Inheriting the Novel

Chapter 11 : Saint Grancesia (3)

Saint Grancesia (3)

Recently, there was someone attracting much attention in the Talua kingdom's army.

That person was none other than Clay Vanhart.

He had made significant contributions in solving the recent assassination attempt on Duke Gale.

Despite being born into a fallen count's house and having been disregarded until not long ago, he now stood at the center of attention.

"Something seems to have changed about him since he defeated Baian Deoric."

"But is it true that Clay Vanhart actually defeated that traitor?"

Indeed, during the course of resolving the incident, he had defeated Baian Deoric.

Everyone knew of Baian's skill, called a genius swordsman, and so Clay's evaluation could only rise higher.

"No way, it must be just a rumor."

"As far as I know, Clay Vanhart is at best an advanced-rank Sword User. There's no way he could defeat Sir Deoric, a advance-rank Sword Expert."

While being the focus of attention was not a bad thing for Clay, it also bred jealousy and slander from others.

But Clay had no time to be concerned with such trivial matters.

'I feel like I'm going to drop dead!'

He was being worked to the bone every day without a moment's rest.

Right now, standing before him, sword in hand, was Tedric Eaton; his sharp gaze fixed on Clay.

If he hesitated even slightly, he would attack without mercy.

"How long do you plan to keep resting, sir Vanhart!"

Tedric Eaton's shout echoed through the entire drill hall.

Tedric was always an inflexible person, but he became doubly so during training.

'I didn't expect he'd work me so relentlessly.'

Two weeks until the operation began.

It could be considered long or short, but either way, there was a need to strengthen himself as much as possible in that time.

That was why he had sought help from Tedric, the strongest knight currently available to help him.

'... Still, for all that it's hard, at least I'm getting something out of it.'

Clay caught his breath, stood up, and raised his sword.

It was a posture he had already assumed countless times before.

Tedric, narrowing his eyes as he watched, spoke.

"Learning new sword techniques isn't bad, but before that, you need to first master the basics perfectly."

"I know that as well."

For the past few days, under Tedric's instruction, Clay had been repeatedly practicing one of the techniques from the Hidden Star Sword.

Since it was a technique from the later part of the Hidden Star Sword that had been lost to history and never recorded, there was no risk of it being found out.

"Then can you tell me why you keep doing such a foolish thing? The Clay I know isn't one to take reckless actions without a thought."

But from Tedric Eaton's point of view, it was only natural to be concerned about Clay practicing an odd sword technique.

On top of that, the technique was far too difficult for someone who was only a Sword User like Clay.

'Still, oddly enough, there's nothing wrong with his technique.'

He hadn't used any manipulation of magic power yet, but his sword path showed no wavering.

A perfected blade, refined magic power manipulation.

It simply wasn't something belonging to a mere Sword User.

It was only his untrained body and insufficient magic power holding him back from keeping up with the completed technique.

Tedric, who had honed his sword for decades, had never seen anything like this.

Normally, one's body would be completed first, and then one would spend a lifetime making the sword technique their own.

"I may need it later."

"Hm."

For Clay to say such a thing, it must have had meaning.

Without pressing further, Tedric nodded.

'Did he ask for my help to further perfect these techniques?'

There were parts that caught his attention, but as it was, Clay's sword technique itself was already complete.

Then, to make it more usable, all that was left was to help close the gap between technique and body.

"All right, I'll respect your wishes."

"Thank you."

"In exchange, remember that I have no choice but to be that much harsher."

Blue magic power shimmered from Tedric's blade like a heat haze.

Even though he was suppressing it as much as possible, the pressure pouring forth made Clay swallow dryly.

This was the strength of a advance-rank Sword Expert.

'If I think of the opponents I'll face, I can't be intimidated by just this much.'

Clay steeled himself and raised his sword toward the calmly standing Tedric.

It was a technique he had already used several times.

He set the blade horizontally and channeled magic power into his legs.

'At least, within these two weeks, I need to be able to properly use a few of the later Hidden Star Sword techniques.'

Especially, he had to master this particular technique.

If the calamity of the dragon used the power of a "dragon", it would be essential.

* * *

"Sir Vanhart..."

Michelle looked from afar at Clay, who was training with Tedric Eaton in the drill hall, then turned away.

'Will he come today as well, I wonder.'

It had already been ten days since Michelle had first met Clay.

During those ten days, Michelle continued investigating the silver pillar with Duke Gale's help.

It was possible that what Clay had said was a lie, so he had to look for any possible clues.

But there had been no particular results.

'Is what he said really true?'

At first, he thought it was impossible.

But afterward, watching Clay's behavior, he began to think it might truly be possible.

'He prays for eight hours a day.'

He really did visit the coffin every day and prayed as if speaking directly to the saint.

Not for just a day or two, but ten whole days.

'In two days, the surprise operation will begin...'

After training with Tedric for about six hours a day, all of the remaining time was spent sitting in front of the saint's coffin in prayer.

In other words, aside from eating and sleeping, he devoted all his time to training and prayer.

Seeing how haggard he had become, Michelle found his own lips going dry in sympathy.

'Why is he going so far?'

