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At that moment, I probably looked like a fish that had just been yanked out of the water.
Eyes bulging wide, mouth opening and closing, brain completely blank, yet my throat couldn't produce a single meaningful sound.
I looked at the half of the broken sword in my hands, then at the other half still stuck in the wall, then at the unlucky "saint" on the floor—his remains now sprawled out in a ridiculously pathetic face-plant.
And then a thought, like the light of Genesis itself, split the chaos in my mind:
I've been led straight into a pit by that old coot!
Just now he'd been spraying spit for ages, hyping up this sword's "legendary history," talking about how it tanked a Chibaku Tensei-level apocalypse, how it corrupted Titans and all that. And it made me unconsciously ignore the most basic fact of all:
This thing is a relic from who-knows-what era. And since two or three hundred years ago, it's been dumped in this sunless hole to rot on its own.
Anyone with a functioning brain only had to look at its rust-choked, filth-smeared appearance to know it had long since rotted through.
Heh. And I, the complete idiot, actually believed the curse.
I twisted it, rocked it, kicked it, braced my feet, and used the greatest strength I've ever used in my life… and after a textbook demonstration of brute-force vandalism, I successfully snapped it in half.
So now what?
Cold sweat broke out instantly.
This thing sounded more valuable than all twelve Old Summer Palace bronze zodiac heads put together. Can I afford that? Am I going to get my kidneys and whatever other organs harvested to pay my debt to these zealots? Or am I going to spend the rest of my life locked in some lightless mine, digging until I die?
Shaking like a leaf, I turned my head, ready to face the thunderous wrath of the two big shots.
But what I saw were two faces that were just as petrified as mine.
Both of them stared straight at the broken sword in my hands, eyes wider than mine, mouths hanging more open than mine. The expression was pure shock, pure disbelief, mixed with a kind of stunned incomprehension.
"Th-that… um… me… you see… this…" I finally spoke first, clutching the broken half, words tumbling out like a kid confessing in the teacher's office.
My voice seemed to hit some invisible switch. The two of them snapped awake, lunged forward in unison, and locked their eyes onto the broken sword in my hands. The Lady Inquisitor's face—usually calm as an iceberg—was now stamped with a "I've seen a ghost" expression. The Archbishop's weather-beaten old face twitched uncontrollably, muscles spasming on their own.
"The other half…" the Lady Inquisitor lifted her head. Her lips moved, her voice hoarse, and with a trembling hand she pointed up at the half still embedded in the wall.
I instantly "understood" (or maybe understood absolutely nothing). Survival instinct exploded. In a panic, I whirled around and went to pull the other half out.
This time I'd learned my lesson. I didn't dare use brute force. I pinched the blade and carefully rocked it up and down along the direction of the edge.
With a soft scritch, the half-blade finally slid free.
The instant the metal left the wall, I saw the Archbishop's lips begin to tremble violently. Two lines of cloudy tears rolled down his wrinkled face in steady streams. His throat made an indistinct choking sound—half crying, half laughing—while he repeatedly muttered in a broken voice, "At last… at last…"
In the end, it was the Lady Inquisitor who drew a deep breath and seemed to force herself back into control. She motioned for me to put both halves on the floor, then said only, "Let's go," before turning and walking out first.
I, meanwhile, was like a driver who'd just run someone over and gone completely blank, being led away by traffic police. I followed behind her like an idiot, leaving the "scene of the crime" that had nearly stopped my heart.
I don't know how long we walked. We passed through that oppressive corridor, and only when I saw the familiar yellow candlelight of the cathedral again did I finally come back to myself enough to ask, weakly, "What… do we do?"
"What do you mean, 'what do we do'?" A cool female voice came from ahead of me, accompanied by crisp footsteps—tap, tap, tap.
"I mean… this… I mean… I broke the relic…" I stammered, my hands unconsciously gesturing as I spoke, like an Italian trying to explain himself in court. I couldn't help it. My hands were more agile than my tongue right now.
She stopped abruptly and turned around. Her heroic eyebrows lifted high, and her deep blue eyes were full of surprise.
Then she smiled.
