Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 128

The Great Vein Expedition, on which the fate of the entire Kingdom of Jugend rested, ended in complete success in just a single day. To make it even better, the public never got a word of it.

It had been led by Cardinal Irexana, with one hundred and eight high rankers of every profession taking part. It was the maximum fighting force that could be mobilized on such short notice, and that was likely the only reason disaster had been avoided. Had they tried to conserve their strength even a little, the situation might have turned far worse.

Both the Mirror Canyon monster Kaleidospider and the Bishop of Chaos Cordia carried a threat of minimum Level 3, potentially Level 2 or higher. This had been a calamity in the making—one that could have escalated beyond the scale of a city and engulfed an entire nation.

“My judgment was too lenient,” Irexana admitted.

Two days after the expedition’s return, his body was recovered to the point where he only needed a few wraps of bandage. The overflowing vitality in his body and the Cardinal-level Holy Power worked together to heal his wounds, letting him recover quickly. An ordinary person with the same injuries would have needed six months of rest.

“I anticipated the Evil Order’s interference, but I didn’t expect a bishop to throw away his life so recklessly. Had the hero not been there at that moment... I would have had no face to show the Goddess.”

“Your Eminence...” Leon said.

“Once again, my thanks. Ah, of course, to the hero’s companion as well.”

Karen waved both hands with a wide grin at that. How often did an elite assassin or an A-rank adventurer get to sit across from a cardinal of the Church and receive such formal gratitude? And this wasn’t just any cardinal—this was the Grand Meister himself, the highest authority in Jugend.

Desire for fame was Karen’s weakness. It once again flared to life.

She said, “Oh, come on, it was nothing. But if you’re really that grateful, maybe later you could sign or stamp my journal...?”

“That much, I can certainly do.”

“Yes! You promised!”

Karen swayed happily on the spot at Irexana’s confirmation. Her own records had always lacked credibility, but with a cardinal’s authentication, no one would dare question them again.

“To be so pleased over just my signature... you’re truly a modest person. As expected of the hero’s companion,” Irexana remarked.

“Ha, haha... well, I guess so?”

Leon, catching on to Karen’s real intent, gave an awkward laugh, while El-Cid, watching it all unfold, snickered.

—Modest, my ass.

Hey!

—The son of the great blacksmith Alecto, getting swindled for a signature. What a time to be alive. Oh, I guess I’m not alive.

Letting the strange remark pass in one ear and out the other, Leon rose, ready to return to the hall. Irexana had told him not to worry, but the wounds he’d taken fighting had been serious.

Whatever exolaw Cordia had used, even after Leon had neutralized most of the poison with the Holy Sword, the injury had begun to rot rapidly. That was why Irexana had acted immediately with a drastic measure.

The image was still vivid—him calmly peeling back his own ribs to tear out the necrotic flesh without so much as a grimace. It was the very definition of iron will.

Ugh... shouldn’t have remembered that.

“I’ll come see you again later, Your Eminence.”

“Yes. And please, enjoy the banquet tonight.”

“Please don’t forget our promise!” Karen said.

“Of course.”

With brief farewells, the two left Irexana’s private quarters, the tidy yet solemn hallway of the Church greeting them.

The Great Vein Expedition Team had spent a full day reorganizing after their return, and the very next day, they were invited to a banquet. Leon’s party was no exception.

Opening the doors to the grand hall, now temporarily serving as the banquet venue, they found the lively noise inside turning toward them. Berger was the first to raise his voice.

“Oh! At last, our heroes have arrived!”

His face was flushed red, making Leon wonder how many kegs he’d downed already. Laughing boisterously, Berger strode toward Leon.

Clapping him on the shoulder, he said, “I’ve heard from Garlond a few times now, but you cut off my head, didn’t you?”

“Huh?! Ah, well...”

“I know the circumstances, so don’t apologize! Better that than some monster wearing my face going around killing people!”

There really seemed to be no resentment in Berger’s face. Instead, he tore into a pork rib in his left hand, laughing heartily.

A mercenary danced on the edge of a blade for wealth and glory. Those who couldn’t tell the difference between things that mattered and things that didn’t ended up cold corpses before their names were even known.

“That’s the Leon? He’s younger than I expected.”

“Don’t underestimate him just because he’s young. He’s the one who killed Berger.”

Most of the expedition members had either seen or heard about the clones and their strength, so none of them acted rashly.

Even among A-ranks, Berger the “Piercer” was well-known. He was the very man who had skewered six centurions with a single spear and, alongside his men, taken down a fortress. Few here could claim they could beat Berger going all out.

“Idiots,” muttered a spirit mage who had traveled with Unit 11, taking a sip of wine.

In his view, Leon wasn’t the one they should be watching. It was the woman sitting beside him with that utterly calm expression. Karen was the real danger.

That’s an Assassin Master working as an A-rank adventurer...

The higher an assassin’s skill, the harder it was to advance, and A-rank alone was already rare, considered “elite.” This woman, however, was a Master-tier S-rank Assassin. She was the one who had cut down even the close-combat-hardened mercenaries of Unit 14 in a single stroke.

If she ever came for him, he wouldn’t last three seconds. A spirit mage specialized in rear-line, ranged combat was prime prey for an assassin. Against an A-rank, his odds were less than twenty percent—against an S-rank like Karen, there was no hope at all.

