WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Natty

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◈ The Regressor and the Blind Saintess ◈

Chapter 9: The Holy Kingdom of Elia - 3

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The Great Temple stood at the very center of Elia, and the paladins' barracks lay near its eastern exit.

Like every other building, it was pure white. Before it stretched a vast training ground.

Vera stood in the middle of it, facing twelve pairs of eyes fixed upon him, and addressed Vargo.

“What would you have me do?”

“Hmm...”

As Vargo stroked his chin at Vera's question, silence settled over the training ground.

The twelve paladins lowered their heads. They maintained rigid postures, as though they would not make a single move until Vargo answered.

It was a gesture steeped in reverence.

There was surely respect for Vargo's accomplishments and his position as Holy Emperor, but Vera could tell that the reverence they showed came from something different, something more fundamental.

‘Reverence born from the heart.’

That sort of reverence could not be beaten into someone through violence and authority.

Vera, who had ruled through fear all her life, understood that all too clearly.

He could roughly guess why they showed Vargo such respect.

The father of all Paladins, as people called him.

It was a title given because he had reestablished the Holy Combat Arts that paladins now learned and used.

That name was likely what inspired such reverence.

As Vera continued his thoughts, Vargo, who had been looking between him and the knights, adopted a rather mischievous expression.

“Yes, this should do.”

Vargo's gaze met Vera's. A wide smile spread across his face, revealing yellowed teeth.

“You did say you were fairly good with a sword, didn't you? Fight those twelve at once and win.”

“...What is it that you wish to see?”

“Swordsmanship, what else?”

At the casual reply, a breath escaped Vera's lips.

His intent was obvious.

‘Swordsmanship, my foot...’

He wanted to see him use his Authority.

Vargo was making his intentions far too obvious.

Under ordinary circumstances, telling one person to defeat twelve paladins at once was not something one could say even as a joke. Vargo knew that, the paladins knew that, and Vera knew it too.

Yet he said it with a smile because he meant to test the Authority he possessed and gauge just how much it allowed him to do.

Vera took a deep breath, then nodded.

‘...If that is what he wants.’

There was no reason to hide it. No, revealing it would be better.

He wanted the position that oversaw the Saintess's procession. To obtain it, he had to show Vargo as much as he could.

Vera calmed himself, then spoke as he looked at Vargo.

“May I use my Holy Mark?”

“Why would you not? It is your power as well.”

“Understood.”

“You lot, get ready.”

With a sharp motion, the twelve paladins moved at once.

As Vargo slowly made his way toward the corner of the training ground, the paladins began to surround Vera.

Watching them, Vera rolled up his sleeves and tightened his grip on the wooden sword in his hand.

He was surrounded on all sides.

It was a formation he had not faced in a very long time.

...It was one he had encountered countless times in his previous life.

Vera knew how to break through this formation.

He had experienced it until he was sick of it. He knew how to use his Authority in situations like this.

The Authority of the Covenant granted him strength equal to the value of what he offered as payment.

In other words, he could sacrifice one ability to enhance another by the same amount.

Vera began to calculate.

‘What to give up, and what to gain.’

He weighed them.

What was necessary to fight one against many.

First.

‘They will try to slip into my blind spots.’

The human body, reliant on sight, inevitably had blind spots. They would aim for them.

With that thought, Vera closed his left eye and spoke.

“...I will not open my left eye during this spar. In exchange, I will gain sharper senses to make up for my limited vision. If I open this left eye, I will lose the sight in it.”

His Holy Mark blazed gold, and divinity surged through his body.

Feeling his senses sharpen, Vera considered the loss of stamina caused by movement and continued.

“I will not move more than four steps from where I now stand. In exchange, I will gain a stronger body. Of course, should I fail to keep this, I will lose the ability to walk.”

Divinity seeped into his flesh. The golden power settled into his muscles, and exhilaration filled his entire body.

Feeling his strengthened body, Vera opened his mouth again.

Finally, he needed to place one last condition to amplify the power he had gained.

The Authority of the Covenant had a clear weakness. Since it manifested through language, it made his vulnerabilities known to his opponent.

To overcome that, he needed to make the gap in sheer power so great that they could not catch him off guard even knowing those weaknesses.

Vera offered the payment with the greatest value after his soul. He used it to amplify the divinity dwelling within his body.

“I will not speak either. By remaining silent until this spar is over, I will lend greater weight to my oath. If I utter a word while this spar continues, I will lose language itself.”

His Holy Mark flared again. Divinity spread out in ripples around Vera.

Feeling the divinity fill his entire body, Vera tensed and looked around.

A moment of stillness, ready to break at any instant.

The paladins raised their wooden swords. Vera gripped his with both hands.

At the end of that brief standoff, Vera sensed a wooden sword flying toward his flank.

He turned his body. It was not a large movement.

With the smallest movement possible, he applied just enough force to slightly redirect the thrusting wooden sword. He deflected it.

