studiobondurri Chapter 171 : Chapter 171
Chapter 171 : Chapter 171
Translator: AkazaTL Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
The Crusaders.
A legion gathered under the name of the Order of the Cross.
A military force with the grand ideal of uniting the Southern Continent as one land through a Holy War — they were stronger than any other army on the continent. It was only natural. After all, on the Southern Continent, there was no such thing as a military to begin with.
For countless ages, the Southern Continent had lived in peace.
Those who prized harmony and coexistence saw conflict as abhorrent.
They believed that forming an army would shatter their long-held peace, just as it had in the outside world. To them, the only way to preserve peace was through the absence of armies. Without the weapons to harm one another, there would be no reason to fight.
Even during the most dreadful of times — the Age of War — the Southern Continent believed it had chosen rightly.
They had seen how the endless mustering of troops, driven by greed to possess just a little more, led only to ruin. The end of greed and conflict was always destruction.
Even after suffering near annihilation, the people of the Southern Continent refused to raise armies again. They believed salvation could only come through forgiveness, unity, and prayer.
But there was something the Southern Continent did not understand. Peace was sustained by power.
The world was not as beautiful as they imagined, nor did it move according to the idealized doctrines of their scripture.
The peace proclaimed by those with power weighed far more than the peace proclaimed by those without. Without the strength to protect themselves, they could never prepare for the destruction that would inevitably come.
And the first to realize this truth was the Order of the Cross.
The Papal Office of the Order foresaw that if another age of chaos arrived, the Southern Continent would not merely suffer losses—it would be eradicated. To prevent that destruction, they would need power.
The continent had to unite as one. And who better to lead such unification than the Order of the Cross? Not with laughable doctrines of forgiveness and harmony, but with rational ones—those that proclaimed sin must be punished and the guilty must pay the price.
Of course, there were other motives beyond the noble cause of protecting the Southern Continent. The immense wealth that would fall into their hands, the overwhelming power they could seize, the prestige they could bask in from the highest throne—all of it was desirable.
Yet, the Papal Office did not see this as base greed. Even the teachings of the Son of Sin and Punishment stated that faith must be rewarded, and that those who achieve greatness deserve due compensation. Their actions were, in their eyes, nothing more than adherence to doctrine.
And thus, the Crusade of the Order of the Cross began.
Before the Crusaders’ swords, spears, and shields, all others crumbled like dust. Part of it was because no proper army existed on the Southern Continent—but the decisive factor was the aid of the outside world.
That aid made the Crusaders an invincible army, reigning supreme across the land. It came from the great powers of the continents, who saw the Order’s campaign as an opportunity to expand their own influence.
Drunk on this sweet victory, the Crusaders came to a troubling realization. Even with meager support from the foreign powers, they had become this strong.
Then how vast must the difference be between those powers and the Southern Continent itself? Their triumph came with an equal measure of fear. And in that moment.
“U-urgh, aaaargh—!”
Their fear took shape before their eyes.
“A ghost… a ghost…!”
“Where—where is it coming from?!”
Under the name of Sword Runner.
***
Crusaders.
The name sounded grand, but in truth, they were not much different from the knights of the Iron Kingdom. The only distinction was that instead of forming a Mana Heart and honing the sword, they swung heavy maces empowered by divine blessings.
To ordinary civilians, they must have looked like monsters. Their thick iron armor deflected most blades, arrows couldn’t pierce it, and the maces they swung could easily shatter a grown man’s skull.
To those who had lived peaceful lives, witnessing a man’s head explode before their eyes would have been utterly horrifying. Truly horrifying.
But once you looked closer—they were sloppy creatures.
‘Physical reinforcement and heightened reflexes—some kind of divine enhancement.’
Knights of the Iron Kingdom were, on average, Sword Walkers.
Those who reached the level of a Sword Walker saw the Path—weaving exquisite swordsmanship and finding the most efficient trajectory with every strike. But the Crusaders could not. They had no enlightenment of martial truth.
They possessed physical abilities comparable to superhuman strength—but what use was that? Strength meant nothing if it didn’t connect. Against monsters, perhaps brute force worked. But against other humans, against trained warriors, accuracy was everything.
