novelnext Chapter 176 : Chapter 176
Chapter 176 : Chapter 176
Translator: AkazaTL Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
“Cough.”
Ismael, the Great Warrior of Judgement, lay buried deep beneath the earth. Clinging to her fading consciousness, she looked down at her broken body. Her lower half, severed by the blade of Karavan, had been completely crushed, and everything below her neck was pinned under a heap of collapsed stones. A miserable end. A pitiful and wretched death that no one would remember.
“……Found her! Over here! Lord Karavan is buried under this spot!”
“Clear it! Remove those rocks right now!”
Yet Ismael did not wallow in self-pity over her state. In her mind, only Karavan’s voice kept echoing without end.
“How deep did this collapse go?”
“Lucky the harbor didn’t collapse too! If it had, he’d have been swept away by the current and never found again. There’s no sea rougher than the waters around Visente.”
Sin and punishment are important. But doubt is important as well.
“It’s too much for us to clear on our own!”
“Go get the mages—the ones we paid so much for!”
If one couldn’t doubt, then one would lose sight of the original purpose, buried beneath the weight of sin and punishment.
In her final moments, Ismael couldn’t refute Karavan’s words. Not only the inexperienced brothers and sisters, but even she, who had read the scriptures her entire life, had been consumed only by “sin and punishment.” It had been that way for a long time.
As if uncovering sins and punishing sinners were their sole mission, they did nothing else.
Once they found one sinner, they searched for another, and then another—using any means necessary to expose even one more sin.
The lowest believers, the priests, the Crusaders, even herself as a Great Warrior—all had lived that same way.
“Such work is difficult, you know. As you’re aware, most of us are War Mages, so delicate operations aren’t our strength. If it were breaking rocks or digging new pits, maybe, but…”
“You’re being paid plenty, aren’t you? Don’t tell me lifting a few stones with magic is too much?”
“It only looks like a simple pile of stones, but they’re tangled and interlocked. One wrong move and it’ll all come crashing down. Our goal is to rescue the mercenary Arhan Karavan, who was hired by your lord trapped underneath, isn’t it? A single mistake could turn this rescue into a killing.”
“So you’re not saying it’s impossible—you just don’t want the responsibility.”
Where had the purpose beneath the Cross—the vow to protect the weak and safeguard the good—disappear to? How had they become not messengers of doctrine but mere enforcers, carrying out punishment that was only a fragment of it? There was no need for deep thought—it was because no one had ever questioned why the Order of the Cross valued “sin and punishment” so much. They had never thought deeply. They had never doubted. Doubt itself had come to be regarded as a sin.
What pierced Ismael the most painfully was not Karavan’s blade.
What tormented her was not the swung sword, but the voice he had uttered.
“Why haven’t you started yet? What if our lord dies under there?”
“Ah, young master. The mages say…”
Ah… why had I become like this? Through the haze of her fading mind, tears rolled down Ismael’s cheeks. In that instant, distant memories flashed before her eyes.
She had been a baby abandoned in front of a church the day she was born. Ismael’s mother had been a widow, unable to raise a child alone, and so she had left her baby in the care of the church.
The priests hadn’t condemned her. Instead, they had given her bread and wine, even a torch to light her way safely home.
When Ismael later heard that story, she had asked the priests who raised her: why hadn’t they judged her mother? She hadn’t fulfilled her duty as family, had received unjust payment, and had not thanked the god—why hadn’t they judged her?
“Then is there truly no way to deal with this pile of rocks? We must rescue him, quickly!”
“The safest way is to combine magic and manual effort. Of course, if we had a priest with healing power it’d be best, but… there’s no priest in the port city of Visente with holy power that strong. Most of those were drafted into the war.”
“Search for one anyway!”
The old priests had smiled and answered the young Ismael, Ismael, sin and punishment are only tools. The Order is the hands and feet of God, meant to care for the small, the helpless, the weak. A sword may be a tool for killing, but it may also be the knife that prepares food for the hungry. We must see not the trees, but the forest.
Yes… the old priests had told her that. Ismael sobbed. How could she have forgotten such wisdom? Why was she realizing it only now?
“For now—keep clearing the stones while we look for a priest! Carefully! Don’t rush! Our lord is strong; he’ll endure even if it takes time. Safety first! Don’t let him be hurt under there!”
Her lips went dry. It felt as though lightning struck through the darkness in her mind.
The forgotten teachings—the true meaning beneath the Cross—were suddenly clear.
The realization was so great she could hardly believe she’d lived having forgotten it.
“Ah…”
Ismael exhaled a faint moan as she gathered her divine power. Originally, she had intended to accept death quietly. If the Great Warrior of Judgement were to die, the Order of the Cross would rage. That rage would unify the Crusaders even further, bring victory in the Holy War, and lead them to hunt down and kill Karavan. Even if she died, her death would pass the torch to another Great Warrior. Thus, she had thought it a death of purpose.
“Ah…”
Not anymore.
She had to spread this realization.
