Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 76

It all happened in an instant. Like lightning tearing through the world, a single slash of light split everything in two. No one could see it, but even the air along its path was sliced cleanly apart.

The wind that had been cut fell silent. The darkness that had been severed stood still. Andrei’s bloated, ready-to-burst body froze as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

“Wha...t?” he muttered in disbelief at the inexplicable phenomenon.

If he’d simply been cut in two, that alone shouldn’t have stopped him. The compression of life force was already complete, and the fuse had long since burned down.

Andrei’s eyes filled with horror and disbelief. A black mage was still a mage—a seeker of the world’s truths. He could not accept a result that defied all reason.

El-Cid scoffed, reading his final thoughts.

—Mages. No matter the age, they’re all the same. They think only they can meddle with the laws of the world. But for a swordsman who’s mastered their craft, splitting the flow of things with a single strike is nothing special.

Leon hadn’t suffered so much to learn the Grand Chariot for nothing. It was an art that Rodrick himself had invented in his lifetime and wielded it until he surpassed the Master’s wall.

It wasn’t just a way to swing a sword faster and harder. It was an art that interfered with the realm of ‘principle’—cutting through space itself, ignoring any physical resistance, and even severing the flow of force and cause.

That was why Andrei’s self-detonation had simply stopped.

“If it weren’t... for you... pests...” Andrei stammered as his severed lower half hit the ground first.

Bathed in scorching sunlight and now cleaved by Merak, Andrei’s body had reached its limit. Not even the immortality of a Lord-tier vampire could hold it together now.

“Aah, my power... my glory...”

His lower half, torn from the torso, was already crumbling to ash. With a wretched scream, the rest of Andrei’s body began to disintegrate from the cut—his soul withering away in agony.

Vampires were a race with no separation between body and spirit. When they died, their souls did not linger; they were annihilated along with the flesh. For Andrei, who hadn’t enjoyed even a day of true immortality, the price was cruel indeed.

“Don’t feel so wronged, Count,” Leon said, unable to hear the final plea due to the burst eardrums.

He didn’t need to hear it to know exactly what Andrei was spitting out. Villains always said the same thing—clutching at their undeserved ambitions until the end, blind to the ruin they’d earned.

Cause and effect. Retribution.

Everyone knew it, but few truly believed it. It was the role given to the hero to remind them.

“Even if it hadn’t been me, your ‘glory’ wouldn’t have lasted even half a year.”

With that, Leon watched the monster fade. Ash to ash. Dust to dust. It was a truly fitting end for the Count’s crimes.

“Aah... ah. Aaaah...”

With a final pitiful shriek, Andrei—nothing but a shriveled head now—crumbled to a handful of gray dust. Leon did not look away until the very last moment.

He watched the stolen life force scatter, drifting off like a crimson mist. He stayed until a passing breeze carried off Andrei’s remains and until the illusion of the bloody moon above shattered at last.

Then, it was over. Andrei was dead—nothing left but ash.

“Is it... is it dead?” Gustav mumbled.

The mercenaries seated beside him immediately clapped him on the back and scolded him.

“Dammit, captain! Didn’t we tell you not to say shit like that?!”

“Did you forget about the ogre you ‘killed’ that got back up? You trying to raise corpses, you necromancer?!”

“You always manage to do the things you absolutely shouldn’t—unbelievable!”

The Holy Iron Inquisitors looked puzzled at the outburst, but there were unwritten rules among mercenaries. When a suspicious rookie showed up, don’t pick a fight. When you kill something tough, never say anything like, ‘Did we get it?’ And when you’re about to enter a fight, don’t start telling old stories.

People who didn’t know just laughed it off, but anyone who’d survived enough tough situations knew better. The older the mercenary, the stricter they kept to it.

“Well, I don’t think he’s getting back up this time,” Demian muttered in words of relief.

Fortunately, Andrei’s revival was not happening. When Demian confirmed it, the mercenaries finally let out sighs of relief.

At that moment, Leon’s legs gave out and he collapsed where he stood. Angela hurried to his side to prop him up.

“I’m fine. I’m just a little drained,” Leon said, trying to ease her worry.

Angela, however, ignored his protest and poured all her remaining holy power into healing him. She’d seen what he truly was—there was no other choice now.

—Hah! What a treatment. Are we kings, or something?

Leon grimaced at El-Cid’s cackle but fell silent when he saw Angela’s eyes—shining like a child’s.

There’s probably no point in trying to get out of it, right? Leon asked El-Cid.

El-Cid snorted.

—Even if you tried, they wouldn’t listen. They’d lay down their lives to keep you standing.

This is why church folks are so tricky to deal with...

There was nothing harder to refuse than kindness that asked for nothing in return. The Holy Iron Inquisitors were famed for standing tall even before emperors—yet here they were, tending to Leon’s wounds before their own.

“You’ve done well.”

Leon turned his head when he heard the voice behind him—his hearing restored by Angela’s holy power. Demian met his eyes, smiling broadly.

“Now I see why Bishop Caesare asked us to give you our full support.”

“Haha... Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“No apology needed. You wished to hide your identity, so we are here to simply honor that wish. Angela and I will carry what we know about you to the grave.”

Angela nodded firmly, pointing her thumb and pinky, and turned her hand to show her agreement [1]. Looking at her like that, it was almost hard to believe she was the same person who’d punched half a manor apart. With her silence and iron fists, she truly was someone no one would forget.

Leon gave a small, helpless laugh, only to sway where he sat as dizziness washed over him.

“Ugh.”

His vision blurred, then cleared again. His mind had hit its limit. His body claimed it could still move, but the line he’d crossed with Merak said otherwise. Not that it was a bad thing—he’d pushed one step past his old self. Next time, he wouldn’t have to push so recklessly to wield it again.

