Hard Carried by My Sword

Chapter 199

With a sizzle, the light of Four Stars in Vast Heavens gradually diminished. Meanwhile, the heat trapped inside the triangular pit did not disperse so easily, and molten lava rippled within the deep, sharply gouged ground, resembling the crater of an active volcano.

Thick steam billowed up from inside the pit. The ground and air, once frozen over by the Winter Serpent, quickly grew hot again. What wore down in that heat was not just the frost.

As Leon’s body swayed precariously, certain that it was all finally over, Elahan and Karen rushed to support him almost at the same time.

“Hero Leon!”

“Leon?!”

It was only natural. Unlike Elahan, who had been shielded by the high-tier Holy Law, the Holy Barrier, or Karen, who had fought from mid-range while blended into the shadows, Leon had remained in close range with the Winter Serpent from beginning to end.

Even with Aura protecting his body, his strength had been drained constantly, and he had exerted far more than the Stigma of the Guardian could replenish. In fact, it was strange he hadn’t collapsed sooner.

“I’m... fine... I’m not about to faint just yet.”

Even so, Leon clung tightly to his fading consciousness, reassured Karen and Elahan, and forced himself upright. A few deep breaths steadied the drained body. He could not fight, but he could still move himself around. Stilling the trembling in his legs, Leon turned his back on the crater. There was no more business left here.

The Viscount of Ladoga would surely be aghast at having his front yard turned into a wasteland overnight, but since the monster threatening to devour the domain had been destroyed, that much trouble could be pushed aside.

“Karen,” Leon called.

Perhaps she had guessed why he called, for Karen met his gaze with a heavy expression and asked, “You’re going there...?”

“Yes. I know there’s nothing we can do, but at the very least, I feel like we should be there for the last moments.”

“Leon, you’re too good,” muttered Karen, thinking that this was exactly why Leon was the Hero.

While Leon carried out the Winter Serpent’s lure, her assigned task had been to find Dayton’s son. If Elahan or the Church could somehow save his life, they could have avoided a meaningless battle, and there would have been an opportunity to gain a Master-level ally.

“This way.”

Following Karen’s lead, Leon and Elahan walked with ever-heavier steps. Each stride felt like sinking into a bog, and it was no wonder, considering what, or rather who, was waiting for them.

With movements as light as a cat, Karen scaled a wall and pushed open the window of a nameless manor. The ungreased frame creaked, but it seemed there were no guards sharp enough to hear that and come investigate.

The three slipped into someone’s room. At once, a fishy stench, the damp smell one might find at a fish market or along a lonely riverside, stung their noses. To put it bluntly, it smelled like rotting fish.

Oh, Goddess...

Seeing the figure lying in bed, Elahan clasped her hands wordlessly in prayer. The others were no different.

The boy, Dayton el Blanc’s son, David el Blanc, was only ten years old, and his appearance was horrific. His skin, covered in scales, was rotting away; pus and blood streamed from dozens of wounds. His hair was gone, and his skull had jutted into a shape closer to a serpent’s than a human’s.

“Was he being transformed into a snake person...?” Leon muttered, guessing at his condition.

Snake person, or Serpent-men, whatever one wished to call it, was the servant race of the Winter Serpent. As a human, there was no survival for David. Lifeforms based on exolaw, however, were all unnaturally resilient, able to endure sicknesses and wounds that no human could survive. Knowing that, Dayton must have wished to forsake his son’s humanity if only he could cling to life.

Elahan poured Holy Law into David’s body once, then soon shook her head.

“It seems that way. But when the Winter Serpent was banished, the mutation stopped, leaving him frozen between the two races. As he is, he won’t last long. There’s also almost no chance he’ll regain consciousness.”

Leon closed and opened his eyes at the bleak conclusion and asked, “Can he be turned back into a human?”

Elahan answered, “That is not possible. Even to keep him alive like this is....”

“I see.”

Elahan took a cloth prepared at the bedside and wiped the sweat, blood, and pus from his brow, then gazed down at him with pity.

“It seems this child was in a life-threatening state since his mother’s womb. Sir Dayton merely used some means to extend his life.”

In an ordinary household, the child would have been lost before half a year in utero. Elahan’s diagnosis was quite literally the worst: fragile bone density, severed blood vessels and nerves beyond counting, even muscular atrophy. Counting his internal organs, there were too many problems for her fingers.

With a long sigh, Elahan declared, “As a Saintess, I say this plainly. There is no way to heal this child. What we can do is ease his suffering and let him pass peacefully.”

“How?” Leon asked.

“I can do it.”

Asking them to entrust it to her, Elahan gave a sorrowful smile. With the two watching, she laid her hand upon David’s forehead, where his shallow, irregular breaths still flickered.

The faint light of life wavered beneath his skin.

“O Goddess...”

A gentle glow spread from Elahan’s body. Wrapped in Holy Power, she chanted a prayer in a quiet voice. It was not like the litanies of mass or worship. It was the kind of prayer spoken in funerals, when mourning or blessing the dead.

“Ah...” Karen groaned at the sight of David’s face.

The pained expression twisted by suffering had softened, and tears slid peacefully from his eyes. After a few minutes, when Elahan’s lips finally closed, David’s suffering had ended.

***

The forest near Golden Whale was a land buried in dense trees. Aside from the three main roads, there were no proper paths.

Only a few months ago, it had been the livelihood of herbalists and woodcutters. With no overwhelming predators, the forest had been peaceful—until, in a matter of days, the sharp stench of blood filled the air.

