Chapter 326: Hero's Tomb (2)

Eugene, who heard the goddess’s voice often enough to overlook it, forgot that Banas’s whisper was an actual oracle.

Eugene, a vessel unlike any other, could fully receive her voice—and even be invited to the goddess’s territory while alive.

This was the true miracle. If the Apostle Kingdom knew the details, they would faint.

“Where are you?”

Eugene walked through the paradise being completed day by day. Clear seas, sand beaches like gold powder, cozy meadows, and peaceful forests unfolded in sequence.

The sea offered only freshness instead of its usual scent, and the fine sand that enveloped his feet didn’t scatter—so it wouldn’t enter anyone’s lungs.

In the meadows and forests, nothing invited blood. No sharp rocks or branches, no mosquitoes or vipers baring fangs or venom—nothing malicious of any kind.

‘What kind of fruit is this?’

The fruits on the trees were small as flower buds—because Banas’s paradise was still in its infancy.

As he walked, Banas stood before him. Only he could see the goddess’s true form, not her golden statue.

“Having heard so much about Valhalla in Midgard, I’m newly aware of this place’s excellence.”

The goddess smiled brightly.

“That place is truly bizarre. From the moment they wake in the morning, they kill and fight each other. And when night falls? They’re arm-in-arm with the person they were gutting moments ago, tearing into pork. What kind of place is this?”

This time, she made a triangle with her fingers with a troubled expression. She was weak at both gossiping and listening to it.

But she knew how exhausted Eugene was from dealing with surrendered Vikings and speaking well of their faith.

“But this place’s perfect peace is my pride. If only my painting were a little better, I could show everyone.”

Banas, delighted, still wasn’t very talkative. She often sent her voice to Eugene in the mortal world, but for some reason, when they met in paradise, she maintained silence.

He was curious, but it wasn’t something he could casually ask anyone about, and searching through ancient texts revealed no such case. The truth lay beyond.

“So what brings you here?”

*

Morning came, and Eugene opened his eyes.

“Ah-cha!”

Eugene stretched luxuriously. Beside him, his beautiful Elven wife also rose.

“Ah-ha!”

With cute sounds, the couple stretched their arms out in parallel.

Then, releasing their taut arms and upper bodies, there was a difference. Unlike her husband’s solid muscle mass, Valda…

Jiggle!

Was greatly affected by the rebound. Seeing this every morning allowed Eugene to perform at just over 100% capacity.

“I can’t join you for lunch today. I need to host the wives and daughters of the converted lords.”

“Please take care of them. Midgardians may dislike the Ancient Kingdom, but they respect the Elven royal family.”

The Jarls who had maintained their bear-like posture even while surrendering all shrank when facing Valda. It was a kind of respect that military power couldn’t draw.

-Your Highness gracing us with her presence at the banquet—there could be no greater honor.

-If our ancestors hadn’t shown grace, how wretched our beards would be.

Soap was magnificent. Even the vicious nomads of the northeast paid respect to the First Era royal houses.

The plants that allowed mass production of quality hygiene products—this was the crystallization of compassion and love for the common people. No tyrant could dare insult that great achievement.

“Along with Hilde, some coastal lords seem to want to borrow your banner. They say they finally see a way to trade with Britannia, which they previously couldn’t.”

It was common business for minor houses to fly a great house’s banner for protection.

“They said nothing in front of me.”

“That’s because what they said to their wives in bed, their wives told me, and now I’m passing it to you. Having achieved nothing yet, they were too afraid to make such a request.”

“Nothing comes free.”

“Naturally. After the war, these houses will enter into formal vassal contracts with you and pay taxes. They’ll also send hostages to Haven.”

Valda had rules when talking in bed. Before sleep, she mainly discussed topics related to herself and her husband, including how pleasant things had been.

On the other hand, upon waking, she mainly discussed business matters.

-A ruler and their spouse must always start the day with clear purpose.

This was said to be the family motto passed down through generations of the Luisamore family.

