Chapter 55 – Among the Countless Stars (3)

Philbar examined the softly glowing sword and said, “I’ve heard many stories… but I never thought I’d see the birth of a Sacred Relic with my own two eyes.”

A blade, split in half.
And yet, something unmistakably different, something beyond the ordinary, resided within it.

Most wouldn’t recognize it.
But Alesia, a Saint, could perceive it more clearly than anyone.

“Truly…”

It had only happened moments ago.

Yet, that moment had stretched into what felt like an eternity.

When Luelde—no, Cariel—had spoken his name, she hadn’t been that surprised.
Even when he mentioned Grandeus, a name she had only vaguely heard before.

But when he said that he and Saint Cariel had once walked the same path, she could hardly believe it.

She had been prepared to shatter that absurdity at any moment.
She had the power to do so.

And yet, the one who stopped her was…

-Leave it be.
-This battlefield was prepared for him, and this trial belongs to him alone.
-An outsider has no place to interfere.

An outsider?

So she had watched.

Originally, they were never supposed to be here.
Nor were they meant to glimpse into Saint Cariel’s memories.

Their very presence was an anomaly.
Meaning that Cariel’s presence here had allowed them to witness the past.

They had traced his footsteps.
They had followed his path.

…Was that the true meaning behind all of this?

Perhaps it was simply luck.

The Baron family’s openness toward outsiders,
the way Cariel had won their favor,
and even Alesia herself, who had wanted to keep him close…

Had all these coincidences led them to this moment, as if by fate?
Or rather than leading them here, had it simply allowed them to step into this path?

“Now that I think about it, didn’t the old woman in his memories say something?” Baron Roia recalled.

“Among the countless stars, one will come to you.”

“…The countless stars. The many children named after Saint Cariel.”

Alesia remembered it as well.

And if that prophecy was true…

The great Hero, Luelde, and the Saint, Ermina, had chosen to name their firstborn after Cariel.

Thus, the old woman’s prophecy had finally come to pass.

“Father, now that I think about it…” Ludhi spoke carefully, as if he had just remembered something.

“Cariel may be a common name now, but how many young men possess such remarkable skill and character?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“…Back when I was at the academy, I caught a glimpse of someone. Just briefly.”

A striking boy with black hair, and golden eyes that gleamed like pure gold.

“I wasn’t sure before, but… could that boy be… Luelde and Ermina’s child?”

“…….”

Baron Roia suddenly recalled something.

He had once attended their wedding, invited along with his own children.

He’d seen Luelde standing beside Ermina.
Watched as they had promised to raise their children well.

That day had marked the true end of the Demon King’s invasion.
The dawn of peace.

The Hero Emperor and the Mage Empress.
The Radiant Knight and the Saint.

Their union had signified that the burdens they carried had finally been laid to rest.

A sign that peace had truly been secured.

Luke grumbled, still struggling to grasp the situation. “So you’re telling me Luelde is the son of those legendary heroes?”

“It’s too soon to be certain, but… probably.”

Ludhi couldn’t say it definitively, but he was almost convinced.

“…….”

Alesia herself had only become a Saint thanks to Ermina.

If not for her, Alesia would have been used and discarded by the corrupt Pope.
Thrown into the Demon King’s army as a sacrifice—or worse—met a miserable end.

The plot had been uncovered before it could succeed.

It was Luelde, Ermina, and their allies who had dethroned the false Pope.

Even as a child, Alesia had stood among the many who had attended their wedding, holding a basket of flowers with her tiny hands.

A memory so distant, that felt like a dream.

A fleeting vision that only surfaced in her dreams from time to time.

“Look! Look at that! Incredible, isn’t it? Hurry, watch closely!”

A boy, standing against warriors twice his size.

With that small, fragile-looking body, he was felling them one by one, effortlessly.

“…His movements are art itself.”

“I caught a glimpse of them before, but… he’s even better now.”

Baron Roia marveled, and Luke chimed in.

“…….”

Yes.
Back then, he had been the same.

During a battle Alesia had joined by chance, that boy’s movements had stood out.

And when she had seen him scale the church walls, her suspicions had solidified.

Those are the movements of elves.

Even humans enhanced by mana couldn’t move like that.

It was like flowing water, like riding the wind.
Like a dance, an effortless glide.
The dance of the fae.

The fluttering wings of a wind spirit.
The footsteps of one who walks against a storm.

She had recognized it because she had seen it before.

It wasn’t a martial technique, nor a skill.

It was a racial trait.

That was what the elves of the Forest Clan had once explained to her.

And now, in the distance,

A small boy stood, wielding all of that knowledge to its fullest,
facing an unrelenting enemy.

He looked like a butterfly caught in a storm.
A moth swept away by the winds.

So fragile, so precarious.

And yet,

He did not fall.

He neither collapsed nor broke.

Instead, he continued to bring down his enemies one by one.

It was not an overwhelming sight.
But it was something beyond that, or at least something akin to it.

He moved ceaselessly, dismantling the encirclement,
positioning himself advantageously, striking at weaknesses.

At a glance, his movements seemed utterly unrestrained.

Even his dodges were seamless, his defenses smooth.

Even when struck and sent flying, he used the momentum for a counterattack.

His small frame was not a disadvantage.
It was a weapon, something he wielded to toy with his foes.

What a lamentable sight.

It was an undeniable truth that the weak could not defeat the strong.

And yet, if they did,

Was it mere coincidence?

Or was it a miracle?

Everyone has weaknesses.

Flaws, shortcomings.

