I Returned with the Cheat Holy Sword

In a feudal monarchy, noble titles hold far more authority than people might assume. Especially in a society like the medieval era.
Even in the Demon Hunter world, where all sorts of technological developments are jumbled together, it’s the same. Gray can stir up all kinds of incidents, and yet most of it gets brushed under the rug because she’s the daughter of a ducal house.
In general, the gap between classes tends to fade with technological progress. But in the Demon Hunter world—where superstitions and religious authority manifest as supernatural powers—those gaps remain rigid and entrenched.

Nobility = superhumans who wield extraordinary powers.
Commoners, know your place.
And in such a world, there was a family that succeeded in earning noble status without any special power.
In a world full of superhumans who shatter boulders with their bare hands and leap through the sky with nothing but leg strength, this family built power through one thing: capital.

One of the greatest merchant houses on the continent—the Marquessate of Anastasia.
“They really do have everything. I’ve owed them more than a few favors,” Felix had once said.
Just that statement alone confirmed they had the ability to obtain things even the Gray Cardinal—who holds authority strong enough to fell a flying bird—couldn’t get.

And this was the same man who threatened that very family and nearly killed their daughter in cold blood.
Every time Carlyle recalled that fact, he reminded himself not to get too deeply entangled with Felix.
No matter how kind or cooperative he seemed on the surface, Felix was terrifying at the core. When things go sour, no one knows what he might do.

“Y-Your Eminence! What brings you to our estate—!”
So when the continent’s greatest merchant came rushing out to meet them, hands wringing, with the expression of a man who just saw the end of the world, no one could really blame him.
A portly middle-aged man with a deathly pale face welcomed them like a sinner awaiting judgment.

Felix, for his part, just waved him off as though the fuss were annoying.
“Marquess. I’m here today as a guest. I won’t be doing anything.”
Felix’s eyes swept over the marquess with that emotionless stare, lingering briefly on Elena beside him.

Both father and daughter flinched violently, looking like they might faint on the spot.
...At this point, it was hard not to feel like they were the villains terrorizing honest civilians.
Maybe Felix felt the same, because he let out a shallow sigh and continued.
“I’m only here to pay the proper price for the item I requested. That’s all.”

“⋯⋯.”
The marquess’s face turned even paler.
And the words that followed explained why.

“I—I’m terribly sorry, but there was a slight issue in the supply chain for the item you asked for—”
“⋯⋯.”
Felix’s expression turned glacial. At the same time, the faces of both Elena and the marquess darkened to ash gray.

“I can explain! May I speak with you in private for a moment?”
“...Fine.”
The unspoken implication in Felix’s voice was clear: if your explanation doesn’t satisfy me, you’d best be prepared.
As the marquess was dragged into a room with Felix, he looked like a cow being led to slaughter.

“...That’s kind of pitiful. His Eminence didn’t need to press that hard,” Carlyle murmured.
“There’s no need to pity him.”
Gray answered with a yawn.

“He’s just a nouveau riche who bought his title with money. There’s no end to the rumors about how dirty he played to get where he is.”
That would explain why the Gray Cardinal showed no mercy.
Even the Holy Sword had said similar things in the past—that even someone like her, who wasn’t interested in gossip, had heard about how foul this man’s conduct was.

Still—
“No.”
Carlyle’s thoughts were a bit different.

It was a judgment based purely on impressions, but—
“He didn’t seem like a truly bad person.”
“...?”

Gray looked puzzled, but Carlyle just shrugged.
Others might see it differently, but this was what he thought.
Maybe he wouldn’t be so sure just from looking at the marquess alone...

But when he saw the marquess standing next to Elena, something came into view.
A certain kind of atmosphere the two of them shared.
“It's something only someone who's taken responsibility for another can recognize.”

Someone used to sacrificing.
And Carlyle could never classify someone like that as a villain.
“...?”

Gray just kept frowning in confusion.
***
While Felix was away, only Carlyle and Gray were left alone in the parlor.

As silence lingered, Gray glanced sideways at Carlyle sitting beside her.
...What am I even doing here.
Strictly speaking, she hadn’t needed to come to this meeting at all.

The original plan was for Felix and Carlyle to come alone—she had tagged along after asking, borderline forcing her way in.
As always, Carlyle had agreed with a simple “as you wish.”
“⋯⋯.”

