Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 45

Chapter 45
The Guild. It was the very governing body that oversaw both adventurers and mercenaries. To the uninformed, it might seem like a glorified odd-jobs agency—but in truth, it was a vortex of power that no nation dared to touch.
A swordsman who had won a thousand duels, an explorer who traversed the Pitch-Black Forest alone, a spearman who slew the tyrant Kraken of the Southern Sea—countless powerful figures like they were affiliated with the Guild.
Of course, the Guild couldn’t command them at will, but it still wielded influence and forged ties with them. That alone made it dangerous to provoke.
Connections were an intangible force, but those with even a hint of worldly experience knew how terrifyingly real that force could be. And the Guild was, in many ways, the very embodiment of that force.
An emperor once said,
“They are like clouds, spread across the entire continent, and when gathered, they can blanket the whole sky.”
The Guild was no forest—so you couldn’t burn its roots. It was no castle—so an army couldn’t bring it down. Even borders meant nothing to it. What method could possibly subjugate such an entity?
Even the Emperor of the Clyde Continent, who once tried to bring the Guild to heel, failed after several botched attempts and gave up. So, then, how were such connections formed in the first place?
“Offer not your tribute to one mighty man, but lend your hand to a thousand weak ones. The strong will dismiss your devotion as flattery, but the weak will carve your kindness into their bones. One day, one of them will return to repay it thousandfold.”
So said a sage, and whether by coincidence or intent, the Guild had followed that very principle. Rather than backing the already powerful and famous, it turned its gaze toward the young—those with future potential.
Even in the filth where no one dared look, the lotus still bloomed. Those whose talents had been overlooked due to humble birth, those exiled by their half-siblings' scheming, and even those ruined by false accusations. It was often those who had hit rock bottom that fought the fiercest, and the Guild offered a foothold for such outsiders to rise again.
Just like that, a hundred years passed, and then another hundred. The Guild’s influence spread across the continent, bolstered by the full support of those who owed it their lives. And now, in the present day, a Hero lay resting in the Guild’s VIP chamber.
“
Ugh
...” Leon groaned as he opened his eyes.
His sinking consciousness gradually surfaced, and the blurry ceiling above became sharper. He couldn’t rise as easily as usual, weighed down by fatigue soaked into every part of his body. His sweat-soaked back, the stiffness in his muscles—it was all proof of what he’d endured.
“
G-guh
!
Argh
...!”
Leon tried to sit up but immediately collapsed with a spasm. The pain was beyond comprehension. Each joint throbbed, muscles burned like seared steel. Even twitching a finger felt impossible, and his blood vessels ached from sheer exhaustion to the point that even the flow of blood came as pain.
W-what the hell happened...?
His brain wasn’t working right either. Blinking in silence, he tried to recall the last thing he remembered before blacking out.
He had gone around the giant with Karen’s help but eventually got caught. He was then saved by El-Cid and defeated the priest with three strikes of the Grand Chariot under El-Cid’s control. And then—
Ah... I asked Bishop Caesare to take care of me and then passed out.
With the pieces clicked into place, Leon looked around the room and noticed the sharp smell of herbs, bandages wrapped around his body, and a white lantern hanging from the ceiling. It was likely a healing item.
The room wasn’t luxurious, but it was well-equipped. Certainly not the kind of recovery suite they’d offer a C-rank adventurer. It seemed he was receiving special treatment.
“El-Cid,” Leon carefully whispered his partner’s name, now grasping the situation.
A voice responded, as always.
—Leon. Listen carefully.
However, this time, it sounded different.
—If you’re hearing this message, then you’ve come to. First off, congrats on surviving. I won’t congratulate you for the win—because let’s be real, that was all me.
“This damn cursed sword...”
—Jokes aside, let’s get to the point.
Leon straightened up slightly, now serious.
—I won’t be able to talk to you for a month. Sad? Tough. Apparently, me jumping out whenever I wanted caused issues. The Holy Sword’s power is now binding my consciousness. I mean, yeah, controlling the Hero was a bit like a cursed sword, but what can I say? I’m just that good.