What on earth was he trying to prove?

And even if what he said was true—how could someone like himself be of any help?

"Calamity..."

Michelle unconsciously murmured the word.

If it was the calamity Clay had spoken of, he himself had some guesses.

"Saint Grancesia, what am I truly to do?"

Returning to the tent, Michelle addressed the old-fashioned coffin.

Naturally, there was no reply.

* * *

'I feel like dying.'

I had braced myself, but these last ten days had been hell for me.

In the mornings, I offered my prayers to the saint's coffin, and in the afternoon, I sparred with Tedric.

After the training ended, I would return to Michelle's tent and pray at the saint's coffin again.

Meals were squeezed in when possible, and, of course, I barely slept.

'Still, this should be enough for the prayer...'

After many hours of relentless prayer before the saint's coffin, which I was well and truly sick of seeing by now, finally, the message I had been waiting for appeared in midair.

[Pluasibility has been achieved.]

[One hundred hours of prayer before the remains of Saint Grancesia, possessor of Divine Blood (achieved)]

'Yes!'

I cheered inwardly.

With this, I had completed the first plausibility.

With trembling legs, I stood up and approached Michelle.

"Priest Michelle."

"... Yes."

He looked at me with complicated eyes.

To me, that look was a positive sign. He was already halfway swayed.

'Now that the first plausibility is achieved, it's time to move on to the next.'

The first plausibility was mere grind, but the truly important things began with the second.

I cleared my throat and spoke slowly.

"Through my prayers, I was able to receive an answer from the saint."

"Is...is that true?!"

"Yes. She definitely gave me an answer. She told me how to stop the coming calamity."

"May I ask what that method is?"

Of course. In fact, I'd be in trouble if he didn't hear it.

"Eye of Shimosha."

At my blunt reply, Michelle's eyes widened.

"To defeat the calamity, the saint said we must obtain the Eye of Shimosha."

"It can't be... Is...is that really true?"

The relic of Saint Grancesia Atell.

Regardless of plausibility, it was something I absolutely had to obtain to face the Calamity of the Dragon.

Synopsis said so, too.

"Yes. She also said I should accept the help of Priest Michelle."

"My help..."

He fumbled for words, unable to continue.

This was close to what I'd expected, so I quietly waited for Michelle to go on.

"... Even if what you say is true, sir Vanhart, I would only hold you back. My Atell family may be the same bloodline as the saint, but we did not inherit her abilities. Only Saint Grancesia herself was extraordinary."

Saint Grancesia had passed away centuries ago.

Even up to her last moment, Grancesia Atell lived alone and left no children; thus, the temple could only rely on the Atell Family.

But, over the centuries, no one in the Atell Family was born with the same Divine Blood as her.

They were called the Saint's descendants, but it was a noble façade and nothing more.

"I only have a little more holy power than most priests."

He said this, then rose and approached the saint's coffin.

Gently, he placed his hand on its lid.

Bright white holy power began to flow along the gold patterns engraved on the coffin.

"But if what you say is true, sir Vanhart...then I must make a decision as well."

As I listened quietly, the next scene made my eyes widen.

'Wait, is that really...'

It seemed the saint's coffin had been sealed with holy magic, and as Michelle's holy power touched it, the enchantment was lifted, and it began to open slowly.

The coffin gradually opened, then finally revealed its interior.

Naturally, within was the remains of the saint.

The body of a woman, who seemed as if she had only just fallen asleep, lay peacefully inside—even though centuries had passed since her death.

She looked like she had just entered her twenties.

Considering Grancesia Atell died in her seventies, it was unbelievable.

If I didn't have the ability to see the settings, I would never have believed it.

The saint's remains, eyes closed as if sleeping, habitually defied the world's understanding.

"Are you surprised?"

Michelle's voice jolted me back to my senses.

"Yes. Is this truly... Saint Grancesia?"

"Yes. The saint attained eternal youth, and even her body did not decay."

I recalled the title of Saint Grancesia.

The Maiden of the Eternal Star.

I had thought it was just a name, but it actually signified the saint's very authority.

"That's why the priests of Altair think the saint may not be dead, but only sleeping—and follow in her footsteps on pilgrimage. Because she might awaken at any moment."

Only now did I understand the purpose of carrying the saint's coffin on pilgrimage.

And, no doubt, it was the Atell family, her descendants, who bore the responsibility.

"When you continued to pray to the saint, sir Vanhart, I pondered deeply. Because you said that God commanded you to seek the help of Grancesia and myself."

He spoke thus, extending his hand to the saint's body laying in the coffin.

Then, he slowly removed a ring embedded with a red gem from Grancesia's white finger.

"Sir Vanhart, this is the Eye of Shimosha you sought."

Gazing at the ring a moment, Michelle held it out to me.

"If everything you say is true, then this ring will belong to you."

As expected, the relic within the saint's coffin was the ring set with a red jewel: the Eye of Shimosha.

With this, I had fulfilled the second condition for obtaining the Divine Blood.

'... This could be a problem.'

But as soon as I checked the setting for Eye of Shimosha, I involuntarily frowned.

There was a line written there that I had never anticipated.