I Returned with the Cheat Holy Sword

Come to think of it, at the time Carlyle was possessed, he was already someone who drifted around the edges of the knight order.
If he recalled correctly, he had been infamous within the order as a hopeless underachiever—quiet, unremarkable, barely noticeable.

Thanks to that, even within the crowded barracks of the knights, Carlyle knew plenty of places where no one else ever came.
That still held true now, even though this was long before his original regression point.
In other words—

While oiling and maintaining his sword, even while doing something as bizarre as talking to it, he knew places secluded enough that he wouldn’t run into anyone.
[…Nnngh, khk.]
"……"

Carlyle ignored the groaning from the sword and kept moving his hands.
[C-could you perhaps… be a little gentler?]
"……"

[Hrk… nghhhh…]
"Would you just shut up already?"
[It tickles, that’s all.]

"……"
Why the hell did a sword even have sensations?
Wearing an expression like he’d just smelled something rotten, Carlyle dragged the whetstone across the surface of the Holy Sword again.

[—You shameless cur. How can you touch such a place so casually—]
"Shut the hell up."
Thank god no one was around. If anyone saw this, they’d definitely think he was insane.

If I take this thing outside, all hell’s going to break loose.
According to the Hero, the “Holy Sword Bestowal Ceremony” was coming up soon.
A monumental event where Gray Chasefield, a member of the Imperial Knights, would be declared the Hero to the entire world.
If Carlyle showed up to that ceremony already holding the symbol of the Hero, the Holy Sword—yeah, no doubt about it, that’d start a full-scale panic. What he was doing now was an attempt to disguise the sword so it wouldn’t be recognized.

If it’s the Holy Sword Bestowal Ceremony…
That’s a perfect chance to get close to Gray.
The Hero inside the sword had said so herself, so it had to be true.

Besides, there was no point in delaying. Carlyle needed to reform her no matter what, and the sooner they met, the better.
…Although all I’ve got are bad memories of our first meeting.
Let’s see… what was it like in the previous round?

"Hero."
[What is it.]
"Do you remember the first time we met?"

[No. I don’t recall at all.]
"When I just tried to talk to you, and you broke every single one of my limbs out of pure spite?"
[……]

"If I hadn’t been emergency transported that day, I’d be dead."
[…Did that happen?]
Of course it did.

Hearing that utterly indifferent reply, Carlyle let out a dry laugh.
If she couldn’t remember this much, maybe her brain really was defective. But no—her memorization ability had always been exceptional.
Which meant, plain and simple: the fact that someone nearly died because of her just wasn’t important enough to be worth remembering.

Not even worth storing in her memory.
What the hell do I even say to this person.
He let out a deep sigh and changed the subject.

"Anyway, let’s talk about what we discussed before."
She didn’t say anything, but Carlyle could feel the jolt from inside the sword.
[…You mean… that you’ll, um, s-seduce me?]

"Why the hell are you getting shy now? That’s way more irritating."
[……]
Like he wanted to do this?

From Carlyle’s perspective, who had seen literally everything across countless regressions, this bashfulness was just painfully cringe-inducing.
"The word’s ‘seduce,’ but what I’m actually trying to do is knock some humility into you."
He didn’t have any delusions of actually doing something with her as a man to a woman.

If anything, he had a visceral, physical aversion. Just thinking about all the shit he’d been through because of her—
There were even rounds where Gray had straight-up killed him herself. Honestly, the fact he could even look at her without having a trauma relapse was a miracle in itself.
Still, breaking that godawful personality of hers was a must, whether he liked it or not. If he wanted to stop her from going berserk later, she needed to at least pretend to listen to him.

Which means first of all…
Based on his experience so far, Gray was the kind of person who erased anyone from her memory the moment they failed to catch her eye. You could say contempt for the weak came factory-installed in her.
If he wanted to socialize her at all, the first step was making sure she recognized his existence.

Which meant—
"I need to hit hard from the start."
Basically, if he could leave a strong first impression when they met, that’d be ideal.

[If I may ask… how exactly do you plan to do that?]
"……"
[You said it yourself—you don’t have any powers, do you?]

"……"
[Forgive me for saying this, but even if there were thousands of you, I wouldn’t get a single scratch. Even back when I’d just been granted the Holy Sword and hadn’t fully matured yet.]
Fair point.

Carlyle was, in truth, completely empty.
[ Status Info ]
< Carlyle Belfast > [Knight Order Recruit]

[ Trait: Not yet unlocked. ]
[ Skill: Not yet unlocked. ]
He squinted at the window floating in front of his eyes.
Well, it wasn’t like he had no perks as a possessor, but—

The fact that nothing had ever unlocked even after all those regressions ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) pretty much meant they didn’t exist.
There must be some condition…
In the world of Demon Hunter, traits and skills had different unlock conditions per character.

Normally, just doing basic things like “training swordsmanship,” “studying magic,” or “learning a craft” would open them.
But Carlyle was a rare case—no matter what he tried, nothing had ever unlocked.
…Still, I have to try.

If you have no teeth, you chew with your gums.
This was the final round. If he failed now, it was over for good. He had to start things right.
Even if it meant throwing an egg at a boulder—he had to shatter spectacularly enough to catch her attention.

"Anything will do. Even just a little. Isn’t there anything I can stab her with?"
He said it flatly, and Gray inside the sword fell silent.
After a long silence, Gray finally spoke, strained.

[There is… one thing that comes to mind.]
"Oh?"
 

Carlyle brightened and looked down at the sword.
"Really? You have a way I can win?"
[Of course not. Do you seriously think you could beat me in anything—be it combat or knowledge?]

