Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 264: The Descent of the Holy Sword (4)

Ketal could not help but wear a thoroughly odd expression. Everything Pasika listed as rumor after rumor was something Ketal himself had done.

“I see,” Ketal said at last.

Taking that as an interest, Pasika brightened and continued. “No one knows who he is. He probably was not already famous on the continent. If he were, there would be no reason for his identity to be hidden this well.”

In other words, a new powerhouse had appeared. Pasika murmured with genuine curiosity. “Where would someone that strong suddenly come from?”

“That is fascinating,” Ketal replied.

“In a world this turbulent, a person like that shows up to help us. From humanity’s point of view, that is a very good thing,” Pasika said enthusiastically.

“Is that so?” Ketal kept repeating the same thin answers. “Is this widely known?”

“Not that widely,” Pasika said. “I have my own source of information, so I was lucky to hear it. Still, the talk is spreading bit by bit.”

Anyone who kept a good information network would have a chance to hear about Ketal.

Ketal rubbed his chin. Something had changed from how things had been. In a real sense, his name and his deeds were beginning to travel across the continent. People who had nothing to do with him, ordinary folk scattered across the world, would start to learn the name Ketal. It felt strange, like hearing one’s own footsteps from far away.

Considering all the things he had done, it should have happened long ago. The Tower Master’s manipulation of information had kept his name out of the flow. That dam had finally cracked. Now, people would gradually learn who Ketal was.

So this is what it feels like, he thought. This must be what fame feels like.

Ketal smiled while thinking it wasn’t that bad of a feeling.

“Thanks for the good information,” Ketal said.

“Think nothing of it. We met by chance, so why not share?” Pasika replied with a friendly wave. As if something had just occurred to him, he added, “By the way, I never asked. Ketal, are you affiliated with any group?”

Ketal thought for a moment and answered, “Not really. If I had to choose an affiliation, I would be a mercenary.”

“A mercenary,” Pasika said, and his smile deepened. “That is similar to me. I do not belong anywhere in particular either. If I had to name something, I suppose it would be my family.”

“If it is a family, you are a noble,” Ketal noted.

Pasika let out a light laugh. “Something like that. Even so, I do not know whether I will inherit anything.”

The tone he used was odd, as if he were hiding something behind the words. Pasika looked ready to say more, but he never got the chance.

At that moment, the gates of the holy land opened. The sound was small, a long slow creak. Even in the roar of the crowd, every ear caught it. Silence fell in an instant, the way a great flock hushes at once.

From the gap came a sharper sound of metal settling into place. Lines of holy knights marched out through the open gate. They formed ranks with practiced precision and held a lane with their bodies and their weapons.

A middle-aged man walked forward along the corridor. He spoke. His voice was calm, but it carried Myst and rolled across the entire plain. “Welcome, I am Cretein, Commander of the Holy Knights of Elia, God of the Sword.”

A swelling murmur passed through the gathered masses as many knew the name.

Creatine was a high-level Transcendent, a man whose fame had run far ahead of him. People looked up at him with eyes bright with admiration.

Cretein spoke again. “First, to all who came to this place. Thank you. You have come because you wish to become the master of the Holy Sword.”

“That is right!” someone shouted.

Shouts rose in response, a wave of voices cresting and falling.

“Yes. The sword you seek is here. Among the many who have gathered, only one will draw the blade, become a Champion, and carve a name into history,” Cretein said, smiling. He lowered his voice and made it steady. “I am certain that one of you standing here today will become the master of the Holy Sword.”

Faces flushed. Expectation, dreams, greed, and confidence tangled together. Cretein opened his arms wide.

“This is the Festival of the Holy Sword that comes once in centuries!” he announced.

Fireworks blossomed high above the holy land.

Cretein lifted his voice. “Every one of you has a chance to become a Champion. Prove yourselves! Pass the trial of the sword! Claim the Holy Sword! Welcome to the holy land of Elia!”

A roar shook the ground.

***

“I am first!” a man screamed.

“No, I am first!” another shouted.

People sprinted toward the entrance to the holy land. For a moment, it felt like the middle of a market at midday, all elbows and noise.

