Chapter 62 ….
I tidied my hair and stole a glance at him. Since we were seated at about the same height, there was no need to tilt my head up to look at him.
He’s completely hooked.
Erendor’s bright blue eyes gleamed even sharper than before. I looked at him briefly, then gestured politely toward the greatsword hanging across his back.
“Since Brother Erendor is a swordsman, I thought you might take interest in a story about such a blade.”
“Oh, hm. Yes, of course… how could I not? Why don’t you tell me that interesting story? A tale that crossed the continent sounds even more intriguing.”
Erendor was a man utterly incapable of hiding his thoughts. Or perhaps he simply had no need to. A man with nothing to lose and only brute strength to rely on…
The desire for power stirred within me, but I restrained it. A silkworm lives best by eating mulberry leaves. That was the role I’d been born into.
Smoothly, I began my tale.
“For a long time on our continent, there was a rumor. A sword that calls for blood… a sword that summons war… It had countless titles.”
It didn’t take long to draw him into this story—half true, half fabricated—just as I had ensnared the sly nobles and widows at banquets before.
“The sword was said to be both breathtakingly beautiful and devastating. As many people desired it as there were names for it. But the end of those who possessed it was never pleasant. Every single one of them died miserably and horribly.”
“Oh…”
He was so pure it reminded me of Austin Gerard—perhaps just a touch more discerning.
“Perhaps, after taking so many screams, even their souls… clung to the blade after death. Heh. Of course, we cannot know the truth unless we die ourselves.”
I gave him a languid smile.
The Ifrit that had been hovering beside him was now retreating some distance away, trembling as though frightened of something.
Was something nearby? It couldn’t possibly be afraid of me. I had zero combat ability and survived solely on my silver tongue—what was there to fear?
When I glanced subtly toward the building I had exited, I found the answer.
Calebryn stood at a second-floor window in the distance, staring at me with a menacing aura. Whether he could see the Ifrit or not, he was watching its vague position the way a cat stares at an insect.
Why do I feel like I’m the one who did something wrong…?
Perhaps I should’ve said something before leaving. Come to think of it, Kardil would probably worry. And Yelena… she’d likely scold me for abandoning my escort without permission.
I only meant to take a walk. It’s not my fault I ran into Erendor.
While I was lost in thought and momentarily silent, Erendor beamed and reacted enthusiastically.
“That’s a fascinating story! So what happened? You said someone asked you to lift the curse from that sword. Did the Saint manage to dispel it in the end? I’m dying to know.”
I tried my best to ignore Calebryn’s gaze and focus solely on Erendor.
“This is where the story becomes even more interesting. That sword came into my possession… not long ago. Quite recently, in fact.”
“Recently?”
He looked at me like a child begging for one more bedtime story.
“As a Saint, I have had the opportunity to meet many high-ranking figures. One marquis among them… possessed that sword. He cherished it so much that even in places where weapons were forbidden, he stubbornly insisted on wearing it. Unlike your blade, Brother Erendor, it was slender and elegant in shape…”
“Could it be… something like a flamberge? I’m just curious. Stories are more fun when you can imagine the details vividly.”
Though I knew exactly what the sword looked like and what it was capable of, I chose not to elaborate. The best stories always cut off at the highlight.
“I’m not sure. I have no particular expertise in martial arts or weaponry. If you show me what a flamberge looks like, perhaps I could answer.”
“We’ll be traveling together anyway, so we’ll have plenty of time. I’ll show you. And in return, you continue that interesting story. How does that sound?”
It seemed he was preparing to wrap things up. There were too many eyes and ears around us to continue much further.
“That sounds excellent. For companions embarking on a long journey together, engaging stories are only proper.”
I smiled brightly and picked up a fallen leaf that had landed on my thigh, rolling it between my fingers.
The Ifrit, which had been trembling behind a tree, slowly floated closer. A warm breeze seemed to accompany its movement. Truly a spirit of fire.
It met my eyes briefly, then circled around me, as if intrigued.
I did my best to pretend I couldn’t see it. If I acknowledged it, who knew how Erendor would react? In this situation, the more abilities I concealed, the better.
It was trembling before, and now it’s approaching out of curiosity? Was there really an assassin nearby earlier?
Given that I could be assassinated at any moment, it was unsettling. But with Erendor here, I was probably safe. He wouldn’t let me die before I revealed what had happened to the demonic sword.
After briefly communicating with the circling Ifrit, Erendor’s expression turned subtle.
What’s that look? Did the spirit badmouth me?
As far as I remembered, spirits were merely parts of nature that wielded their respective elemental powers. Nothing more.
Then Erendor said something absurd.
“You… you’re more fragile than I thought.”
Fragile…
To be called that by a man I’d barely exchanged a few words with…
I was momentarily stunned, though I did not show it. Sernuan Lumiere would never stand there blankly after hearing such words. Protect the Saint’s persona.
