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Chapter 173 : Chapter 173
Translator: AkazaTL Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
「Great Warriors. The champions closest to the gods among the Orders that serve the Seven Lords and Nine Goddesses. They are beings who fight in the middle realm on behalf of divine will.」
“They sound similar to Witches.”
「Indeed. The Witches are the most representative example. But there is one key difference.」
Liam’s voice resonated low and heavy.
「The Witches, as a whole, serve as the Heavenly Father’s Great Warriors. That’s why the power of the heavens is distributed evenly among them. But the other fifteen Great Warriors—those who serve the remaining gods—each Order has only one.」
“……”
「Not divided and shared—but wholly concentrated in a single being.」
A chill crept down my spine—cold as if ice had brushed the nape of my neck.
「Each Great Warrior of the Seven Lords and Nine Goddesses resembles their god. Though they all serve different ideals, they share one common trait.」
“What is that?”
「They loathe Karavan.」
“……”
Damn it.
「Another trial awaits you, young descendant.」
Of course, it was never going to go smoothly.
“How powerful is a Great Warrior?”
I asked in resignation. The answer came immediately.
「Before the appearance of the Swordmasters, there existed none—save the Dragons—who could stand against a Great Warrior of the gods.」
***
The old crone appeared without warning, her eyes dry and lifeless as she surveyed the surroundings. Despite her bent posture, she somehow looked down on us, as if we were the ones kneeling before her. For a time, she said nothing—until her cracked lips slowly parted.
“I’ll give you time.”
Her voice was soft—gentle, even.
“My brothers and sisters who serve the Cross have sinned upon this land. They claimed they swung their maces in accordance with doctrine, but those blows spilled the blood of the innocent. Those who only wished to worship the Sun, those who worked diligently to live honest lives, the devoted mothers and faithful fathers—all perished without sin.”
Her gentle voice rippled outward, echoing softly across the city.
“My brothers and sisters are devout, but their faith is not yet pure. The punishments they dealt were heavier than what the gods desired. The condemned suffered unjustly, because my brothers and sisters are still flawed. Punishment must always be proportional to sin—otherwise, punishment is no different from violence.”
The crone’s pale eyes swept across the gathered people.
“The legitimate Pontiff, the head of our holy brethren, has commanded me to judge this city. But I cannot judge those who are innocent.”
Then, she removed the crimson cross from her back and drove it into the ground with a sharp thunk. Her voice took on a sacred tone, like a hymn.
“I have come to reclaim the Sacred Ground recorded in the scripture of the Cross. Once it is reclaimed, that will be enough. As long as prayers may be offered there, and pilgrims may walk its path, I am content. The first lands created by the gods belong to no one. Planting a flag upon them grants no rightful claim. In the end, the only things we carry beyond death are purity and virtue. The Papal Office, steeped in ambition, has yet to grasp this truth.”
“……”
“Soon, I shall reclaim the Sacred Ground. I will not destroy your buildings, nor will I harm the innocent. That is all I seek—to restore the holy land.”
The old woman smiled faintly.
“The innocent may cross this cross unharmed. Those who bear even the smallest sin must confess to the Son of Sin and Punishment. The weight of a sin spoken aloud differs from the sin you keep hidden. Only the pure can confess truthfully and receive divine forgiveness.”
At her words, the cross began to glow.
“If any among you are without sin, and believe this to be unjust violence, then strike me with a stone. I am the flame that burns sinners—but to the breath of the humble and pure, I am but a candle’s flicker.”
Her tone was kind, her eyes almost benevolent. Despite the ominous atmosphere, her gentle voice stirred the hearts of the townsfolk.
All of Visente’s people were followers of the Sun Goddess Revrua. To them, the old woman’s sincere demeanor seemed trustworthy—so unlike the violent Crusaders or the brutal Inquisitors they had seen before.
“Is… is it really okay?”
A man murmured, then began to walk toward her. But the instant he stepped forward, the old woman’s head snapped around. Her blank white eyes bore into him—piercing, unblinking. Her voice shifted completely, resonating with eerie power.
“Sinner.”
A grotesque sound accompanied her words, and crimson crosses flared within her white eyes like bleeding veins.
“You will remain where you stand. You are a sinner who must be judged. You tried to conceal your sins and flee the eyes of the gods instead of confessing. That alone is a grave crime, heretic.”
Her voice cut like a blade.
