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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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“Forget it. We need to hurry.”
“Well, we are running a bit late, aren’t we?”
The carriage continued speeding through the streets of Divinum City. Spotting a hotel, I signaled for the carriage to stop briefly.
“Hold up.”
“Why?”
I called Shura over and handed her my luggage.
“Shura.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Stay at that hotel tonight.”
Shura glanced at the building—Hotel Darkness. Clearly, it catered to followers of the dark faith.
Since the Divinum Holy Ground was shared by both light and dark factions, clashes were common. To minimize conflict, accommodations were segregated by faction.
“What about you, Master?”
“I’ll stay somewhere else with Hubeo. I’m technically part of the light faction, after all. You remember how to meet up later?”
Hubeo rubbed his forehead, and Shura touched the pendant on her chest.
“Yes.”
“Then go ahead.”
“Until later, Master.”
As Shura left with all the luggage, the carriage resumed its journey. Hubeo watched her retreating figure and asked quietly,
“That elf… she’s from the dark faction?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure that’s safe? She could be a spy.”
“It’s fine. She’s an elven woman.”
He should’ve understood by now. A female elf’s devotion to her partner transcends nations and faiths.
“Mm. I see.”
As we neared the Grand Divinum Temple, a street lined with bookstores came into view. Displayed titles included You Too Can Become a Relic Wielder, 100 Mindsets for Aspiring Relic Wielders, and These Types Will Never Become Relic Wielders.
When Hubeo leaned out, eyeing the books, I flicked his shoulder.
“Don’t bother. They’re all nonsense.”
But Hubeo wasn’t convinced. When drowning, you’d cling to even a straw.
Though Hubeo was the direct heir of Duke Ferero, his succession was precarious—dozens of legitimate heirs existed. His magical talent, reaching 4th-cycle mage status upon adulthood, earned family recognition, but the Ferero lineage wasn’t lacking in prodigies. His anxiety was inevitable.
“Still…”
“Trust me. Who am I? Ian Sergio Karl. I’ve got it all figured out. Heh.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. So, which relic do you want?”
I already knew the answer.
Hubeo’s dream relic was Aloim, the Storm God’s Earth Staff, a Tier-2 magical staff wielded by Duke Reynold, founder of the Ferero line. For them, it held significance beyond mere faith.
“Aloim, the Storm God’s Earth Staff.”
I smirked, pretending to deliberate. But Hubeo was my best friend—the one who’d covered my snacks and walks to school. Granting this life-changing wish seemed fair.
Leaning in, I whispered the method to claim a relic.
“You can do this, right?”
“That’s really all it takes?”
“Yep. Works for any Tier-2 or below.”
Hubeo still looked doubtful.
“But how can something so simple…?”
“It works. I’ve checked. And do you know this year’s Trial of Penance?”
“What is it?”
“Destroying the Jess Mercenaries. But I’ve already handled that—left their heads at Aim Village in the Dwin Mountains. Just collect them later. Having the right friends makes life easier, huh?”
Details lent credibility. Plus, with my uncle as emperor and father as the empire’s second-in-command, Hubeo assumed I had insider knowledge.
“Seriously? So you’re aiming for Dalahan?”
Dalahan was impossible. Unlike the fakes, it was a true relic.
“Not Dalahan.”
“Why not?”
“Emperor Siegfried’s decree.”
“Ah—if a royal claims Dalahan, they become crown heir regardless of gender. Anyone else gets honored as a state guest?”
“Exactly. If I took it, things get messy. My maternal family’s… complicated.”
As a royal, claiming Dalahan would skyrocket me to first in line, straining relations with my cousin, Crown Prince Simon.
“I see.”
“Take this secret to your grave. Leaking it is blasphemy—punishable by death.”
I made Hubeo swear silence. No good came from disrupting the Church’s business. We’d just take the crumbs.