Pasika glanced at the press of bodies and then back at Ketal. “It would be better to talk inside. There are just too many people here. If we do not line up early, we may not get in for hours.”

“Let us do that,” Ketal said.

With a small click of his tongue at the timing, Pasika nodded. They moved with the flow toward the entrance. They had waited near the front, so they did not have to endure a long delay before reaching the gate itself.

There, holy knights were checking identities and conducting inspections.

Pasika stepped up first. One of the knights addressed him. “Your name.”

“Pasika,” he said.

“Do you have proof of identity?”

“Here.”

Pasika took out a pass and showed it to the knight. The knight studied it for a moment. His eyes widened.

“Confirmed,” the knight said at last. “Please accept this.”

He handed Pasika a pass of silvered metal.

It was not like the ones given to others. Most people received a simple pass cut from wood. Pasika’s pass gleamed like steel with a clean silver finish. The difference drew a whisper from the onlookers. Pasika enjoyed the small stir and glanced sidelong at Ketal.

“This proves you are an invited guest,” the knight said. “Do not lose it.”

“I understand. I will see you inside, Ketal,” Pasika said.

“Yes. I will see you inside,” Ketal replied with a smile.

Pasika passed through the gate into the holy land. Ketal stepped forward next. The holy knight took one look at his size and flinched, then cleared his throat and spoke in a formal tone.

“Your name.”

“Ketal.”

“Ketal...?” the knight repeated. It was the face of a man who felt that he had heard that name somewhere before. He looked Ketal over from head to toe and asked, voice edged with doubt, “Do you have proof of identity?”

“Here,” Ketal said.

He handed over his C-Rank mercenary badge first. The knight accepted it without any noticeable change of expression.

“And I also have this,” Ketal added. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

He passed across a seal bearing Kalosia’s sigil. The knight frowned at the mark in puzzlement, then his eyes flew open.

“The sigil of Kalosia!” the holy knight exclaimed. He looked up at Ketal in a rush as if countless “C-could you be that Ketal?”

“I have not met any other man named Ketal,” he said.

“Please wait here for a moment,” the knight said.

He turned and ran full tilt into the holy land. The people waiting in line stared, confused.

“What was that?” a man whispered.

“Why did he do that all of a sudden?” another replied.

Moments later, Cretein himself appeared. He saw Ketal and drew in a breath.

“It is an honor to meet you, Ketal,” Cretein said. “Welcome.”

Cretein bowed with careful respect. The men and women in line stared and forgot to breathe.

Cretein was an individual who stood high among the Transcendent class, a name known across the continent. That man was bowing to a barbarian and speaking with courtesy. There was no mistaking that he had lowered himself in front of a barbarian. That meant the barbarian standing there was a person to whom even Cretein would show such respect.

“Who is he?”

“Is he the king of the north?”

Whispers chased each other as the people tried to guess Ketal’s identity.

“It seems you know me,” Ketal said.

“How could I not?” Cretein replied. “You have come to draw the Holy Sword, I assume.”

“I am interested. May I enter?”

“If you seek the Holy Sword, I have no reason to refuse. Welcome. Please accept this,” Cretein said.

He held out a pass, but it was not like Pasika’s silver pass. It was a pass of gold. Even the pass itself looked as if it would fetch a high price. People nearby gulped audibly.

“Please do not lose it. This way,” Cretein said, stressing his words. However, he still kept his courtesy to the end.

Under a forest of curious eyes, Ketal walked into the holy land. Once inside, he looked around at leisure. Pasika was nowhere to be seen. He had to have already gone ahead.

We will run into each other if I wander enough, Ketal thought.

“All right then,” he said quietly, as he began to stroll.

He moved forward with a light step to enjoy the festival.

***

When Cretein had spoken earlier, he had called it a Festival of the Holy Sword, and the name could not have been more fitting. The entire holy land felt like a festival ground.

It was not the heavy, solemn atmosphere of most holy lands. People talked and laughed, and even the buildings seemed made to match a livelier mood. Stalls lined the streets, and shops displayed all manner of decorations and souvenirs. It looked exactly like a modern festival set inside sacred walls.

