Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 50

Chapter 50
Crown of the Star
.
That was the name given to the northernmost reaches of the continent.
It lay beyond even the Clyde Empire, which ruled over the northern continent. It was an expanse so remote that it could only be reached after an arduous journey far past the imperial borders.
There, blizzards howled all year round, and monsters more savage than wild beasts fought to the death over the sparse scraps of food. Even the Clyde Empire had abandoned the notion of conquest.
There was nothing to be gained. The land could not be farmed, nor livestock could be raised. The minerals buried beneath the ice were worthless at best.
And yet, people lived there. Those who forsook wealth and fame in devotion to the glory of good—the headquarters of the Holy Church was built in that place. At the Holy Church’s central branch, known as the Grand Church, a historic ceremony was underway.
A sacred radiance overflowed as the sun and the moon, the holy powers symbolizing the Goddess, filled the chamber in streams of gold and silver light.
It was a truly colossal sight. No gathering of ten cardinals could replicate what was occurring. The holy energy, strong enough to instantly heal someone at death’s door, surged through the space like a whirlwind.
“Focus.”
A voice rang out from within the vortex of light. Just hearing it brought a crystalline clarity to the mind. The silhouette belonged to a mature woman, serene and stately.
She continued, “With your vessel, you can accept it all. The legacy passed down through generations of Saintesses—the vow sustained over three hundred years.”
Seated before her was a young girl. Her silver hair was neatly cropped at her shoulders. Between faintly open lids, her golden irises shimmered with light.
All Saintesses shared certain traits. Shimmering silver hair and golden eyes that sparkled even without light were among them.
The light storming through the hall began to calm. No, it wasn’t fading—it was being drawn in toward the girl.
It was an absurd feat. To absorb holy energy greater than what ten cardinals could muster? Even a Master-ranked Aura Wielder would be torn apart by the sheer pressure of it.
The Seventh Saintess, seated before the girl, began to speak.
“Three hundred years ago, the First Saintess, who traveled with the great Hero, Holy King Rodrick, realized her own helplessness on that journey. A woman who could do nothing but pray while cowering behind the Hero. She came to believe that this was not what a Saintess should be.”
After returning from that journey, the First Saintess overhauled not only herself but the doctrines of the Holy Church. She had learned that justice without strength was meaningless rhetoric, just as strength without justice was mindless violence.
A clergy that relied on the goodwill of others could never defeat evil. They needed the strength to crush evil with their own hands.
That was how the Holy Iron Inquisitors came to be.
It started humbly, but over time became one of the most powerful martial organizations on the continent. One by one, those who owed their lives to the Church gathered and, under the Goddess’s name, fought evil and spread good.
From that time on, every Saintess also served as the Vice Commander of the Inquisitors.
“The title of Commander is reserved for the Hero alone. Which makes you quite fortunate. Fighting alongside him is a lifelong dream for every Saintess.”
“Yes,” Surrounded by brilliant light, the girl smiled. “I think so too, Mother.”
Some might have found her words foolish. Heroes arose only in times of chaos. The appearance of a Hero was a sure sign of great upheaval. A Saintess, by fate, was always thrust into the heart of that storm.
Yet the two women smiled at each other like mirror reflections. As heirs to the First Saintess’s resolve, they had accepted their trials long ago.
“This time, I’ll fulfill our role alongside the Hero.”
It took three hundred years. The chain of holy energy passed down from the First Saintess had finally reached its limit. Had the girl, the Eighth Saintess, even slightly lacked the innate talent, the succession would have failed already.
However, the ceremony was anything but meaningless. At some point, the raging light in the chamber settled—calm and still—and was soon drawn into the girl’s body.
“
Ah
...!”
The Seventh Saintess watched with trembling emotion. At last, their centuries-long hope had come to fruition. The greatest Saintess, capable of standing by the Hero’s side, had been born.
“Saintess Candidate Acht, I hereby declare your succession complete.”
