Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 102

What a strange twist of fate, Elahan thought as she looked at the devastated Lyon, briefly wondering whether all those many similarities between the two men had really been a coincidence.

Leon and Lyon. Both names were read the same and meant the same. Their birthdays were exactly a year apart. The fact that they’d trained together in the same place may have been part of the Goddess’s design. If that were true—

Perhaps he was... a candidate for Hero.

On top of her devout faith, Elahan’s mind was as exceptional as her physical ability. From just a few clues, she’d reached a near-accurate guess, showing the evidence of her extraordinary intellect.

However, she didn’t voice her theory. The Holy Sword’s master had already been chosen. Whether Lyon was a candidate or not, he could not become the Hero. The Goddess’s choice was undoubtedly the right one.

“I’ll be taking my leave now.”

When Lyon remained motionless, Elahan turned to go first. There was only one path, so she naturally passed by his side. She spared a glance at the disheartened young man and was about to descend the mountain.

“Please wait,” said the old knight, Gilbert, stepping in front of her.

“I believe I said there would be no second chances.”

Being a Saintess didn’t mean she was endlessly merciful. In fact, the title had softened her image; in reality, she was the vice-commander of the Holy Iron Inquisitors and stood at the forefront of heresy purges. Since the first Saintess, none had ever focused solely on healing or support arts.

As a ruthless executioner, her eyes now gleamed with a chilling light as that side of her revealed itself.

“Loyalty is not the same as righteousness, and there is no pardon for those who feel no remorse,” Elahan declared.

Light seeped out from beneath her loose robe. Following the paths engraved on the surface of her armor, divine power began to circulate and expand, enveloping her.

She had activated the sacred barrier called Sacris Moenia, turning into a fortress in human form, impervious even to an Aura Blade. Its terrifying power wasn’t limited to defense.

It could multiply the user’s physical capabilities without burden and amplify Elahan’s already immeasurable Holy Power to an unthinkable degree. Her combat power after activation easily tripled.

“Deus Lo Vult.”

With that cold prayer, a helmet sprang from her armor, covering her silver hair. From behind the mirrored visor, golden light radiated from her eyes. Now fully prepared for battle, Elahan raised both fists.

“I, Saintess Elahan, shall now pass judgment for the sin of blasphemy.”

Gilbert could no longer stand unarmed in the presence of that overwhelming energy. His honed warrior instincts took over, and his hand moved to the hilt at his waist.

This bastard sword forged from mithril alloy was his lifelong companion. This blade, which had never once chipped in decades of use, was Gilbert’s second self.

“Tch...!”

However, even with that sword in hand, the pressure weighing on him didn’t ease. This was proof that the difference in level between the two of them wasn’t something that could be bridged by simply drawing a weapon.

Even so, he did not step back. The moment he decided to stand before the Saintess, his resolve had already been made.

“Please...” Gilbert finally managed to speak, pleading before her, “...reconsider.”

For the master he had sworn to serve. For the oath he had carved into his sword and soul. For the salvation of a nation lost in chaos.

Even as he faced an overwhelming foe, he did not waver, shouting with all his heart, “For the Empire! For the people suffering under a mad emperor! For the golden age that will follow!”

That burning cry stirred Lyon from his daze. Still unsure what was happening, he looked at his loyal liege’s back with dazed eyes.

How many times had he leaned on that broad back? While fleeing from the Mad Emperor’s pursuit, while unconscious from assassin attacks, it had always been that back that protected his life and reminded him of his burden.

“Prince Lyon is the true Hero who will guide the light of this world!”

To that desperate cry, Elahan replied, “Nonsense.”

Her voice was completely devoid of warmth. With eyes as cold and dull as metal, she stared him down, realizing that even ignorance could be a sin.

He knew nothing. And because of that, he stood proudly without shame.

“While you all waited for the day of prophecy, the Hero was already out saving lives with a sealed Holy Sword.”

Being the Hero didn’t make one immortal. The incomplete Holy Sword was nothing more than an extremely well-crafted weapon.

He’d gone out into the world with no one’s help, valuing the lives of others over his own fame and fortune. Those actions were the Hero’s true proof and qualifications.

“To me, there is only one Hero. It is Hero Leon.”

He was the hero she had chosen to serve. And because of that, she could not forgive the loyal man standing in her way.

“On behalf of every life he has saved, I pronounce judgment.”

With that declaration, Elahan moved. Though the full plate mail weighed over twenty kilograms, she moved like a storm. Her speed completely outstripped Gilbert’s dynamic vision.

She didn’t need to use any tricks. All she needed was just a full-speed charge and one short punch.

Gilbert, who had blocked the blow with his sword, was launched backward. Had it not been for a lifetime of intuition and discipline, he would’ve been finished in a single strike.

Blood, not fully swallowed, trickled from the corner of his mouth, dyeing his beard red. Even his bastard sword was bent inward at the middle, making him question the supposed durability of mithril alloy for a moment.