The Crusaders’ maces lacked all finesse—slow, clumsy, their strikes devoid of any proper point of contact. At that rate, even a needle was more threatening. Small, delicate, but capable of striking true—the 「Needle」.
『They once called me the Sewing Gypsy.』
With a soft pit sound, a tiny hole opened in the Crusader’s armor. A trivial hole, but the human body could collapse from even one such wound. The Crusader staggered, golden light swirling around him. My doubt pierced through the Mystery.
‘A healing light—something like a Monk’s.’
Enhanced physique, self-healing—was that all the Crusaders possessed? The more I fought, the more they felt like inferior versions of Monks. Monk Helen from the Arena had been far stronger. He hadn’t screamed pathetically just because of a few holes in his body—his eyes had only burned brighter.
“Heretic!”
With a slicing sound, I cleaved through the Crusader’s helm and head in one clean stroke.
As his life faded to dust, a woman in black priest robes rushed at me, a crimson glow gathering in her hands. It was an ominous light—she charged recklessly forward, wreathed in that blood-red aura. I thrust without hesitation—but my blade met no resistance. It was like stabbing through flowing water.
“Sinners cannot harm me! The unholy and the wicked cannot touch an Inquisitor! We are punishment itself—we are absolute justice!”
So that’s what she was relying on. It seemed to be a spiritual ability—transforming her body into a spiritual form, untouchable unless one possessed powers related to Mystery. Such an ability would indeed make one an unassailable being on this continent.
But.
“I can harm you.”
Before me, it was nothing but a parlor trick.
“……!”
Flames of Doubt ignited in my eyes—and a heartbeat later, they leapt to the woman, consuming her. The light gathered in her hands vanished as she panicked, unable even to see my blade. With a dull thud, her head rolled away.
‘Pathetic.’
If they possessed mystic powers, shouldn’t they assume their enemies might as well? Why didn’t they question the obvious while fighting? I frowned—then heard a clank close by. Looking down, I saw a chunk of iron clasped around my wrist, bound by chains.
“Got you!”
…What now? I hadn’t even sensed them.
Liam answered my question for me.
「The followers of the Nine Goddesses and the Seven Lords—miracles born from their faith require no preparation. And, true to the name ‘miracle,’ they never miss.」
“That’s unfair.”
「But they’re weak. You feel it too, don’t you?」
Weak—true enough.
“Crusaders! Judge that sinner, now!”
The chain tightened, straining to bind me. But to be honest, the force was pitiful. Sancho could probably pull this hard with one hand. A single flick of my wrist could break it.
“You cannot escape the Chains of Judgment! Hurry—now!”
Of course, I didn’t. Because.
“Now’s my chance…”
Might as well make use of it.
『Fly once more.』
With a resonant chung, the chain vanished. A blue world unfolded before me—the power of Liberation flooding my body. Time froze. The Crusaders lunged mid-stride, and the priest smiled in victory. I alone moved freely through the still world. My blade cut through Crusaders, splitting bodies and helms alike. Bone and flesh separated, but no blood flew—for I moved faster than the droplets themselves.
‘I’ll leave one alive.’
I drew countless lines in the frozen world before halting before the smiling priest. The blue faded, and the world resumed its flow. Then came the sound of slicing flesh, and fountains of crimson burst in every direction.
The Crusaders and Inquisitors, marked by red lines, were torn apart—dead before they could scream. All except the priest.
“Ah…”
His smile froze. I sheathed my sword calmly. I wouldn’t kill this one. Someone had to live—to return to the Order of the Cross and spread word of me. The faster and louder my reputation spread, the better. I had a contract with the Black Archipelago to uphold, after all.
Still.
“Hey.”
“Y-yes?”
“Pick up that cross. Fix the statue.”
Clean up your own mess before you leave.
***
The Order of the Cross stationed in the port city of Visente withdrew completely that day.
Well—“completely” wasn’t quite accurate, since I’d killed all of them except one priest.
Hands trembling, the priest pulled up the cross and reattached the severed head of the Sun’s statue.
Pale-faced, he fled from Visente. The townsfolk watched him go—but surprisingly, no one jeered or cursed. They simply closed their eyes and prayed.