“That reminds me—you must have slept well last night.”

“How did you…?”

Valda leaned in. Her unbound golden hair, spread out as if collapsing onto the pillow, tickled Eugene. Even the finest farmer smoothing a wheat field couldn’t feel better than this.

“Your breathing.”

Valda perked up her long ears.

“When deep night comes and all noise fades, only my husband’s breathing reaches me.”

Since last year, it had become the sound she heard most in her life among single tones. It would continue unchanged going forward.

“That’s how I can tell even the smallest differences.”

“Oh!”

“Hehehe.”

Valda tucked her hair behind her ear, waiting for her husband who would soon pounce.

“I have something to tell you too. I must go to the Hero’s Tomb.”

But today, her husband also had business to discuss.

“Oh dear.”

Valda, sitting up, collapsed forward. Seeing Eugene speak this way, it appeared to be a settled matter.

“Can you tell me why?”

“The goddess appeared in my dream and gave me a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

Valda’s expression changed. The wife’s face, mixed with happiness and languor, transformed into that of a lady conferring with retainers—except for her exposed nakedness.

Eugene drew the sword beside the bed. The silver-white blade of the Last Autumn was revealed. Despite having slain countless armored enemies, it remained sharp as a razor.

Presently, a holy radiance blazed. An incomparable aura of purification enveloped the blade.

“Hmm.”

Valda asked no unnecessary questions. As the Sage of the Emerald Forest, she understood her husband’s intent and observed the sword.

Whooooom!

Within the sun-like radiance, an alien energy was detected. A single red thread rose like heat haze within the golden waves.

“This is?”

“Vengeance. Or rather, vengefulness.”

Valda rested her chin in thought for a moment before continuing.

“Could the Midgard campaign have affected this?”

“As expected, you’re brilliant. Correct.”

Eugene released the Sacred Smite and sheathed the sword.

“The echoes of the massive death and destruction, parting and tears I deliberately caused returned as that single thread.”

“They were people who deserved punishment.”

“Human concepts and the world’s concepts differ, I’ve learned. Goddess Banas has become a slight pillar of the world. When I, her agent, cause major changes to the world, the impact returns.”

The single red thread undulating through the Sacred Smite held the votive offering of vengeance, honed through rage and resentment.

The Britannian army that invaded Midgard following Eugene, and everyone in the homeland who supported them—their collective will.

“Are there no side effects?”

“None at all. The amount is infinitesimal.”

“That’s a relief.”

Valda breathed a sigh of relief.

“The goddess invited me to her world for the same concern.”

Banas had worried that her mortal champion might be affected, even slightly.

But Eugene’s soul had withstood even malice far more intense and oppressive—like deep-sea water pressure.

“Even if the entire blade turns red, my heart will never change.”

“It’s merely a single thread after all. A wide river can absorb more salt. As the faith grows stronger, these things won’t need attention.”

Valda was right. With far more followers, a change would likely have appeared only near the end of the Midgard campaign.

Eugene embraced his wife tightly. The soft sensation reaching his collarbone was a heaven on earth.

“Still, I want to do some good deeds to shake off the impurity.”

“So that’s why you want to go to the Hero’s Tomb.”

There was no virtue greater than slaying evil beings. The votive offering of vengeance dedicated to Banas would also be easily purified.

“The holy power the goddess bestows originates from mercy. It becomes useless when used to attack humans or even animals.”

Eugene had come to clearly understand its nature through training and researching the Sacred Smite.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“No. On the contrary, it’s good.”

“Huh?”

“The world’s rules are: give one thing, take another. Against beings not subject to mercy—undead, demons from other worlds, and foreign gods—it’s doubly powerful.”

Strong physical force was essentially magic. Eugene could smash humans and monsters equally. If needed, he could mobilize his army.

Only Banas’s power, devoted entirely to destroying unclean beings, was perfect for Eugene.

“No wonder… No matter how divine the grace, it seemed excessively powerful. There was a reason.”

