Chapter 86

“‘Strength,’ upright.”

In a room lavishly decorated yet tinged with an air of decadence, a woman’s quiet voice echoed.

Heidemarie, having gracefully flipped over a tarot card, raised a single eyebrow in mild surprise. She traced the card with a pale fingertip and smiled meaningfully.

“You gave someone a wonderful gift, didn’t you, Elma?”

“…What is that supposed to mean?”

Clemens, who had been leaning in to watch, asked while squinting at the card. It depicted a woman in white robes, smiling serenely as she closed a lion’s jaws with her bare hands. Unfortunately, Clemens was not well-versed in divination; he understood neither the meaning of the card nor the intent behind the murmur.

Heidemarie nodded gently and began to explain.

“This is the card known as ‘Strength.’ However, it does not refer to physical force like violence or raw muscle. Taming a lion—a metaphor for a wild spirit or instinct—with one’s bare hands… it signifies facing something that is inherently uncontrollable and bringing it under one’s mastery.”

She went on to explain it in simple terms: in the upright position, it represents a strong will, self-control, courage, and the power of execution. In the reversed position, it means shyness, dependency, or indecisiveness.

After finishing her explanation, Heidemarie picked up the card and pressed a kiss to it.

“And since this card appeared in the position of ‘what was given to those around her,’ it means Elma gave someone courage or a steadfast will. As a parent, I’m quite proud.”

“That’s…”

Ridiculous. It’s just a card game, Clemens almost blurted out, but the words never left his throat. Before he could speak, the other prisoners began chiming in one after another.

“What are you talking about? I’m the one who did most of the work educating Elma. If anyone should be proud, it’s me. Giving someone a ‘steadfast will’ is practically the specialty of brainwashing. She must have put my indoctrination techniques to good use.”

“I don’t know about that. A lion is a symbol of the uncontrollable, right? I think it’s more likely she used the medical and scientific knowledge I gave her to bring a life form—one usually beyond control—under her thumb.”

“…No. It is called ‘Strength,’ after all. There is a possibility… that she simply showed off the horsepower I taught her… the kind used to crush buildings…”

The voices belonged to Liesel, Horst, and Isaac, in that order. Isaac was immediately shut down by the others: “No, we just told you, it’s not about physical strength!”

Meanwhile, Morgan and Gilbert wore expressions that made it clear they also inwardly believed this was a result of their own tutelage.

“Yes, yes. It’s all thanks to everyone being much better teachers and parents than I am.”

Heidemarie shrugged and spoke with a playful pout. Liesel thought for a moment before letting out a huff.

“…Well, I suppose I consider you a mother with an influence second only to mine.”

The two had a tendency to compete, but Liesel, having a past as a former tutor, wasn’t the type to simply dismiss someone else’s merit.

“Influence? Please. What you have is more like ‘dominance,’” Horst interjected from the side. “And you’ve tilted it entirely toward the ‘demonic’ side of the spectrum.”

It seemed Liesel couldn’t bring himself to offer a straightforward compliment. As he struggled with an evaluation that sat somewhere between praise and an insult, Horst cut through with a blunt assessment.

“Rather than just ‘tilted,’ it’s purely demonic. The moment Marie sings, every living thing—be it animal or plant—undergoes explosive growth or enters a state of frenzy.”

“Oh, is it really that strange? Normally, a song is supposed to affect the body and soul. Besides, stirring up excitement with a song is a courtesan’s duty.”

“Does that duty include making every living creature obey you like a slave?”

Morgan countered gently. He glanced out the window at the garden and shook his head with a sigh.

“While it’s a blessing that the flowers and plants grow all at once when Lust sings, the ‘all at once’ part is a bit of a drawback. I intended for the eastern garden to have a more natural, playful feel, but now it’s become a collection of linear shapes, as if drawn with a ruler.”

Indeed. Her singing voice, which seduced all life and invited growth and submission, always resulted in a group of life forms that were excessively, perfectly coordinated.

Hearing this, Clemens felt his face go stiff. He already understood that this prison was filled with individuals possessing extraordinary abilities, but he hadn’t expected it from this woman as well.

‘No… the others possess medical knowledge, mind control, raw strength, or negotiation skills—extensions of human capabilities. But this woman… has she not clearly deviated from the human realm entirely?’

She was a beautiful woman who always seemed protected in the innermost depths of the room, surrounded by men. She was slender, gentle, and physically weaker than anyone else present, yet she possessed an intensity that made one feel they could never truly win against her.

Though he heard she was a former courtesan, Clemens did not know her lineage prior to that. Often, the higher-ranking courtesans were originally daughters of nobility; perhaps the woman before him was once a person of significant status.

Clemens narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Honestly… your aptitude is less like a prima donna and more like a Siren or a Demon Lord,” Morgan continued to sigh, clearly still bitter about the garden. A man who loved tea and the elegant time spent enjoying it, he also loved tending to his plants.

Upon hearing this, Heidemarie puffed out her cheeks in a slight sulk.

“How rude. Believe it or not, I’ve been called a Saintess before, you know?”

“Lust as a Saintess! What a masterpiece of a joke.”

“I’ve never heard such a blatant sarcastic jab in my life.”

The statement was taken as a joke and dismissed with a laugh.

“…………”

However, Clemens—a man who had once held the position of Bishop—stared intently at Heidemarie.

