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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
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Ophelia had never fought a real battle in her life. She didn’t want to, and she had no reason to.
In the Holy City, most people bowed their heads at her command, and her training with the knights was just sparring, not a fight to the death.
So, she couldn’t help but feel terrified as the sand goblins approached her with clear killing intent.
“H-hey… do something…”
Ophelia looked at Elliot with pleading eyes, but he simply pursed his lips and blinked.
Lyla did the same, though she had her hand on the hilt of her axe, ready to intervene. That was somewhat reassuring, but…
“Kee-kee?”
The sand goblins tapped their clubs against their palms. The clubs were studded with sharp thorns, and bits of flesh, likely from previous victims, clung to them.
If she were hit by one of those clubs, she would definitely break a bone.
If she were hit in the head… her skull might shatter. And a shattered skull couldn’t be healed with divine magic.
In other words, death. Death in this wretched desert, at the hands of goblins, no less.
Ophelia shuddered at the horrific thought.
“…F-fuck…”
Ophelia stumbled backward until her back hit the wagon. There was nowhere to run. Three sand goblins against her single sword.
Hopelessly outnumbered. Who would throw someone into a situation like this as “training”? That bastard Elliot.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Kee!”
The lead goblin closed in on Ophelia. She raised her sword. But…
“Uh… uh…”
Her teeth chattered, and cold sweat trickled down her forehead. Her hand trembled. The goblin grinned, seeing her fear.
She was easy prey. Just as the goblin raised its club…
“You bastard…!”
The goblin had underestimated Ophelia’s impulsiveness. Instead of cowering in fear, she closed her eyes, took a step forward, and swung her sword.
Thwack!
A sound like a watermelon being dropped from a height. Ophelia thought it was the sound of her skull shattering. But there was no pain. She opened her eyes and tilted her head, confused.
Her sword had cleaved the goblin’s head in two.
The goblin collapsed, dead. It had taken less than a second.
The other two goblins, stunned by their leader’s instant death, gasped.
“….”
Ophelia was just as surprised. She had simply swung her sword, and the goblin, unable to even defend itself, was dead.
“Huh?”
Normally, when Ophelia made such a clumsy attack, Elliot would easily block it and then hit her on the head with his wooden sword.
Almost two years of daily swordsmanship training. And during that time, her sword had never even grazed him. The difference in their skills was vast.
“….”
But these goblin weren’t like that.
She hadn’t realized it before, having only sparred with that monster Elliot…
“I’m… strong?”
Ophelia realized that her swordsmanship wasn’t as bad as she had thought.
Strong against the weak, weak against the strong. T
he perfect description of Ophelia’s personality. A wicked smile spread across her face.
Lyla, the dragonoid warrior, widened her eyes. Ophelia Meredith, the Saintess, seemed like a frail woman. When Elliot placed her in front of the goblins with a sword, Lyla had even wondered if he was trying to get her killed.
But when the fight began, Lyla had to reconsider.
Thwack.
Thud.
Crack.
“….”
Ophelia fought well. Incredibly well. Even considering her age and gender, she was objectively a skilled fighter.
Her movements were practical, if a bit unrefined, and she aimed for vital points.
She seamlessly switched between thrusts and slashes, and sometimes…
Thump.
…she even used a low kick. It wouldn’t have worked against a knight, but against a goblin of small size… Crack. The goblin’s leg snapped, and it lost its balance.
Ophelia, seizing the opportunity, twisted her grip and plunged her sword into the goblin’s heart. It died without a sound.
She fought more like a mercenary than a knight. Ruthless and tenacious.
“Hmm.”
Lyla groaned softly. Ophelia, the beautiful, benevolent Saintess, was tearing apart the sand goblins like a barbarian warrior.
Goblin blood splattered everywhere, staining her hair crimson, but she didn’t seem to care. She looked more like a demon than a Saintess, an almost blasphemous sight, even for the non-religious Lyla.
She knew another warrior who fought like that. A comrade she had recently reunited with.
“Elliot.”
“What.”
“Is this your doing?”
“What do you think?”
What did she think? Lyla watched Ophelia’s… massacre, then sighed.
“You’ve created a monster.”
Elliot, as if that was the answer he was hoping for, smiled brightly.
—
“Owen, you have a letter.”
“Leave it there.”
“And the administration…”
“Just leave it.”
“Yes, sir.”
In the Imperial Intelligence headquarters, Owen, the attack dog, responded curtly, his exhaustion evident.
A mountain of documents lay on his desk. As the top agent of the Intelligence, he always had a lot of work. But recently, his workload had increased exponentially.
“Where is that damn hero?”
The Hero’s Mark. It had been over two years since the Demon King’s resurrection, but the Mark hadn’t appeared.
This was unprecedented. The previous nine heroes had all been found within a year of the Demon King’s resurrection.
The leaders of the continent were understandably anxious, and all that anxiety translated into more work for the Intelligence.
Why haven’t you found the hero yet? Is this your incompetence?
“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you find him yourselves?”
Owen muttered, setting aside the documents. His neck ached from overuse of his Mark. He stretched his neck and picked up the letter his subordinate had left.
It was probably another message from the Imperial administration, urging him to find the hero. That bitch Evangeline. If she was so concerned, she could do it herself.
Owen’s eyes widened when he saw the sender’s name.
“…Elliot.”
A familiar name. But now, a name branded as an enemy of the continent. Kidnapping the Saintess… he must be insane. But his whereabouts were unknown, so there hadn’t been a chance to confront him.
Elliot’s priority level had been raised to level one, and after a thorough investigation, they had discovered that he had gone south, to the Auriga Desert, with the Saintess.
But he hadn’t expected Elliot to send a letter.
Owen chuckled dryly and opened the letter. The request was simple: information on the current status of all the Mark bearers on the continent. Owen frowned. He was asking for level two classified information for free. What an audacious request.
‘Does he have no sense of professional courtesy?’
Owen flipped the letter over and his expression hardened when he saw what was written on the back. He sighed deeply.
It was a list. A list of the eighteen Marks registered in the Pantheon, and their bearers.
“What’s this?”
How had Elliot, a mere paladin, obtained this information? It was classified even within the Intelligence. The list even contained the locations of several Mark bearers Owen hadn’t been able to track down.
The Mark on the back of Owen’s neck confirmed its authenticity.
The Mark of Shadows. A divine privilege that allowed him not only to gather information but also to discern its truth.
“It’s all true.”
He didn’t know how Elliot had obtained this information, but it wasn’t a bad deal. The list contained information Owen needed. An exchange of information would be mutually beneficial. But…
“Elliot, just who are you?”
Even Owen, with his Mark, couldn’t figure out Elliot’s true identity.
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Hi Lord Fourth here!
I’m still new to translating as this is my second novel to pick up, so if you find some mistakes or inconsistencies let me know about it on the dedicated channel on discord.
A transmigrator and a hero 😀