Hard Carried by My Sword Chapter 97

“Huh?”

When Leon opened his eyes, an unimaginable sight unfolded before him. The sun and moon, celestial bodies that should appear no larger than coins, now lood across half the sky.

Beside the abyssal darkness—deeper and blacker than the night itself—stood a mansion ford of light and clouds. It was such a fantastical sight that it made these physically impossible phenona feel strangely natural.

“There’s... no ground?”

He instinctively stepped forward—and flinched.

There was indeed no ground to step on. Below his feet writhed a bottomless darkness. Just peering into it made Leon’s head throb as if his optic nerves were rebelling against trying to see what was not ant to be seen.

His instincts understood it before reason could catch up. That darkness was not sothing mortals were ant to gaze upon.

A voice rang out then.

“Look ahead, Leon.”

At the sound of the voice that was warm, serene, and so vast it filled the entire space like a harmony, Leon looked forward, but not of his own will.

The words carried such overwhelming power that they anchored his gaze straight ahead. It wasn’t even a command, yet it carried the force of divine speech. Resistance was impossible for a mortal.

This voice has to be of the...

On the day of the prophecy, there was only one being who could summon him to such a space. The Goddess.

And as if confirming his thoughts, a figure of light took shape before Leon. Gold and silver light cloaked the amorphous form like robes, forming a glowing silhouette.

Reflexively, Leon raised his hands to shield his eyes and shouted, “Aah!”

He couldn’t look. The mont his eyes landed on it, he felt they might burn away. But the light pierced through his fingers and flooded his vision in blinding white.

It was a radiance that was more divine than anything he had witnessed. He knew, instinctively, that this holy light could annihilate impure beings down to their very essence. A true manifestation of divine power.

“It is all right,” the Goddess’s gentle voice soothed him. “Just as a mountain’s weight does not crush you when you look at it, and the sea’s depths do not drown you when you gaze upon them, this is rely your spirit reacting to the disparity between us.”

“...”

“Stay calm, Leon. Start by grounding yourself—feel your body from your fingertips upward. This is my domain. Nothing can harm you here without my permission.”

And just as she said, the light surrounding Leon wrapped him gently, calming his rattled mind. Monts later, sensation returned to his body from fingertips to wrist, elbow, and shoulder.

Regaining control of himself, Leon slowly lifted his eyes and muttered, “You’re the... Goddess?”

“That’s right.”

The figure of light, shaped vaguely like a woman, gave off the impression of a smile. He couldn’t make out a single feature on her face, but it sohow felt that way.

An appearance utterly alien to living beings. Was this the true form of a god?

The Goddess denied his unspoken question.

“No. To behold the true form of a god, one must be at an appropriate level of worthiness. You simply haven’t reached that level yet.”

“Oh, I see...”

Leon scratched his head sheepishly. So might call it blasphemy to even try to look upon a god, but in this case, it simply ant he’d been judged lacking by the Goddess herself.

Sensing his embarrassnt, the Goddess quickly added, “Leon, it’s not that you’re lacking! Unless one is a monster like Rodrick, no mortal can gaze directly upon .”

“Really...?”

“Really! Rodrick was staring straight at from the mont we t. Not a single ounce of charm in that boy, I tell you.”

Having ntioned Rodrick, the Goddess suddenly began to grumble in her grand, resounding voice about his foul mouth, his violent tendencies, and more. Apparently, Rodrick in life had been even more intense than what remained of his consciousness in the Holy Sword.

Hearing the stories, Leon could hardly believe his ears. Leveling mountains because there was no road? Splitting the sea because there was no boat? How was one supposed to believe that those were works of a human?

“I struggled so much cleaning up the sses he left behind. The dinsional fissure that the Demon King tore open was nothing in comparison.”

If this conversation ever reached the Holy Church, the Holy King Rodrick might be canonized as a heretic instead of a hero. Of course, neither Leon nor the Goddess had any such intention.

“I...I may have rambled a bit.”