The girl rose proudly, her voice ringing through the chamber. She was small and slender—hardly the image of the Holy Iron Inquisitors’ Vice Commander. Yet holy energy boiled off her like a volcano, naturally radiating a sacred majesty that filled the room around her.
Her power already surpassed the level of Master. The Seventh Saintess, in her prime, had only barely reached this level. And yet, this girl stood there, already having attained it upon just completing the ceremony.
“I acknowledge you,” said the former Saintess, no longer bearing the title. “From this moment forth, you are the Eighth Saintess—Elahan. As heir to the Saintess title and the Holy Iron Inquisitors, may your life be one of glory.”
“I will gladly devote my life,” answered the newly anointed Eighth Saintess, Elahan, with poise. Now only one step remained.
“The final trial will commence.”
The former Saintess stepped forward, and Elahan calmly followed. The Grand Church was quieter than usual.
Everyone who would typically be present had vacated the building to ensure no disturbances during the ceremony. The two walked leisurely through the hallowed halls, steeped in sacred silence.
They stopped at the rear gate of the Grand Church.
“Elahan, prepare for combat.”
“Yes.”
At her command, Elahan stepped forward. Then she removed the robe that had cloaked her body—not revealing priestly vestments, but a full plate armor.
A dazzling suit of armor, as sturdy as a fortress, gleamed in the light. The silvery plates were made of mithril, the golden accents of orichalcum, and the blue-lined joints of adamantium.
Three of the world’s rarest metals were lavishly used to forge a literal walking stronghold.
“Deus Lo Vult,” the former Saintess chanted the three-word activation spell, and the armor surrounding Elahan began to respond.
Golden lines glowed across the chest plate, pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves, like veins coursing with power. Holy energy surged through the entire suit, dramatically enhancing her senses, amplifying her physical strength, and offering defense on par with the highest magical barriers.
With a clear
clunk
, a helmet emerged from within and locked into place. The visor was crystal-clear from within, but a mirrored surface blocked outside view. Only the gleaming golden glow from within revealed that someone still lived inside the suit.
Her holy energy surged even higher—so much so that the former Saintess instinctively staggered. Elahan’s presence had become overwhelming.
And that wasn’t the end.
“Take up the Holy Iron Breaker.”
Armor alone didn’t complete the battle form. To match its defense, she also needed offense—a weapon worthy of it.
Following the former Saintess’ instructions, Elahan approached the wall beside the rear gate. There, a massive war mace hung mounted at the center.
“Finally...”
Behind her visor, Elahan’s golden eyes trembled as she laid her eyes on the Holy Iron Breaker, also named “Elahan.”
The name referred not to a chain, but to a mace, and its origins stretched back some three hundred years. Now, it symbolized the position of Vice Commander of the Holy Iron Inquisitors. It was also why every Saintess since had taken the name “Elahan.”
Holy King Rodrick was powerful. So powerful that no weapon could endure his might. Until the Goddess bestowed upon him the Holy Sword, every famed and sacred blade he wielded had shattered beyond repair.
Later, the Holy Church gathered the fragments and eventually reforged them into a single weapon—a Great Mace.
The moment Elahan’s fingers touched it, the mace resonated as if recognizing its master. When she wrapped her hand around the shaft and exerted force, the massive mace—over thirty kilograms—began to rise.
With a head larger than a grown man’s torso and a shaft as long as a spear, it looked impossible to wield by normal means. Yet the former Saintess turned as if it were only natural.
“Follow me,” she said to Elahan.
She stepped out through the rear gate, which had been opened in advance. Elahan walked swiftly to keep pace, and anyone witnessing the scene would’ve been stunned.
The armor alone weighed over twenty kilograms, and adding the thirty-kilogram mace atop her shoulder, Elahan made not a single sound as she moved. Her steps were light and silent as a cat’s—proof not just of raw strength but of her mastery in martial arts beyond ordinary comprehension.
The two departed the Grand Church and made their way toward the mountains behind it. Before long, they arrived.
“You recognize this place, don’t you, Elahan?”
“Yes, I do.”
Elahan nodded and looked ahead.
The end of the world.