She had to repent for her sins, teach her brothers and sisters trapped in sin and punishment, and stop this Holy War that would only wound the weak. The Crusaders had to be dissolved.
The Order must become not a sword for holy war, but a cradle for the small and helpless—just as the priests who once raised and sheltered her had done. She had a duty to give back what she had received.
Ismael resolved to invoke a special power.
A power that a Great Warrior could use only once in their life: the miracle of resurrection. It was the same miracle performed by the Son of Sin and Punishment, recorded in scripture.
According to the texts, the Son had descended to the mortal realm, died betrayed by lies, and risen again after three days. The Great Warrior of Judgement could reproduce that miracle once. It would cost her divine power and strip her of her greatest weapon, but what she gained would be far greater than what she lost.
If she could rise again after three days— she would restore what the Order of the Cross had lost. She would become the Godmother of the small and helpless, revive the true meaning beneath the Cross, and guide her blind brothers and sisters back to the right path.
However.
“……!”
Ismael’s wish did not come true. The divine power that had gathered toward the old woman dispersed. Why? Momentarily dazed, she soon realized the reason—and lifted her eyes to the dark sky. Her god had rejected her resurrection.
「My Ismael.」
At last, she understood. Why had no one in the Order ever questioned their own crusade of burning the Southern Continent? Why had she and her brothers and sisters clung only to “sin and punishment”? Why had they all become blind zealots, believing only in the scripture without doubt?
If the path they walked truly differed from the will of the Cross, then God would have corrected their direction through her long ago. But God had remained silent. And silence meant approval.
He had not denied the Holy War. He had tolerated the hammer of punishment wielded by the Order of the Cross. He had ignored the cries of the burning Southern Continent.
There was only one reason.
「That is not what I desire.」
Deus Vult. Because it was God’s will. He wanted them to believe blindly in sin and punishment, to act as mere tools moving by His will, to let the Holy War burn the land, to make His servants exist not as cradles protecting the weak, but as hammers punishing the guilty…
「My servants must burn this land further. Children must accuse their parents’ sins. People must seek out one another’s faults, divide into sides, and hate—because only then will the world overflow with ‘sin and punishment.’」
“…….”
「My Ismael, it cannot be helped. In the new era soon to come, if your god is to maintain His influence—if He is not to suffer humiliation as in the past age of wars—then this is inevitable. Surely, you understand.」
And with those words, the scattered divine power began to fade away.
「Did you not see it yourself? A blade that can reach even the heavenly beings. Such a thing must not exist. No being capable of that should exist or be born again. This is all for order… for your sake…」
God had abandoned her. His voice faded, then vanished completely. As His voice disappeared, Ismael’s body, now devoid of divine power, began to shrivel. Tears of sorrow ran down her wrinkled face as she clutched her worn cross.
“Ah… ah…”
Ismael wept. God had forsaken her. The moment her divine power vanished, unbearable pain surged in. A Great Warrior without divine power was no different from an ordinary person. And an old woman crushed under rocks, her body half-destroyed, could not survive. Not ever.
“Ahh…”
Death crept closer. Where would a Great Warrior abandoned by God go after death? Where could a lamb without light find its way? Grief from loss overwhelmed her. Yet more terrifying than her own death was the thought of those she would leave behind—the brothers and sisters doomed to wander this world endlessly, living as tools without knowing their true purpose, only to be betrayed by God as she had been. Faith unrewarded, justice without direction, a cross devoid of holiness—everything terrified her.
‘Another Ismael will appear.’
Another Great Warrior like herself would be born— a warrior obsessed only with sin and punishment, blind to what truly mattered. From such a Great Warrior who sought only punishment, no salvation would come. Blood and tears would flow across the land.
Those misguided brothers and sisters would believe wholeheartedly in their righteousness and ravage the Southern Continent once more. None would think themselves wrong. Doubt was sin. Without doubt there was no reflection, without reflection there was no introspection. Like arrows loosed from the bowstring, they would never stop—always forward, only forward.
Knowing such a future, dying without passing on her truth was agony beyond words—unbearable agony. Death crept ever closer. And then.
“……Kugh!”
Life flickered. At the brink of death, Ismael heard a cough. She turned her head—and saw a young man trapped under the rocks, barely moving. Karavan.
***
What the hell…? When I opened my eyes, darkness surrounded me. Looking down, I saw the pile of stones pressing against my body. I couldn’t even twitch a finger.
‘Damn it.’
It seemed I had been caught up in Gaia’s power as well. Turning my head, I saw my sword buried in the dirt. I must have dropped it while unconscious. Had I still been gripping it, I might have avoided this mess. The protection of the Spirit King of Earth only worked while in contact with the sword.
Nothing to do about it now. Better this than having my neck snapped.
I couldn’t move yet, but once my strength returned, I could easily break free. The explosive physical power of 「Wild Instinct」, the added strength from my contract with the dragon Aion, the superhuman might granted by the Path—and on top of that, my Steel Heart, which refused death unless my head was severed or body completely crushed. Something like this wasn’t going to kill me.
“Just a little more—keep digging!”