“How do you sleep at night?”
—I don’t sleep at all, but thanks for asking.
Leon gasped. He hadn’t expected El-Cid to predict even his muttered sarcasm. Regardless, El-Cid’s message continued.
—You get the point, right? One month. When we talk again, you’d better at least have learned to manifest your Aura. I showed you the Grand Chariot myself, so try to replicate it. But don’t push yourself before you’re fully healed, or you really
will
end up a cripple.
Leon grimaced. The memory of that overwhelming pain surged back, so he quickly accepted the warning.
Even just three strikes of the Grand Chariot had been overwhelming. He could still see the image of the starlight effortlessly cleaving through that giant monster—the one even Caesare and Khan had struggled to dent.
And Leon had only just reached C-rank—just what did it look like when Rodrick himself had wielded it?
I’m going to master it no matter what.
Still lying in bed, Leon clenched both fists and then released them immediately from the excruciating pain. Regardless, the fire in his heart was still ablaze.
He still didn’t understand the principles behind the Grand Chariot, but the sensation remained etched in his body. El-Cid had shown him a perfect form, and all he had to do was replicate it. If he lacked talent, then his body would suffer for it—he would make up the difference through sheer effort.
—That’s all I’ve got for you. You’ve gotten yourself tangled in a City Swallowing-tier disaster while still a rookie... Man, your path’s gonna be a rough one.
Then El-Cid added, almost awkwardly, —But... not bad, for you.
That was it. The voice cut out, and Leon sat there, dazed. El-Cid had definitely given him an honest compliment. It wasn’t something that he heard every day.
Not a bad feeling, honestly.
He felt like if he relaxed too much, he’d start grinning. Just as he struggled to maintain a straight face in the wake of that unexpected praise, the door suddenly opened.
Caesare, with a basin of clean water and a towel in hand, walked in.
“
Ah
! Brother Leon, you’re awake!”
He must have come to help Leon clean up. Seeing that, Leon had a realization.
“Bishop Caesare, how long have I been out for?”
***
Caesare’s explanation was short and precise. Without any embellishment, he delivered only the facts—a manner of speech befitting a man of the cloth.
The raid of Evil had ended exactly three days prior. The moment the five-member rush team escaped the labyrinth, the structure collapsed—obliterating the Abominations along with it. Likely because the exolaw had been directly linked to the labyrinth itself.
Caesare, having brought over some soup, spoke from beside the bed.
“Fifty-six dead. One hundred and seven critically injured. The rest were minor injuries not requiring classification. That is still a significant number of lives lost to feel glad... But as always, Evil has failed to achieve its goal. That alone makes this a victory, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“I also looked into the so-called City Swallowing mentioned by the Evil priest. It’s truly horrifying.”
It seemed Caesare had been busy while Leon was unconscious. He looked a bit thinner, worn by exhaustion.
“To toss an entire city into a monster’s jaws and call it divine grace... As beings born of the Goddess’s embrace, how could they...”
Compared to City Swallowing, even serial murder felt like child’s play. If they hadn’t stopped it—if Leon hadn’t come to stay in the city—it would certainly have happened, and Caesare had clearly come to that same conclusion.
“All of this was thanks to your efforts, Brother Leon.” He smiled brightly, folding his hands together.
This was a gesture so reverent it bordered on holy. He wouldn’t do that even before an emperor—only for someone he truly respected.
Leon, not knowing its significance, simply blinked in confusion and replied, “It was only possible because of you as well, Bishop Caesare. And everyone else who took part in the operation.”
“
Hmm
... Perhaps.” Caesare smiled subtly at the modest reply. “If not for the Hero’s presence, things might have gone very differently.”
“...”
“Did I catch you off guard?” Caesare asked.
Leon froze on the spot, and Caesare offered a warm smile. The shock of having his secret exposed lasted only a moment—Leon calmed himself and cautiously asked, “You knew?”
