WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Order

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Chapter 67: God's Love

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Elbridge agreed with Bireone's point that the number of heavenly seats didn't reflect an individual paladin's skill.

He'd seen more than enough substandard paladins strutting around simply because they belonged to a massive church.

But if someone existed who dragged the average down, that meant someone else necessarily existed who pulled it up.

The holy knights known as Paladins, for instance.

People who showed exceptional talent even among the mid tier and above, or within the great combat churches.

Thump.

When Elbridge's scabbard buried itself into a stomach, the paladin of the Silver Javelin Apostles doubled over and emptied his gut of everything in it.

"Bleugh, cough, cough."

That made four.

Elbridge looked around and asked, "Anyone else want a turn?"

Plenty of people twitched with competitive fire, but no one stepped forward.

Bireone, leader of the Silver Javelin Apostles, had already warned beforehand that anyone without a real chance shouldn't bother challenging.

'Strange that they'd still want to step up after watching this much of a beating. If these were eastern paladins, pride alone would've kept them from trying.'

That difference no doubt came down to temperament between east and south.

From what Elbridge had seen so far, southerners were, on average, more combative than easterners.

Bireone clapped, looking satisfied.

"Good enough. That should be qualification enough. Let me show you where you'll be staying."

The paladins who'd lined up — the Silver Javelin Apostles apparently called their paladins apostles — scattered, and Bireone personally guided Elbridge's group.

Elbridge had secretly hoped to stay in one of the treehouses, but unfortunately Bireone's steps led toward an area with fewer trees.

Elbridge studied Bireone carefully as they walked.

Bireone stood more than a head taller than Elbridge, an almost startling height.

And despite that height, Bireone didn't look the least bit sluggish. His muscles carried a springy tension visible even at a glance.

Rombel asked, "Paladins... no, apostles, was it? Anyway, that lot must've known they were no match for Elbridge. Why start the fight at all?"

Rombel hadn't missed how Bireone's gaze had lingered unusually long on him and Elbridge before the sparring began. It meant Bireone had already guessed something about the group's abilities.

Just as Bireone had sized up Elbridge's group, Elbridge and Rombel had likewise judged that Bireone was no random nobody. Bireone carried that particular air only skilled fighters had.

Elbridge thought Bireone resembled the paladins of old more than the current generation, who had largely forgotten combat. Maybe even close to the level of a Paladin.

Bireone answered Rombel's question.

"A person learns more from losing than from winning. The problem being, you're more likely to die while learning..."

"I suppose."

"You all can show my men a new way to fight, and beat them besides. But you won't take their lives. Why would I pass up a chance like that?"

Meaning he'd deliberately provoked the fight to sharpen his subordinates.

But something about Bireone's story struck Elbridge as off.

"What if we'd gotten offended and left?"

"That wouldn't happen."

"No. If we'd wanted to, we could have."

"You're planning to gather the priests and paladins of the Order of the God of Flowing Water in this castle, then bring them over to the Black Hand-Axe Brotherhood's side. You wouldn't just walk away quietly."

Bireone had struck the nerve so suddenly that Elbridge's group lost their words for a moment.

Before they knew it, Bireone had turned back and was smiling.

Watching that, Elbridge understood. Bireone had been testing them all along. And now Bireone's guess had turned into certainty.

Denying it here would mean nothing. Elbridge asked instead, "How'd you know?"

"Everyone knows the Order of the God of Flowing Water has close ties with the Black Hand-Axe Brotherhood. There's no other reason you'd come find us instead of joining up with the Black Hand-Axe Brotherhood."

Elbridge slowly ran a finger along his sword hilt as he thought.

Should he cut Bireone down here? Could he kill Bireone cleanly before the Silver Javelin Apostles arrived? And if he killed Bireone, could he handle the aftermath?

Before Elbridge reached a decision, Bireone spoke.

"I don't intend to tell the others anything. Use me however far you want."

"Use you?"

"Yes. That's why you came here anyway, isn't it?"

Elbridge still couldn't quite read Bireone's intentions.

"Why take on that kind of risk?"

"The current state of the south, broadly speaking, you could call it a five-way standoff. This castle's forces alone can't seize both control and the Order of the God of Flowing Water. But with you all, there's a real chance. Let's grow the stakes a little before anyone settles on a winner."