“No deity can match our goddess in slaying evil beings. Not even the power granted by war gods or gods of justice. That’s what choice and focus mean.”

But the power of vengeance was different. There were no exceptions to the object of vengeance. The divine authority granted by vengeance was also powerful, but there was a reason Eugene called it an impurity.

He always placed high value on irreplaceable power.

*

“I will challenge the Hero’s Tomb.”

Eugene’s declaration electrified the Vikings who had been guests.

Seeing off a warrior challenging the Hero’s Tomb—this was a rarer experience than seeing a Huskarl challenge a Jarl to single combat.

“Hmm.”

“Mmm.”

“Don’t just stand there looking. Someone step forward.”

“Why don’t you suggest it to His Excellency, elder?”

“Ahem. If I were ten years younger, I would, but now I’m too old…”

The converted Bargeant lords played a game of looking away and scratching their cheeks.

Like before a great war, when sending a hero to the Hero’s Tomb, the Vikings also offered sacrifices.

Since human sacrifice was banned in Eugene’s name, they were all itching to at least offer a cow.

Valda was busy comforting the nobles and knights who frowned at them.

“Another name for the Hero’s Tomb is the Lonely Road. Only one warrior can set forth per challenge.”

Thorvald, the elderly lord serving as guide, spoke.

“Is that custom, or are multiple people physically unable to enter?”

“Both. The Hero’s Tomb does not allow more than one living person inside. Only the strongest and bravest can explore its interior.”

Thorvald possessed a single fairy tale book as a treasure—the story of a boy who guided a hero to the Hero’s Tomb.

“This old man is fulfilling his dying wish.”

The reality of becoming the protagonist of a fairy tale he had read countless times brought him visible joy.

Behind Eugene, Britannian nobles and Bargeant lords followed side by side.

“…”

“What are you looking at?”

“This barbarian, where does he think he’s—”

“Ahem. Take your hand off the sword hilt. His Excellency is embarking on a great journey, and here you are, tsk tsk.”

“Huff. Huff.”

With accumulated grudges, getting along was still a distant dream. The Britannian guard was on the left, the Bargeant guard on the right, following along.

“If you’re going to huff that much, stay at the castle.”

“My lord is on a path of trial. As a knight, not accompanying him would be disgraceful.”

Though they growled at each other constantly, they were easy to manage. With a clear left-right division and empty space between, any trouble would be immediately visible.

“Ugh!”

“Hey! Are you keeping up?”

“…Yes! Your Excellency!”

When Eugene occasionally turned and glanced, they quieted down on their own.

The Hero’s Tomb they arrived at was a massive domed building. As an Ancient Kingdom structure, it had maintained its majestic appearance unchanged despite the passage of time.

“I heard only a portion is visible above ground. Do you know how deep it goes?”

“I’m sorry. No one has reached the end, so no one knows. The deepest any warrior ventured was the third basement level—even then, he died immediately upon returning and left no record.”

The entrance resembled a cathedral entrance he had seen in Roman territory. But there seemed to have been a previous visitor.

“That corpse?”

A well-armed warrior lay dead. It had been only a few days, but wolves and birds had already feasted.

“Someone seeking fame before the battle, perhaps. It’s not uncommon. A common warrior on the battlefield is easily forgotten. But anyone who challenges the Hero’s Tomb will attract everyone’s attention.”

Normally, family and retainers waited outside. Being left dead like this meant he was a nameless, solitary warrior.

“He walked the same path as I. Give that honorable man the funeral he deserves.”

The Huskarls, grateful for Eugene’s mercy, eagerly attended to the body.

“Rest in peace, brave warrior.”

“Sovereign, receive this warrior.”

Warriors who hadn’t been worthy to join struck their weapons and shields in respect.

“Courage transcends borders.”

Britannian nobles and knights also drew holy symbols, showing their own respect.

“But if I’d timed it wrong, I would have had to wait? Other warriors could have challenged additionally.”

