Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 17

Chapter 17
It was already nearing dusk. Ever since leaving the Academy, Leon walked without taking any breaks. That level of exertion wasn’t enough to make his thoroughly trained body flinch, and he was able to cover in half a day what would take a normal person a full twenty-four hours.
Leon came to a stop after checking the map. Ahead of him was the forest, and it was going to take another twenty-four hours of break-less walking to get through it.
Camping in the forest wasn’t exactly appealing. In the dark, visibility was low, and nocturnal beasts or monsters tended to roam. Unless one was a seasoned hunter, it wasn’t the sort of place anyone should step into. Even Leon knew that much without firsthand experience.
Just as he was taught at the Academy, he surveyed the terrain and lit a campfire where he wouldn’t be easily ambushed. Dry twigs crackled and popped as they broke apart in the flame.
Far from the city, not a soul was around. Against the night’s darkness, the campfire’s warmth was feeble at best—but it was still a source of protection for a traveler.
Leon spread out a blanket from his pack and sat down to warm himself by the fire. Feeling the serenity, he muttered, “It’s... kind of peaceful.”
The starlight overhead opened up the sky. Unlike the forest that loomed like a gaping maw, the road he’d passed stretched on quietly. A blank expanse all the way to the horizon, it had the calm of something willing to embrace anyone.
A voice chimed in to match the mood.
—First time camping out, is it? If you do it too often it just becomes uncomfortable, but the first time is always special.
“Was it special for you, too?” Leon asked the Holy Sword.
—Of course! When I left home and crossed the red badlands, I’ll never forget how beautiful the sky looked that night. The memory’s so vivid that I even remember that there was a crescent moon in the sky.
The emotions in El-Cid’s voice came through. Even one of the greatest heroes in human history, the Holy King Rodrick, had memories like that. A crescent moon in the sky over the red badlands, glowing like the smile of a goddess.
This was a memory that lasted more than three hundred years. That thought prompted Leon to focus his mind on the back of his left hand, and with a flash of radiant light, the Holy Sword appeared.
It looked more like a piece of artwork than a weapon. The golden blade glowed so fiercely that the darkness itself seemed to retreat. He hadn’t been able to summon it freely within the Academy, but here, he didn’t have to care about anyone seeing him.
As the Holy Sword revealed itself for the first time in a while, it raised its voice, —Oh? You trying to swing your sword in the middle of the night?
Leon briefly considered putting the sword back away but figured he needed to start getting used to handling it.
He asked, “Do you mind if I swung a few times?”
—Be my guest. But don’t ask too many questions.
“Got it.”
Leon took a few steps back from the fire and got into his stance. As he steadied his breath, he entered into a state of focus deep enough that even a bee sting wouldn’t be able to shake him. It wasn’t as deep as it was during his duel against Lyon, though.
Then, he swung. The Holy Sword, swung down against a rock wall, bounced off with a loud
clang!
Despite the recoil stinging his hands, Leon steadied himself for another swing. However, before he could raise the sword again—
—Hey! What the hell was that for? You mad at me, or something? Then let’s talk it out!
“H-huh? I-I just figured a legendary sword should be able to slice through rocks and stuff. Why are you so surprised?”
—Ugh, those dime-a-dozen adventure novels ruined a whole generation’s common sense!
El-Cid groaned in exasperation before continuing, —Are you dumb?! If swords could cut through hair just by resting on it, or slice through boulders like butter, where would you even sheath the damn thing? How would you sharpen it? Maintain it? You’d be lopping off fingers just trying to use a whetstone!
“Now that you put it that way...”
It was a valid point. Leon scratched his head, sheepish.
“So all those stories I heard about legendary swords must’ve been exaggerated,
huh
?”
—
Eh
, well, not all of them.
Rumors always started for a reason, but it didn’t help that legends were almost always passed down by witnesses—not by the people actually involved. People who didn’t understand the sword or magic blabbered away for the sake of drama.
El-Cid elaborated on the gap between myth and reality.
—There are swords that can cut through metal or stone, but that sharpness comes from amplified Aura or embedded magic formulas. No matter how well-made a sword is, it’s not going to slice stone with just the edge.
“Right, I see now...”
—It might be possible if you were as strong as a troll or something, but you’re not. The Holy Sword is about as sharp as a razor.
That was still impressive. Typically, the sharpness of a blade was inversely proportional to its size. Razors and surgical scalpels could cut flesh just by grazing it. Thin, honed blades were the sharpest. The fact that a longsword like El-Cid could match a razor’s sharpness was ridiculous.
“A razor,
huh
... So what about durability?” Leon asked.
El-Cid pondered a moment before responding.
—
Hmm
... Dragon Breath left a little scorch on this sword, and even I couldn’t break it back in my prime... so I’d say it can’t really be measured.
Leon recoiled in shock and shouted, “W-wait, hold on a second! You tried to break the Holy Sword?!”
