studiobondurri Chapter 174 : Chapter 174
Chapter 174 : Chapter 174
Translator: AkazaTL Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
With a deep breath, my heart trembled. That, too, was part of Magwang —Polished Light. It was the process of heating the Steel’s blood and transferring Karavan’s power completely into the blade. But the third Steel had one major flaw: it wasn’t practical for real combat. Its preparatory movements took far too long. In a battle where victory could be decided in a single instant—who would wait while someone calmly ran a hand down their sword?
“Ridiculous.”
The old woman thrust out her hand. Instantly, a massive cross appeared above my head and came crashing down. I rolled across the ground just in time— and an earth-shattering BOOM erupted behind me.
The spot I’d just stood on had been completely pulverized, like a catapult stone had struck it.
‘If I take one hit from that, I’m dead.’
Insane power. And yet, despite such overwhelming strength, the attack’s speed was just as terrifying. Her only “casting motion” was stretching out her hand. If I relaxed even for a heartbeat, that cross would smash my skull to dust.
“Don’t dodge, Karavan.”
The words dripped with sanctimony. Don’t dodge? After launching a strike that would kill me instantly?
“This cross is the punishment you must bear. Do not flee from it. Accept the full weight of your sin. The Son of Sin and Punishment decrees that all beings must pay for their crimes. The more you avoid or deny your punishment, the heavier it becomes. Do not turn from your guilt, Karavan.”
“And who are you to judge others?”
“How ignorant. I am the Great Warrior chosen by the Son of Sin and Punishment—His most faithful servant of the Cross. Ismael, the Great Warrior of Condemnation. Even my name was given by Him, for the sake of a better world.”
“A better world, huh. What a joke.”
Boom. Boom. Boom. Crosses fell one after another from the heavens. I couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of technique it was. The old crone—no, Ismael—kept unleashing those devastating attacks without showing the slightest fatigue. No, not showing—she truly wasn’t tiring.
‘Because it’s not her own power.’
Through the eyes of doubt, I saw it clearly. Behind her shimmered a faint, colossal presence— a being with blood-soaked hair and beard, a crown of thorns upon His head, and limbs nailed to a cross. Eyes brimming with divine sorrow and rage. It was obvious who He was: One of the Seven Lords, the deity the Order of the Cross worshiped— the Son of Sin and Punishment Himself was directly granting her power.
“Stop your pitiful struggle and accept your guilt.”
Another deafening crash tore through the air.
My ear stung—a warm trickle ran down my cheek.
‘She’s getting faster.’
This was bad. Her attacks didn’t slow or weaken—they grew sharper, faster, smarter. The more I dodged, the stronger they became. Just as she said—“the more one flees and denies, the heavier the punishment.”
In contrast, my own body was slowing. Even with Karavan’s Heart of Steel—designed for endurance and swift recovery— I wasn’t infinite. Stamina was a finite resource, and at this pace, it would run out soon.
‘This sword art is utterly impractical...’
The booming impacts drew closer, one after another. Each descending cross hit like a siege weapon—or worse, like war magic from the outer continents. I rolled through the dirt, funneling Mana into my blade as the ground quaked. When I looked up, the landscape was unrecognizable. Crosses were buried everywhere.
“Do you truly think you can escape?”
“……”
“No sinner can defeat me. Only the pure may stand victorious.”
Ismael. She was walking toward me now.
I glared at her.
“So, anyone who’s ever sinned is subject to your judgment?”
“Yes.”
“What about the Swordmaster?”
“……”
“When the Swordmaster Carlos slaughtered innocents in the Iron Kingdom—where were you? When the Order that claims to govern sin and punishment watched entire nations crushed beneath tyranny—what did you do?”
Her brow twitched.
“……I chose to guard the sacred, not the profane. The southern lands are blessed by God—unlike the corrupted world beyond.”
“The blessed land? You mean this land you’re trampling right now? You start wars over petty excuses, sow chaos, and act exactly like the outsiders you despise.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s exactly the same.”
Always pretending purity.
“You’re no different. You say you chose the South—but what about your god? If the Son of Sin and Punishment decrees that sinners always face judgment, then why does His justice not reach the rest of the world?”
“……”
“A ridiculous god, and an even more ridiculous Great Warrior. You preach about righteous punishment, but when a Swordmaster rampages, you watch. When the truly desperate pray for salvation, you ignore them. Yet you’re eager to judge the weak whenever it’s convenient for you.”
Sorry, but— when it comes to arguments, I don’t lose.
“You only punish the easy targets, accuse the defenseless, and prey on the powerless. The Order of the Cross isn’t a faith of divine justice—it’s a pack of sanctimonious thieves hiding behind a holy banner. And the god they serve isn’t sacred—He’s just another tyrant wearing a crown.”
Religion was always vulnerable to doubt. Blind faith was mistaken for virtue. And this zealot— was spouting faith in front of someone whose very power is doubt.
“……Truly fitting words, Karavan the Impure.”
Her voice turned hollow and sharp. Blood tears streamed from her eyes, staining them darker and darker— until they turned black.