"God, the way you talk."
What pissed him off more was that she wasn’t wrong.
Even in her much younger years, there was a gap between Carlyle and Gray as vast as that between a human and a demigod.

[However—]
After a light cough, Gray’s voice continued.
[If it’s about leaving an ‘impression’ like you said, then yes. There is a way.]

"…Hm?"
***
There are people who live lives where it’s only natural for them to believe they are the strongest.

In Gray Chasefield’s eyes, her own life was exactly that kind.
At age seven, she entered the Imperial Knights as the youngest recruit in history.
At ten, she won the Imperial Martial Arts Tournament.
At fifteen—
…She slew a dragon known as a walking catastrophe.

And ever since, not once in her life had she tasted defeat.
Victory, to her, was as natural as breathing.
And for someone like her, seeing every other human being as subpar was also a completely natural outcome.

Some had protested that she was far too arrogant to be granted the Holy Sword, that she wasn’t fit to be the Hero.
It didn’t even make her angry.
To her, they were just the pathetic howls of losers.

Why would she be mad? When you see a bug, you feel disgust—not anger. Who in the world gets genuinely enraged at a bug?
For Gray, the emotions she felt toward others never strayed far from that logic.
The weak were insects. It didn’t matter how she treated them.

And during today’s sparring match, meant to determine the true candidate for the Holy Sword, she’d demonstrated those thoughts without restraint.
The Knight Order was horrified. The Orthodox Church recoiled.
But Gray felt nothing.
Why all the fuss over some broken limbs and a popped eyeball?

Isn’t being weak the real problem?
She hadn’t even killed them.
Trying to stand against her with that level of skill? They brought it on themselves.

With a detached sigh, she turned her gaze to the Holy Sword being presented to her.
"Against all the great evils that rise from the depths of sulfur—"
In the grand hall where the Knight Order stood in formation, a high priest from the Church knelt before Gray and presented her with the Holy Sword.

"Against all mortal sins humanity will ever commit—"
Forged from star-metal, a meteorite fallen from the heavens above in ancient times.
A sword that held the radiance of the Goddess. A weapon only granted to the chosen one.

A weapon bestowed solely to those who could, without contest, be called humanity’s strongest.
"You alone have been chosen."
The moment Gray took it in her hands, cheers erupted all around her.

The birth of a Hero.
"A Hero from the Imperial Knights?! This will go down in history!"
"Come on, Gray! We need to throw a banquet!"

"……"
Surrounded by the loud crowd, Gray looked around with a blank expression.
…Annoyed.

She found it revolting that a bunch of worthless insects were pretending to be friendly with her.
"—Move."
The moment she coldly spat that out, the surrounding humans all flinched back.

No one dared show defiance to the wrath of humanity’s strongest.
And even that fact was deeply irritating to Gray.
She stepped through the parting crowd with heavy, sure-footed steps.

To her, other people were just that—creatures who scrambled away if she so much as bared her teeth.
No one had the guts or courage to look her in the eye and speak.
"…My lady. That was a bit much."

Beside her, a servant whispered with a forced smile.
She couldn’t remember his name. She’d seen his face for a long time, sure, but he wasn’t impressive enough to bother remembering.
Still, unlike the others, he was at least somewhat useful.

"I’m going to train. Prepare a space. I want to use it alone."
"Yes, ma’am. Right away."
At the very least, when she gave an order, he made sure it got done.

But when they arrived at the training ground the servant had set up, one man was already using it.
"……"
The servant stammered, glancing between the man and Gray.

Gray answered only with a cold, cutting stare.
Useless bastard. He couldn’t even fulfill her simple request to find her a space alone?
Sighing in annoyance, she walked toward the man swinging his sword in the center of the field.

"Hey."
The man didn’t answer.
He didn’t even look at her.

The sheer rudeness already had her temper flaring. Her voice turned sharper.
"You’ve got five seconds. Get lost."
She stated it flatly.

The man still didn’t move.
"Didn’t you hear me? I said get lost."
"Go fuck yourself."

"……"
For a moment—
She thought she’d misheard.

Gray blinked, stunned, staring blankly at the man.
Judging by the way the servant’s jaw dropped beside her, she hadn’t misheard.
"What… did you just say?"

"Did you not hear me? I said go fuck yourself."
"……"
"What, you think you reserved the whole field or something? Who the hell do you think you are?"

As the man’s curses kept coming, Gray’s sense of reality wavered.
***
Hero.

[What.]
You were a real piece of work as a kid too, huh.
[…I won’t deny it.]

Carlyle chuckled at the voice echoing in his head.
Gray’s expression was already warping into something terrifying in real time.
Even with the baby fat still clinging to her young face, the bloodlust pouring from her was enough to chill the air.

Honestly—
Seeing Gray at this stage, before even a shred of socialization had taken hold, it was a miracle she’d ever chosen to change on her own later in life…
She’s gonna pick a fight, huh?

[Guaranteed.]
Not only was the Hero already in a foul mood, but Carlyle had pushed all the right buttons with provocations that’d start a fight even by normal standards.
A beatdown was imminent. Gray was already stomping toward him with a stormy expression—that much was obvious.

And that was exactly what Carlyle was aiming for.
He recalled the conversation they’d had earlier:
[So, if I just get you to pay attention to me, that’ll be enough, right?]

Gray had declared that if that was the goal, she had a method in mind.
[Just show me a tiny taste of failure.]
What he needed was a crack.

A single, tiny fracture.
Come on.
Even if he couldn’t win—

He could at least humiliate her.
Grinning to himself, Carlyle locked eyes with the approaching Gray.