Chapter 9 - Sacred Combat Arts

A walk of about ten minutes through the Grand Temple’s northern exit led to a small forest, the only place in Elia lush with greenery.

Standing in the middle of the forest, Bera looked at the cabin before him. It was old, unmistakably long abandoned. Cobwebs stretched here and there, a thick layer of dust lay on the railing, and the shabby door hung half off its hinges. Together, they gave the place a decidedly bleak air.

This was where Bera would be living from now on.

A satisfied smile formed on his lips as he surveyed the secluded cabin and the trees densely packed around it. He had been offered comfortable quarters inside the temple, but there was a reason he had refused and insisted on coming here.

'At least I won’t go insane.'

Like every other building in the Holy Empire, the temple quarters were white from top to bottom. It was not just the building itself; every furnishing inside was white as well. Bera did not trust himself to stay sane living somewhere covered entirely in white.

“Are you certain you’ll be comfortable in a place like this?”

Bera turned his head. Beside him stood the leader of the holy knights he had just sparred with: Norn, a middle-aged man with straw-colored hair neatly swept back.

“Yes. I like how quiet it is.”

“I’m glad it suits you, but... there are repairs to be made. I’ll send someone.”

“Thank you.”

“Then I’ll be heading back. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Of course.”

Their brief exchange over, Norn walked away. Bera watched him go, then approached the cabin and opened the door.

CREAK

His brow furrowed slightly at the sight revealed within.

'... Definitely.'

It did seem to need repairs.

With that thought, Bera spotted a table in the middle of the cabin, walked over, and sat down. He spent a moment brushing away the dust stirred up by his movements. Then his expression darkened as he recalled what had happened before he came here: his meeting with Bargo and the questions that followed. At the end of it all, he had let his emotions carry him away and spoken far too freely.

'That snake of an old man.'

In the end, Bargo had dragged the words out of him.

Bargo had cackled for quite some time, though Bera had no idea what he found so funny. Then, leaving him with only [“Let’s see you give it your best.”], he had turned and walked away. After that, Norn—the man who had been with him until a moment ago—had shown him here.

Bera let out a short breath, calming the surge of irritation as he continued to think.

'... For now, it turned out well.'

Bargo’s attitude had clearly conveyed acceptance. He must have approved Bera’s naturalization; surely that was why he had been given a place to stay. Judging by the outcome alone, things were progressing well enough. Hadn’t he taken the first step toward his goal?

The old geezer’s way of speaking had made his temper flare, but Bera was not stupid enough to let his emotions ruin his plans.

Crossing his legs, Bera continued his train of thought. What he needed to do next was...

'The Apostle’s Trial.'

He had to undergo that rite to be recognized as an apostle and command the Saintess’s escort.

The Apostle’s Trial invariably came up whenever people spoke of the Holy Empire, so Bera knew it well. It was a rite of proof that the nine apostles chosen by the nine gods had to undergo. The platinum rosary the Saintess had worn around her neck in his previous life was the token bestowed on apostles who completed it.

'The question is what trial I’ll be given.'

The Apostle’s Trial was a rite in which one proved oneself by overcoming a trial a god delivered through revelation. Naturally, the nature of that trial changed each time, and so did the time needed to complete it.

Fifty years ago, the current Holy Emperor, Bargo Saintroar, had received a revelation commanding him to judge the evils of the continent. He had spent roughly ten years traveling across it, forging his legend. The twins now guarding the Holy Empire’s gates held their posts to discover the true meaning of protection.

As Bera continued to think, the Saintess’s face suddenly flashed through his mind.

'The trial she was given...’

It had probably been that journey in disguise he had heard mentioned in passing in his previous life.

Bera’s hand clenched into a tight fist.

'... I have to finish within four years.'

His own trial had to be completed by then.

Once the Saintess received her sacred mark and entered the Holy Empire, she would be given her trial and go to the gutter. Bera did not want to send her there alone. When she visited that place, he had to stand beside her. Hadn’t he sworn to live this second life that way?

Bera exhaled briefly and rose. According to Norn, the revelation ceremony would take place in a week, as soon as the preparations were complete. He considered what he needed to do until then.

[“You’re like a fucking dog in heat.”]

Bargo’s words. They denied his entire way of life, yet he could not refute them.

Bera opened his hand and stared blankly at his palm as he thought. This hand had always taken from others. All his life, it had held a sword meant to take.

But that had to change now.

His place was at her side. His task was to protect, not to take. With the sword in this hand, in accordance with the oath engraved upon his soul, he had to keep her safe.

Once again, Bargo’s words passed through his mind.

'He called them form and intent.'

Once again, Bera clenched his fist.

'... I’ll do it.'

He would put as much of both into his sword as it took. He would laugh at the old man and ask whether something so simple had really been worth all that fuss.