Even if there was no reason to fight, the food chain was still the food chain. Fear was only natural.

The ignorant were the only ones truly fearless. Casting a cautious glance at a few people striking up casual conversation with Karen, the man quietly slipped away.

“Aaah! Jugend’s liquor really is the best!”

With beer foam clinging to his nose, Garlond stumbled up to Leon, grinning drunkenly.

“You’re here, unit leader! My lips are swollen from telling everyone about your feats. Hahaha!” 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

“You’re drunk,” Leon commented.

“Of course! Who wouldn’t get drunk on a day like this?”

Raising his beer high, Garlond shouted, “To Leon, Leader of Unit 8, who took the damn spider’s head!”

Those in the hall responded to the shout by clinking their mugs together, and the banquet was suddenly filled with the clash of tankards and the gulps of men and women downing their drinks.

Leon, now the center of attention against his will, wore a wry smile. He’d hoped to blend in like watered wine, but he knew that wasn’t going to be possible, anyway.

Well, they were never going to just leave me alone.

In an expedition of a hundred and seven A-rankers, he had been the only B-rank. Not only did he hold his own, but he had taken down one of the primary targets.

Irexana’s achievements had been expected, but his were not. And after word spread of his performance in the fight against Berger, plenty of people wanted to get close to the monster rookie.

“Leon, eh? Fine name. My grandfather was once called the Lion himself...”

“Do you plan to keep working as an adventurer? If you need a place to belong, say the word. I’ll promise you elite treatment.”

“Elite, my ass. Isn’t your clan famous for sucking rookies dry and tossing them aside?”

“What was that!? You insulting my comrades?”

More than once, those trying to recruit Leon ended up interfering with each other until tempers flared and fists were thrown. Fresh from the expedition, no one was in shape to fight to the death, and besides, spilling blood inside the Church would have been a nightmare to deal with afterward.

Leon stood back, content to watch as a bystander, thinking, Thirty percent goodwill, fifty percent formal courtesy, twenty percent malice.

His sharpened Aura Sense was earning its keep for the first time in a while. Reading the likes and dislikes of those approaching him, he quickly gauged how they saw him.

There were those who admired him, those who were intrigued, and those who praised. Meanwhile, there were also those who envied him, distrusted him, and dismissed him.

Even dividing them into just those two categories simplified his social landscape considerably.

“So, what will you choose for your reward?” Garlond asked, his words slurred.

That was the biggest question on everyone’s mind. An operation jointly commanded by the Kingdom of Jugend and the Holy Church, with a conscription order issued across the land—just what would the reward be?

And Irexana had not disappointed them. The reward was a custom-made weapon from Area 1. Forged by the greatest blacksmiths in all of Jugend, one such weapon would be given to each participant.

Not a single expedition member voiced an objection. They could only nod, eyes gleaming.

Berger jumped into the conversation without hesitation.

“Kahaha! Oh, we’re talking rewards? I was thinking I’d try a cross-spear this time. This is perfect!”

“I could use some light armor,” Hazel added quietly, “my staff is fine, but I should be able to survive on my own once or twice if it comes to that. This job made me realize that.”

“I guess I’ll have to replace my shield...” grumbled one of Unit 14’s mercenaries, who had lost his tower shield to a Rock Eater’s saliva. His words drew a few awkward coughs from those who’d been enjoying themselves.

Leon thought of that shield as well, wiping away a few drops of spilled beer. It had been thanks to the tower shield that they’d discovered the enemy’s mimicry.

Maybe the Kaleider made its clones based on the subconscious of its captives. That broken shield reappeared because, deep down, that man still hadn’t let go of it, Leon said inwardly.

El-Cid answered without much interest, —Could be.

Leon then found himself with yet another visitor.

“Wahahaha! We meet again, my boy!”

Ryan, Guildmaster of Area 13, had flown in by airship to see them. After granting Garlond investigator status and sending him off, Ryan had been the first to respond to Irexana’s summons, dispatching A-rankers immediately.

Having drunk his fill alongside Garlond, Ryan’s eyes were half-rolled back as he boasted, “Leon, you’re a gold plaque adventurer! A-rank!”

“What...?”

“Still a few procedures left, but just wait a bit longer—I’ll hand-deliver the plaque myself!”

His strength was already proven, and his record had met the requirements after taking down the Kaleider during the expedition. The moment Ryan said it aloud, Leon’s promotion was sealed.

However, it didn’t stir much excitement in him. Perhaps it was because he had already seen a world beyond the rank and reputation of the Guild. All he felt was that life would become a little more convenient.

Well, I’m getting something better for my reward anyway.

The conversation drifted thanks to other people’s chatter. As the expedition’s top contributor and someone the Church needed to safeguard—a hero—Irexana had promised him and Karen a certain gift.

He couldn’t give it openly while they were keeping their identities hidden, but now that a good excuse had presented itself, he would follow through. Leon glanced at Karen, speaking with someone a little ways away, and thought about the reward the two of them had been promised.

The pinnacle of Jugend’s symbols, a weapon whose ownership would only be recognized after proving oneself worthy of it: Jugend-Steel.

Treasures worth staking one’s life on, each said to rival a fortress in value. That was the reward promised to the two of them.