EP.137 The Trial That Must Be Endured (4)
Phantom Territory, Grave of the Sword.
Nestled between two sheer cliffs, the Grave of the Sword was not originally called the Phantom Territory. It certainly was not referred to by such a grim name.
“Holy Site of the Sword, Galatrick.”
That was the original name this land held.
“The Canyon of Swords and the Holy Site of the Sword.”
Countless Sword Masters were trained here. Countless legendary swords were forged. Regardless of where they were born or what their race was, for those who wielded a sword, the Canyon of Swords was a place akin to their hometown. To etch their name on the stele that stood tall at the Holy Site… well, that was something every sword wielder dreamed of at least once.
But now, all of that is a thing of the past.
The Holy Site collapsed. The stele honoring the great Knights was shattered. Countless Sword Masters were buried beneath the canyon. The forge that never cooled, no matter the season, has gone cold.
All glory has been buried beneath the earth.
Thus, the Canyon of Swords became a grave. The name of Holy Site was replaced with the derogatory term, Phantom Territory.
“Then, why a grave?”
That question is utterly meaningless.
Stand at the entrance of the canyon. And look. At the Holy Site that has become a Phantom Territory. You will naturally understand.
Why this place is called the Grave of the Sword.
Broken and splintered swords are driven into the ground. For a Knight, a sword is akin to their life. The fallen canyon is full of abandoned lives.
What lies buried is the lives of those who wielded them.
The broken and splintered are their pride.
As you walk along the broken and crumbled, you will arrive at the center of the grave. At the center, a gigantic sword mark remains. As if the cliff aimed to cleave the heavens, it soars upward.
“…”
At the end of that mark stands he.
Unmoving, like a statue.
Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade.
The calamity that single-handedly brought down the Holy Site.
A calamity in the form of death.
He slowly opened his eyes that had been closed. His black pupils glistened through the broken helmet. What do those eyes see? His own hand.
“…Is that so.”
A human hand, not a beast’s.
With a hand clad in armor, Ganikalt grasps the sword. The great sword that was embedded in the ground slips out gently. Ganikalt looks at that sword.
A great sword with holes pierced through it.
From the pierced holes, shadows trickle down.
What he sees is the shadow’s sword. However, what he recalls is the Star Sword he once held long ago. His gaze upon the sword became distant.
Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade, is a Knight.
Just as those who live by the sword are obsessed with their swords, Ganikalt has never forgotten his beloved sword. A sword is a knight’s companion and a half of their soul.
“Have you found it?”
Someone clutched his half-soul.
A worn soul resonates.
The half-soul left far away calls out to him.
“Have you finally found it?”
The time that had stagnated for centuries is about to flow once again.
The forgotten era, the ashes of the burned and vanished age, seeks to ignite once more. Holding the sword, Ganikalt spoke the name of the ashes.
“Armiel.”
A name longed for.
It was a name he missed terribly.
—
Thud, boom.
His heart raced violently. Blood quickly turned in his body. His pupils moved wildly, and his throat went dry. Swallowing a dry gulp, I focused my eyes.
Ganikalt, the Death’s Blade.
That monster is not here. I felt not even a trace of his presence. There was no suffocating pressure. Yet, cold sweat trickled down my spine.
“The symbol of Ganikalt.”
The Death’s Blade.
The sword of calamity.
It was the only great sword that could not be broken by any spell, not even scratched by Kyle’s holy sword. The only thing the Holy Sword could not cleave.
And it stood right before me.
“It’s the same.”
There was no way I could have been mistaken.
This was undoubtedly it.
Having parried that sword even once, I vividly remembered what happens when that sword is swung.
My mouth went dry.
I rubbed my throat, thinking.
“Why is that here?”
The thought in my head was a question.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was related to the Death’s Blade. It was connected. Without a doubt. It wasn’t a baseless intuition.
“Shape, hole, something trickling from the hole.”
I narrowed my eyes.
Of course, the trickling was different. If sludge flowed from Ganikalt’s sword… in front of my eyes, platinum starlight flowed from the sword.
Drip, plop.
The starlight that flowed from the blade fell into the spring. That was the true identity of the soft glow lingering in the spring.
Is that so? At that moment, I realized.
This place resembles the Mana Spring, but it is not a Mana Spring. The reason is precisely this starlight. Mana infused with starlight becomes more potent, taking on a form entirely different from regular mana.
“Just like Kyle’s mana.”
The great sword embedded in the Mana Spring.
This changed the very nature of the spring.
“Then, why is starlight flowing from that sword?”
I asked myself but found no answer.