“Well, enough about me. Let’s look at Elma. The next card—‘what is given to her by those around her’ is… Oh, my.”

The beautiful courtesan flipped the next tarot card with an elegant motion, her brow furrowing slightly.

Night fell again after the Saint division concluded.

Once more, in a corner of the academy that had fallen silent in preparation for the next day, someone knocked quietly on the door of an equipment shed on the edge of the grounds.

“Master. I’m coming in.”

With messy black hair and a face that hinted at a mischievous personality, the boy entered. Despite his youth, he had a well-trained physique and carried a longsword—it was Gino. He stepped into the shed, glancing around as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

Swish!

Suddenly, a sharp sound cut through the air. Gino leaped back faster than he could think. Once he realized what had just swept through the space in front of him, he let out a low whistle.

“To slice through a steel pillar with nothing but wind pressure, without even touching the blade… So this is the legendary Gale Blade of the Holy Swordsman Guido?”

“…To be precise, I’m a failed Holy Swordsman,” Guido murmured lowly.

A moment later, the steel support of a shelf packed with equipment began to slide diagonally, its severed cross-section finally visible as if the metal had only just realized it had been cut.

Gino scrambled to grip the two pieces together, barely preventing the shelf from collapsing.

“Whoa, this thing is heavy! Wait, what am I supposed to do with this, Master!?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just keep holding it for now.”

“Ehhhhh!?”

Gino let out a cry of disbelief at the unexpectedly sloppy instruction.

But Guido simply said, “That was a lie. Use this,” and tossed him some reinforcing timber and cloth.

“The rust around there was starting to bother me anyway. I’ll have the janitors do a proper repair later, so just secure it with that for the time being.”

“Uh… was I summoned here just for this?”

“And one more thing. I’m giving you this as well.”

As stoic as ever, Guido threw an object toward him. Once Gino realized what it was, he let go of the steel pillar entirely and caught the item with both hands.

“Master, but this is…!”

A second later, the equipment shelf, deprived of its support, collapsed completely. However, thanks to the precision of the cut, the steel pillar, top board, and supplies slid to the floor in a cloud of dust with almost no sound.

In the dark storage room, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through a small window, the object in Gino’s hands radiated a faint, divine glow amidst the swirling dust.

What Guido had handed over was his source of strength and his partner: the holy longsword—the Gale Blade.

Guido looked down at his now-empty right hand, then fixed a steady gaze on Gino.

“It’s yours. So, tomorrow… you win, no matter what.”

“……..”

Gino fell silent, scratching his head with a troubled look.

“…I mean, I’m incredibly honored, but I can fight without this…”

“That girl from Luden is among the Holy Swordsman candidates. I can’t say for sure if what she showed today was Holy Power, but if it was, her capacity is staggering. I acknowledge your swordsmanship, Gino. But if there is that much of a gap in the Holy Power you can channel, it will be a grueling battle.”

A Holy Swordsman is the pinnacle of those who channel Holy Power into a blade. Those with the greatest capacity for Holy Power and the superior skill to wield a blade infused with it are chosen for the Trinity.

While Gino possessed the finest swordsmanship of his generation, his Holy Power was a modest amount—fitting for a “boy from the slums who barely happened to have any.” However, using a Holy Sword already saturated with power could compensate for that lack.

At his mentor’s insistence on being fully prepared, Gino reluctantly swapped his own sword for the Gale Blade.

“…But I usually train with a cheap sword. I might not even be able to grip this right.”

“That is a legendary-class Holy Sword. It conforms to the wielder’s will, changing its shape and weight at path. If you focus, you can swing it with the exact same feel as your usual weapon.”

Guido was clearly willing to do whatever it took to ensure his students entered the Trinity. His black eyes, usually so earnest, now burned with the hard light of a singular resolve.

Taking note of this, Gino drew the Gale Blade from its scabbard and held it up to the moonlight.

“…If I become part of the Trinity, it’ll be a first for the slums, won’t it?” He whispered idly.

Gino met Guido’s silent stare with a firm look of his own.

“I heard that regions that produce a member of the Trinity are granted the name of a Saint. If I become the Holy Swordsman, then that cramped, miserable town won’t be called a ‘pig-stink slum’ or a ‘den of beggars’ anymore, right? It’ll get a cooler, cleaner name?”

“…Yeah.”

“And I’ll finally become… a ‘somebody.’ Someone worthy of standing alongside Chloe, who’s been selected as the Saint, and Raul, who’s a shoe-in for the Holy Mage… right?”

Guido fell silent for a moment.

It would have been easy to reassure him, but as a mentor, he hesitated—he knew that even without titles, those two already accepted Gino as their equal. He wondered if he should scold him for his unnecessary self-deprecation. But Guido also knew that beneath his cheerful exterior, Gino harbored a deep complex regarding his birth.

No matter how many words others piled on, this was a problem Gino had to resolve within himself.

Ultimately, Guido simply gave a quiet nod.

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Then, I’ll do it.”

There was no longer any hesitation in Gino’s voice.

“I’ll borrow your sword—and your Holy Power—and I will take that seat. I’m going to earn a status that lets me say I’m their friend with my head held high.”

As his hands, large for his age, gripped the hilt, the masterfully forged Holy Sword seemed to respond, emitting a faint, drifting light.