“Is that so? I lack any skill in martial arts, so I have little talent for physical pursuits. Compared to a steadfast warrior like you, Brother Erendor, I must indeed seem frail.”
Erendor opened his mouth, then hesitated.
“That’s not exactly what I meant. Hm… well. Let’s continue this interesting conversation later, my friend.”
It seemed he hadn’t meant it the way I’d interpreted. Perhaps it wasn’t appropriate to discuss here.
“Very well. We’ll see each other soon enough. Let us speak at leisure then, Brother.”
Erendor nodded and leapt away with the Ifrit floating beside him. With a single bound, he was already at the edge of my vision.
Then he drew his sword.
The massive greatsword slid smoothly from his back, its elegant blade gleaming. Along its edge were engraved characters I couldn’t decipher. They suddenly flared crimson.
Wow… it’s exactly like it was in the game…!
My inner fanatic ignited.
He gripped the greatsword in one hand and swung it casually. The red letters vanished, replaced by a blazing arc of sword energy.
“Damn it!”
From within the bushes where the energy flew, someone bolted in panic. Too late. The invisible Ifrit brushed against the fleeing figure and burned them alive.
“Aaaagh! Hot! It’s— it’s burning—!”
It wasn’t as fierce as Calebryn’s magic circle, but a man was burning before my eyes. A foul smell rose briefly, then faded.
The purification relic hummed vigorously; even the drifting ashes that reached me dissolved into light. The burning stranger tried to plunge into a nearby pond, but the flames clinging to him would not go out.
Seeing someone burn to death so close unsettled me. I activated the Scales.
As expected. An assassin.
Not at Alderrion’s level, but there were charges of murder and assault. Even infanticide. He’d lived diligently as an assassin.
Let him die.
If he had been hiding in the bushes, he’d intended to kill me. Had Erendor not chosen to protect me, I would’ve been the one dying.
The thrashing in the water gradually ceased. He likely died of toxic fumes before the flames consumed him fully.
When I looked back to where Erendor had stood, he had already vanished. He’d returned without a second thought, leaving the burning man behind.
Erendor really was impressive—commanding spirits, wielding a greatsword with flashy effects. Nothing like Sernuan Lumiere, who relied on a forked tongue.
If I just reach Elhar’s Tear, strike a deal with Erendor, and obtain the holy relic…
In the original story, Erendor had little attachment to the elves. Stealing their relic—or at least granting me access—shouldn’t be difficult.
It would be nice if he delivered it straight to me like a courier service. That might be too much to ask. The relic is inside the World Tree, so I’ll have to go myself to check what else is there…
But I was stationed here as the Saint. If I disappeared for long, people would notice. Even during sleep.
Yelena, Calebryn, Kardil—and other guards from Senta—would always be near. With my agility and stealth stats at zero, slipping away to the World Tree alone was…
Practically impossible.
I rose from the bench and dusted off my clothes. It was about time to head back.
As I walked leisurely, long legs swaying, I thought:
There’s only one way to get inside the World Tree.
The more concrete the plan became in my mind, the more extreme it seemed. But I had no alternative.
Senta and the Empire might suffer for it. But I’d never possessed patriotism to begin with.
I should contact Austin Gerard.
And now that I had met Erendor face to face, I could contact him as well. The plan forming in my mind should proceed smoothly.
They’re both the physical type. Makes them so easy to manipulate.
Using two soft-eared warriors for my scheme would be simple. Even accounting for unknown differences from the original Erendor, it would work.
Smiling, I closed the door.
The next day.
I toured Senta like a politician on the campaign trail, meeting citizens.
Kardil yawned constantly, fatigue plastered across his face. Calebryn’s eyes darted anxiously through the crowds. Yelena remained composed as ever.
I waved to the throngs and recited a few learned doctrines. Cheers erupted.
“Saint! Please grant me your blessing!”
The booming voice was clearly coveting the miracle I had performed before.
Their blatant desire did not displease me. It was natural for humans to crave.
To wish for health is only natural. Few enjoy suffering.
“Please grant us a miracle!”
Do you know the tale of the Monkey’s Flower Shoes?
A monkey grows accustomed to the flower shoes gifted by a badger, forgetting how to walk on its own. Without them, it cannot even step on the ground, and its life becomes collateral in the badger’s hands.
I would tame Senta’s people like that monkey. Not just Senta, but the Empire—and beyond that, the entire world.
Then the quest would end.
“I pray for a world without pain.”
Light spread from beneath my feet. Their wounds vanished, and they rejoiced as if flying.
“Ascetic! Ascetic! Ascetic!”
As their chant rang out, I waved once more.
Yes. Rejoice to your heart’s content.
It won’t last very long.