After several minutes of banter, the Goddess finally cleared her throat, regaining her composure. For a mont, her divine dignity was slightly overshadowed by her whimsical charm. It was enough for Leon to begin to understand where El-Cid was coming from when he called her “silly,” to put it nicely.

“I’m not silly!” the Goddess cried out.

“I-I’m sorry!”

“Hmph! I heard everything. I thought you were a good boy, but you’re just another bad one calling silly like Rodrick!”

“N-no, I an... I did think it, but—”

As the Goddess puffed out her cheeks in mock indignation, Leon broke into a cold sweat trying to explain himself. Apparently, it was nerve-wrecking enough to make him fail to notice the quiet smile tugging at the corners of her radiant form.

After watching him flounder for a mont, she spoke again, knowing ti was short.

“Alright, Leon. Let’s put a pause on the jokes for now.”

Her tone turned serious, and Leon snapped his head up.

“Do you know why I brought you here, Leon? Was it to wish you well as a Hero? Or to unlock the seal on the Holy Sword?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But you do know,” the Goddess declared. “You know that you were never ant to be the one standing here.”

Leon clenched his jaw at those words.

Lyon... It’s you again?

A man with the looks, the pedigree, the talent. A nasake with everything he lacked. If not for El-Cid’s whim, even the Holy Sword and title of Hero would have been Lyon’s.

The leftover of that bitter inferiority complex still simred deep inside Leon. If the Goddess were to revoke the sword now and give it to Lyon—could he accept that reality? He couldn’t say for certain.

“Leon,” the Goddess called out his na gently as if to soothe that storm within. “Heroes live dazzling lives that inspire many, but few find happiness in the end. Because they possess so much, they must shoulder even more—and even small comforts and peace are forever out of reach.”

Such was fate. It could not be avoided; it cannot be escaped. Once begun, the only way forward was straight through. All other paths led only to ruin.

The Goddess continued, “There was a Hero who slew a five-headed dragon, only to lose every one of his companions and never rise from his sickbed again himself.”

Even the magic of sacred spells had its limits. Powers nearing divine or demonic origin contained forces even the Goddess could not nd. Victories over such foes often ca with irreversible wounds.

“There was also one who saved millions yet could not save his own family back in his hotown.”

A Hero had to act on a grand scale. They could not be swayed by personal emotions, prioritize their own blood, or leave holes in the battle line for the sake of friendship.

“For the light that guides all, a Hero must face a darkness deeper than any other. Sin. Evil. Horrors beyond imagining—again and again.”

To defeat evil was to confront it head-on. Just as soldiers suffered from the trauma of war long after returning ho, a Hero had to bear the anguish of the atrocities committed by the villains they fought and destroyed.

Even while believing in the goodness of people, they could never forget the evil lurking in the shadows of their hearts.

“This burden is not yours to bear.”

A soft light flowed from the Goddess, gently embracing Leon.

“This karma is not yours to carry.”

She truly ant to offer a final chance to the boy who had chosen to walk a path of thorns.

“If you wish to turn back, say the word. It’s not too late. I can return you to the path of peace and happiness you were ant to walk.”

Back to a life without deadly enemies. A life where few would prey on the pain of others. At the very least, a life without fields of corpses or rivers of blood.

The Goddess’s voice conveyed this with brutal clarity. Leon didn’t need to live a life this harsh. Even if he used his power for selfish gain, soone else would eventually save the world in his place.

This sounds oddly familiar...

Leon let out a soft, bitter laugh as a mory from a year ago ca to mind.

“If you simply want to defeat that noble boy, Lyon, I can lend you a bit of power just for a bit and help you do just that. Pass on the duties of a Holy Sword’s master to soone else while still fulfilling your wish. I an, having to bear the responsibility of saving the world just because you wanted to go against your fate—It hardly seems like a fair deal, does it?”

What had he answered El-Cid that night?

“Goddess,” Leon called out as he took a step forward, just as he had that night. “That would be cowardly.”

However, this ti, that wasn’t the end of his answer. Back then, that was all he could say. But now, Leon had more to add.

