Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 165

From the depths of a sleep so deep he could not even dream, Leon’s eyelids began to tremble as he came around just ten hours after his arrival at the camp. Thanks to the Stigma of the Guardian, he usually felt refreshed after just an hour or two of rest, but the race against Nephren-Ka had drained him to the absolute limit.

Had it not been for the Holy Law poured into him by the Holy Iron Inquisitors and his Stigmata, he might have needed a week of uninterrupted sleep to recover.

The first of his senses to return was hearing. The murmur of many voices, the rustle of clothing, the clink of weapons at belts. As he listened vaguely, the rest of his senses returned in order, and his mind cleared.

What happened...? Leon thought, jogging through his hazy memory.

The last thing he thought he saw was Elahan’s face, her scent of sweat and dust lingering on the edge of recollection.

El Cid was the first to greet him.

—Finally awake, are you? This time, you were really close. If that Saintess girl had been ten seconds later, you’d be dead. Lucky for you, she must have gotten a revelation or something from that dummy goddess—her timing was uncanny.

So it really was Elahan...?

—Yep. She pulled off something absurd. To unleash Divine Judgment alone was outrageous enough, but then she kept fighting afterward? Makes you wonder how they trained her.

They had called her the strongest Saintess in history; if El Cid’s words were true, that was no exaggeration.

After a moment’s conversation to gather his thoughts, Leon opened his eyes and saw a ceiling of leather. It was clearly a Bedouin tent, the kind used as temporary lodgings.

“How long was I asleep?” he muttered, but this time, it wasn’t El Cid who answered.

“About ten hours? You could probably sleep a bit longer.”

“Ah. Hey, Karen...”

Turning to the corner of the tent, Leon saw Karen peeking her head out of the shadows where she’d been hidden, silent as always. Her eyes glowed green in the dimness, like a cat’s.

Leon forced that impression aside and asked, “How’s the situation? What about the beastkin?”

“They brought only their elites. Numbers won’t help against that thing anyway.”

“How many?”

“About two hundred. I cut out anyone who couldn’t wield battle qi like Urakan, and around thirty percent are shamans or mages. Fewer than ten are actually fit for the front line, though.”

Without figures like Beast King Varg or other chieftain-level fighters, standing before Nephren-Ka wasn’t even possible. Karen, who had briefly faced him, knew instinctively that even an Aura Master, a nation’s mightiest, was nothing but a bug before that monster.

Only Leon can defeat him, she thought to herself, choosing not to say it out loud.

She had fought alongside Leon against exolaw wielders before. From that experience alone, she judged that Nephren-Ka could not be measured in terms of strength. He was a creature outside the world’s laws, a being of another dimension.

Not even an army in the hundreds of millions could bring him down. To those below a certain threshold, even approaching him was impossible and even pointless.

“The Guild sent eight A-rank adventurers, six Holy Iron Inquisitors, and we got fifty-four Bedouin warriors, including their chief. Altogether just under three hundred.”

“I guess we had too little time...”

“Yeah. This was the best we could do in four days.”

The Great Desert and the Great Savannah were already cut off from the outside world. Distance couldn’t be bridged overnight. The nearby Clyde Empire was too busy with its own turmoil, and the Kingdom of Jugend was too far for a round trip in four days.

“Let’s go,” Leon said, pulling himself back on his feet.

“Already? You sure you’ve had enough rest?”

“My wounds are almost healed. I’ve recovered over half my Aura, and I’ll be back to full before sundown.”

When Leon rose to leave the tent, Karen instantly moved to his side to support him.

“K-Karen? I’m not that bad...”

“Don’t. You need to conserve every scrap of strength for when we face that monster.”

Her reasoning was sound enough that Leon couldn’t protest. He accepted her support as they stepped outside.

The moment Leon emerged, all eyes turned to him. The Holy Church. The Guild. The beastkin. The Bedouins.

Only the strongest from each group had gathered, and they knew it well: The monstrous presence looming from afar.

The adventurers prepared their wills and testaments. Even the Bedouins and beastkin, who treated death as a part of life, sweated with fear.

“He survived alone against that for days?”

“Not just survived. They say he drew it away from the refugees to the outskirts.”

“A-rank at his age, no wonder. He’s no ordinary kid.”