Bireone wanted Elbridge's group to gather as many of the Order of the God of Flowing Water's paladins and priests as they possibly could.

Whether the Order of the God of Flowing Water's believers ended up going to the Black Hand-Axe Brotherhood as originally planned, or staying with Bireone and the Silver Javelin Apostles, was a question to be settled afterward.

"You're just putting off the bloodshed?"

"Might turn out that way. But in the end, there's a good chance the Order of the God of Flowing Water stays with us. Believe it or not, our church is quite capable. More reliable than the Black Hand-Axe Brotherhood. Reliable enough to become a new trading partner."

Elbridge felt a quiet flicker of admiration.

Bireone had strength and judgment, sure, but also the insight to spot a chance worth a bold gamble.

Would the Order of the God of Flowing Water stay by Bireone's side, as Bireone predicted?

Or would both sides end up looking for a chance to stab the other in the back?

There was no telling that far ahead. But their immediate interests aligned.

Cooperate with the Silver Javelin Apostles, and rescue as many of the Order of the God of Flowing Water's people as possible.

"I'll cooperate for now... but I don't want to kill people from another church."

Bireone grinned.

"Doesn't matter to me. I'm hoping to avoid an all-out war too. A victory that costs you your own strength isn't worth anything."

Bireone's steps stopped. A modest single-story house stood in front of the group.

In a city this cramped for space, being assigned an independent space where they wouldn't have to rub shoulders with anyone else was quite a privilege.

Once Bireone left, Rombel spoke as he stepped into the house.

"Elbridge. I figured Bireone would step in himself after you beat down four of his men. But he didn't."

"He didn't."

"And yet his men don't seem the least bit disappointed that Bireone held back."

That left one of two possibilities.

Either the Silver Javelin Apostles didn't expect Bireone to win, or they trusted his skill completely.

And from what Elbridge and Rombel could see, the reaction leaned toward the latter.

Elbridge spoke with complete sincerity.

"If the chance comes up, I'd like to fight him myself."

* * *

Bireone came looking for the group far sooner than expected, asking for help.

It was the second day since Elbridge's group had arrived at the castle.

"We move tonight. Get ready."

"Already?"

"Tonight, the Curved Sword Church is going to hit the Black Hand-Axe Brotherhood. We'll slip into the empty castle, rescue only the people from the Order of the God of Flowing Water, and get out."

"So it's a small party moving in."

"Right. Me, one of my men, you, and that dwarf..."

Bireone eyed Marcus with a subtly uncertain expression, clearly unable to gauge how skilled the man actually was.

Elbridge offered advice.

"If you're on the fence, bring him along. He won't slow you down, at the very least."

"Fine. That makes five of us total. Keep your gear to a minimum. We're avoiding any big fights and moving as quietly as possible."

Marcus wore a complicated expression.

Reluctance at being dragged somewhere he didn't want to go mixed strangely with a faint pride at feeling somewhat recognized by both Elbridge and Bireone.

Not long after, the five of them slipped out of the castle under cover of darkness. Unlike usual, even Elbridge had gone without his armor, dressed light.

The southern Great Forest grew busier at night than during the day.

Chirr, chirr chirr...

Birdsong, insect noise, the late night wind rustling through leaves. All of it carried far through the night air.

Now and then, something large moved deep in the forest, making its presence known.

Rustle.

"Wh, what was that?"

Whatever moved in the darkness was as big as a large cart, or maybe a small carriage.

Marcus flinched and drew his sword, but Bireone's subordinate answered, "Don't attack. It's a wild boar."

"Wild boar?"

"The most common demonic beast in the south. There's a saying that out of ten demonic beasts in the south, eight of them are wild boars."

Marcus answered, baffled. "One kind of demonic beast makes up that much?"

"Yes. Those things breed well. They give birth to six or seven young at a time."

That statement shook the common sense of Marcus, Elbridge, and Rombel alike.

"Wait. A demonic beast that breeds?"

"Yes. There's no way to know the exact origin, but we believe they were created by ordinary wild boars crossbreeding with a demonic beast. In that sense, you could say they're only half demonic beast."

"First I've heard of anything like that..."

"Their habits fall somewhere between demonic beast and mountain animal too. Unlike demonic beasts that charge at any human on sight, wild boars rarely attack people first. Their size, though, doesn't compare to an ordinary boar at all..."