Why is the sword resembling the Death’s Blade trickling starlight, and why is it planted in the place where Lac’s ancestor left his beloved weapon?
Not one of those facts could I comprehend.
Even speculating was an arduous task.
“…Lac’s ancestor, the Death’s Blade?”
That made even less sense.
The progenitor of the Grace family was, at least as far as I could remember, a figure from ancient times. A person from after the Four Calamities unveiled themselves.
And I had never heard of him being a huge Skeleton.
“…What in the hell?”
I frowned.
Slowly taking a deep breath, I calmed down. Ultimately, the only thing I could figure out right now was one.
“That great sword.”
Something is hidden within that cursed sword.
“If something is hidden, then…”
I have to pull it out.
Generally, things like that yield answers when broken or smashed. I strode forward. Splash, the sound of water splashing. I crossed the stream and approached the sword embedded at the center of the spring.
The sword resembling the Death’s Blade.
The mysterious sword.
I reached out toward that sword. Whether this place was a family sanctuary or whatever, I really didn’t care now. I intended to pull it out.
Clank.
Just as I gripped the sword, Screeeech!
Heat surged on my palm. The gloves melted away. Heat pierced through several layers of mana and burned my palm. I could hear the sound of my skin sizzling.
“It’s hot.”
It was scorching but bearable.
I glared at the sword, tightening my grip. With a clunk, the blade’s end slightly pulled out.
“It’s coming out.”
It’s not entirely impossible.
At this point, it’s all about determination. Just as that thought crossed my mind, about to unleash the stored spell…
Boom!
The sword trembled violently. My hand that was holding the hilt was flung back. The sword plunges deeper into the earth than it was before I touched it.
“…What the hell.”
I blinked in confusion.
The sword seemed to reject me. As if it had consciousness. The starlight pouring from the sword was refusing my mana.
“This is like…”
It was the same as when I forcibly gripped Kyle’s holy sword. When I tried to take the holy sword from that bastard and use it… the same phenomenon occurred then.
“It feels like it’s rejecting my very soul.”
Only those permitted, those chosen by the stars, can wield the holy sword… Perhaps this sword also has certain conditions. Ultimately, it meant I couldn’t grasp it.
“…Hah.”
A sigh escaped from my lips.
“What is all of this.”
I rubbed my scorched palm and glared at the sword once more. I thought about smashing the ground to dust… but it didn’t seem likely.
“Tch.”
Just as I was about to turn away with a click of my tongue, the cloth wrapped around the hilt fluttered in the wind.
Tattered cloth.
At a glance, it looked like it was simply wrapped around the hilt, lacking any significance. But for some reason, I found myself staring at it as if enchanted. It was the cloth that had released enough heat to scorch my palm. I felt strongly that there was something hidden within.
“…Letters?”
As I stared intently at the cloth, I noticed something.
The cloth was inscribed with letters.
I grasped the fluttering cloth. I untied the wrapped portion. It seemed as if the sword refused to reject me for the act of unwrapping.
Rustle.
On the unwrapped cloth from the hilt, several lines of text appeared.
“Ganikalt van Galatrick.”
“In honor of you, who was prouder than anyone else.”
As my gaze read down the sentences, it finally rested at the very end of the cloth. There was a name written, as if someone had signed.
“Cardi van .”
A name erased.
Yet, just seeing it was enough.
“…Cardi.”
The incomprehensible ancient Elf.
The moment I saw that guy’s name, I fell silent. My pupils grew cold. It felt as if cold water had been poured into my head.
“Go to the North, Raniel.”
“Go to the North and ascend the Kurakt Mountain Range. There, you will find the answer.”
The conversation we shared not long ago echoed in my ears.
I tore my gaze from the cloth. Lifting my head, I looked outside the sanctuary. Though the howling blizzard obscured my vision, the silhouette of the towering snowy peaks was within sight.
The highest mountain range in the North.
A place that no one’s footsteps are permitted.
“…If I ascend there.”
If I reach that place you spoke of.
“Will I understand what this is, Cardi?”
I hope so.
If not, it seems I’ll have to pull out the answer this time.
—
“This bone piece points to the Kurakt Mountain Range.”
Draka’s words made the Cardinal catch his breath.
“…You mean the Kurakt Mountain Range?”
The Kurakt Mountain Range.
The Cardinal also knew well about that mountain range. The strongest blizzards rage there in the North. It devoured many adventurers who came hearing rumors of hidden treasures… the most perilous snow-capped mountains in the North.
“Though the Sword Demon is a superhuman…”
Climbing the Kurakt Mountain Range is impossible.