Whether those prayers were gratitude to the Sun, mourning for the dead, or silent thanks to me—I couldn’t tell.
With the Crusaders gone, the port city of Visente found peace again. The townsfolk began to smile once more. Watching the bustling streets fill with laughter, I felt… honestly, a little proud.
“You did well, my lord.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Though… you were quite thorough. I didn’t expect you to kill everyone except one. Still, leaving one alive was wise. Now the Order of the Cross will know your name. The rumors will spread fast—and wide. After all, if they downplay the man who wiped out their Crusaders, they’d be admitting how insignificant they are themselves.”
He was right.
As the ruined city was rebuilt, Zeppelin Gold became a very busy man.
“I’m here to help you all!”
He went around Visente, raising his voice with purpose. To build goodwill, he said, he’d help reconstruct the city—and afterward, explore business and investment opportunities.
The port city of Visente was the face of the Southern Continent. As long as the continent itself existed, this city would thrive. While Zeppelin busied himself, I found myself, for once, with free time. And in that idle time, someone came to see me.
“…Thank you for saving us.”
Before the statue of the Sun stood the priest I had spared—Oren, priest of the Sun.
“You called yourself Karavan, did you not?”
He was no longer the ragged man I’d seen before. His spotless priest robes radiated an almost sacred air.
“I have lived my entire life here in Visente. I know little of the outside world—so I do not know what Karavan means. Whether it is your name, your family, a school of swordsmanship, or the name of a land or order—I do not know.”
“……”
“But I will never forget. Until the day I close my eyes, I will remember that the port city of Visente was saved by Karavan. I possess little, and those grateful to you have even less to give. So it saddens me that mere words are all we can offer.”
“It’s enough. Truly.”
And it was. After all, I’d already been paid by Zeppelin Gold.
Oren expressed his gratitude again and again, eventually pulling out a few old trinkets, insisting I take them. Feeling a pang of sympathy, I accepted and tucked them into my pouch. Refusing any longer would only make him uneasy. It was a choice made for both our peace of mind.
「How frugal you are. Truly frugal.」
“Thank you for the compliment.”
「……」
Later, I heard that Priest Oren of the Sun began spreading a new teaching.
That in times of crisis, one must seek their own answers. That one must gain the strength to overcome trials by their own hand. That praying helplessly for salvation was no different from begging the gods for charity…
A doctrine unlike the old one. Yet, the people of Visente embraced it wholly. They had suffered humiliation, endured unjust violence. And in his new teachings, the name Karavan was always spoken.
As Visente rebuilt and changed, I was no longer idle—not because Zeppelin had assigned me tasks. He’d told me to rest and enjoy myself in the restored city.
The reason was simple.
「The blades of the Five Great Houses are all modeled after the world itself. The Rhapsody style you faced, for instance, was born from the boundless yearning for the sea.」
“The sea, huh.”
「And the Karavan Steel I created was modeled after a blade that would never bend—under any circumstances. To be precise, the Karavan Steel sought to resemble the sword itself.」
“What do you mean—a swordsmanship that tried to resemble the sword?”
「In my era, swordsmanship did not exist. The seven races fought wildly with swords, spears, and shields, guided only by instinct. Swords themselves were rare—mere ornamental symbols worn by monarchs. They were closer to jewelry than weapons.」
As promised, my Master had begun teaching me the sword of Karavan.
「Young descendant, do you know the other name of Karavan Steel?」
“I do not.”
「The First Sword.」
The true sword of Karavan.
「Your ancestor was the greatest Swordmaster in history—the very first Swordmaster to ever exist on this continent. And, at the same time, the first swordsman born since the creation of this world.」
“……”
「Be proud, young descendant. Every sword that exists traces its lineage back to Karavan. Every style of swordsmanship—those still known today, those long forgotten, and those yet to be born—all stem from Karavan Steel. And no imitation can ever surpass the original.」
My Master grinned.
「I assure you—once your Steel is complete, no swordsman will ever stand against you. Not even the Swordmaster Carlos you so despise.」
“……”
「Now then, I shall teach you another stroke.”
A little— cruelly.
「The Third Steel. Its name is Magwang—‘Polished Light.’」