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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
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“Elliot?”
“Yes.”
“…Are you angry?”
“Not really.”
After leaving the blacksmith’s forge, Ophelia studied Elliot’s face. He was holding the sword Olman had just given him.
The golden sword, called the holy sword, was clearly a masterpiece, even to Ophelia’s untrained eye. But Elliot’s expression was still dark.
He said he was fine, but she could sense his displeasure.
Ophelia realized that he harbored a deep resentment towards Geldmere, the knight from the Demon King’s army.
What was his connection to that commander? What had happened between them? Was Geldmere a family enemy? She wanted to ask, but Elliot’s expression was too intimidating.
It was the same expression he had worn in Loren.
“A-ahem.”
Ophelia coughed, trying to get his attention. Elliot, ignoring her, tapped the scabbard of the holy sword.
A clear, bell-like sound echoed through the air. He finally relaxed his expression and turned to Ophelia.
“Ophelia.”
“What?”
“I know this is a lot to ask, but… I have a favor.”
A favor. How many times had Elliot asked her for a favor? He was the type to shoulder everything himself, the idiot.
For him to ask for something… it meant he trusted her. Ophelia puffed out her chest, a smug smile on her face.
“What is it? Just ask. I’ll do it for you. Don’t hesitate.”
“Really? I don’t have to hold back?”
“Of course not.”
Elliot’s eyes narrowed, and he raised his sword.
“Then would you be my training partner for a while?”
“…Huh?”
“It’s nothing much. Just maintain a barrier with your divine magic. I want to test the sword’s performance.”
“….”
Ophelia realized she had made a grave mistake.
—
“Hmm…”
Olman watched the clearing outside the village and groaned.
BOOM!
A loud crash. A golden barrier, created with divine magic, flickered violently, and a small figure went flying.
She rolled across the ground, sending dust into the air.
The dust settled, revealing a disheveled woman, Ophelia Meredith, the Saintess. She yelled,
“S-stop it! You bastard!”
“Just a little longer.”
“What do you mean, ‘a little longer?!’ You’ve been saying that for an hour!”
“Just a little bit more.”
The man, Elliot, took a few steps closer and swung the holy sword, still in its scabbard.
Crack!
The ground shook. Ophelia managed to block the attack, but the force of the impact brought her to her knees. Before she could recover, Elliot attacked again, striking her barrier.
The ground beneath her feet caved in slightly.
A flash of light. The sword, crafted by Olman, possessed immense destructive power, even when swung in its scabbard.
“Hmm.”
Olman sighed softly. It was satisfying to see a sword he crafted perform so well.
Yes, it was a good thing.
“….”
But… it was a different story when that sword was being used to beat up a young woman. And Olman knew that this woman was the Saintess of the continent. So…
Thwack!
The hero…
Boom!
…was using the holy sword…
Whack!
…to beat up the Saintess.
“Illine.”
Olman said.
Illine, his apprentice, who had approached him at some point, was staring at the scene with a pale face.
“I’m starting to question my decision.”
“H-haha…”
Olman couldn’t understand why God had chosen such a violent man to be the hero.
“So,” Olman looked at his apprentice, “do you still like him?”
“…Well…”
Illine watched Ophelia being sent flying by Elliot’s attack, then shrugged.
“I don’t want to be an abused wife.”
A valid point.
—
“Ugh… fuck! Don’t talk to me, you bastard!”
“You said it was fine.”
“Shut up!”
Ophelia was sulking. She was so angry that even Lyla’s attempts to appease her with food had failed.
Slam! T
he door to the inn room slammed shut, followed by the click of the lock. She wasn’t going to open it anytime soon.
“You’re a real piece of work.”
Lyla said, watching the whole thing from inside the room, and I shrugged. I had chosen Ophelia as my test subject for no particular reason.
She had simply been the closest target, and her white hair reminded me of a lab rat.
I had held back, of course. Ophelia wasn’t injured.
I had only attacked her barrier, not her directly. Still, being sent flying repeatedly couldn’t have been pleasant.
“I should get her something nice later.”
“Well, the Saintess seems to listen to you.”
“Not really.”