No... It’s not the sword. This Saintess is just too strong.

Gilbert knew from his experience with Swormasters, the ones who had transcended human limits. Having faced such beings before, he recognized that the Saintess was no less monstrous than they were.

There was no chance of victory. The only outcome for him was a tragic death.

I’m sorry, Your Highness. I had hoped to see the moment you ascended the throne.

Clouded by obsession, his eyes and heart had crossed the line. The instant Gilbert realized his error, the haze lifted, and light returned to the eyes that had wandered for decades.

It was a moment of enlightenment. It was even a fleeting opportunity for him to become a Swordmaster.

However, Elahan struck in that very moment.

“How dare you.”

With a squelch, her hand pierced his breastplate like paper, drove into his chest, and burst out through his back. A few ribs snapped, and excruciating pain flooded every corner of his body.

It was a fatal blow. Having missed his moment of insight, Gilbert trembled with wide eyes before collapsing, limp and unconscious.

“Just as spilled water cannot be gathered back, every sin must be paid for,” Elahan said as she withdrew her hand from his chest. “It was good that you repented in the end, but to take the reward without so much as an apology? That is unacceptable.”

It was at that moment that a scream was heard.

“GILBEEEERT!”

Lyon, witnessing his loyal liege’s final breath, drew his sword and charged. This was the man who had cared for him longer than even his father. The rage that surged within him burned away the despair clouding his vision. He glared through the Saintess’ helmet with fury.

His sword blazed with transparent Aura. Lyon’s Aura Sword was imbued with the Light attribute. Combined with Clyde’s secret sword techniques, he accelerated so fast his movement left multiple afterimages.

The blades of illusion targeted four vital points on Elahan’s body. Pushed past his limits by fury, Lyon attacked at full force. However, the Saintess wasn’t a normal opponent. With a crash, Lyon’s sword shattered into pieces.

“Illusion Blade doesn’t work against opponents above your level. Your speed was decent, but blinded by rage, your trajectory was far too predictable.”

“Shut up!”

“Eh...?”

Overwhelmed by rage and helplessness, Lyon screamed, gripping the broken hilt.

“You dare call yourself the Goddess’s Staff, and crush lives without hesitation?! A monster like you can’t be a Saintess! Even if Gilbert was out of line, shouldn’t a vassal’s crimes be blamed on their master?!”

He had lost someone who was like a father to him. If only he had come to his senses sooner, he might have stopped it. That guilt, combined with his hatred toward the Saintess, crushed what little reason he had left.

Elahan, on the other hand, looked unfazed.

“You’re mistaken,” she remarked and pointed at Gilbert, lying on the ground. “Look again. He’s still alive.”

“What are you say... W-what?!”

Lyon’s eyes widened. The gaping hole in Gilbert’s chest had closed up. Aside from some blood stains, he was breathing just fine.

It didn’t make any sense. As Lyon stood stunned, Elahan looked down at him with pity.

She explained, “To those who truly repent, there shall be mercy. That’s what’s written in the scriptures.”

Her helmet retracted as she exited combat mode. The glow running across her armor dimmed, and silver hair fell loosely down her back. Not a single bead of sweat marked her face, and that look was truly astonishing.

Had Gilbert not repented at the very end, Elahan would not have healed him, but he had. And as a Saintess, she was obligated to give him a chance.

“Repentance means owning one’s sins. It’s not something to be rewarded for. I stopped his moment of enlightenment for that same reason. It’s nothing to feel wronged over.”

Elahan stood tall without the slightest trace of guilt. Then, she turned to Lyon—still shaken by his anger, guilt, and returning despair.

A signpost for the lost. That was another line from the scriptures that she recalled.

“Prince Lyon,” she called.

Drawn by her voice, his eyes shifted toward her.

“If you had to choose between being the Emperor of Clyde or the Hero of this world... which would you choose?”

“I...”

It was a question he had never once considered. As he hesitated, Elahan pressed on without waiting.

“What if Clyde was the root of evil threatening the world? Could you treat imperial citizens and outsiders with equal regard? What if there were far more urgent matters than reclaiming the throne?”

Lyon could not answer any of them. As he closed his eyes tightly, realizing his own contradictions, Elahan nodded knowingly.

She asked once more, “Do you understand now why you are unfit to be the Hero?”

His silence was his answer. And into that silence, Elahan’s sermon flowed.

“Even the Clyde Empire is only a part of this world. A Hero is one who leads the light, who saves the world. Can one bound by borders and status truly accomplish that task?”

“...”

“Reclaiming the throne from a tyrant and ushering in peace—yes, those are noble goals.

But...” She turned her back on the two men and declared, “That is not the Hero’s task.”

With those final words, Elahan departed the clearing. The overgrown weeds rustled and parted beneath her feet. Soon, even that sound faded.

Only two remained in the clearing behind the Academy. Gilbert, unconscious. Lyon, deep in thought.

What changes this chance encounter might bring—no one yet knew.