Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 101

With every step Elahan took, several strands of weeds tangled around the blunt surface of her greaves, only to be torn away. What would’ve been a difficult path for the average person to walk was nothing for the Saintess. After all, she could snap steel chains like twine.

Just a year ago, this path hadn’t been like this. The barely visible remnants of the old trail revealed themselves beneath her steps, hinting that once, this path too had been regularly walked.

There had been a young man who climbed this steep mountain daily to train in solitude, unseen by anyone. He ran laps too numerous to count, vomited enough to fill dozens of buckets, and pounded on tree trunks wrapped with thick rope like a training dummy.

“This was the Hero’s training ground,” Elahan muttered. Somehow, she just knew. “The marks carved into this tree, the shorter grass compared to elsewhere, all of it.”

Some might scoff. They’d say it was an insignificant place. They’d call it pathetic that the Hero had sprinted over weed-choked ground, left cuts in trees he couldn't fell, and gripped the Holy Sword in a hidden corner where no one watched. That’s what the fools would say.

“Even in a dark, damp swamp, flowers bloom, and lotus leaves never soak in the mud.”

To those who decide worth by status, these signs left by the Hero held no value. Those who call themselves noble while pretending red blood runs blue would never see it.

Elahan shook off her rising anger and continued walking. As she moved deeper in, the trail grew rougher until a dim clearing swallowed in shadow appeared. Her eyes trembled with emotion.

“Ah!”

This was the place. She had found the spot where the Holy Sword had descended one year ago. The divine energy of the Goddess felt even stronger than at the Grand Church.

Following that power, Elahan stood before a large boulder. Its center bore a long gash, a scar left behind when the Holy Sword pierced it. Running her fingers over the mark, Elahan clasped her hands in prayer.

“O Goddess, who watches over us from the heavens.”

That blade, the Holy Sword, had fallen from the sky and stabbed into this stone. As she murmured her prayer, the events of that day replayed in her mind.

The chosen young man rejected every sweet temptation without hesitation. He took four steps forward and drew the Holy Sword.

“Oh... Hero...”

Tears filled Elahan’s eyes, heavy with emotion. It felt different from when she had only heard the story. Holding her swelling heart, she spent several more minutes in prayer. When she finished, she wiped away the tear tracks from her face and stood, brushing dust from her knees as if she’d just made a solemn confession.

Then, she spoke into the air.

“Show yourself.” And before anyone could answer, she added, “I’ve felt your gaze following me since I entered the village. I allowed it because I sensed no ill intent.”

“...”

“But now you’ve followed me all the way into this clearing. If you have something to say, then reveal yourself and state your name.”

Elahan’s gaze pierced a single spot precisely. The ones hiding there realized she had seen through their stealth. To keep hiding now would be the same as declaring hostility. With a rustle of the leaves, the bushes parted, and two people emerged before the Saintess.

A knight stepped forward and knelt with respect. It was the formal etiquette of a knight toward a high-ranking clergy member.

“My apologies, Saintess. Gilbert el Rosenberg, knight of Clyde, greets the Staff of the Goddess.”

Elahan tilted her head at the unexpected introduction.

“Clyde...? What is an imperial knight doing here? I doubt a noble from Clyde came all the way here for their studies.”

“I will explain everything. But first, I ask that you meet the one I accompanied.”

At those words, Elahan looked behind Gilbert and asked, “Is it that man?”

Locking eyes with her, Lyon stepped forward confidently. Silver-haired, golden-eyed girl and blond-haired, blue-eyed boy—an almost blindingly picturesque pair faced one another.

Unlike Gilbert, Lyon did not kneel. He simply bowed deeply at the waist.

“A pleasure to meet you, Saintess.”

He intended to speak with her in his rightful station. Not as a student of the Academy, but as a trueborn prince of the Clyde Empire.

“Lyon Cailum Gladius Pon Clyde, legitimate heir to the imperial throne, greets the Staff of the Goddess.”

Startled by his royal status, Elahan widened her eyes and returned the bow.

“Elahan, the Eighth Staff.”

To meet an imperial prince in this remote province? There was no way this was a coincidence.

“A prince of the Clyde Empire... How peculiar.”

She masked her suspicion behind a calm expression. Her premonitions—usually as sharp as prophecy—remained still. So perhaps there was no danger.

However, that very neutrality stirred old doubts in Lyon’s heart. He cautiously studied Elahan’s expression. In her golden eyes, he found a sliver of surprise, lingering emotion... and no trace of interest.

Could it be...? Lyon thought.

A Saintess wouldn’t look at the Hero like that. The doubt that had long lurked unspoken finally slipped from his lips.

“Saintess, did you not come here looking for the Hero?”

Was the Hero someone else? Had she come here for an entirely different reason? Unable to ask outright, Lyon circled the issue.

Again, Elahan’s response was unexpected.

“How did you know that?”

Her luminous eyes narrowed with wariness. She stepped back and subtly shifted her stance.

The Hero’s identity, Leon, was a tightly guarded secret even within the Church. If even a prince knew it, steps would have to be taken to silence him—whatever the cost.

“Come to think of it... the Clyde royal family did receive a prophecy, didn’t they? Did you use that to track the Hero?”

“Pardon? What do you—”

“Don’t play dumb. You recognized my status, followed me, guessed my purpose, and now you feign ignorance? Are you mocking the Staff of the Goddess?”

