Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 262: The Descent of the Holy Sword (2)

Ketal tested the beast again and felt it bare its fangs, not at an enemy but at him.

So the creature hates seeing me on the back foot, he thought. It acted like a surly hound that barked at everything, yet when its master was in danger, it leapt without fear and sank its teeth into the enemy.

“What a troublesome thing,” he muttered, clicking his tongue.

He could not use it at will. It only stirred when he faced an opponent that forced him to fight in earnest. That made it a picky beast.

If that is how you are, why not just cooperate all the time? he grumbled inwardly. Why resist me like your life depends on it?

Another problem awaited him the moment he tried to move more Myst.

I’m all out of Myst

The last swing he had made with the beast had cut the world itself. That severing strike had left a visible wound in space. After that, for a full day, he had been unable to work Myst at all.

I need more to work with, he decided. Even if I understand how to handle Myst, it’s pointless if I don’t have any reserves.

He drew a slow breath and examined the flow within. He had learned the basic method to coax the beast, to align his will, and let that will shape the Myst. The knowledge did not solve the shortage. A craftsman with empty hands could not build a house.

There was at least one good sign. The beast had softened a little. Compared to their first clash of wills, the creature no longer bristled at every touch. It felt like an animal that had burned off its anger and now tolerated the hand that fed it. It still did not follow him in any meaningful way, but the difference stood out.

After he stood before Materia, an enemy that demanded his full height and forced him to rise or die, the beast had calmed, as if the fight had bled stress from its bones.

So to manage Myst properly, I would need to keep facing foes of that caliber, he thought.

That notion broke itself against reality. The sort of enemy that woke the beast would be a god from the heavens or one of the Four Pillars of Hell. Ordinary Heroes did not stir it. Foes like that did not appear on the Mortal Realm every other day. For now, the method was impossible.

That leaves one path, Ketal thought.

He needed to increase the total amount of Myst inside him. If he raised the reservoir, then even partial control would yield a greater absolute amount he could actually wield. Given the current state of the world, that looked like the quickest, surest approach.

That path had its own wall. By his estimate, true handling would require Myst on the level of a Transcendent. Currently, he had the Myst of an Advanced, and he would have to push into the next realm.

He would need to absorb catalysts saturated with Myst. The problem was his body. It was special, not in a way that made him proud, but in a way that made common catalysts barely register. If he wanted any meaningful gain, he would need something like the Dragon Heart, or something that stood shoulder to shoulder with it. Such things did not lie around in market stalls.

What can I use..., he wondered. He stopped turning the problem over in solitude and went to find Milayna.

“Milayna. Do you have a moment?” Ketal asked her.

She did not answer. She stood with a faraway look and shuffled papers with mechanical motions, a doll going through practiced gestures while the mind drifted elsewhere.

Ketal stamped his foot once. The floor gave a soft shudder. The room trembled. Milayna’s chair jolted, and she bounced in the air with a tiny yelp. She blinked hard, awareness snapping back into her eyes.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.

“Are you all right? You have looked half absent since the other day.”

“I am... I am fine. No, not exactly,” she stammered. Her voice came out vague and thin. The look on her face said she had not fully returned to herself. “I was thinking about what you told me.”

A thing that belonged in myth had stepped onto the world. One of the Demon Lords of Hell had descended. Ketal had fought such a being and won. She could not decide which part should shock her more, that a Demon Lord had reached the Mortal Realm or that a man she knew had defeated one. Her thoughts chased each other in circles until the heat burned out and only a stunned fog remained.

She steadied her breath, put her hands flat on the desk, and asked Ketal, “What do you need?”

“I have a question, if that is all right.”

“Of course. Ask whatever you like.”

She pushed her stack of documents aside and focused. Ketal explained his situation. To work Myst properly, he needed potent catalysts.

Milayna murmured as understanding settled. “So you still cannot control it completely.”

A shiver ran down her arms at his words. The thought that he had defeated a Lord of Hell without even fully mastering Myst was staggering. Ketal simply nodded.

