one hand."
"How would I hold that in one hand?"
No one stepped forward to take it.
To use this sword, it seemed they would need at least a knight of large stature with herculean strength.
With no other choice, Callias put Galaximen into his spatial inventory and surveyed his surroundings.
"Casualties and the dead?"
"Twenty injured, no deaths."
"How are the wounds?"
"Excluding four with severe injuries, sixteen with minor wounds."
"I see."
The members who had trained at the manor were mostly lightly injured.
The remaining severe and minor injuries were among those who hadn't participated in the training.
"...."
"...."
As Callias stared intently, the reporting member and the member beside him awkwardly averted their gazes.
They too had figured out how this situation was playing out.
The knights of Viscount Arpen's territory weren't without skill either, so it had taken quite some time.
Callias looked at the majority of the injured unit members and spoke.
"I won't force you. However, I will continue to wage frequent battles from now on. Think carefully about what difference there is between you and these guys."
This was enough. He had no intention of forcing them.
Left alone, they would naturally gather on their own.
"Where to now?"
"Originally, we were to continue south from here and head to the Valentine Earl's family in the south."
However, Callias couldn't help but click his tongue as he looked at the bug crawling along his finger.
'It was good that Orkal's Third Division departed first and attempted reconnaissance.'
He had planned to strike the viscount, then immediately head south and strike the earldom.
Birds of a feather flock together—whether viscounts or barons, if they all banded together, it would be troublesome.
He had planned to blow them all away at once before they could group up and do something.
But hearing the report, it didn't seem like they could do much heading south.
-It is said that the eldest son of the Luidren family has visited the Valentine Earldom.
If the eldest son, then Luteon's older brother.
Commander of the Southern Golden Lion Knights.
Luen von Luidren.
Among the knights in the kingdom.
One of the Five Stars, considered closest to becoming a Master.
* * *
Clack, clack—the sound of hooves echoed across the plains.
Crossing the plains at a pace neither slow nor fast was the pilgrim Esther, clad in the pure white cloak and garments symbolizing Valterus.
She was carrying out a request to exterminate bandits that had appeared not far from Caladi.
Since it was a relatively simple mission for her, her mindset was light.
Not knowing when Sulivian might become critical, she couldn't venture far, and thus the nature of the missions she accepted followed suit.
Given her diligent nature, sitting idly by was difficult, so she did what she could to help people and the order.
Killing demonic beasts spotted along the way.
Killing bandits.
Helping those seeking aid.
As one who walked the path of the sword, it was somewhat disappointing not encounter strong enemies, but thinking that even such small deeds could help someone gave her a sense of fulfillment.
This time was the same.
She hadn't worn the pure white cloak and garments that symbolized her as a pilgrim.
She wore somewhat tattered and worn clothes.
It was to lure the bandits in.
"But someone already did it."
She had come to where the bandits were said to be acting based on rumors, but there was nothing.
Only corpses.
Esther examined the appearance and sword wounds that looked like bandits and walked along what seemed to be the path to their lair.
They hadn't been dead for long, and following the bandits' corpses, a fence came into view and mountain cabins appeared one after another.
There too, of course, corpses piled like mountains.
Someone had already wiped out the bandits.
Esther slowly drew her sword.
Before the bandits' corpses stood three figures who appeared to be knights, but they all wore hoods, making it impossible to properly see their faces.
There was no guarantee they weren't enemies just because they had exterminated the bandits, so she leveled her sword.
"Who..."
But before she could even finish her words.
Esther was attacked.
The shortest one charged like lightning and thrust a single strike.
Though small in stature, the sword strike was fierce.
But who was Esther?
Was not the order's greatest genius, called the strongest pilgrim, none other than her?
Without difficulty, she blocked the attack and simultaneously moved her wrist as if binding, attempting to disarm the sword.
"Ah."
Startled, the hooded figure released the sword and kicked the hilt with their foot.
"Uh-oh."
The moment they kicked it, the hooded figure executed a backward flip, retreated, and snatched the sword that was spinning through the air.
It was a clean, fluid motion.
The instant Esther was about to say something.
"Uryaah!"
A large figure wearing a hood brought down a greatsword.
Boom! The dirt ground overturned, and clods of earth scattered.
Esther lightly stepped back and retreated, then deflected the incoming sword of yet another hooded figure.
The coordination of the three was smooth, and each individual's swordsmanship had been tempered in real combat.
Rather than the showy swordsmanship typical of nobles, they were all steeped in killing intent and were swords aimed at severing the breath in a single strike.
Esther observed their physical characteristics.
And upon confirming their swordsmanship and habits, she easily discerned their identity.
'Northerners.'
The swords of the north were this intense.
Discarding all vanity and formalities, swords solely for real combat.
Swords for killing demonic beasts, swords for annihilating the barbarians of the north.
Esther liked the swords of the north.
That she preferred practical swordsmanship over the flashy swordsmanship of nobles was natural for a swordsman seeking the proper path.
'They don't seem to be ordinary knights.'
The one who had attacked her first was likely a child.
Being short in stature, the build visible between the cloak and the small hands were those of a child.
For a child, they wielded remarkable swordsmanship and were quite adaptable.
Probably of Zervan's bloodline.
Because the other two were fighting as if protecting that child.
Esther calmly deflected and dodged the three's swords while creating distance.
The probing battle was over.
"Damn."
"She's a formidable expert. Please be careful."
Right on cue, the hoods came off, and each of their appearances was revealed.
The large one simply looked like a bandit, and the one of medium height was a young man with dull blonde hair. He wore an eye patch over one eye, as if he had lost it.
And the last one.
"Who are you? From your movements, you're not just a bandit."
A young girl's voice.
Beneath the removed hood was black bob-cut hair.
And a girl with gleaming ash-gray eyes was glaring at her.
As expected, Zervan's bloodline.
"Young miss, please be careful. She is no ordinary person."
"I know that."
The Zervan girl waited silently, as if expecting an answer.
Esther, realizing her identity as a Zervan and that she came from the north, was about to sheathe her sword but stopped.
The sword the girl was holding.
She had thought it looked mysteriously familiar—it was the sword she had given to Callias as a token of defeat and mark of respect after losing to him.
'Lucen.'
But that sword was in the girl's possession.
Which meant.
'A disciple?'
The disciple of the kingdom's number one ruffian.
It was impossible not to be intrigued by the disciple of the ruffian holding her sword.
If she was the disciple of Callias, the only one to have handed her a defeat, it was enough to stir the desire to cross swords a bit more.
Was she perhaps around twelve years old?
The moment she realized that such a young girl's sword was quite fierce, endearment, admiration, and curiosity were the totality of what Esther felt right now.
"Seems you have no intention of answering."
It was a pricking feeling, but Esther decided to keep her mouth shut.
First and foremost, Callias's disciple.
She wanted to see more of the girl's skill.
If there was something to learn from a duel with her, that wouldn't be a bad thing either.
"Come, disciple of Callias."
At those words spoken with a faint smile, the girl's eyes changed in an instant.
"You're Daddy's enemy."
A fierce killing intent that shouldn't appear from a child pierced through Esther.
But more shocking than that killing intent was...
'...Daddy?'
The word calling the ruffian "Daddy."