Meanwhile, at that very moment, in the Saintess’s office.

Knock, Knock—

"Yes, come in."

Violet Holylight, the Saintess, was seated with her back to a stained-glass window depicting the benevolent image of the Goddess, deeply engrossed in paperwork. At her permission, the firmly closed door opened.

A white-haired old man, whose advanced age was apparent to anyone, entered. He was flanked by two Holy Knights acting as his escort.

Given that the Saintess herself had ordered him to be brought here, the term "escort" felt less accurate than "accompanied" or perhaps "honored guest"...

"Ah, I have been waiting for you."

As the white-haired elder, who had arrived with the Holy Knights, knelt carefully to prostrate himself before the Goddess’s proxy, the Saintess immediately rose from her seat. She approached the old man, clutching a large crystal orb she had retrieved from her desk drawer.

"It is truly an honor for this humble, old body to meet the Goddess and Her representative."

"Not at all. The honor is mine, to meet the one who has dedicated his entire life to Her since before I was even born."

The old man’s identity was none other than the master blacksmith who crafted the armaments for the Goddess’s Crusaders.

Every single piece of equipment bestowed upon the Crusaders—including the two beautiful swords currently being drenched and defiled by Eleonora’s piss—had been born from this old man’s hands.

Although time had bent his back and turned his hair white, the muscles on his limbs remained as taut and powerful as any young man’s, a testament to the life he had lived.

Out of respect for this great senior who had served the Goddess since long before her birth, the Saintess stood before him and offered a short prayer of blessing.

"I have heard that you remember every single piece of weaponry shaped by your hands."

"Although my days are numbered and I sometimes forget where I placed my hammer, I have never once forgotten the children of steel I brought into this world."

Just as a sow has a sow’s pride, and a knight has a knight’s honor, a blacksmith possesses the unyielding pride of an artisan who commands fire and iron.

Even though his eyes were dim and unfocused from staring into forge fires for so long, the intelligence and spirit gleaming within them as he recalled his past work commanded respect. The Saintess, honoring him once more, carefully knelt on one knee before him.

"I need your help."

"If it is for Her, I am prepared to offer this old body in its entirety. However, all I know is how to handle fire and hammers..."

"You are aware that recently, some brothers of the Order departed to be by Her side."

How could he not know?

Hadn’t he heard the full details from the Holy Knights who came to fetch him? He knew exactly which brothers had fallen.

Knowing this, the Saintess held out the crystal orb she had been embracing.

"This is a crystal orb used for storing memories."

"Yes... I am aware of it, but why use this...?"

This recording device was typically used during criminal trials. Why this? The old man let out a confused groan, but then his eyes widened in realization.

"You intend to track the armaments this old body created."

"Yes. Not just any weapons, but the ones you forged with your very soul. If that is the case, we should be able to trace the remnants of your soul etched into those blades."

Since the souls of the Holy Knights had already departed completely to the Goddess’s side during their final moments, it was impossible to view their last memories directly. But what if she used the swords they had cherished like their own limbs—swords imbued with this blacksmith’s soul?

Not the memories of the dead who had vanished, but the memories of the living, breathing creator in front of her?

The old man did not hesitate. He began to pour his memories of the weapons he had created into the crystal orb. Two streams of grey mist seeped from his temples and were sucked into the sphere.

"Please, I pray this old body’s memories will be of aid to the Saintess."

"How could I doubt the one who has been more devoted to Her than anyone else? I believe in you."

Once the brief process was complete, the Saintess placed the crystal orb on her desk. To show her final respects, she took the old man’s rough hands in her delicate, pale ones and squeezed them tight.

"Thank you. This has been a great help."

Touched by the benevolence of the Saintess, who held his calloused, burn-scarred, and gnarled hands without a hint of hesitation, the old man unwittingly shed tears. The Saintess, acting as the Goddess’s proxy, bestowed a blessing upon her senior.

Once the elder left the office with the Holy Knights, the Saintess approached the door cautiously and locked it to ensure no one could enter.

It was a precaution against any unforeseen situations.

"Because Christia would certainly have opposed this..."

Having nearly been swept away by the overwhelming aura of corruption she glimpsed during the brothers’ final moments last time, Christia would undoubtedly try to stop her if she saw Violet attempting to access those memories again.

That was why she had secretly obtained the memories from the old man during Christia’s absence.

"Now then, from here on... Huu... I must chase them. I must find their true identities."

Sitting in her chair, the Saintess clasped the crystal orb on the desk with both hands and closed her eyes.

