Sword Pilgrim-Novel

The hammering sound continued its rhythmic beat. The blade on the anvil burned red, and the bellows that fed the brazier continued fanning the flames.

Each spark that flew was a small amount of impurity, disappearing.

The red-hot blade was pushed down into the water tank, flash-boiling the water into steam.

But the reason why this place was a little different from other forges –

"O God."

Was that the blacksmith was praying while reciting a prayer of the Church.

The smithy where the sword nurturers of the Church worked –

In a space that was so hot that her skin felt inflamed, Helena stood next to the hammering man while covering her body with a cloak.

"How is it?"

"it's fine. Even if you use it for a thousand or ten thousand years, there won’t be a problem. You’ve treated it with respect.”

“Of course, it’s as important to me as my own life. Are there really no problems?”

"None. I can't get used to how you paladins are always this nervous. Remember who made it, how could there a problem? This guy is one of my masterpieces. It's fine, so don't worry."

Two swords that looked very different.

However, they were famous as a pair, the shadow – and the serpent.

It was Helena's twin swords, Yukrin.

“Don’t you understand that Yukrin is a masterpiece that’s counted within my top five creations?”

He was the most influential man among the sword nurturers of the Church.

Their leader –

Gregory.

Wrinkles marred his face indicating his age, and his white beard and hair signalled the same, but his large size and the bulging muscles on his arms were proof that he was not yet ready to retire.

“Don’t worry, the number of carcasses and noble souls that’s been absorbed in your Yukrin isn’t high enough to cause trouble.”

Gregory was finished grooming the pair swords.

Helena shrugged her shoulders as she carefully took Yukrin from his hands.

“Paladins are like that. As long as the sword and the soul are intertwined, if the sword gets hurt, you yourself will inevitably get hurt too.”

Paladins who had made a scabbard and united a part of the sword with their soul were all usually like that.

The sword had been marked as their lifelong companion, and they had made a sheath for it by giving up all they had, in turn.

If the sword hurt, so would they.

Such was the bond of their souls.

“Helena.”

"What is it?"

Helena's lips had risen up in a pleasant manner as she stroked the shiny and neatly groomed Yukrin.

Helena always came to this place, the Church's smithy, and asked him to groom the carcass.

Because Gregory was the creator of the twin sword, Yukrin.

“Do you know where Gid is?”

“Gid? Nurturer Gid?”

"Yes, him."

“Isn’t he dead? I heard he broke the taboo and burned people alive in the furnace, didn’t he?"

“… Right."

Gregory's blunt expression grew even more heavy.

Helena's eyes narrowed.

“He’s alive.”

Everyone in the Church wanted the best and strongest sword, to offer to God.

Because of the belief that one could find rest in the arms of a perfect God only by offering a sword that would satisfy God.

“Do you know what all nurturers all dream of?”

“Making a top-level sword?”

"Yeah. We don't have the dwarves’ talent to make anything out of minerals, but we too have our own history, and our own deep tradition."

Most of the nurturers cast swords in a way that was different from the common pilgrims.

The starting point was how to make a carcass more ’efficiently’.

“A carcass is a carcass even if you make it from a beggar on the street or a noble in some astronomically high position, and they might end up no different from each other. Then, what is the principle, the reason why some swords are created as high-class?”

“What?”

Such was ‘pride’.

“According to their dispositions and reputations during their lifetimes, the Church gives every dead body a grade when bringing it here into the smithy.”

Gregory took out an ingot boasting a subtle lustre and showed it to Helena.

“If the corpse ritual is not fully performed, the dead body transforms to a state that is neither a sword nor flesh. We then alight it with fire, beat it, and turn it into an ingot.”

The job of a nurturer was to re-smelt the ingot into a sword and perform a complete ritual to make it into a perfect carcass.

“Your Yukrin was also made like this.”

"I know. You told me you had to mix several high-grade ingots to create.”

"That’s right."

“But what does that have to do with Gid…”

“This method used by us nurturers of the Church is, honestly, not very effective. If you mix several ingots, there’s a comparatively high probability that the grade will increase, but the risk of it being ruined is similarly high.”

Therefore, you’d get a successful product only 20% to 30% of the time.

If you used high-grade ingots, it was less than 10%.

A near-extreme probability.

“We thought the reason was in the outflow and destruction of the soul in the process. But there was nothing to be done. In order to make a sword with a higher rank, we thought it naturally needed to bear that level of stress.”

But –

“There was someone who had a different idea.”

“So to prevent the outflow of souls… Gid boiled people alive.”

"That’s right."

In order to make a holy sword that could be offered to God, he violated the taboo set by the Church.

“What I found out wasn’t limited to just that.”

“What else did he do?”

“He set living humans on fire. Drowned them to death. Buried them alive. Killed people in all sorts of unusual ways, turning them into swords. There were no limits to his experimentation. Even going so far as to testing carcassification on people who were still alive.”

"Ah…”

Just hearing about it was terrifying.

It was as if he was testing the myth that an elemental sword of fire would appear if you burned a human to death and made him into a sword.

The same went for drowning and live burial.

It was something anyone could think of, but not actually put it into practice – and Nurturer Gid meticulously tested it all.

As Helena heard the story, goosebumps slowly grew on her forearms.

“I don’t know the exact number of his victims, but it was significant. And as if that wasn't enough, he even experimented on a demonic beast. His sins are no longer at the level of repentance.”

He should’ve been dead in the first place.

“But someone appreciated his talent.”

“Who?”

“I only heard that it was a certain nobleman. Must be a very high-ranking one.”

“… So he saved him?”

“I’m afraid so. But I'm also curious. This is a damn fucking occupational disease."

Gregory shook his head and sighed.