The man froze, trembling.
“W-what… what sin have I committed?”
“You failed to protect your family. As the head of your household, you abandoned your wife and fled in the face of danger. Beneath the heavens, a husband who swore the vows of marriage is bound to protect his kin. You forsook that duty. Your frail wife died. You should have given your life to protect them.”
Her words struck like daggers. The man stammered.
“H-how could I have fought them? I’ve never even held a weapon. How could I face a Crusader swinging a mace? Is running away a sin? Why accuse me—the one who was attacked—of sin? Losing my wife is punishment enough!”
“Those who wielded violence shall receive their punishment. But judgment and punishment belong only to the gods. Your suffering does not absolve you. You have a debt yet unpaid. The Son of Sin and Punishment alone decides its measure.”
“……”
“You were also lazy in your duties. You agreed to labor eight hours, but once worked only seven and a half. You drank on days not granted for rest, neglected tasks, and feigned diligence. A slothful, cowardly deserter—your sins overflow.”
And then—everyone understood.
“The punishment for a deserter is the severing of both legs. The punishment for neglecting duty is the gouging of both eyes. The punishment for sloth is to be cast into boiling water. Your judgment awaits, sinner. Stay where you are and receive it.”
The old woman before them— was far more terrifying than the Crusaders who had once occupied Visente.
The man stumbled backward in horror as she struck the top of her cross.
“None have stepped forward. None have confessed. As expected. Those who do not serve the Son of Sin and Punishment lack the courage for confession. Perhaps you are all too wretched to even recognize your own sins. That, too, is a sin. Most of you, in my eyes, are sinners. But fear not—I am unlike my brothers and sisters. I shall not deliver punishments heavier than your sins.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks— tears of blood.
“Only fitting punishments shall be dealt.”
Then, she lifted the cross from the ground and slung it once more upon her back. She began walking toward the terrified man, who tripped and fell, crawling backward in terror. The crone did not run—she walked, slow and steady, closing the distance. And then.
“Don’t!”
A small girl burst from the crowd, standing between the old woman and her father. Eyes squeezed shut, she screamed through tears.
“Please don’t punish my dad!”
“Why do you shield a sinner?”
“He ran to protect me! Mom told him to run! She told him to take me and escape! He only drank because his work was too hard. I kept asking him for things—I made him tired!”
Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks.
“He wasn’t lazy! I made him come home early! Sometimes he rested because he wanted to play with me! So please, don’t punish my dad! He’s hardworking, and kind, and he’s the best dad in the world! If there’s any sin, it’s mine! So please…”
“A fine confession.”
The old woman smiled gently.
“Because of your confession, his sins are lightened, little one. But they do not vanish. You too have yet to confess your own sins, haven’t you?”
“W-what?”
“You have plucked grass. You have stepped on insects. You have taken life—lives smaller than yours. That is sin. The punishment for plucking grass is to cut off the hands and feet that plucked it.”
The girl’s eyes widened in horror.
“The Son of Sin and Punishment delivers justice equally to all.”
The old woman’s wrinkled hand rose toward the child. And then.
“Insane.”
Time stopped. When the world resumed, I stood between the girl and the crone—my sword stretched out before me. Its tip was pressed against the old woman’s wrist, but the blade hadn’t drawn a single drop of blood.
I glared at her.
“If you’re going to grow old, do it gracefully.”
Her twisted eyes snapped open.
“Filthy Karavan…”
“Even my Master doesn’t harm children.”
A red light swirled in her sightless eyes. But I didn’t back away. My sword gleamed with light.
“You old bastards keep testing my patience—even in the Great Forest it was the same.”
I’d mistaken her kindness for sanity. But this? Cutting off a child’s hands and feet? There was no reason to hold back.
I loathed beings like her.
“You say you punish sinners. Then where were you when these people suffered? Where were you when they prayed for help? You come too late, and now demand penance from the weak? In a world overflowing with those far more deserving of judgment, why torment only them?”
Truly.
“You have no right to punish anyone.”
I took a breath— and the world expanded.
「Young descendant.」
As the old woman’s face twisted into something monstrous, I did not flinch. Still pointing my blade, I drew my hand back, then slowly ran my palm down its gleaming length—as if wiping away dust.
Not hesitation—preparation.
「The perfect opponent to test your newly learned Steel.」
The Third Steel— Magwang, Polished Light.