Ketal enjoyed the sights as he walked. As he moved ahead, something caught his eye. He stopped and stared without meaning to. It was a golden sword driven into the earth. Right at the center of a broad plaza, a blade stood embedded in the ground. Ketal’s heart thumped once, fast.

“Is that the Holy Sword?” Ketal asked.

“No. It’s a replica,” a follower of Elia beside the display answered gently.

“A replica,” Ketal repeated as his excitement cooled in a breath.

Even if the gods granted everyone a chance, the true Holy Sword would not be planted out in the open at the very center of the holy land

“Then why put a replica here?” Ketal asked him, tilting his head.

Is it for decoration? he wondered.

Before he finished the thought, the follower spoke again. “Would you like to try drawing it?”

“Is that possible?” Ketal asked him.

“There is a very small chance,” the man said. “One attempt is two silver coins.”

Ketal paused. “Two silver coins, huh?”

“Yes. If you draw it, you may keep it. It is not the real one, but it was made here in the holy land of the God of the Sword. It is an exact copy of the Holy Sword that has descended. It is worth the price!” the follower declared with a salesman’s enthusiasm.

“If you cannot draw it but still want it, you can buy one for a single gold coin,” he added cheerfully. “A special offer!”

Ketal’s expression became complicated. He looked around and found people who looked like longtime residents of the holy land shouting around him.

“A model of the Holy Sword used by the Champion of centuries past! Only ten silver coins!”

“Try the food the Champion of centuries ago loved! The holy land’s favorite dish! Five silver coins!”

All of it cost twice what the same goods would fetch outside. Ketal watched with a slightly sour face. It was the classic look of a tourist site. He had not imagined a holy land would lean so far into it. He stood there for a moment longer and then settled his thoughts.

I guess it doesn’t really matter, Ketal thought.

There were too many people to count walking these streets. Most of them wore the faces of those convinced they would draw the Holy Sword. Even those who suspected they could not still lost themselves in the mood and enjoyed being here.

To set down the burdens of the world for a single day and taste a measure of freedom was a rare gift, and if the price for that lay in a lighter purse, then perhaps it was a trade worth making.

There’s a charm to this kind of atmosphere, too, Ketal thought.

A god’s holy land, yet running on the same kind of commerce as a modern festival, was a sight worth seeing, and Ketal took it in with genuine amusement.

That night, he found a modest lodging and rested.

In the morning, as he reached for the door to go outside, someone knocked. He opened it to find Cretein waiting.

The commander greeted him with careful courtesy. “Good morning, Ketal. I hope your night was comfortable.”

“It was pleasant,” Ketal said. “Is there something you need?”

“Would you come with me?”

Ketal nodded and fell into step beside him. It was still early. Few people crowded the streets. As they walked, Cretein asked, “Do you know how we decide the order for drawing the sword?”

“I do not. I assumed it was random.”

“It is not,” Cretein said. “We divide by the pass you received at the gate.”

“I see,” Ketal said, remembering how he received a gold pass and Pasika a silver one.

“We give a silver pass to those whose strength is Advanced or above,” Cretein explained. “Those who carry that pass receive special treatment and are given a chance to approach the Holy Sword earlier.”

“That is not exactly fair,” Ketal said.

Cretein gave a rueful smile. It was not the equal opportunity people liked to imagine.

“That is true,” he admitted.

“I understand the reason,” Ketal said. “It would not be good to keep Advanced individuals tied up here for too long.”

More than ten thousand people had crowded into the holy land already, and more were arriving by the hour. If every single person had to try before the festival ended, it could take months. Keeping those who stood at or above the Advanced level inside the holy land the whole time would not help the continent.

“That is precisely it,” Cretein said, a little startled to hear the exact reasoning stated so cleanly. “I had heard stories, but you truly are different from the other barbarians.”

“Who told you?” Ketal asked him.

“I spoke with the Archbishop of the Earth Goddess about the descent of the Holy Sword, and your name came up,” Cretein said, gulping. “We heard that you fought the Mother of All Demons. And that you won.”