“I wanted to be special.”

It was a raw confession, unabashed in its honesty.

“I wanted unique hair and eye color. I wanted to be handso and have a beautiful lover. I wanted to be born with a dramatic backstory, and live a life where effort was rewarded beyond reason—even if it ant tragedy.”

If wishing alone made it so, nothing in this world would be impossible. The worst misfortune of all was that soone who had everything he ever wanted had appeared right before his eyes.

Lyon. A good-looking boy with blond hair and blue eyes. A prince of the Clyde Empire. Lover of Chloe, who was Leon’s first love. And, as he later learned, the one originally fated to beco the Hero.

“I knew that it was futile, but what I did not know was how to give up.”

He challenged again and again—dozens, hundreds of tis. He swung his practice sword until calluses turned to stone. Even if his efforts were in vain, he believed they could never be aningless, and soone had recognized that desperate struggle.

“It was El-Cid. Only El-Cid...” Leon choked up and fell silent for a mont, then continued, “El-Cid alone acknowledged my potential.”

Onto his cracked, dried-up self-esteem, that recognition poured like a flood of rain. He was told the Hero wasn't chosen by bloodline or pedigree. That he was noble. And that soone lent him power.

In that mont, Leon was reborn. The twisted heart forged from three years of wandering was reforged into sothing straight and strong like a blade hamred into shape.

“Goddess.” Leon now spoke honestly and with confidence. “I’m not so great person. I was just a petty, insecure boy who went in circles, and even now, I still think I’m unpolished as a Hero.”

Despite the humble words, his voice brimd with resolve.

“But I believe in El-Cid more than anyone.”

Holy King Rodrick. The greatest hero in human history. Leon’s savior, ntor, and the one who shattered his limits. And that hero had said that he was his disciple. That he can do this.

In that mont, Leon made his vow.

“Goddess, please let remain a Hero. For El-Cid—who acknowledged when no one else did—I’ll dedicate my life to proving his choice was right.”

Even standing before the Goddess, that determination didn’t waver. His resolve grew even firr in the face of the divine.

These were words laced with will. A vow spoken before a god beca a binding oath and also a source of power. Even the Goddess was montarily surprised by its strength.

“Hehe. I suppose I didn’t need to say any of that.” Smiling kindly, the Goddess continued, “Very well, Leon. I recognize you as my chosen. If you hold true to your honor and wield your sword in the na of justice and virtue, then I entrust you with the role of guiding the light of this world.”

“I will honor your will with all my heart,” Leon replied.

The Goddess nodded once at his words.

“Then I shall bestow my blessings upon you, my Champion.”

A pillar of light burst forth and wrapped around Leon.

“The Stigma of the Guardian.”

A rectangular mark was engraved near his heart. It would empower him when facing the enemies of the world and grant him the ability to absorb sunlight and moonlight as energy. Only a few mbers of the Holy Iron Inquisitors possessed such a gift.

“The Stigma of the Purifier.”

A fla-like mark appeared beneath his collarbone. It nullified nearly all poisons short of divine-level curses and held supre resistance against all forms of corruption or malediction. By focusing his power, he could even manifest Holy Fla.

“The Stigma of the Prayer.”

A translucent mark appeared on his forehead. It negated ntal interference, strengthened his will, and greatly amplified his ntal energy.

Even his psychokinesis would now be far stronger, allowing him to use it more freely. It also enhanced the power of holy spells.

“Lastly, the Stigma of the Observer.”

Leon’s irises turned entirely golden. Now, his eyes would never return to the color they were before. They were now the eyes to balance the world, able to perceive “imbalance” and “cracks” in the world that interfere. He could even pierce the disguise of “Outsiders.”

Having granted all four stigmata, and now reaching the limit of divine interference, the Goddess waved her hand.

“Leon, my blade that shall not yield even to stormy seas. May your path be filled with good bonds and happiness. I will always be watching over you from this sky.”

As Leon opened his mouth to answer that farewell, the world turned upside down.