"Just as I traced the brothers’ souls, this time, using his memory as a foundation, I will find the traces. Among the fragments of his memory and soul scattered across the world, I must find the two pieces that resonate most perfectly with this recorded wavelength."

To use Christia’s metaphor: if the Saintess was the main root, then the devout believers—including the Holy Knights and the old blacksmith—were the rootlets connected to her.

What the Saintess was doing now was searching for the rootlets of those rootlets.

She knew it was not an easy task. But as the Saintess of the Goddess who protects light and justice, she had a duty to defend this land from the stirrings of this vile corruption. She traced the old man’s soul with desperate determination.

With what heart did he strike the iron? With what heart did he forge the blade? With what heart did he gaze upon the finished sword?

They were fragmentary memories, but as she followed the footsteps of his soul, tracing the connections linked to herself, the Saintess finally found the souls of the old man resonating with the same wavelength as the swords in his memory.

Since they were swords and not people, visualizing their form was difficult. However, having found the matching wavelength within the crystal orb, there should have been no problem peeking into the memories unfolding around those blades...

"It’s strange. They are disappearing. If these were swords the two brothers cherished like their own bodies for their entire lives, there should naturally be some traces of the brothers remaining, so why?"

Even if their souls had departed, these were blades they had loved and cared for. The residue of their lives should be imprinted on the steel. Yet, there was nothing.

It was as if they had been overwritten by something else.

Or perhaps, had she found the wrong wavelength?

Flustered, the Saintess tried to cross-reference the memories and wavelengths again. It was then that she felt an intense rage emanating from the old man’s soul she was tracking.

If the old man’s soul imprinted on the sword was furious, just as the brothers had been in their final moments, then these were undoubtedly the two swords she was chasing.

"And they are being erased! Just like the brothers’ traces, the old man’s soul is being wiped away!"

Some preposterous will was defiling their souls and overwriting itself on top of them.

"I won’t make the same mistake as last time. Especially since Christia isn’t here, I must be even more careful!"

Haaah, Haaah.

Taking several deep breaths to steady herself, the Saintess focused her gaze on the swords. Slowly, like a developing polaroid photo, the scene where the two swords were located began to manifest in her mind.

And then.

"Wh-what is this...?"

—Hnnggghhnnnn...♥

"?!?!?!?!?!?"

Suddenly, her vision went pitch black. Along with the darkness came wet, churning noises—shlooop, schlick, gluck-gluck—as if something was being sucked on relentlessly. Then, the lewd moan of a woman rang out, causing the Saintess to instantly lose her composure and panic.

"Wh-what? I intended to see the moment the brothers witnessed... Ah!"

Erased!

Just like the departed souls, the brothers’ memories no longer remained in these two swords. However, since the old man who made them was still alive, instead of showing the past, the connection was projecting exactly what was happening right now.

She couldn’t see anything because of the darkness, but judging by the absence of the man’s voice she had heard before and the unmistakable moan of a woman, she was certain.

But why? Why was there only pitch-black darkness?

It was ominously dark. It felt as if she were staring into an abyss that should never be checked, never be peered into.

A strong instinct warned her not to investigate further.

But.

Gulp.

"It’s... It’s fine. While recovering the brothers’ swords was one goal, strictly speaking, my purpose is to identify the source of that ridiculous aura that tried to corrupt me back then!"

And this voice!

It was the voice remaining in the fragments of memory the brothers had seen and heard!

"Huh? This voice... I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere before..."

Where did I hear it? Where was it? Just as the Saintess tilted her head in confusion—

—Heuuuughh... The asshole, shoving a sword into the asshole... This is true Human Sword Integration... Oooohhh...♥

"Wh-what is this? What on earth is happening...?!"

What were these things manifesting before her senses? That squirming, wet sound as if a living creature was right in front of her face. That filthy, churning noise accompanied by those depraved moans.

And what did she say?

"A-Asshole...? Surely not?!"

No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be what she was thinking. It simply couldn’t!

Her face flushed a deep crimson as she shook her head violently, trying to deny reality.

But then, almost as if to confirm the kill, the woman’s voice whispered straight into the Saintess’s ear.

—Sow Swordsmanship for Master... Nnngh! Master’s number one breeding sow... With this [Cunt], I must personally create the continent’s strongest and most depraved sword style...♥

She had to disconnect immediately. It was too stimulating, too incredibly filthy.

"I-I didn’t hear the name clearly... Just the name. I’ll just listen for the name and then cut the connection. Since the owner of this terrible aura doesn’t seem to be present right now, just a little more..."

Unconsciously, the Saintess swallowed a mouthful of saliva—Gulp—and began to scan the woman in the darkness.