“Karavan… Doubt is the greatest sin.”
Her snow-white hair flushed red—no, crimson, like dried blood. All the crosses impaled around me began to tremble violently.
Wait—this wasn’t just a falling attack?
‘Shit.’
The vibration spread as grotesque screams echoed. The sky turned scarlet, and crimson crosses floated like storm clouds. From each hung the twisted bodies of wailing sinners.
The ground split open—bony hands clawed up from beneath, grasping, begging for salvation.
“Not believing is sin. To doubt the greatest of gods is unforgivable—an existence that must not be.”
I grimaced. Visente’s people— the Black Archipelago’s mercenaries— Zeppelin Gold— they were all gone.
In my sight, only Ismael and her weeping damned remained. It felt as though I’d been dragged into hell itself. An illusion? Or a spirit-world manifestation, like the one Shaman Sherdik once used?
「Neither illusion nor spell.」
“Then what?”
「A divine power—one granted only to the Great Warriors, the closest vessels of the Seven Lords and Nine Goddesses.」
Dread coiled in my chest. Yet… the sensation was familiar. Like that time in the Great Forest.
「Descent.」
The same as when the Witch Elizabeth descended her god’s will.
“Punishment!”
A scream like shattering glass tore the air as Ismael merged with the spectral being behind her.
A crown of thorns formed atop her head, and in an instant, she was no longer human— but the living image of a furious, grieving god.
The vibrating crosses rose into the air, sprouting countless limbs— hands and feet writhing grotesquely.
I swung my sword, but.
“Punish!”
It was like striking a stone with wood. Even the Flames of Doubt failed to ignite.
They couldn’t burn it. It was as though the flame itself recognized it couldn’t.
「Your fire that burns Mysteries is itself a Mystery of this world. It cannot sear the power of those who stand beyond it.」
“Great.”
「You cannot burn the world with a single spark, young descendant.」
My grip throbbed with pain. My vision swam. Then, a ghastly hand burst from a cross and seized my wrist. The sky turned crimson, and a piercing whine filled my ears. I felt myself sinking— like drowning in an endless swamp.
“Every sin must be answered with punishment!”
CLANG!
The crimson world turned blue. The divine weapon 「Flight」 released its power of liberation, freeing me. The grotesque hands shattered. Time slowed to a crawl.
I turned my gaze.
Countless crosses. A world that looked like hell.
「Forge it.」
And at its center stood the ruler of this world.
「You cannot burn it—then don’t release the fire. Keep it within. Temper it into a single blade. A piercing point opens the heavens and carves a path toward higher skies.」
The transformed Ismael was monstrous— yet there was an awe-inspiring holiness about her too. In this terrifying realm, I felt small. Insignificant.
A worthless speck before something divine.
But even the smallest existence can earn the right to stand. And I knew how. Because my ancestor, my Master—the first Karavan—had taught me.
“Huuh—!”
The endless polishing motion of Magwang finally ended. As my hand left the blade, a faint, wondrous light rippled from the edge. The Flame of Doubt vanished—not extinguished, but turned inward, tempering me—tempering my sword.
“To doubt and not believe… is sin, you say?”
The blue world expanded before me. A single shining line divided sky and earth. I locked onto it. The Wings of Steel unfurled— and I shot forward.
“If no one doubts, everything rots. When no one remains to say what’s wrong, the world decays. Doubt isn’t denial—it’s the process of finding what’s truly right.”
When I opened my eyes again, I was in front of Ismael. At that instant, I invoked the Second Steel—Polishing.
SHIIING!
The barriers surrounding her peeled away like skin. Still within the frozen world, I gripped my sword, filled it with compressed Mana and the Mystery I had refined through Magwang.
“If you grow old trapped in blind faith—believing yourself right and all others wrong— do you know what you become?”
Magwang compressed mana and mystery into a single strike— a blade capable of cutting even beings I once couldn’t reach. A sword meant for “shining existences.”
But that wasn’t all. If it had ended there, it wouldn’t be a sword technique of Karavan.
For a lowly being to strike the divine— for the small to reach the mighty—one must not only wield a sharp blade. One must also have a path to make it reach. And my Master— of course he’d prepared that path.
“You wretched old thing…”
I exhaled.
“…today, you’re the one who’ll be punished.”
As my hand swept along the blade, the compressed mana and mystery detonated. Power erupted through me. Before my eyes appeared countless paths of the sword— each one fatal, each one leading to her death. But I didn’t need to choose.
For the wings of Karavan— the Steel Wings— could soar along every path at once.
That was the essence of the Third Steel.
I lowered my stance, drawing like a blade from its sheath and in the blue world, my body split into countless streaks of light, each following a different sword path.
For a fleeting moment, I was no longer a man with a sword— I was the light itself.
When time resumed, I stood behind Ismael.
The lines of light converged into one.
Her body was motionless. All across her form shone dazzling, radiant slashes— so bright they seemed to carve the world itself.
Where she stood— the very space itself had been cut away.