Demian leaned closer, whispering so only he could hear.

“Leon, leave the cleanup to us. We’ll make sure nothing about this gets in your way and keep any trouble with the kingdom to a minimum. Rest easy.”

“Thank you...”

He knew he couldn’t stay awake much longer, so Leon closed his eyes, letting himself accept that kindness. Darkness enveloped him in an instant.

Once again, the hero who had done his part fell into a brief, well-earned sleep.

***

The news of Andrei’s death reached the royal palace the very next day. Unlike the countless barons and baronets scattered across the kingdom, there were barely ten counts in total—an echelon considered part of the realm’s true ruling class.

Above them stood only a handful of margraves and dukes, altogether no more than five or six. They were the ones who wielded real power behind the crown.

So when one of those few suddenly died a violent death, the entire palace—and the upper nobility—had no choice but to be thrown into an uproar.

However, the uproar died just as quickly when the Holy Iron Inquisitors, the pride of the Holy Church’s military might, stepped forward with two of their members as witnesses.

“Andrei von Rubena, the Count of Rubena, has been summarily executed for heresy!”

There was overwhelming circumstantial evidence. The Wallachia clan had endured two and a half centuries of labor sentence, and the survivors from the slums were rounded up and bled like cattle.

And when tomes on black magic were discovered in the ruins of the Count’s manor, it left no doubt that Andrei Rubena had indeed been a heretic. He had sacrificed over a hundred commoners, kept Church-sanctioned vampires as livestock, and used them to amplify his own power.

What had been committed was a crime so heinous that even a summary execution left him no room for excuses.

“It’s true that a few adventurers and mercenaries helped subdue the Count, but they did little in practice! Calling them to testify would yield nothing of worth!”

Thanks to the discretion enforced by the Inquisitors, any official mention of Leon, Karen, and the Steel Claw mercenaries was carefully omitted.

Unlike the untouchable Holy Iron Inquisitors, they were easy prey for nobles looking to meddle. If it ever got out that they’d had a hand in executing a high noble, there would be plenty eager to exploit that fact as leverage. It was better to protect an honor that could actually be kept—one that couldn’t was as good as lost.

“So that’s how it turned out,” Karen finished her recount of the past three days.

To Leon, it felt like he’d only blinked—but somehow three whole days had passed. And the place he was lying now was nowhere near what he’d expected, either. The faint, irregular shaking told him everything—he was inside a moving cargo wagon.

“So we had to leave the city of Rubena behind,” Leon muttered in understanding.

If they lingered too long, they could easily be called in as witnesses. Even with the Inquisitors’ testimony, the territory technically fell under the kingdom’s domain, and it was best not to give anyone a reason.

So Arnold had restarted the caravan as soon as dawn broke, resuming the trade route and pulling away from Rubena. Of course, he’d slowed the pace considerably, mindful of Leon’s condition.

After hearing it all, Leon turned to Karen and asked, “What about your wounds?”

“Hm? My wounds? Oh, they healed up yesterday. The attacks missed all my major organs, and the bleeding was just bad for a bit, so I bounced back quickly.”

“I see.”

For some reason, Karen’s expression turned awkward at that. When Leon shot her a questioning look, she hesitated, then carefully spoke up.

“S-sorry.”

“For what...?”

“Next time, I’ll tell you first before I act. You were probably really startled when I just did things my own way, huh?”

Only then did Leon understand, and he let out a faint chuckle.

Watching Karen act like this felt so far removed from the stoic Keeper who’d once unleashed killing intent with a blank stare. More than anything, it was he who ought to apologize, not her.

“Well, yeah, I was startled. But you don’t have to explain yourself like that.”

“Huh?”

“Next time, don’t say anything. I’ll figure it out myself. I’d rather you stick to what you do best.”

Karen stared at him wide-eyed and then broke into a bright grin, nodding several times in agreement. It wasn’t something he’d said just to comfort her.

Karen’s strength lay precisely in that unpredictable approach and quick-witted improvisation. If she always had to get approval from her allies first, she’d be dulling her greatest asset, perhaps even turning it into a flaw.

Restricting a comrade’s power just for my own peace of mind... That’s not what a Hero’s supposed to do.

Leon was confident that he’d made the right call.

We’re past Rubena. It’ll probably take another two or three months to reach the Titan Mountains. I should focus on recovering and going over what I learned this time.

Maybe it was because he’d just weathered another storm, but as Leon stared at the drifting clouds in the distance, he found himself thinking ahead.

His instincts as a Hero were quiet now. At least for the next few months, he felt certain no major crisis would come.

Their final destination was the Titan Mountains—the land where the Giant King still reigned, where El-Cid had said the legacy of the Holy King Rodrick lay hidden.

How they’d get inside, or even find Rodrick’s legacy, Leon still didn’t know, but he didn’t dwell on it. He simply closed his eyes.

“When the time comes, it’ll work out somehow...” 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

He could plan all he liked, but a Hero’s fate was vast and wild. No clever trick would get him through the trials ahead, and worrying over questions with no answers was just wasted breath.

Daily training, the Holy Sword in his grasp, and the comrades he could trust—only those would open his path forward.

—Ha! Now that’s more like a Hero! Back in my day—

El-Cid’s usual ramble began, catching the tail of his own boast as always. Leon let it wash over him, half-listening.

Instead, he tried to remember the feeling he’d had when he unleashed Merak. There was also the power he’d claimed after cutting Andrei down.

The road ahead was still long. The steps he’d have to climb were still without end. Yet Leon did not despair at that distant future.

He clenched both fists tight and thought, So long as I don’t give up, tomorrow’s me will always be stronger than this me today.

There were five months left until the day of the prophecy. Five months from now, Leon would stand as someone altogether new.

1. ASL for “agreement.” ☜