Helena waited silently, remembering that Gid had originally been Gregory's disciple.

“Helena. Find Gid. And if you can…”

Before more sacrifices were made –

“Shatter the delusion of that bastard.”

A dark night.

A night when the moon was half covered by dark clouds.

Callius found the forge with the half-moon pattern on it.

“Who are you?”

– Asked a patrolling soldier.

Callius revealed his identity and cleared up the misunderstanding.

"Sorry. There’ve been a string of cases of soldiers and knights disappearing. Even the count stays at his place at night, unless something serious happens.”

“Why?”

“There’re rumours that ghosts are possessing the knights.”

“Do you believe such nonsense?”

“Haha, of course I don’t believe it, but there really are a lot of people who keep disappearing. Anyway, be careful. Later!"

A case of disappearances.

Callius felt a sense of faint tug in his memory due to an event that was clearly none of his business.

‘What is it?'

It was like an errant thought, but it floated hazily like a mist inside his head.

After contemplating for a while, Callius finally decided to focus on the task in front of him.

He quietly sneaked into the forge, taking care to avoid notice from the patrolling soldiers.

He had to go through this hardship because it’d been written in the note that no one else should find out.

Once he opened the door to the shabby smithy, he saw a large brazier inside.

There were various iron tools nearby, and several other odds and ends needed for the smithing process.

Tongs, and anvil.

A sword was stretched out on a decorative table.

And there was a young man wielding a hammer, his hands dirty with soot.

Tala de Valentine.

Squinting his eyes in the dim light, he greeted Callius, who had come in with his back to the moonlight.

“My dream is to be a blacksmith.”

The conversation started in an absurdly abrupt manner.

“Did you call me here only to tell me this?”

Would this child one day truly grow up to become a representative of the Church?

Callius looked at Tala with a new sense of curiosity.

Did such an ungrateful idiot really have any talent?

It was amazing to think that such a guy would become a master craftsman in the future. Tala's face flushed as Callius kept staring.

“Sorry, Count. I don’t like men.”

“… What?"

Callius' face contorted.

However, Tala's wasn’t finished with his bullshit.

“Even though you smell good, and have a very handsome face, it’s instinctive…”

“Shut up. Keep talking and I'll cut off that cheeky tongue first."

“… Sorry."

Tala bowed his head.

“Tell me why you called me.”

“You just told me you’ll cut out my tongue if I…”

If it weren't for his nobility characteristic, Callius would’ve burst into swearing.

"Say it. Why did you call me?”

“… Like I said, my dream is to become a blacksmith. But unfortunately, the fief’s title has to be passed down from generation to generation. When my father retires, I’ll have to take over the lordship.”

Wouldn't that be a good thing?

He hadn’t called Callius here just for a secret night-time confession, surely?

“Come to the point. I don’t have the free time to waste on your complaints.”

“Yes, sorry. Simply put, please kill Count Valentine.”

“…”

Indeed, it was a very sharp and succinct point.

"The reason being?"

“Because I want to nurture swords. Oh, if possible, could I please touch your sword once, Count?"

“…”

Was the ability to speak really so essential for this bastard?

He had dark circles under his eyes and his face was wrinkled, so he didn’t look very good in the first place, though.

"You'd be better off clearing your head and talking properly. Think twice before you say anything. You’re being a nuisance.”

"Sorry. It’s just that I'm so excited right now… whoo.”

After taking a few deep breaths, Tala spoke again with a calm face.

“I want to be a blacksmith.”

There wasn’t any improvement.

Callius decided to actively explore for the answer he wanted.

"Because?"

“I have no talent in swordsmanship. But I’m very interested in swords! That’s one reason. And the other is, I’m talented.”

“You’re a fun one.”

It was his first time seeing a guy who spoke so confidently about his talent.

As a blacksmith, at that.

Needless to say, of course, there were blacksmiths in this world as well.

No matter how much a pilgrim borrowed the soul of a corpse from his God and turned it into a sword, he couldn’t create everything else.

To farm, one needed farming implements, and for logging, one needed an axe.

Likewise, various tools were needed for construction, and blacksmiths were needed to make them.

“It’s not a suitable activity for the son of an aristocrat. How do you know that you have talent?”

“From the moment I started to perceive things around me and knew what people and objects were…”

“Keep it short.”

“I can feel souls. That’s why it’s inevitable for me to be a blacksmith.”

‘Does he have the talent of a spirit medium?'

If so, there was some truth to the saying that he had talent as a blacksmith.

To be precise –

“You want to be a nurturer.”

"Yes!"

But Callius still didn't understand.

“So what does that have to do with Count Valentine?”

“The story will be quite long.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Do you know about Nurturer Gid? You’re a captain of the Inquisition, Count, so you might know.”

‘Flesh Shaper’ Gid.

Callius did indeed know.

“How is that madman relevant?”

“Nurturer Gid is my teacher.”

“…”

“My teacher, in collusion with my father, is planning to put a hundred knights alive into a furnace. He wants to make a sword suitable to be sacrificed to God, or so he says.”

One hundred knights.

To put them alive into a furnace and turn them into a sword –

Callius gulped quietly as soon as he heard Tala's story.

“And?”

“… Nothing else. That was it.”

"Oh?"

A shadow was cast on Callius' face as he stared at the ground.

It was etched with deep remorse, rather than wrath at hearing of this wretched act.

When such a scene appeared, Tala had no choice but to tilt his head.

However, Callius immediately calmed his emotions and lifted his head.

“Where is he? Gid, that is. I have to find him right now.”

Although the only thing on his shoulders was a cloak –

For some reason, Callius couldn't easily shake the feeling that something was weighing on his body.

Editor's Notes:

None for this chapter.