“Not just skill, either. To rally two enemy factions and the Holy Church?”

Even adventurers who might have tried to assert dominance held back. Then, from across the camp, Al-Razzaz, who had been speaking with warriors, spotted Leon.

Though it had only been a few days since they last met, he strode quickly forward and clasped Leon’s hands in both of his and greeted, “You’re awake, our savior!”

“C-Chief Al-Razzaz?”

“Oh, no need to be so stiff. You can call me brother! For us Bedouins, you are the greatest of guests!”

None of the warriors showed jealousy or resistance at the unusual warmth displayed by their chief. Leon was the sole reason their families and friends had survived. It was a debt so great that even repaying it with their lives would not suffice.

It was Varg, arriving like the wind, who spoke curtly.

“Brother, you say? What nonsense. My knowledge is that you’re quite old, am I wrong? A man who’s seen grandchildren already, asking to be brothers with a youth who’s just undergone his coming-of-age? That’s just ridiculous, isn’t it.”

“Since when did animals stick their noses in human matters?” Al-Razzaz snarked back.

“And this from the man who draws his sword at the slightest offense.”

“I can draw it again, if you’d like.”

When two Masters traded words in such a grim mood, the wind itself seemed to halt, the air thick and heavy. By ill fate, they shared the same Aura attribute—wind.

Competing over the same domain meant a deadlock: neither could suppress the other, like two palms pressed together. The first to give way would lose. Even if it was little more than posturing, neither could easily back down.

However, there was one person present—a third-party—who could put a stop to all that.

“Enough!”

At that single word, the locked-down air split apart and dispersed. Both Al-Razzaz and Varg turned in surprise.

To break the pressure of two Aura Masters at once—tilting the balance to one side was simple, but suppressing both simultaneously was exponentially harder.

Elahan had done it as if it were nothing, glaring at them.

“What are you doing in front of someone who’s just woken? Is this how you treat your benefactor?”

Chastened, the two muttered reluctant apologies.

“Ahem... I was out of line.”

“I, too, was childish. Forgive me.”

Ignoring them, eyes still sharp, Elahan went to Leon’s side and took his other arm. Karen narrowed her eyes at the sight, but Elahan paid it no mind. Leon, caught awkwardly between them, could only sigh.

“Leon, how are you feeling?” Elahan asked.

“Not at full strength, but almost there. Tonight’s battle shouldn’t be a problem.”

“If you feel any issue, tell me at once. Healing Holy Law may not be perfect, but it’s quite effective.”

She gestured toward the line of Holy Iron Inquisitors, who, at once, bowed deeply to Leon. These were men who would not bend even before a king.

The beastkin had no idea of such reputation of the Inquisitors, nor did most Bedouins. It was only the adventurers who were left stunned again, asking themselves who this young man must be if even those dreaded knights treated him with reverence.

“Kahaha! Not even a day and you’re on your feet again. When I saw you looking like a rag, I thought you were done for.”

It was Urakan, the second mightiest of the plains, who strode up without hesitation and clapped Leon on the shoulder. His tone was rough, but there was no malice, so Leon returned his grin.

“Another day of sleep would’ve been nice, but then everyone here would probably be dead. So, I had no choice but to get up quickly.”

“What? Hah! Hahahahaha!”

Urakan burst into laughter, as if he’d been bested. The funniest part was that Leon’s words were true.

Urakan’s instincts screamed: Run now, or you’ll suffer worse than death, but, as always, Urakan ignored such warnings. That was what made life fun.

With the two breaking the ice, the talks began. What had first been awkward soon turned into an open discussion—adventurers, beastkin, and nomads alike.

There was no need for strategies or formations. Against a monster like Nephren-Ka, conventional tactics were meaningless.

All they could do was trust each other, cover each other’s backs, and fight desperately to survive.

That made this time precious. For an alliance so hastily formed, it was their one chance to build camaraderie and cooperation.

And then came...

***

“Twilight...”

As someone whispered, dusk began to fall. However, the sky was unlike any they had seen before.

Where the sun sinking into the western horizon should have dyed the heavens red, today the sky blackened like the mud of a swamp.

Revulsion crawled up their bodies, raising gooseflesh from an instinctive loathing, a presence that life itself rejected. Something forbidden to this world was coming.

