The Problematic Child of the Magic Tower
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 291: Primordial Evil (6)
The holy sword slid out with a soft swoosh.
Archbishop Baldwin carefully received the blade with both hands.
“Oho... at long last, the sacred artifact returns to the bosom of our Church...”
For once, genuine piety flickered in Baldwin’s eyes.
Even after more than 800 years in a place overflowing with malice, the holy sword had not corroded.
That alone testified to the greatness of the Mother Earth Goddess’s power imbued within it.
“Ah—this is no time to stand here gawking.”
Baldwin breathed holy power into the sword.
Brrrrrrrr.
The blade quivered, and a heavy voice echoed through the chamber.
—Hmm.
The sword spoke.
Everyone stared, eyes wide.
Feeling smug, Baldwin lifted his chin.
“What are you all so surprised about? It is a sacred artifact bearing the Goddess’s power. Naturally, it chooses its master—and as such, it is an Ego Sword.”
“I’ve never seen an Ego Sword before.”
“Nor I.”
The Heavenly Sword Clan’s knights nodded, and even Oscar agreed.
An Ego Sword—a sword with a mind and will of its own.
—Where am I?
The sword’s voice was hoarse, as if it had truly been asleep for ages.
—Ah... Belpher’s Labyrinth. I see. Tell me, how much time has passed?
“Eight hundred forty-two years.”
—Hah. Far longer than I expected.
After clicking its metaphorical tongue, the sword asked again.
—You wield holy power, so I assume you are clergy of the Church. Who are you?
“I am Baldwin, Archbishop and faithful servant of the Mother Earth Goddess. And you—do you remember your name?”
—...Itaca. Yes. My name is Itaca, the Sword of the Earth Goddess.
At the reply, the blade released a faint, weak glow.
—Mm. This is the most holy power I can muster right now.
“That’s to be expected. You were abandoned here far too long.”
The Archbishop’s calm conversation with the legendary sword looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.
—I have a question.
“Ask anything.”
—Why did it take 842 years to retrieve me?
“Simple. Until recently, reaching this place was impossible.”
Baldwin shrugged.
“Without the airship flying us here, we still wouldn’t have come today.”
—Hah? Airship? You flew here?
Itaca chuckled in disbelief.
—But why go through such trouble? Why not travel by ship?
“Because when the Demon King died, the Western Sea turned black. A horrifying force that corrodes all it touches. Records say the area expands every passing year.”
—...What?
Itaca’s voice hardened.
—Don’t tell me that cursed malice still remains?
“Unfortunately, yes. It seems the hatred he held in life was... monumental.”
—Nonsense! Where is Belpher?!
The sword shouted, its light sweeping the surroundings like a scanning beam.
The divine glow stopped where Belpher’s corpse was fixed.
—Destroy that body! At once!
“What? Why so suddenly—?”
Before Baldwin could finish, the Heavenly Sword moved instantly.
Shwing!
Like a ray of light, his blade sliced cleanly through Belpher’s neck.
“Is that enough?”
—No! Reduce it to dust—leave not even a speck!
“Why?”
Frustrated, Itaca roared.
—You fool! The power he wields is manifested emotion! A dead corpse cannot possess emotion!
“...You mean—?”
—Yes. That persistent monster is still alive!
A chill ran down everyone’s spine.
To live despite having his heart pierced by a holy sword?
They could hardly believe it.
As they stared, Belpher’s severed head rolled—then rotated toward them.
Flash!
Its eyes snapped open.
“Sharp, aren’t you?”
“—!”
Only three people moved fast enough to react.
0.5 seconds:
A slash from the Heavenly Sword split the head into four pieces.
0.7 seconds:
Lloyd’s wind blades diced those four pieces into twenty-four.
1.4 seconds:
A burst of compressed air crushed the pieces into shapeless fragments.
And at 1.8 seconds—
KWAOOOOOM!
From all four entrances, tides of black sludge surged forward.
Priests and paladins unleashed holy power in reflex—but it did nothing.
The sludge moved like a single living swarm and instantly absorbed Belpher’s corpse.
Thoooong!
A violent shockwave rippled outward.
Oscar grabbed the back of Cheon Ajin’s collar and yanked him backward.
“Cough! Cough! What the hell—!”
Cheon Ajin glared, but his voice trailed off.
Two priests who had stood before him were nothing but bloodstains now.
The once quiet chamber was now thick with metallic stench.