"Hm. So big but not much else to worry about."

Bireone laughed at that.

"I wouldn't underestimate them. They're not a threat under normal circumstances, but the wild boar is the demonic beast that's killed the most people in the south."

"You said wild boars don't attack people?"

"Very rarely, they form massive herds and sweep away everything in their path. Southerners call it a stampede."

Stampede, huh.

Marcus tried to gauge the size of the wild boar barely visible in the dark and said, "A herd... thirty, forty of them?"

"No. At minimum, a few thousand up to tens of thousands."

Marcus couldn't tell if that was a joke, so he tried to read Bireone's expression in the dark.

Bireone laughed in the darkness. Even in the dim night, his white teeth were clearly visible.

"Told you. The wild boar is the most common demonic beast in the south, and it's also the one that's killed the most people."

"I can't even picture it..."

"You see the size of those things? When tens of thousands of wild boars go mad and start running, city walls and everything else don't stand a chance. That's exactly why the south never grows any large cities, unlike other regions. Build a massive city and get caught in a stampede, and it's wiped out just like that."

So it wasn't just the dense forest keeping the cities small. It was the wild boars.

Even in the dark, Marcus looked plenty tense.

"That stampede thing... does it happen often?"

"No. Last time was around when I went through my coming-of-age ceremony, and a whole city vanished. The walls of that city aren't far from here. Want to see them?"

"...No. I'm good."

Bireone turned out to have quite a way with words despite his looks, telling the group all kinds of stories as they walked.

A story about walking for a full month trying to find the edge of the Great Forest, a tale about some strange demonic beast he'd seen, funny or bizarre customs from other churches, complaints about the Black Hand-Axe Brotherhood, just how obsessed the Order of the God of Flowing Water was with money...

Some people can tell the exact same story everyone else tells, yet somehow make it feel vivid and entertaining every time.

To Elbridge, Bireone was clearly one of those people.

'If he'd been born in the east instead of the south, he might've made a fine mercenary with a gift for storytelling...'

Marcus, likewise a gifted storyteller, returned the favor with stories from his own days as a mercenary in the east.

With two good talkers in the group, the mood couldn't have stayed heavy even if it tried.

Chatting away like they were headed out on a picnic, the five walked for a good while before Bireone raised a hand and stopped the group.

"Alright. Save the rest of the stories for the walk back."

Ahead of them stood a castle slightly smaller than the Silver Javelin Apostles' own.

'So this is the Curved Sword Church's base.'

The walls stood about five or six times the height of an average grown man.

Bireone said, "Hey. You said you weren't too keen on killing people."

"That's right."

"Same here. Let's keep it to the bare minimum and slip out quietly."

Bireone set his harpoon and curved sword down on the ground, worried about moonlight catching on the metal.

Elbridge asked, "You'll be fine without a weapon?"

"More than fine. Truth is, hand-to-hand combat is my specialty. Weapons, I'm not so confident in."

Night clouds drifting on the wind swept in and covered the pale yellow half moon.

Bireone bounced lightly on the spot a couple of times, springy as anything, then kicked off the ground and sprinted forward.

Thud.

Bireone reached the wall in an instant and climbed it like some kind of animal.

Using only his hands and feet, he moved far faster than someone climbing a ladder ever could.

Elbridge felt a quiet flicker of admiration.

'Fast as a squirrel scaling a tree.'

Bireone scaled the wall in just a few breaths.

The clouds still covered the moon. Bireone moved as silently as a ghost, snapping the necks of two men dozing on top of the wall.

Rombel watched, impressed.

"That one's no ordinary fighter. Even back in the day, someone like that was rare."

"Guess he's not all confidence, then."

A rope dropped down from the top of the wall. The remaining four approached and climbed up using the rope.

Once they'd reached the top of the wall, Bireone grinned.

"Alright. Quick and quiet, then we're gone."

Bireone, Bireone's subordinate, Elbridge, and Rombel dropped down inside the wall.

Even with four people jumping down from that height, not a single footstep echoed.

Marcus flinched at the mood that seemed to demand he jump down along with them, and the God of Fox Rain delivered an oracle.

- Marcus. Don't be an idiot, just take the stairs down.

"Understood."

The devoted believer Marcus faithfully followed the oracle.

Footnotes:

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