Several heads, faces still frozen in confusion, rolled across the ground like discarded trash. The cuts were so clean that the blood sprayed only after a brief delay.

It was swordsmanship at an absurd level. A blade honed enough to cut mithril without Aura was in the hands of one who stood at the threshold of the ultimate limit of mastery. Armor, shields, swords, spears—all were shredded like straw, scattering crimson blood.

Cedric, the swordsman who carried the storm of blood, ran his eyes over the demon sword in his hand and wore a cold smile, muttering, “Not bad. Even after this much abuse, not a single notch.”

Even a well-crafted blade would chip and dull if swung without Aura. However, the demon sword, Dainslife, grew sharper by devouring the blood and flesh clinging to its steel. It truly was a sword well-suited to a butcher.

“Enemy of Hispania, Sword Demon Cedric! Don’t you dare run! Come face my lance!”

“Oh?”

The charging power of the lance, driven by horsemanship at the level where the man and horse were nearly one, was formidable. An Expert-level knight throwing his life into a lance charge held enough power to slay even an ogre in a single blow.

However, Cedric’s words poured a bucket of ice-cold water over the fervor.

“Your spirit deserves some respect. Not bad for a scrub from Hispania.”

The moment Cedric’s blade flashed, the knight and his horse were split in two.

A strike traveled down the exact centerline of the body, from head to groin. The bisected corpse even kept running past Cedric before collapsing in halves.

“Hmph.”

Cedric flicked his blade out of habit, though Dainslife, which devoured flesh and blood, was always spotless. The sword had even learned to hurry and feed, anticipating its master’s habits. The blade was so clean that it almost seemed transparent.

Even after nearly a thousand kills, Cedric stood utterly calm. It was a terrifying sight to those who faced him.

“A-a monster! How are we supposed to beat that!?”

“He’s the one who wiped out three knightly orders alone! How can three battalions stand against him? What were our spies even doing?!”

“Scatter! Run! Warn the main force! Tell them the Sword Demon Cedric has sided with the Clyde Empire!”

The three thousand elite troops from Hispania broke and fled in chaos. Not because they were untrained or weak, but because Cedric was far too strong.

He summoned no storms, raised no flames. He cut them down with nothing but his sword.

Soldiers, knights, horses, hundreds, then thousands. He strolled as if out on a walk, mowing down every foe in his path like straw men.

“So that’s all. Took longer than I thought.”

Cedric muttered without emotion as he watched the retreating soldiers, never once looking back. From the start, there was only one outcome, really.

Only a Master could stop a Master. And Hispania held only one, who could not cross the border. Had they known Cedric was here, Hispania would have withdrawn its army, even at the cost of breaking their alliance with the Maritime Union of Meril.

Dainslife hummed and vibrated roughly in his hand. It wanted more. More blood.

Cedric, however, ignored it and sheathed the blade. What sword dares give orders to its master?

Still, it’s already advanced two stages at least. More useful than expected. It’s definitely worthy of being called a demon sword.

It could slice through a full plate even without Aura, heal its wielder, and increase their strength with every kill. For an Aura Master, it was manageable, but for anyone below Expert, it was like a divine weapon. An Expert holding Dainslife could face ten of his peers and still have the advantage.

Then, a voice came from behind him.

“Congratulations on your victory, Sir Cedric.”

It belonged to a blond, blue-eyed youth, carrying an unusual air about him. It was Lyon.

“This isn’t worth congratulations. Perhaps if I’d cut down ten thousand.”

“Is that so? True, this was never a fight in the first place.”

A fight exists only when both sides have a chance to win or lose. If one side can only lose, it is no different from an execution. Such had been Cedric’s battle against Hispania’s three thousand.

Lyon looked over the countless corpses strewn across the ground, his expression unreadable as his eyes took in the mountain of bodies and sea of blood.

“Hey,” Cedric called.

“Yes?”

“Who was your master? Judging from your skill, he must have been quite formidable.”

“Well, I’ve never apprenticed under anyone...”

Lyon had fled the Emperor’s purge as a child. He’d taken secret imperial manuals with him, but there had been no one to teach him. Gilbert had helped interpret, but that hardly made him a master.

Cedric recognized the truth in his words and chuckled.

“Interesting. To reach the peak of Expert rank at your age, self-taught? You’re as much a genius as I am. Seems I’ve been running into promising ones often lately.”

“Has anyone else caught your eye?”

Lyon asked with the greed of a ruler. If such a person were nearby, he’d pay any price to recruit them. However, Cedric’s reply bleached his mind.

“That kid was better than you. What was his name... Ah, Leon, was it?”

“...”

“I crossed blades with him in Jugend. Depending on the circumstances, he could threaten me. A bit unpolished as a swordsman, but as a martial artist overall, he was not beneath me. He’s someone I’d gladly risk my life to duel one day.”

It seemed Cedric did not know Leon was the Hero, so Lyon bit back the words on his tongue. Cedric was a hedonist to the bone. If given something to chase, he might simply wander off—and Lyon would lose the Master he had gained without paying a thing.

Leon has already become a Swordmaster?

Lyon had always told himself that the duel that he had lost against Leon back at the Academy wasn’t a true, fair duel. That excuse now crumbled. The inferiority he had buried deep inside clawed its way up again.

Perhaps that was why he asked Cedric the question.

“Sir Cedric... To reach the realm of a Master, what must one do?”