“Right. To handle it properly, I should increase the amount. Do you know where I could find something on the level of a Dragon Heart?” Ketal asked her.

“Give me a moment.”

She sifted through every ledger of rumors and every map in her mind. Then she went still as a new line of thought struck her.

Wait, she thought.

Ketal was strong. He was strong enough to push back a Demon Lord’s avatar. Calling him beyond an ordinary Hero was not an exaggeration. The world had tilted toward chaos, and evils surfaced one by one. The Lords could descend in their true bodies if the fractures widened.

If that happened, Ketal’s strength would be precious, frighteningly so. It could overturn the board.

My advice could set the piece that decides the fate of the world, she thought, and a shiver ran down her spine. She set aside every casual instinct and gave the matter the sort of focus her family reserved for wagers that could lift or ruin a house.

“I cannot be exact,” she said slowly, “but there are a few things on the continent that might rival a Dragon Heart.”

She began to list them, words careful and firm. The Dwarven Cave of Mantamia held a meteorite that had fallen from a star beyond, older than most kingdoms. The Fairy Village of Pisarapia, and in it the Essence of Purity, refined over ages in the heart of a living forest. The Mage Tower that speared the sky stood on a magical core that anchored its height and flow. Deep within the underground city of Magna Rain, miners had once found a Gem of Origin.

There were a few others.

“A branch from the World Tree would also qualify,” she finished.

Ketal’s eyes glinted. “I see.”

“There is a problem,” she added. “Some of those have already been taken by demons.”

The servants of the Demon King had begun to gather offerings for his descent. The meteorite in Mantamia and the Essence of Purity in Pisarapia had already slipped into demonic hands.

“As for the treasures that remain, many are holy relics or state treasures. Outsiders cannot simply walk in and take them.”

Ketal clicked his tongue. “I expected as much.”

He glanced toward the direction of the elven sanctuary and bit back the thought that rose. He could return and ask the elves for a branch from the World Tree. The idea felt shameful as soon as it formed. He had no right to ask, and he could not say whether the request would be possible. He stood at the edge of that doubt when Milayna spoke again.

“Given the current situation, the easiest path might be an S-Rank Dungeon.”

He tilted his head. “An S-Rank Dungeon?”

“Yes.”

They were the highest tier of Dungeons. Across the whole world, there were barely a dozen and a little more. No one had ever cleared them, and they were mysteries set in stone and fog. Some names had become legends in tavern songs. He had heard of a couple of them while traveling across the world, such as the Tower of Secrets, whose end no one had ever seen, and the Monster Nest, where every sort of creature found on the continent had been seen at least once.

“I know the Monster Nest,” Ketal said under his breath. He had heard the Mercenary King had attempted it and failed.

“I suspect an S-Rank Dungeon will have catalysts comparable to Dragon Hearts,” Milayna said. “The higher the difficulty, the richer the reward. That pattern holds everywhere.”

No one had cleared those places, but Ketal’s power stood above the usual Hero’s. If anyone could carve a path, it might be him.

“That makes sense,” he said, and his eyes lit with interest. He bowed his head a fraction. “Thank you for the valuable information.” 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

“It is nothing,” she said. Then she paused and chewed her lip. “But will you be able to go? As far as I know, you need the right to challenge them. The Mercenary Guild grants S-Rank entries to A-Rank mercenaries and above.”

“That is true...,” Ketal murmured. At the moment, he held a C-Rank badge at best. He did not have the qualification.

Should I go find the Mercenary King? he wondered. If he asked, the man might push a recommendation through and raise Ketal’s permit to A-Rank. Their connection was not superficial, so there was a chance it could happen.

Ketal did not move that day. He did not even know where the Mercenary King had gone after they parted. Instead, he stayed in Milayna’s manor. He stabilized what Myst he had, stitched frayed edges of flow, and breathed until the beast’s snarl eased back to a low rumble.

Two days later, after his practice, he entered the capital and stopped mid-step.