—Well, yeah. The goddess kept nagging. Unlike you, I could talk to her through the sword? She kept waking me up at six in the morning and teleporting me into dangerous places... I had enough. God, I’m getting pissed off just thinking about it.
“Man...”
Never in his eighteen years of life did Leon expect this to be the truth behind Holy King Rodrick’s legend: a Hero who cursed at the goddess and a goddess who nagged her Hero.
It was enough to make Leon’s eyes rot from the disillusionment. How was one supposed to find hope and dream in this story?
It was then.
“Oh?”
—
Hoh!
El-Cid, mid-gripe about the goddess, fell silent. Leon, too, held his breath and sharpened his senses.
Something was approaching from beyond the forest and El-Cid took it as an opportune moment.
—A live target on our first night in the real world? Lucky. Go take care of it.
“Guess I will.”
Leon extinguished El-Cid’s glow first. In the dark, the light of the Holy Sword would only make him a target. Then he quickly stepped away from the campfire and slipped into the trees, avoiding the path the presences were following.
The darkness was thick, but he could still make out shapes. A few paces in, Leon crouched behind a tree and waited.
Soon, with a rustle, small shadows appeared. There were seven moving figures.
He couldn’t make out the colors in the dark, but a skilled hunter identified prey by shape, not hue. Having trained in Rodrick’s Vision, Leon could do the same.
Goblins, huh.
The figures were roughly about a meter tall, ears pointed high. The cackling giggles were also a signature trait.
Staying hidden behind the tree, Leon circled to their rear. Goblins had great night vision, but poor hearing and smell. As expected, they were focused on the campfire and failed to notice Leon slipping in behind them.
He raised his sword. Ideally, he would pick them off one by one, but he wasn’t an assassin. Taking out as many as he could in one go was the better plan.
Resolved, Leon lunged like a gust of wind. With his first swing, he sent two heads flying.
With a sweeping horizontal slash, he cleaved through the necks of two goblins. The rest turned, stunned, and so was Leon—for a different reason.
El-Cid’s cutting power was beyond his expectations.
What the hell? This thing cuts like a dream!
Sure, goblins weren’t exactly strong structurally, but still. Cleaving two of them in one swing, with no resistance? It was almost as if he were slicing through wet paper.
However, the thought was brief. Leon moved to the next target as the goblins charged, shrieking.
One held a dagger, two followed with a spear and a blowpipe while two more stayed back, hidden by the front line.
I need to see wider and farther,
Leon thought.
This wasn’t a one-on-one sparring match. Losing focus for a second could be fatal.
Among them, the blowpipe-wielder was the real threat. Though goblins were weak monsters, their poison darts could bring down a larger animal. If one lodged in bare skin, he wouldn’t stay conscious for long.
Leon cut down the one holding the dagger—arm and torso both. As blood and entrails burst out, Leon sidestepped the mess and narrowly avoided the spearman’s charge.
The stab itself wasn’t much, so Leon’s wide field of vision was already locked onto the blowpipe goblin hiding behind.
As he deflected the spear and slashed through the attacker’s head, he caught the glint of a dart’s tip. He twisted his body and dodged the incoming projectile.
It wasn’t hard to avoid—so long as he saw it coming. A blowpipe’s force depended on lung capacity, and goblins had weak lungs, so the darts would fly ten meters at best.
Leon didn’t give it the chance to fire again. He dashed forward and split the panicked goblin clean in half.
That’s five down.
There were two left. One was the leader, the other another blowpipe goblin. Leon flicked the blood and gunk off his blade and stepped forward.
He now knew how much attention to pay to the darts, and the only unknown was how tough the leader was.
Wields a sword, a head taller than the rest, skin turning reddish... looks like it’s close to evolving into a Hob.
Not that it mattered. A sliver of moonlight slipped through the canopy as Leon burst forward.
The leader thrust its sword in a wild scream, but Leon easily slipped past and went for the blowpipe goblin who hadn’t expected itself to be targeted first.
Before it could even breathe into the pipe, Leon’s blade split it in two. A burst of foul-smelling blood sprayed out. Enraged by the loss of its last comrade, the leader’s eyes burned red as it charged.
Leon met it head-on, utterly unimpressed, muttering, “Idiot,” at a downward slash relying on brute force alone.
He parried it like swatting a fly and then drove his blade in before the creature could regain balance. From the right clavicle to the left flank, the goblin leader was sliced diagonally in half and collapsed without a sound.
And that was the end of the nighttime skirmish.
“
Phew
.”
Leon had wiped out seven goblins in under ten seconds. It was easier than expected.
He looked down at the Holy Sword in his left hand. Even soaked in goblin blood and filth, its presence didn’t diminish.
A sword was meant to cut lives, and the Holy Sword existed to cut down evil. In a way, it had merely fulfilled its duty.
El-Cid’s blade shimmered like sunlight, burning away the gunk clinging to him. “Purification” might have been a more accurate word.
Once again spotless, El-Cid said, —
Hmm
... Forty points.
“What...?”
—Out of a hundred. That’s your score.
Leon froze at the unexpected failing grade.