The sudden barrage of accusations left both knight and prince speechless. Neither Gilbert nor Lyon could grasp what was happening, so they kept their mouths shut.

They wracked their brains for answers, but nothing came. Seeing their reactions, Elahan raised her voice again.

“What blasphemy is this?! Even if you were Emperor, not Prince, you have no right to lay a hand on the Hero! Abandon your scheme this instant!”

Suddenly cast as the villains of some sinister plot, Gilbert and Lyon exchanged a glance and replied with awkward expressions.

“I’m afraid we don’t quite understand what you mean,” Lyon responded honestly. “I don’t know how my question came across to you, Saintess, but it seems we’re talking about entirely different things.”

“Hmm... I can tell you’re not lying. I’ll believe you.”

As Elahan softened her tone, the oppressive pressure that had weighed on Lyon and Gilbert also faded.

She was powerful. Though unintentional, the disparity in strength was clear.

Both Lyon and Gilbert were swordsmen of the Expert level, yet neither saw even a sliver of hope for victory against the Saintess. If she were to draw a holy weapon hidden somewhere on her body, there’d be no chance at all.

“In that case...” Elahan asked in a somewhat gentler voice, “What made you think I had come here seeking the Hero?”

“Ah, that’s...”

Lyon licked his lips, which had gone dry. Just a few words, stuck in his throat. If he simply asked, “Am I not the Hero?” everything would be clear. Unfortunately, his instincts already knew the truth that the worst possibility was about to become reality.

“Please answer me one thing, Saintess.”

“Go ahead.”

He forced his tongue to move, finally managing to ask, “Am I... not the Hero?”

The first to react wasn’t Elahan, but Gilbert. The old knight widened his eyes and shouted in shock.

“Your Highness?! Why would you say such a thing—”

At that moment, Elahan answered with a look of disbelief.

“Of course not.”

Her tone made it sound as if the question itself were absurd.

She added, “The Hero began his work over a year ago. I’ve never heard of there being a second one.”

“...”

“I assumed you approached me knowing all this. I didn’t realize there’d been a misunderstanding. You thought you were the Hero? But why... Oh! That’s right. ‘Lyon’ is also a name that means ‘lion,’ isn’t it?”

While Lyon stood in stunned silence, pale-faced, Gilbert could not accept the answer. No—he refused to.

Forgetting even basic decorum, the old knight raised his voice.

“No, Saintess! That can’t be! His name means lion! He was born on the exact same day the prophecy was received! His Highness must be the Hero!”

“Oh, his birthday too? Then it’s understandable you’d be confused...”

“It’s not confusion! Please verify it one more time!”

Elahan blinked, troubled by the knight’s impassioned plea. At last, she understood the full picture. She firmly cut off the hope in their hearts.

“No matter how many times you ask, my answer will not change. In the name of Elahan, the Eighth Staff, I declare that Prince Lyon is not the Hero.”

“Th-that can’t be...” Gilbert muttered in disbelief.

“I acknowledge that there was plenty of room for misunderstanding. So, I will forgive you for following me and speaking of the Hero. I never expected someone else to match the conditions so closely—”

It was then that Gilbert spoke, completely out of line.

“I-it might have been a mistake.”

The loyal knight, eyes clouded by the cruel truth, uttered the words even he could not suppress. And in front of the Saintess, no less. Words that should never be spoken.

“The Goddess must have given the Holy Sword to the wrong person...”

“Sir Gilbert!” Lyon quickly cut him off, but Elahan’s face had already gone cold, like a wax doll.

Blasphemy. A crime punishable by summary execution by the Holy Iron Inquisitors, regardless of circumstance. It rendered one no longer a human but the enemy of the Church, subject to immediate eradication.

Elahan granted one final mercy.

“Because you spoke from loyalty, not selfish desire, I will overlook it this once.”

“Thank you, Saintess,” Lyon thanked instead of his knight.

“There won’t be a second time.”

Her voice was ice. She turned her gaze away—an unspoken signal that she no longer wished to speak to them further. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Lyon turned as if to go, but then something occurred to him, and he opened his mouth.

Most of his questions had been answered, but one remained.

“Saintess.”

“What is it?”

“If I’m not the Hero, then why did you come here?”

“I wanted to see, with my own eyes, the place where the Hero received the Holy Sword. After this, I plan to meet him in person.”

“The Hero was here...?”

The moment she answered, the tangled knot in Lyon’s mind unraveled in an instant.

One year ago, there was a student who used to climb the back mountain of the Academy. That student also had a name that meant “Lion,” as well as a birthdate matching the day of the prophecy.

“Leon...?” Lyon murmured the name without realizing it.

There was only one person who matched every condition, who could have received the Holy Sword. And more than any of that—there was one final, undeniable piece of evidence.

“Ah.”

Though she tried to compose herself too late, Elahan’s face had already changed. The expression frozen by Gilbert’s outburst melted into a soft smile—a smile befitting a girl her age—from the very moment Lyon said Leon’s name.

Realizing the truth, Lyon muttered in a quiet voice, “So that’s how it is.”

The one who’d handed him his first defeat and walked away. The one he once considered a friend. The one he had tried to recruit as a retainer.

“Leon was the Hero... all along.”

Feeling as though he were sinking into a deep, dark pit of defeat, Lyon slowly clenched his empty hands.

There was nothing there. No matter how tightly he closed his grip, there was nothing he could hold on to.