A faint voice came from above. The rocks trembled slightly.
It seemed Zeppelin Gold and the mercenaries of the Black Archipelago were digging to rescue me. Good. Judging from the sound, they weren’t far. It was only a matter of time before they reached me, and once they did, getting out of here would be simple.
“……Ka… ravan.”
At that moment, a chilling voice reached my ears.
‘Unbelievable. She’s still alive.’
It was Ismael. The Great Warrior of Judgement. Turning my gaze, I saw her lying not far away—an old woman, her body torn in half, crushed under rocks from the neck down, yet somehow still breathing. It was revolting. I’d struck her twice with Polishing and buried her deep underground, yet she still lived. But.
“I… have something… to tell you.”
Strangely, she seemed different now.
‘No power. Nothing.’
The dreadful divine energy that had surrounded her before was gone. Not only that—she looked like an ordinary frail old woman. No trained muscle, only withered flesh. There was not a trace of the Great Warrior’s aura left in her.
“Ka… ravan. Your… words pierced… my soul.”
“…….”
“Punishment… is a means. You must not… be consumed by it. You must know… the essence. The means… exist only for the purpose… you made me realize this… at the very end. Though… because of that… my god abandoned me.”
“Abandoned you…?”
I couldn’t understand what she meant. But she didn’t seem sane. She ignored my question and kept speaking, repeating herself like a broken record.
“Ka… ravan. Enlightened… one. You… were not the being my god warned us of. Not the one who brings ruin… but the one who prevents it. The one to bring destruction… was instead… the one I served.”
“…….”
“My time… is short. Ka… ravan, please… teach my brothers and sisters… what you taught me. Help them… see the essence. Help them realize… that faith without doubt… always strays toward the wrong path…”
Her voice was fading.
“Ah… Kara… van. Be… a cradle for the weak. Repay the kindness… I could not. Protect… the small, the helpless. They need… not an old cross… but a sword. A sword like you…”
Bloody tears flowed from her eyes.
“The great ones of Heaven… loved not us… but Heaven itself. To them… we were mere tools. In desperate moments… only the lowest can save themselves. Not through prayer… or relying on Heaven… but by realizing truth… and finding the right path… on their own.”
“…….”
“To the lost… to the small and weak… your sword… your unyielding heart… might become their doctrine. Not the doctrines… of creation and order above… but the true doctrine… that lets them survive… and save themselves… in this harsh world…”
One by one, her teeth fell from her mouth.
“The path… you’ll walk… feels greater and holier… than all the scriptures I memorized from the Order of the Cross. You will, one day…”
“…….”
“Become… a legend.”
A faint light glimmered in her dim eyes.
“A myth… for the small and helpless…”
And with that, warmth stirred faintly in my chest. A strange yet familiar sensation. I knew what it was— divine power. The same energy that flowed from the Seven Lords and Nine Goddesses.
‘How… Can this be?’
I was bewildered. Before I could think further, Ismael spoke again.
“Ka… ravan. Be careful…”
Her voice grew fainter— barely audible now.
“……The Seven Lords and Nine Goddesses… their heavenly will… is to remake this world. A world none can transcend. A world where… no one can ever threaten Heaven again.”
“…….”
“The First Karavan… the First Swordmaster… opened the path of transcendence. They mean to erase it completely… and shape the world only by their will. The Holy War… the chaos sweeping the continent… all of it was for that. To cleanse the world. To erase all that could threaten Heaven.”
Her breathing stopped. Was she dead? Truly dead? As I wondered, she spoke one last time.
“You must beware the Sword of Heaven.”
Her final words were shockingly clear— nothing like the faint, faltering voice before.
It was the brilliance before death that Seol Yoon had once mentioned— the final flare of life before extinction.
“The sword commanded by the gods to slay every transcendent being on this land, to annihilate the Five Great Houses who hold the potential to transcend, and to preserve the order of the world. The being who erased Karavan from history—whose purpose is to erase the very concept of the sword and to deny that mortals can transcend. The heavenly agent. He will soon come for you.”
The Sword of Heaven. I had heard that name before—in Blade City Cherville. When I’d received fragments of Karavan’s forgotten history from my ancestors in the Land of the Small Sword. I hadn’t learned much then—just a single phrase.
Do not stand against the Sword of Heaven. They are the nemesis of steel.
Yes, I remembered. And at once, I asked:
“Who is the Sword of Heaven?”
The nemesis of steel. The one who had ended the Age of Steel. The sword that had defeated my ancestors. If such a being existed, I needed to know who they were. Absolutely.
“Answer me. Tell me.”
But the moment I spoke, Ismael froze solid. Her eyes were open, mouth half-parted, yet unmoving. No—this couldn’t be. After all her rambling, now she fell silent at the most crucial moment? I didn’t take my eyes off her.
And then.
“……s.”
From her cracked lips came a sound— half-breath, half-voice, barely audible. But I heard it clearly. No, there was no way to mishear that name. Of all names, that one could never be mistaken.
“Car… los……”
Swordmaster Carlos.