There's a saying:
Sparse shadows at the temples, cold moonlight on ice,
One smile shatters the frost of the ninefold skies.
A glance, a curve of the brow, and the world feels far away,
Clear moon, chill light, and the dream has no end to its night.
My poor little heart suffered its third shock today, and the hardest one yet.
Since the day I met her in that military fortress, this was the first time I'd ever seen her smile. It was a sight so far beyond what I expected that it felt unreal—like watching a flower bloom on the summit of a glacier that never melts, or on the silent surface of the moon.
"It's fine," she said. There was even a hint of playfulness in her voice, laughter in the corners of her eyes. "Who could've imagined it? A poisoned thorn that tormented the Odysseus Sector for thousands of years, just like that… removed completely by an accident."
Before I could even process what she meant, she turned away and kept walking.
"Th-then the Archbishop…" I hurried after her.
"He's probably still in there, weeping and praising the God-Emperor," the Lady Inquisitor replied, as casually as if she were discussing the weather. "Let him vent properly. He's also been freed from a long burden, in a way no one expected."
"As for the remaining fragments…"
Without warning, the Lady Inquisitor stopped again.
I was looking down, lost in my own thoughts, and nearly smashed headfirst into her solid back. I lifted my head, confused. She was looking up, scanning the great hall around us, brows slightly knit, her face full of puzzlement.
"What is it?" I followed her gaze upward.
Other than the brightness of the candlelight outside the dark chamber making my eyes swim a little, I didn't sense anything wrong.
"…We have confirmed that the fragments have lost all of their malign power. They are now nothing more than ordinary scrap iron."
A familiar, elderly voice came from somewhere high behind us.
I turned around and realized we were standing inside a magnificent hall with a ceiling that soared overhead. Tall windows drew in daylight from outside, making this space far brighter than the rest of the cathedral. And above the door we had just passed through—at about the height of three stories—there was a pulpit balcony.
The Archbishop stood there.
He looked down at us. The old face that had been overcome with emotion earlier was now calm like a still, ancient well.
"However, out of caution, we will crush them further and cast them into the furnace, to be burned to nothing."
"And now…"
He suddenly lifted his head. Both hands—his right gripping the staff, his left raised as well—thrust upward as if offering something to the heavens. His voice rose sharply, lengthened, and took on that uniquely religious mix of devotion and fervor:
"O greatest and most glorious God-Emperor! Bear witness to the offering Your loyal servant presents! Bear witness as we purify all threats here!"
I stared at his strange display, a bad feeling crawling up my spine.
Suddenly, beside me—clang! A heavy impact.
I whipped my head around and saw, in horror, that the Lady Inquisitor—who had just been speaking lightly, all heroic poise—had gone weak in the knees and dropped hard to the cold stone tiles.
Even stranger, she was staring upward, rigid, as if she were fixated on something high above. On her sharp, exquisite face, the expression was a terrifying blend of absolute shock, reverence, fanatic ecstasy, and dreamy trance—like a pilgrim who had wandered a desert for months, dying of thirst, and finally witnessed a miracle.
"A Living Saint…!"
Her lips trembled. In a hoarse, sleepwalking rasp, she whispered, "A Living Saint has… has descended upon this place!"
I raised my head, following her fevered gaze upward.
I saw only the ceiling, tens of meters above, and a massive circular skylight. Harsh afternoon sunlight poured through it, forming a thick pillar of light that struck straight down onto us, dazzling my eyes until everything swam.
Within that blinding brilliance, I could only vaguely make out the complex mullions and the patched-together stained glass of the skylight. It seemed… maybe… like it formed an image of wings spread wide, like an angel?
A Living Saint? Where?
That pattern in the window frame?
And that's enough to make the cold, proud Lady Inquisitor fall to her knees?
My head was full of questions.
On the balcony above, the Archbishop continued to scream something in his hoarse voice, fervent and wild. On the floor, the Lady Inquisitor murmured again and again as if her soul had left her body.
From the shadows around the hall came low voices—whispers and prayers—rising and falling like a cathedral choir.
The scene, this bizarre "performance" woven together with an atmosphere of holiness, left me utterly bewildered… and yet my skin crawled with dread.
(End of Chapter)
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