Since the continent had begun to churn with bad news, the city had kept a dim, heavy mood. Denian’s capital had suffered a direct attack by demons. The streets had carried a stubborn grayness ever since. People stayed inside. When they walked, they moved with a hush, as if any loud step might invite misfortune.

Today, the air felt different. The city was in motion. The streets were filled with people who ran not with panic but with purpose. Nobles and commoners alike hurried in every direction. The faces he saw were bright. They shone with hope.

“Father, I am going,” a young man shouted at a doorway as Ketal passed.

“You idiot! Come back!” the father cried, grabbing at his sleeve.

The son shook free and strode into the street with a grin so wide it made strangers smile without meaning to. Ketal watched the short storm of emotion, then turned his steps toward Akasha’s estate.

The Akasha estate was no quieter. Servants ran messages. Couriers came and went. Milayna managed three errands at once with a stack of lists under one arm, and even then, she looked more animated than weary.

“Ah, Ketal. You are here,” she said when she spotted him.

“The capital is loud today,” he replied. “And people look cheerful. What happened?”

“Something worth that cheer,” she said, and she smiled in a way that reached her eyes. “The Holy Sword has descended.”

Ketal’s eyes widened.

***

That night, after she managed to close the last ledger and send the final rider, Milayna came to find him.

Ketal had been waiting like a child who had been promised a festival. He tried to stand still and failed, his expression shining with curiosity that he did not even try to hide.

“Are you finished? Then tell me. What is the Holy Sword exactly?”

Her brows lifted at his excitement, but she did not tease him. She began her explanation without delay.

“The Holy Sword is grace,” she said. “It is a blessing the great gods send down to the Mortal Realm.”

From time to time, the world fell into danger. Dark mages slipped past the gods’ sightlines and turned nations toward disaster. Powerful evils pressed at the borders between realms and tried to push a foot through. Most of the time, an oracle or a miracle could set matters right. Once in several centuries, even an oracle could not hold the tide.

There had been ages when cabals of dark mages moved the whole continent like a single lever and plunged it into chaos, all to ground a summoning circle large enough to invite a demon’s descent. In those periods, the gods could not easily intervene. They could not descend in their true forms, and sending even an avatar strained the order that held heaven and earth apart.

“So they send a holy relic instead,” she said. “Something heavy with their own power.”

That object took the shape of a sword. When the sword reached the world, it planted itself in a place that cried out for aid. When a worthy person drew it, the sword chose that person, and the gods’ strength flowed into mortal hands.

“That is the Holy Sword.”

“When the world is in peril, the gods send it?” he asked her.

“Yes. As long as the gods tie their power to it, the Holy Sword is very strong. The one who takes it up is hailed as a Champion. He or she brings calm to a continent that cannot find calm on its own.”

“Oh,” Ketal breathed.

The picture rolled out before him, and his admiration came out unhidden. When the world would shake, the heavens would answer with a sword. The hand that would grip it becomes a Champion, and the land would know peace again. It fit the story-book image with a neatness that made his blood stir. He could not help the next question.

“Is the sword meant for one chosen person?”

“No. Anyone can draw it.”

It did not matter if the hand belonged to a prince, a saint of a great church, an ordinary citizen who never held a blade, or a ragged pauper. Anyone could wrap fingers around the hilt and pull. The sword answered only one thing.

The question was not who you were, but whether you were worthy.

“I understand,” he said, and his mouth curved.

Of course. A Holy Sword should work like that. It should not lock itself behind birth or titles. It should meet anyone who could stand before it.

Milayna watched his face and smiled to herself. She could guess what he wanted.

“You intend to go,” she said.

“Of course.” He nodded without hesitation. He had no plan to let an event like this pass him by.

“In that case, I will gather what information I can,” she said. “I hope you return safely.”

“Thank you,” he said, and his grin flashed as if he could not keep it down.

It was a blade sent by the gods, a sword that carried the will of heaven down to the soil.

If demons walk, there should be a Holy Sword as well, he thought.

Expectation painted itself plainly across his face and did not fade.