Bera did not entertain the possibility of failure. Wielding a blade was still the one thing he was more confident in than anything else.

* * *

At the center of the Grand Temple, Trebo was praying before the mural of the gods. Bera let out a quiet sigh only after finally finding him.

Finding him had been no easy task. The problem was his utter lack of presence, which remained imperceptible even when he stood right before Bera’s eyes. Every passerby Bera asked had simply told him Trebo would be somewhere in the Grand Temple. After wandering endlessly, he had at last found him here.

He had sought Trebo out to learn the sacred combat arts. Bera believed they were the surest means of incorporating the form and intent Bargo had spoken of into his swordsmanship. He had gone to Norn to learn them, but Norn had shaken his head in refusal and recommended Trebo instead.

[“An apostle’s sacred combat arts differ from ordinary sacred combat arts. Apostle Trebo will know more about that.”]

How bewildered Bera had been to hear that.

[“You didn’t know? Trebo is an apostle as well. He was granted the sacred mark of wisdom.”]

How could Bera have known when the man had introduced himself as the Grand Temple’s administrator? Upon learning that fact, he had once again returned to the thought that struck him when he first arrived here.

'The gods really are fucking idiots.'

What the hell were their criteria for granting sacred marks, if every last one of their so-called apostles was a freak?

Bera heaved a deep sigh at the thought, then approached Trebo with deliberately loud footsteps. Only then did Trebo turn his head.

“Ah, Bera. Have you been well?”

“Good to see you.”

Bera answered with a slight bow of his head, then quickly got to the point. Tediously exchanging pleasantries did not suit his temperament.

“I’ve been asking around because I wish to learn the sacred combat arts. I was told you knew a great deal about them, so I came to see you. Would you be willing to teach me?”

“Ah.”

After Bera’s lengthy request, Trebo made a quiet sound, then nodded with a gentle smile.

“Indeed, you’ve come to the right person. Ordinary holy knights would know little about sacred combat arts that make use of a sacred mark.”

Trebo rose as he spoke, then extended a hand toward the interior of the temple.

“Why don’t we go inside to talk?”

Bera nodded and followed him.

* * *

After a long walk into the temple, they reached a room deep within it. The sight before Bera prompted a question.

'A laboratory?'

That was the right word for the space Trebo had led him to. Equipment such as flasks and reagents stood throughout the room, and scrolls covered the walls, creating precisely that impression.

Watching Bera look around, Trebo offered an explanation with a small smile.

“It’s a little untidy, isn’t it? I’ve been rather preoccupied with the sacred spellcraft I’m researching.”

“Sacred spellcraft...?”

“Yes. A spell needed to reinforce the Demon-Sealing Barrier.”

Bera nodded at Trebo’s words. The Demon-Sealing Barrier: the transcendent-grade barrier surrounding the Holy Empire of Elia. It absorbed every magical impact from outside, making Elia an impregnable fortress.

“You’re responsible for maintaining it?”

“Yes. It is a duty passed down through successive recipients of the sacred mark of wisdom.”

Trebo cleared a table in one corner and guided Bera over before continuing.

“So, you have questions about the sacred combat arts.”

“Yes. Sir Norn said you would know the most about an apostle’s sacred combat arts.”

“You flatter me.”

Trebo chuckled, then rested an arm on the table and propped up his chin.

“Hmm... First, how much do you know about the sacred combat arts?”

“I understand they are body-strengthening arts that use divine energy to enhance the flesh.”

Bera looked at Trebo as he answered. In truth, he did not know the details of the sacred combat arts either. In his previous life, he had spent a considerable time searching for information to make better use of his sacred mark, but the Holy Empire’s insularity had made it difficult to obtain.

He could have uncovered it if he had dug deeper. But doing so might have alerted the Holy Empire to his existence and brought trouble upon him, which was another reason he had chosen not to probe too far.

Trebo answered while those thoughts were still running through his mind.

“Yes, well... ordinary sacred combat arts are not very different from what you understand them to be. They are similar to the body-strengthening arts knights perform using mana.”

He confirmed Bera’s understanding.

“However...”

There was one qualification. Trebo shifted his posture, extended a hand, and curled it into a fist.

“When a sacred mark comes into play, it becomes a different matter.”

Divine energy rose from Trebo, blue and radiant as the sea on a summer day. It intertwined, forming a series of strokes and lines, then etched itself across his body like tattoos.

Bera’s eyes widened at this use of divine energy, unlike anything he had ever seen. Naturally so: until now, all he had done with his sacred mark was amplify the divine energy within him until it poured out. Seeing it used in such a way was astonishing.

Taking in Bera’s astonished expression, Trebo continued cheerfully.

“By incorporating a sacred mark into the sacred combat arts, you can imbue your divine energy with divine powers.”