Then swords rained down upon her from every direction at once.

As Vera avoided them with minimal movements once more, a sudden urge rose within him.

It was the feral instinct awakened when the battle began.

That instinct, which could be called thirst or exhilaration, and the raw violence crouching in one corner of his heart began to stir.

At the sensation he had not felt in so long, Vera smiled without realizing it.

* * *

“You're like a dog in heat.”

That was what Vargo said after the spar ended.

Vera looked around himself.

Twelve figures lay sprawled across the ground, gasping for breath. They were the paladins he had just fought.

She had won the spar. The difference had been overwhelming.

Naturally.

No matter how frail his body might be, Vera was the bearer of a Holy Mark. He was someone who had once ruled as one of the strong through an entire lifetime.

Whether in experience or ability, there was a gap between Vera and them that could not be closed.

So Vera could not agree with Vargo's words.

“...I won.”

“Yes, you won by tearing them apart like a dog.”

A gruff laugh escaped Vargo's lips.

“No Form. No Intent. You simply gave yourself over to instinct and swung at whatever you saw. How is that any different from a dog in heat?”

Vera narrowed his eyes and argued in an angry voice.

“That swordsmanship was better than that of these paladins.”

“Say it properly. It was not your swordsmanship that defeated them, but your Holy Mark.”

“Did you not say that Holy Mark was also my power?”

“I did. Then let me ask you this. Is that the sword of one who protects?”

Vera's mouth snapped shut.

It felt as though she had been struck on the back of the head with a club.

He tried to make an excuse, but his thoughts could not form an answer, to the point that frustration welled up within him.

No matter how his lips moved, no answer came. The confusion on his face only deepened.

At the sight of Vera, Vargo let out another gruff laugh.

“Paladins are those who protect. A paladin's sword is a sword that protects. It protects the most glorious faith, and those who have sought refuge beneath that faith's shade. Therefore, it must stand steadfast even through the darkest night.”

Vargo slowly approached. The smile across his face took on an utterly mischievous shape.

“That is why Form is needed. To protect what must be protected, one needs principles for it.”

Vargo bent lower at the waist. Even so, Vera had to look up at him.

“That is why Intent is needed. To carve a single wish upon the sword, one needs conviction for it.”

His laughter pierced his ears. Vera heard mockery in it.

“Let me ask you. Is your sword a sword that protects what lies beneath its shade? Or is it the sword of a wild beast, tearing apart whatever it sees before it?”

At the question thrown at him, Vera could give no answer.

His words mocked him mercilessly, yet Vera could not find anything with which to answer. He merely pressed his lips shut.

They were words that pierced his essence.

Words that pierced the life Vera had lived.

Vera had never been taught. His sword was made from the experiences of his previous life.

Therefore, Vera's sword had no Form. It consisted only of the most intuitive and practical movements, crudely woven from techniques he had internalized through experience. There were no principles running through it.

Vera's sword had no Intent. It was not a sword that held something, but one that poured out what lay within him. It poured out the rage that could burn his mind to ashes, the hatred that turned his heart into a swamp, and his resentment toward a world that sought to crush him. It held no conviction.

The silence continued for a long while.

Then Vargo asked again.

“I will ask once more. What do you seek to become a paladin for?”

What had brought him here? That was his question.

All at once, a hazy figure rose in Vera's mind.

A steadfast spark, endlessly faint yet seeming as though it would never fade.

It was a spark that made him reach out his hand without realizing it.

A spark that made him endlessly weak.

Vera looked at Vargo.

Over the face of that mischievous old man, a figure more suited to being called a monster, he saw the image of a sage.

Vera clenched his fists. He bit down hard enough for his teeth to grind.

An emotion rose within him.

It was thick, sticky anger clinging stubbornly to the image in his mind.

There was anger toward that old man, who mocked him like this.

There was anger toward himself for being unable to say anything in return.

There was anger toward his shallow thinking, which had made him believe that blindly guarding the Saintess's side would be enough.

What did he seek to become a paladin for?

What had brought him here?

As his thoughts continued, his gaze lowered.

Over his ink-dark soul, the Covenant engraved in gold came into view.

Vera asked himself the question once more.

‘What was this Covenant for?’

Only then did something that could barely be called an answer escape him.

With his face tightly twisted, Vera pushed through the rising anger, overturned the swamp beneath it, and barely dragged up the words.

“...The way to protect.”

Because he regretted a life spent only taking.

“To learn how not to regret.”

To follow the spark that had shone even upon someone as vile as him.

“...That is why I wish to become a paladin.”

He wanted to live that kind of life. That was why he had followed her.

“Ha...”

Vargo's laughter reached his ears.

Vera raised his head and looked at him.

His face remained mischievous, yet there was also a trace of delight upon it.

Vargo smiled brightly.

“Now you finally look a little like a person, you little black brat.”

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