At the very edge of the Crown of the Star, a mountain range loomed, piercing the heavens themselves. Yet it wasn’t the grandeur of the peaks that astonished her.
“That’s... what His Majesty the Holy King left behind!”
“Yes. The greatest sword scar in the world.”
It looked as though the mountainside had been cleaved straight through—an enormous horizontal gash across the slope. That such a scar could be left by a single swing?
Not only had it sliced through several peaks, but it had also reshaped the terrain entirely. Even monsters capable of threatening cities and nations feared this mark and dared not descend past that point. A single sword strike was holding back the demons that the Holy Church had to work so hard to keep contained by building their headquarters.
“And the other marks etched into this cliff were left behind by me and the Saintesses before you, immediately after our succession. Though, the First Saintess left hers in her twilight years.”
Elahan looked where the former Saintess pointed. Though incomparable to the mountain-cleaving scar, the cliff was battered and cratered beyond recognition.
Seven craters, evenly spaced, carved into the enormous cliff wall that touched the clouds. It was hard to believe such destruction could be wrought by human hands.
“Now, it’s your turn.”
The Eighth Saintess, Elahan, did not reply. She answered not with words, but by stepping forward, lifting her mace in an action in place of speech. A vow made in silence.
“
Hup...
”
Facing the cliff, Elahan held her breath, focusing all her strength, all her heart. She drew out every ounce of power within her, channeling it into the mace. The two-meter-long shaft glowed gold. Then the massive head blazed with golden brilliance.
One strike.
She planted her feet wide, angled her body, and locked her stance in place.
Ah... my Hero.
Just before she unleashed the blow, Elahan prayed in her heart to the Hero she had never met—not even once.
I’ve heard of your feats. Though half a year remains before the day of the prophecy, you’ve already achieved so much. And I... have only just become a Saintess. I am ashamed of how little I’ve done.
Without even unsealing the Holy Sword, he had faced down Evil and stopped the catastrophe known as City Swallowing. And the one who delivered this news had been Bishop Caesare himself.
Naturally, every word was praise for Leon only—and Elahan had believed it completely.
How brave... how noble you must be! I swear to become a Saintess worthy of standing beside you!
Her emotions soared. Her admiration for the Hero filled her heart, swelling her holy energy even further. To an onlooker, she had become a golden whirlwind.
Her own Aura was amplified by her holy energy. That holy strength bolstered her body and spirit, and in turn, empowered her Aura further.
Above the mace, the shape of a golden lion appeared—a manifestation, not just a form. It was a sign of mastery beyond typification, a mark of an Aura Master.
“
Hap
!”
With a short kiai, Elahan raised the mace. She brought it crashing down with terrifying force.
“For judgment!”
And then, sound ceased. The impact was so great that it shattered the wall of sound itself. A shockwave ripped through the air, sweeping away the dust and shaking the earth for hundreds of meters around.
The cliff didn’t stand a chance. Boulders and soil rained down like a storm, sweeping the land in a landslide. Even the former Saintess, standing at a distance, turned pale at the sheer force.
It was less a melee strike, and more akin to a siege weapon—or even a dragon’s breath.
“Incredible...”
The former Saintess could only gasp in awe. The cliff, once marked by seven craters, had collapsed completely under Elahan’s single blow. It was a spectacle worthy of rewriting history, of fulfilling the centuries-long dream of the Saintesses.
There was no worry for Elahan’s safety. A Saintess’ defenses always far surpassed her own offensive power.
Sure enough, moments later, from the dust emerged a sphere of golden light. A holy barrier akin to a supreme protective ward was a function built into her armor.
According to ancient legend, it could even withstand ultimate magic. A mere landslide wouldn’t leave a scratch.
“Hero, please...”
The Saintess who had just unleashed such ruin stood gracefully as if she hadn’t caused such devastation just moments ago, hands clasped in prayer.
And she prayed, “Though I am still so unworthy... please, accept me.”
They say true feelings always find a way. Whether coincidence or fate, it was at that exact moment that Leon felt a chill down the back of his neck.