“That’s what it looks like to me. You’re taking advantage of her good will. Be nice to her. Treat her like… a woman her age. There’s a saying, ‘Don’t hit a woman even with a flower.’ And you’re hitting her with a holy sword.”
“….”
Being nice to Ophelia? Her personality was terrible. She might have become a bit more docile lately, but her mouth was still as foul as ever. She was nothing like the Ophelia from the game.
Well, who was I to talk?
“I’ll… try to be nicer.”
“Surely you will.”
I ignored Lyla’s sarcasm and examined the holy sword’s scabbard. I had tested its performance sufficiently.
It was the best weapon I had ever seen. I could wield it comfortably even with the Hero’s Mark active.
I was confident I could defeat Azar eight times out of ten now.
“Lyla.”
I said, gripping the hilt of the sword, my face grim. Lyla tilted her head.
“What’s with that expression?”
“That bastard Geldmere…”
“Yeah?”
“He was a pay-to-win player.”
It was a betrayal. I had always assumed that Geldmere was far stronger than me, that I could never defeat him. But after wielding the holy sword, I realized I was wrong.
I still wasn’t confident I could defeat him, but with the holy sword and other artifacts, and with the help of my companions, it wasn’t entirely impossible.
“What’s a… pay-to-win player?”
“It’s a thing.”
I dismissed her question and turned around.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Sparring, obviously.”
I had gotten a rough estimate of my abilities with Ophelia; now it was time for some serious training with Lyla.
Lyla, instead of agreeing readily, scratched her head, looking at my expression.
“I don’t want to die.”
“I’ll hold back.”
Probably.
—
Life in the Demon King’s castle was monotonous. Especially for Geldmere, the One-Eyed Knight, the Demon King’s sword. His daily routine was simple.
It began with swinging his sword, and it ended with swinging his sword.
Whoosh.
His blood-red sword cut through the air. A near-superhuman feat. Space itself seemed to be torn apart, and the sound followed belatedly. S
hing.
“….”
It was his usual routine. But Geldmere, noticing that the sensation was different today, smiled faintly.
“Huh.”
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
Idmien, who was dissecting a dog’s corpse with his legs crossed, sneered.
Geldmere shook his head and plunged his sword into the ground.
“It seems that blacksmith played a trick on me.”
“A trick?”
“Sanguine is trembling.”
Sanguine. The name he had given to the sword Olman had made for him.
A cursed sword, its blade imbued with a sinister, blood-red aura. And Sanguine was trembling violently.
Geldmere knew why.
“It’s resonating with its twin.”
“Its twin? That sword has a twin?”
“Yes. I didn’t know until now. And it seems the other sword has found a worthy owner.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Hmm.”
The word “dangerous” didn’t faze Geldmere. He was intrigued by the appearance of a new rival.
“This is… exciting.”
“I’ll never understand your way of thinking. You battle maniac.”
Idmien sighed, then changed the subject.
“Ah, and I investigated that Elliot, as you requested.”
Two transmigrators dead. Killed by a single swordsman. A thorough investigation was in order.
“That guy was in some mercenary group, right?”
“The Black Eagle Mercenary Group.”
“Yeah. That suicide squad made up of slaves and convicts.”
During his investigation, Idmien had discovered something interesting.
“We used slaves to summon the transmigrators, didn’t we?”
“It was the Demon King’s order.”
“Yes.”
On the Demon King’s orders, they had captured slaves with suitable bodies, marked them with stigmas, and summoned souls from another world to inhabit them.
They had summoned about fifty transmigrators. Less than half of them were still alive, but the information they had provided had been invaluable.
“There were a few who escaped.”
“Were there?”
“You wouldn’t know. I didn’t either. But this is a strange coincidence, don’t you think?”
“What coincidence?”
“One of the escapees was a young man with light blond hair. Doesn’t that sound like Elliot? And the transmigrators we summoned said they had never heard of the name ‘Elliot’ in the game.”
“Indeed.”
And he was from the Black Eagle Mercenary Group.
If he had escaped from the Demon King’s castle and fled south, if he had been picked up by the guards at the Wall and sent to the mercenary group…
“Are you saying… he was one of the slaves who escaped from the Demon King’s castle?”
“It’s just a theory.”
He added,
“Perhaps the summoning ritual was unstable may have succeeded at a later date for him.”
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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.