“I was sure only after joining the rush team.”
So he had an idea from the start.
Leon gave a hollow laugh at the realization. Of course. As a member of the Holy Iron Inquisitors, Caesare had no doubt seen all kinds of people. Someone like Leon, who lacked even basic life experience, could never have fooled him for long.
Caesare continued in a gentle voice, “No ordinary Aura wielder could cut through exolaw so easily, even with your powerful Sun Aura. And truthfully, your overall ability doesn’t quite measure up to such a level yet.”
“
Ugh
... That’s embarrassing.”
“Not at all. If anything, I’m more impressed by the courage it took to charge into danger knowing you were still inexperienced.”
The line between courage and recklessness lay in one’s mindset. If one chose to press on while aware of their limits, that was courage. Otherwise, it was just recklessness.
Caesare, who understood the difference, spoke kindly.
“And that final sword technique you showed sealed it.”
“Final technique...?” Leon trailed off to think for a second, then muttered in realization, “
Ah
...”
Caesare nodded knowingly and said, “Grand Chariot. I remember seeing it in a book detailing the feats of past Heroes. The sword of seven stars said to have been invented by the greatest of them all—Rodrick. That school of swordsmanship was thought long extinct. If it’s reappeared, there’s only one explanation.”
Leon sighed and replied, “So I can’t even deny it anymore.”
He gave up, unable to find an escape route, not that he intended to hide it much longer anyway. Caesare wasn’t someone untrustworthy—he’d risked his life beside Leon even without knowing his identity. Without him, the entire raid would’ve been impossible regardless of Leon’s own efforts.
Leon moved his aching arm and focused his mind on the sigil nestled in the back of his hand.
Come, El-Cid.
Even without El-Cid’s presence, Leon could still summon the sword itself. With a flick, the blade emerged from the back of his left hand—not the battered longsword form, but the sword’s true divine appearance.
“
A-ah
...!”
Caesare fell to his knees the moment he saw it. No priest could fail to recognize the Holy Sword El-Cid that was recorded in sacred paintings.
In Rodrick’s hands, it had pierced the Demon King’s heart. It was the blade that struck down evil time and again in the hands of Heroes throughout history. The holy light and divine resonance radiating from the blade were beyond mimicry.
“O Goddess...”
Overwhelmed, Caesare trembled and began reciting a prayer. Sacred spell energy shimmered across his body—so bright it was blinding. Fortunately, his prayer ended quickly.
Still kneeling, he turned to Leon and asked, “Hero... Do you intend to keep your identity hidden?”
“Yes,” Leon answered firmly with a nod. “The seal on the Holy Sword still isn’t fully broken. And I’m not nearly ready. I want to wait until I can call myself a Hero without shame.”
“You already appear fully worthy in my eyes. But your humility is admirable.” Praising Leon’s mindset, Caesare added, “Then I, too, shall keep your secret. But... might I tell one person?”
“Who?”
“The Saintess. She hasn’t completed her succession ritual yet, but I believe hearing this news might encourage her.”
Leon hesitated briefly but nodded in approval. If it was the Saintess, then it was fine.
“Thank you, Hero.”
Caesare pressed his hands together several more times, visibly overjoyed. It was strange—was delivering the news really such a joyous task?
Then, someone knocked on the door.
Leon stiffened. He hadn’t sensed a presence at all. Caesare knew why Leon was so startled and quickly reassured him.
“Don’t worry. This room is completely soundproof, inside and out. Nothing from our conversation would’ve leaked.”
“
Ah
, I see. Then...”
“Just a visitor. Or perhaps someone here to see the Hero.”
When Caesare gave him a look asking how to proceed, Leon made his choice. The door swung open quietly. The person standing beyond it was unexpected, in many ways.
“Well now. Hello, rookie. How long has it been, three days?”
“Karen...”
Karen looked back and forth between Leon and Caesare, her expression a touch sour. And for some reason, Leon felt like he was wearing the same look.