In the past, a Saint who received a prophecy once pointed to the Kurakt Mountain Range as a means to defeat the calamity. At that time, a expedition led by the one called the Indomitable challenged the Kurakt Mountain Range.
“The result was a defeat.”
Only the Indomitable returned alive.
Even that one could not surpass the mountain’s midpoint.
“If it was impossible for a hero…”
There’s no way the Sword Demon could do it.
As he thought that, the Cardinal suddenly glanced at the bone piece in the Sword Demon’s hand—the fragment of the First Saint.
He had explained it was a relic obtained from deep within the ancient kingdom, a place considered impossible to even step foot in.
A man who had once accomplished the impossible.
The Cardinal couldn’t assert there wouldn’t be a second time.
“…Is it possible to ascend?”
“Originally, it would have been impossible. I’ve tried everything for the past ten years, but it was all in vain.”
But, the Sword Demon spoke.
“Recently, a way to ascend the Kurakt Mountain Range has appeared.”
He pointed outside.
Even from this place, the Kurakt Mountain Range was visible. It was a sight visible from anywhere in the North.
“Not long ago, the blizzards surrounding the Kurakt Mountain Range have weakened. Days come where the blizzards lessen every few days.”
“…Weakened?”
“I don’t know the reason. Simply, the blizzards have weakened… and I have no intention of letting this opportunity slip by. Isn’t that right, Cardinal?”
Draka’s eyes narrowed.
“I will ascend the mountain. Following this bone piece that points to the peak…”
After a brief pause, he said.
“I will obtain the remains of the First Saint.”
A voice filled with conviction.
As his gaze met Draka’s, the Cardinal instinctively held his breath. The determination radiating from the Sword Demon’s bloodshot eyes felt like madness.
“…This is chilling.”
The remains of the First Saint.
That is a miraculous relic that can achieve anything.
The man, obsessed with the apostate, covets that relic. The Cardinal knew the reason well.
“No matter how much of a ghost he is…”
The Sword Demon was once merely a human.
Humans always regret. They cling to the past, recalling what has gone by. They live immersed in memories that cannot be returned.
“If you truly intend to find the remains…”
Then.
“We must prepare as well.”
Humans seek to recover what is lost.
Even if it means crossing forbidden lines.
“The Ritual of Resurrection.”
The words of the Cardinal twisted his mouth.
“That is clearly apostasy.”
An act that cuts off the providence.
Contrary to the predetermined flow.
What is called a taboo, something one should not do.
Thus, it is deemed apostasy.
What Draka sought was precisely that. If there are the remains of the Saint, it wouldn’t be impossible. There had been legends that the First Saint resurrected the dead, and the record of the holy art she used back then remained as a forbidden tome deep within the Church.
And Draka had read it.
The Cardinal who lent it to him also knew what it contained.
“I like how quickly you grasp the story. I’ll leave the preparations for the altar to you. I entrust it to you, Cardinal.”
Though he was aware of its content, the man before him casually said to prepare the ‘altar’ as if it were a light request. The Cardinal, constrained by decorum, asked.
“…It will require many sacrifices.”
The Ritual of Resurrection could only be performed by the First Saint, who was closest to the stars. Even if they brought the remains of the Saint, there would certainly be shortcomings.
“To make up for the shortcomings…”
They would need to offer something that corresponds in value.
Even roughly calculating, it wasn’t a small number.
“Is the offering not prepared for that?”
In response to that question, Draka answered indifferently.
His outstretched finger pointed toward the vacant-eyed children.
“The forbidden art to resurrect the First Saint. If sacrificed for that, wouldn’t it be glorious?”
“…Ah.”
A smile crept onto the Cardinal’s lips.
“Indeed, that is so. I understand well.”
The question he posed for decorum had ended.
What remained was to make the plan more concrete.
“So when will the exploration begin? We too must prepare the altar according to the schedule.”
“In three days.”
Draka extended three fingers.
“In three days, on the day when the blizzard is most calm.”
He said.
“Let us commence then.”
—
“I think I’ll take a break from training in three days.”
“…What?”
Lac, who was hurriedly eating soup, dropped his spoon. Clatter!, resonating loudly. Lac opened his eyes wide, questioning.
“You’re… taking a break from class?”
“It’s more like training. In any case, there won’t be training in three days, so you don’t have to come.”
A break from classes.
The word flashed in Lac’s mind.
It was a sweet word. Just recalling it brought a smile to his lips.
“But I mustn’t show my delight.”
Instinctively, Lac sensed that.
Suppressing the smile that was trying to spread, Lac cleared his throat and opened his mouth.
“Is there something going on?”
“It’s nothing special.”
She responded to his inquiry.
“I feel I need to climb a mountain.”