“I have arrived.”

The sun was swallowed, and from the west, darkness surged across the land. Daylight fell away as if it were midnight.

At the blasphemous Aura, the Holy Iron Inquisitors clad their weapons and bodies in holy light, casting radiance with prepared rituals to keep the others from faltering.

Nephren-Ka, however, ignored them and pronounced, “I have seen.”

In the pitch-black sky, a colossal crimson eye split open. Minds reeled.

Those who looked upon it clutched their heads, staggering with vertigo and pain, their Aura and mana rebelling beyond their control. Blood spilled from their lips.

And this was not even a deliberate mental assault. Even the strongest struggled to stay upright. This was the stature of a transcendent being.

Only Leon, the Holy Iron Inquisitors, and Master-level warriors could hold their gaze on that eye without flinching.

“And I have descended.”

With that third proclamation, he appeared. There was no process.

Like turning from nothing to something, Nephren-Ka manifested in midair, his form wreathed in black mist. A dreadful presence pressed down on the three hundred gathered, his glance sweeping over them like pigs at slaughter.

“So many vermin who don’t value their lives. If you wish to serve beneath me, well, I might grant such a plea.”

As the pitch-black fog billowed like a cloak, the darkness that had seeped into the ground began to vomit forth... figures—humanoid in shape.

Al-Razzaz clenched his teeth as he recognized them.

“That’s...!”

Mummies. Creatures wrought from living men, cursed with undeath to hunt only the living. They devoured life, shrouded themselves in poison, and cut down any sub-par warrior without resistance.

Then, Al-Razzaz’s eyes found him. Though he had sired many children by Bedouin custom, there were always a few he treasured more.

Rahmu, his very own son, stood among the ranks of the mummies.

“Oho.”

Nephren-Ka noticed his reaction and sneered, “You are fortunate. Your son has already bent to my service, and he shows uncommon skill for a worm. Submit now, and you too will enjoy a high station in my kingdom of death.”

Al-Razzaz, his fury cold, drew his blade and said, “A withered corpse dares mock me...?”

In the same moment, Nephren-Ka’s darkness rippled again and disgorged shapes unlike the mummies before. He summoned a giant with a crocodile’s head, and a priest wearing the head of a jackal; ancient servants of the pharaoh, now corrupted and reborn through blasphemous shadow.

Nephren-Ka shook his scepter and crook, urging his vassals forward with a vile smile.

“Do you still not understand, fools? The sun has fallen. Now your lives shall as well.”

The darkness encircling them—or rather, a tidal wave of beetles—rose high, ready to swallow the three hundred whole. Any ordinary warrior would have scattered in terror, but here, none wavered. They lifted their weapons high.

The first strike came from Al-Razzaz, having suppressed any and all fear with wrath. Behind him loomed his giant’s slash. Manifestation of his mind-body, Djinn of Al-Razzaz.

From his swordpoint, the storm coiled, whirlwinding up the blade. A single strike, a tempest’s edge.

“Blade of the Storm of Ruin.”

Sand churned within the gale, its friction birthing a magnetic field, until even lightning wrapped the Aura Blade he brought crashing down.

The swarm of beetles split in two. Lightning born of the earth itself split heaven and earth, and on that surge the warriors ignited their own Aura, striking back against the darkness.

The role of an Aura Master was not merely to fight alone, but to lead from the vanguard, to open the way.

Leon knew this well.

“Here I come!”

His Icarus Wing flared out behind him, wrapping his body like a mantle. Adding Holy Flame, it shone in platinum. Leon dove into the path Al-Razzaz had carved.

Against the tidal wave of darkness, the light pressed forward. The sight alone compelled the others to follow, forgetting fear as they surged ahead.

A Hero. The one who guides the light of an age.

“Haaaaah!”

Leon, drawing every ounce of his strength, raised his sword high. The scale of power was overwhelmingly against him, so he would concentrate it all into a single point, into Grand Chariot.

Even pouring the Holy Flame into his Icarus Wing, he compressed it into a fist-sized sphere of light, then thrust his sword.

“Grand Chariot, Seventh Form: Alkaid.”

From the sword’s arc a beam of light shot forth, piercing the veil of darkness as though it were no more than paper.