She gazed quietly at Carlyle’s profile.
What exactly is the connection between him and that thing.
That strange, unidentifiable entity that looked like her mother.

There was definitely some kind of tie between it and this man.
She crossed her arms and tapped her fingers against them.
It was her usual gesture of discomfort, but—of course—he noticed instantly.

“Is something bothering you, my lady?”
Seriously, was this guy reading her mind?
Every single time she did something, he jumped on it like a hawk. It wasn’t even surprising anymore.

“No.”
“I see. Please let me know if anything comes up.”
“⋯⋯.”

Actually, there was.
But unlike before, she knew now that telling him wouldn’t solve it.
Because this problem... was about him.

She still didn’t know whether that thing near Carlyle really was her mother. Whether it was trustworthy.
But she did remember the "information" that had been passed to her.
...The Carlyle Belfast Strategy Guide.

She had no idea what the ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) thing meant by giving her that.
Strategy? What does that even mean. How the hell am I supposed to use it.
The only kind of “strategy” she knew was an optimized method for killing your opponent efficiently.

Still.
...Still.
“⋯⋯.”

Her tapping fingers sped up.
The part that really got under her skin was the line attached to it.
“He sees you as a daughter.”

That man sees her as a daughter, said that unidentifiable thing.
That alone...
...That alone really pissed her off.

She didn’t know why—but just thinking about it made her burn with fury.
So she decided—she would try out one of the suggestions in that so-called strategy guide.
If I remember correctly...

It had listed things like “recommended actions” and “must-do actions,” but most of them were so cringey and humiliating that she couldn’t stomach them.
Cheesy. Childish. Revolting.
This was about the only one she could bring herself to try.

Gray pulled out a bundle she’d brought and set it down on the parlor table.
Carlyle blinked and asked:
"My lady, what is that?"

“I brought a lunchbox.”
“Oh, really? You should’ve said something if you were hungry.”
“I made it.”

“Pardon?”
“I made it. To eat together. With you.”
“⋯⋯.”

Carlyle stared at her.
Gray silently stared back.
Then Carlyle blinked and looked up at the ceiling.

Wondering what he was doing, Gray looked up too.
There was nothing there but ceiling.
And yet Carlyle kept staring upward for a long time.

As if trying to deny reality.
“⋯⋯.”
Just as Gray was wondering whether punching him in the jaw might snap him out of it, Carlyle finally turned to her with vacant eyes.

“I’m sorry, my lady. What did you say?”
“I said I made a lunchbox. For us. To eat together.”
“⋯⋯.”

A look of unspeakable horror crept onto Carlyle’s face—like he’d just seen an abomination from the outer cosmos.
“...What did you say you did?”
“⋯⋯.”

Gray took a deep breath and ground her teeth.
“I said—I made a lun—”
Before she could finish, Carlyle slapped himself across the face.

Hard enough that even Gray’s brows twitched.
Staggering from the blow, he muttered in a devastated voice:
“Goddamn it... It’s not a hallucination.”

“⋯⋯.”
Forget the swearing.
Why was he acting like this was worse than a hallucination?

Did he have a death wish?
“My lady, did I... did I do something wrong?”
“⋯⋯.”

“Why—why are you doing this? There must be a reason. Please, tell me—”
“⋯⋯.”
Gray grabbed the lunch bundle and smacked Carlyle across the face with it.

“Die. As painfully as possible.”
She hissed the words—but instead of fear, Carlyle actually looked... relieved.
Like he was thinking, Ah, there’s the real Gray.

“⋯⋯.”
Which only made it more infuriating.
...Made her more stubborn.

She didn’t even understand why she was doing this anymore, but she could at least feel that his reaction was not what she wanted.
So—
“You. Just wait.”

“...Pardon?”
“Let’s see if you still act like that next time.”
With that, Gray stormed out.

Carlyle could only stare after her, dazed.
“⋯⋯.”
What was that.

Seriously—what was that?
As Carlyle stood frozen, the Holy Sword let out a long sigh from within.
[...We’ve still got a long way to go.]

“⋯⋯.”
The hell’s that supposed to mean?
***

–System Message
▶ Target “Gray Chasefield” has begun actively working to change the relationship!
▶ Related events will now begin to trigger in succession!