“There’s no worry about that. The ancestors’ standards for accepting guests are high.”

Thorvald pointed at a massive stone gate. It was sealed shut without a single crack.

‘Magic?’

Eugene sensed the ancient mystery permeating the entire stone gate.

“Many Jarls and Huskarls have attempted to challenge the tomb, but that gate has rarely opened. It only permits entry to a true warrior. The previous challenger would have performed admirably on the battlefield.”

For the expedition, this was actually a blessing. He would likely have joined King Skal’s army and fought.

“How do you open that gate? Does it open on its own?”

“That’s right. When a challenger stands before it, the ancestors’ spirits judge whether they are worthy.”

“How long does that take?”

“Anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. If the challenge is approved, it opens very slowly. That also takes about three minutes.”

It was clearly not just a nest of undead. A dungeon of evil beyond the cycle of life and death, yet it still abided by the warrior’s code.

Eugene dismounted Might and walked to the stone gate. Everyone watched in silence.

The Vikings’ hearts beat more intensely than at any point in their lives. A sensation similar to enjoying rough lovemaking with their wives after returning alive from battle—a strange pleasure mixed with the blood flow coursing through their hearts.

And the moment Eugene stepped onto the judgment ground.

Boom!

The Sovereign’s hammer struck the stone gate. The force with which it opened was so great that it collided with the corridor walls, creating a thunderous sound.

“Oh, ancestors.”

Thorvald murmured. The great spirits needed not a single second to judge this young challenger.

All Vikings lowered their heads behind their shields, while Britannian knights smiled with satisfaction.

“Give me my mace.”

Homi presented the Great Mace she held in both hands to Eugene. The Last Autumn, affected by strong magnetic fields, hid in its sheath at his waist.

For indoor combat, Blackout wasn’t suitable. The Aether Sword was an excellent weapon in all situations, but its reach was short.

‘The most dangerous enemy is the one you can’t predict.’

Eugene nodded, feeling the sensation of the shaft filling his palm.

The Draugr within the tomb were warriors of the past. They would come at him with forgotten ancient martial arts.

The best counter was not allowing them attacking distance.

An even better counter was attacking in equally unimaginable ways.

The best counter was using both.

In Eugene’s left hand, he held a shield Valda had processed with magic. It would protect him from the Draugr’s swords and any potential evil sorcery.

The rest of his body was tightly wrapped in Hydra leather.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t fight among yourselves and behave.”

A ruler’s attitude that went beyond courage to cheerfulness. The two groups who had been glaring at each other now united in praising their lord.

*

Footsteps echoed through the corridor.

‘Was this from the previous challenger?’

Drops of blood were scattered on the floor. Following them, Eugene stopped.

A mummy holding a longsword in both hands stood alone. The blade was coated with dried blood, and the drops that had fallen formed a large mass before the mummy.

Eugene tightened his grip on the Great Mace and advanced.

Step. Step. Step.

His confident footsteps roused the Draugr from dormancy. The awakened dead’s eyes fixed on the intruder.

“■■■.”

A rough breath like a brown bear’s. The language that emerged was too ancient—even modern Midgardians wouldn’t understand it.

The nearly two-meter heavily armored Draugr walked toward Eugene. Eugene, showing no fear, didn’t stop his stride.

The moment their distance closed, the Draugr lunged with a surprise thrust. But its sword was drawn by a far more powerful force.

Ting!

The sword stuck to the mace, unmoving.

“???”

The Draugr also seemed startled by this bizarre experience. It squirmed and struggled to pull free, but it was useless. The massive creature twisting its body as if needing to urinate drew a smirk.

Boom!

Eugene’s kick struck the Draugr’s chest. The hovering giant collided with the wall and was driven into the ground.

“■■…”

The Draugr struggled to rise, but the impact was too great. Its head, still in contact with the mace, was crushed.

“Not a bad start.”

Eugene stared into the darkness beyond the corridor. A white light like a firefly descended, driving away the dark.