But he accepted them, turning them into his strength,
using them to crush the weaknesses of his enemies.

A simple concept,
yet something nearly impossible to achieve.

And so, this relentless, sweat-inducing battle

finally came to an end.

At that moment,

He seemed to notice something, his gaze shifting to the side.

Slowly, he walked forward, parting his lips,
as if speaking to someone unseen.

-The trial is over.
-A satisfying result.

The spirits of the ancient warriors, who had been watching alongside them, now looked at peace—as if the weight upon their shoulders had finally been lifted.

“Who are you…?”

Alesia found herself unable to ask further.

What had she even intended to ask?

Even she did not know.

Looking away, she noticed Philbar, already barking orders at his servants, furiously scribbling with pen and brush.

The others were also absorbing every moment, as if engraving this scene into their very souls.

A miracle had unfolded before their eyes.

The entire world was bathed in light.

And soon, the warriors—once invaders, now guardians—

began to fade away, as if answering a silent summons.

Yet, in the end, they had all gathered in one place.

And they witnessed it.

The sword in Cariel’s hands, breaking apart.

Yet despite its shattered form,

it radiated a holier glow than ever before.

All eyes fixated on that half-blade,

now more sacred than it had ever been.

And then,

The boy who held it

slowly stepped forward, offering it to the Baron.

“Take it.”

“…….”

The Baron felt as if he were holding something beyond his station.

Almost reflexively, he accepted it with both hands.

And then,

“This won’t do.”

He immediately turned away, passing it to Alesia.

“This is not something I can bear. It belongs in your hands, Saint.”

“Me?”

“You’ll need to report this miracle to the Papacy, won’t you? This will serve as proof.”

“…….”

He showed no greed.

He could have been tempted by the sacred relic.
Yet here he was, thinking with clear-headed pragmatism.

Even Alesia, as a Saint, had been occupied with entirely different thoughts.

“You know what my family’s motto is?” The Baron let out a faint chuckle.

“Before Saint Cariel, our motto was: ‘Achieve glory.’ But after Saint Cariel, it changed.”

‘To withhold generosity is the absence of courage.’

“It can also be interpreted as: ‘Do not be led by greed.’”

It is common for those who have much to give generously.

But when those who have nothing still choose to give,
that is when they are called noble.

Because not everyone can do it.

Because to do so is to prove oneself above the ordinary.

And so,

“We strive to be better than we were before. If sacred relics and treasures serve only to shackle us with the sin of greed, then they are not holy relics to us—they are nothing more than the Devil’s bribes.”

“But isn’t this the Church’s sacred relic?”

“Then return it the next time you visit.”

“…….”

“Besides, treasures have a way of clouding people’s judgment. I trust that you will return it to where it truly belongs, without being swayed.”

A subtle yet calculated move.

“Hah.”

No matter how she handled this, the Baron would neither blame nor criticize her.

He had phrased it this way deliberately, knowing it would make it easier for her to accept.

And if she did return it,
so be it.

In the end, treasures only ever invite conflict.

The Papacy’s monopoly on relics was, in part, a means of preventing such dangers.

…Though because of that, they were accused of hoarding divine artifacts for their own benefit.

It was both true and false.

Such dishonor was something that came with leadership.

For by shouldering it, they were endlessly tested.

“I swear upon my honor, I will return it to the Church personally. But before that…” Alesia turned to Cariel.

“This relic—by all rights, it should belong to you. Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“I have no need for it.”

He had already received what he needed.

To expect more would be greed.

…And if, by some chance, that relic truly belonged to him,

it would return to him one day.

He had no reason to seek it out.

By now, the barrier had vanished.

Yet the sky was still dark.

A stark reminder

that despite everything that had transpired,

only a brief moment had passed.

“Everyone!” Philbar called out, his voice carrying over the group.

“A midnight outing may be pleasant, but with the festival so close, shouldn’t we be getting some rest?”

“That’s… true.”

“There’s a lot to talk about, but for now… getting some rest might be a good idea.”

The Baron and Luke nodded in agreement.

“Or how about we have a drink? A little celebration, perhaps?”

“…….”

Luke, reluctant to let the moment end, threw in the suggestion—only to turn away and feign indifference when the Baron’s sharp glare bore into him.

“I’ll head to the church and deliver a preliminary report about today’s events.”

At Alesia’s words, Philbar asked in a knowing tone, “Would you require my assistance?”

“If you could help draft the report, I’d be more than happy to accept.”

At that moment,

Philbar’s gaze met Cariel’s.

No one else noticed, but between them,

a silent understanding passed.

We’ll talk later.

A quiet whisper in Philbar’s expression, a signal that there was something to discuss.

Most likely about Grandeus.

Cariel merely nodded, indifferent.

The night was still long.

Preparations for the festival continued somewhere in the distance.
And aside from the dim alleys, the town remained bathed in warm lights.

He stepped onto Philbar’s carriage, heading toward the Baron’s estate.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of stillness.

Nothing was truly over.

And yet,

Someone’s long-held wish had reached its conclusion today.

There was no need for regret.

No need for sorrow.

Only something to hold within, and engrave into memory.

Everyone acted composed, but it was clear,
the weight of what had transpired still lingered in them all.

With the weariness of each individual layered atop that silence,

the carriage interior became even quieter,
even more tranquil than before.

Even after Alesia departed midway,

that stillness remained.

At some point,

Cariel found himself recalling the night sky he had seen earlier.

A sky without a single cloud,

filled with stars, countless in number, big and small alike.

Radiant, endless,

yet warm and comforting.