Hubeo agreed. As my best friend, I knew he wasn’t reckless enough to risk his life. Just raising a hand made him flinch.
—
The carriage soon reached the Grand Divinum Temple’s cobbled path. The sun hadn’t yet peaked—we’d made it.
Leaning on the window, I gazed at the Hall of Divinity. The absence of a holy barrier meant preparations were complete.
‘Yojo. I’m here. Wait for me—I’m coming.’
The nameless, bizarrely crude sword I’d dubbed “Yojo” waited inside. Just one step remained.
Then, a tall swordswoman in her late twenties caught my eye. A cloth-wrapped sheath hung at her waist, but her vivid, curly crimson hair stood out more than blood itself.
Her sharp gaze couldn’t mask her ethereal beauty. Even beside Shura, the elf’s charm paled in comparison.
And I knew her—from the future.
Hubeo jolted upright beside me.
“Ian, you see her too?”
I kept my voice calm.
“Yeah.”
“She’s stunning, right?”
“Yeah.”
Hubeo eyed me like I’d grown a second head. Given my indifference to this celestial beauty, his confusion was understandable.
“Ian, you’re not interested?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Touch her, and it’s your funeral.”
Her name was Catrianne. Currently, she guided new Guardians through the Trial of Penance. In the future, she’d lead the Relic Corps—humanity’s last hope.
“You know who she is?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“My sworn enemy from a past life.”
Catrianne would later expel me from the Relic Corps for bribing my way past the Trial. She declared only those completing it true Guardians, branding me a blasphemous fake.
That stigma made me an outcast. When the Yosrahim capital fell to monsters, no one stood by me.
“Who is she? Tell me.”
“A Valkyrie. The Flaming Valkyrie.”
Hubeo paled, mouth agape.
Valkyries were divine sovereigns, members of the celestial city Chronos, and this world’s administrators—untouchable beings. Even nobles couldn’t meet their gaze.
“Y-You’re serious?”
“Yeah. So listen close. Her temper’s vile. Act cocky, and it’s your memorial day.”
“Sure about that?”
“Positive. Doubt me? Ask any pope—light or dark. They all know.”
CRACK.
The carriage door shattered as the cloth-wrapped sword stabbed through—its tip at my throat. I scratched my nose, unperturbed. This was Idrun, the Sacred Flame’s Crimson Sword, one of the Seven Relics—Catrianne’s beloved blade.
“Eavesdropping? How rude.”
Her sharp voice came from outside.
“Who told you?”
“Overheard it. My ears are as sharp as yours.”
“Really? Keep your mouth shut forever.”
“Got it. Now scram. My friend’s just worried—he’s about to serve under you.”
As knights swarmed to stop her, Hubeo shouted frantically. Valkyries could single-handedly oppose nations. A carriage could be repaired, but her wrath could shatter his house.
Catrianne glared at the knights, then spoke to me.
“Fine. I’ll believe you. And you—keep quiet.”
“Y-Yes!”
Hubeo’s trembling reply came instantly. Idrun withdrew, and Catrianne left.
Hubeo rounded on me.
“Ian! You should’ve told me that privately!”
“Why?”
“Did you see how angry she got? You know how strong Valkyries are!”
I’d read history books. Valkyries occasionally descended on missions, clashing with humans—sometimes toppling dynasties. The fall of the Iselan Kingdom and rise of the Yosrahim Empire were prime examples.
I smiled warmly.
“Yet I’m not scared. Why the yelling?”
Hubeo deflated, humbled.
“Well, it’s not that…”
“Be careful?”
“…Yeah, okay.”
I watched Catrianne leave. Truthfully, despite her temper, she wasn’t cruel. During the Age of Ruin, when all Valkyries fled to the heavens, she alone stayed, leading the Relic Corps to share humanity’s fate.
Still, I disliked her. Honestly, was I the only one who skipped the Trial? Early in the Age of Ruin, most Guardians who received relics hadn’t completed it either.
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