Just the aura released by Belpher had killed seven people—without leaving bodies.
“...Haaa.”
Belpher exhaled slowly from the center of the carnage.
“Now this... this feels like being alive again.”
His frail, mummy-like body looked weak, but none dared move.
Just his presence crushed the air around them.
Everyone held their breath—not daring even to swallow.
“Tch.”
The Heavenly Sword clicked his tongue loudly—almost provocatively.
“To think a centuries-old corpse is acting up like this.”
“...Hm.”
Belpher flexed his hands.
Though still skeletal, nothing about him felt weak.
“You said it has been 842 years.”
His gaze traced over the Heavenly Sword and Lloyd.
“Two of you... not bad. Has humanity truly grown so much?”
“Not bad? Me?”
The Heavenly Sword laughed coldly.
To him, Belpher’s current strength—around late level 7—was nothing to boast about.
“Seems your senses rotted while you were napping.”
“True. For this moment alone, you two are stronger.”
“Exactly. And you will not be growing stronger. You're about to die again.”
Shing.
His sword floated behind him, aiming at Belpher.
But Belpher merely shook his head.
“That assumption is wrong. As time passes, I win.”
“...Nonsense.”
The Heavenly Sword’s strike fell like lightning.
Belpher didn’t react.
His body was split cleanly in half.
At that moment—
“Archbishop! A message from the airship!”
“What does it say?!”
“T-the sea... the sea is rushing toward us!”
“—!!”
Everyone remembered the black ocean below.
“...So the black sludge grows stronger the more it gathers?”
—Correct.
Itaca answered.
—It seems the Demon King separated his power from his body to avoid being purified by my holy light, and has been nurturing it in secret.
“Then...”
Baldwin paled.
Belpher had reached level 7 just from absorbing the sludge inside the labyrinth.
If he absorbed the entire Western Sea—
“The Demon King’s resurrection...”
Baldwin whispered, horrified.
“Is there any way?!”
He demanded.
—Unless ten thousand knights and priests are here, no.
“We have only a few near the airship.”
—Does the Pope accompany you?
“No.”
Silence.
Then a heavy sigh.
—Listen carefully. Pour as much holy power into me as possible. Then leave only your best knight behind and evacuate the island. I will hold him off for as long as I can. Return to the continent and prepare for war.
“....”
It was a de facto admission of defeat.
“Is there truly no other way? You are a legendary holy sword!”
—I cannot draw water from a dried well.
Hundreds of years abandoned had drained Itaca completely.
“...Gods...”
As despair filled the room, Oscar stepped forward.
“What fills a dried well?”
—Two ways. Either the entire Church restores it with massive holy power... or it heals naturally over centuries.
“But hasn’t it been healing for 842 years?”
—While lodged in that monster’s heart, all restored power was instantly spent purifying it.
“So... time is the only way.”
—And not mere hours. At least decades, more likely centuries.
Baldwin groaned.
But Oscar asked.
“Then what about a thousand years?”
—A thousand would suffice... but what use is that fantasy now?
“It’s enough.”
Oscar turned to Lloyd.
Lloyd dashed over.
“Tell me what to do.”
Even he was using honorifics; the situation was that dire.
Oscar said.
“Protect me. For about... six minutes.”
“Six minutes?”
Baldwin blinked.
Oscar nodded.
“I will put the holy sword into my subspace.”
“What does that mean?”
“My subspace shifts time depending on the number of overlaps.”
Oscar rapidly calculated.
“With eight-fold overlap, five minutes fifteen seconds inside will be about... exactly one thousand years.”
“...Is that true?”
“Yes. What matters is that no one touches me during that time.”
The most he had ever attempted was Lloyd’s five-fold overlap.
Eight would require insane concentration.
“Two things are needed.”
He looked at Lloyd.
“You must protect me from everything—for six minutes.”
Then he looked at the Archbishop.
“And you must delay Belpher from absorbing the ocean sludge. The Heavenly Sword must hold him 1-on-1.”
“...You mean I should block the incoming sea?!”
Baldwin cursed loudly.
“You damned shaman! Not once did your prophecy mention this catastrophe!”
But he ran toward the western entrance.
“Fine! I’ll handle it!”
Oscar watched him go, then turned to Itaca.
“A thousand years is a long sleep.”
—I’ve already slept for eight hundred. A bit more won’t matter.
Oscar smiled faintly.
Then he placed the holy sword Itaca into his subspace.

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