Chapter 159. Are You Here, You Fool? (2)

The Saintess of the Holy Kingdom, Seria, opened her eyes in the darkness.

In the distance, the sound of screams echoed, piercing the air. It was a clear sign that the worst had come to pass.

Your Holiness, why would you make such a decision?

Seria thought. She couldn't understand this attack. She wondered whether, if holy knights had been sent to retrieve her, there was truly a need for such drastic measures.

Even her decision to entrust herself to the Fourth Prince had been made with care. She had believed that traveling with him would prevent them from making reckless decisions. Attacking the Fourth Prince was no trivial matter, since it could even lead to war.

"Dear Light..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

Seria recalled the Pope's gentle face. He was the one who had taken her in when she was an orphan and raised her with love. She could still picture him reading scripture to her in his compassionate voice. It was impossible to believe that someone like him had ordered the merciless slaughter of innocents.

Should I have returned?

Doubt crept into her heart, but she shook her head, dismissing it.

This was the sacred mission the Radiant Light had entrusted to her—to save the Pajar Sultanate's Crown Prince for the sake of the world. As a servant of the Radiant Light, her duty was to follow its will, nothing more.

Thud. Thud.

Footsteps hurried outside the tent. Moments later, the entrance flap was pushed aside, and a man clad in armor entered quietly.

"Saintess Seria," the man said.

The radiant white light emanating from his body illuminated the inside of the tent. Yet, for some reason, that pure light sent a shiver down Seria's spine.

Seria looked up to confirm his face, then said, "...Sir Lahast."

Recognizing him, she understood immediately why they had come. Lahast Impale was no ordinary holy knight.

"Why are you here?" Seria asked, her voice calm yet firm.

"As an apostle of the Inquisition, I have come to pass judgment on you, Saintess Seria," Lahast declared coldly.

The Inquisitors, known as the Invisible Blades of the Holy Kingdom, were sent out only in the gravest of circumstances.

"So, you've come to take my life," Seria said quietly.

"Saintess Seria," Lahast said, his tone devoid of emotion, "You were meant to serve as a beacon of Light for the faithful. Instead, you allied yourself with vile heretics. That alone is reason enough for your death."

Shing!

Lahast drew his sword, the sound sharp in the silence. "However," he continued, "in consideration of the compassion you've shown to the faithful, I will grant you the honor of dying as a saintess."

"What do you mean by that?" Seria asked, narrowing her eyes.

"The merciful Saintess Seria was abducted by the heretical Pajar Sultanate, and even in her final moments, she cried out the name of the Light as she achieved martyrdom. That is the account that will be recorded in history. For a traitor, it is an exceptionally generous end. Now, become an offering for the Holy Sanctuary, Saintess."

From Lahast's sword, a gray light emanated—a light so unholy it couldn't possibly be called divine.

Seria knew well that the source of that power wasn't the Light. Such a force couldn't be a gift from their god. The Light, which embraced all in its compassion, would never grant such a dreadful power. That corrupted force had been created by those who had strayed from the righteous path.

Seria stood up to face the gray light, then firmly said, "If I am to die, then let it be at the gallows of the Holy Kingdom. I demand a trial."

Lahast sneered at her, saying mockingly, "A trial is a luxury for a traitor deceived by heretics."

"...Did His Holiness truly command this?" Seria asked.

"His Holiness will understand our actions in time," Lahast replied. "At his age, it is only natural for him to grow sentimental. Before he makes an error in judgment, we are simply acting according to the will of the Light."

With a bitter smile, Lahast raised his sword high. Then, looking down at Seria one last time, he asked, "Any final words?"

Swish!

The gray light flickered at the tip of the blade, and Seria slowly closed her eyes, her lips parting as she whispered, "I beg of you."

Lahast furrowed his brows slightly, thinking that they were baffling final words. Whatever meaning lay behind those words, however it changed nothing.

"Even a traitor clings to the last shred of conscience, is that it? Die repentant, Saintess. Even the title of martyr is far too grand for you," he muttered under his breath before swinging his sword toward Seria's neck.

But then, in that fleeting instant—

Clang!

"What the hell do you think you're doing to my client? I've still got mountains of payments to collect from her," a man said as he emerged from the shadows, his sword deflecting Lahast's strike with ease.

Before anyone could fully process his sudden appearance, the man drove his blade straight toward Lahast's chest.

Lahast reacted swiftly, channeling his energy to block the attack. Or at least, he tried to.

Thud!

The power behind the man's strike exceeded Lahast's expectations. His sword merely managed to redirect the trajectory of the attack slightly, but it wasn't enough to stop the blade. The dark blue sword tore mercilessly into Lahast's right shoulder.

A searing wave of pain crashed through him, but Lahast immediately stepped back, widening the distance between them as he exhaled sharply.

"How unfortunate," the man said with a faint smile. "I was aiming for your heart."

Lahast knew that was a lie. He had barely managed to defend himself at the last moment, but it was clear this man had anticipated such a reaction from the beginning.

Glaring at the man, Lahast's face twisted in frustration. This was the same man who had intercepted his subordinates earlier. Though Lahast had deployed his men to gauge the stranger's strength, it seemed they had been woefully insufficient. Narrowing his eyes, Lahast tried to assess the man's abilities.

...I can't tell,

Lahast thought.

The man's tattered leather armor made him look like nothing more than a third-rate mercenary, but Lahast couldn't sense the limits of his opponent's skill.

He seems to be at least 7-Star.

No reports had mentioned someone of this caliber among the Fourth Prince's entourage.

In a stern voice, Lahast declared, "This is a matter of the Holy Kingdom. I swear we will not harm the Fourth Prince, and I promise he will be compensated generously for this incident. But you must not interfere."

The mercenary smirked, his grin unsettling as he replied, "I stabbed your shoulder a moment ago, and now you're forgiving me? Clergymen are so merciful, aren't they?" His tone dripped with mockery as he continued, "Sure, the Fourth Prince is my client, but so is the Saintess. A bit late on payment, though."

"Are you saying you intend to make the Holy Kingdom your enemy?" Lahast asked, his voice laced with menace. "I don't know who you are, but I assure you of this: Everyone connected to you will die in the most excruciating way, as decreed by the Light's will—"

"Does your mouth have an anus attached to it? Every time you open it, you spew crap," the man cut in with a snarl. A chilling, murderous aura erupted from him, so intense that even Lahast—who was no stranger to such sensations—found himself flinching.

"What a pity," the man added, tapping his face with one hand.

Then, as if peeling off a mask—

Shhhk.

His rough, rugged face transformed into the visage of a strikingly handsome young man.

"I'm already an enemy of the Holy Kingdom," the young man said.

He had blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a menacing dark blue sword. Additionally, he was someone who stood in direct opposition to the Holy Kingdom.

There was only one man who fit all of these traits.

"Caron... Leston?" Lahast muttered in disbelief.

With a sly grin, Caron replied, "Correct."

"How...? Shouldn't you be in the empire? Why are you here?" Lahast asked, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and dread.

"Well," Caron said, tilting his head, "It's not as if we aren't both in enemy territory, right? Oh, here's a question for you. Why do you think I revealed my identity so openly?"

Lahast couldn't answer right away.

Caron pointed to himself with a grin and said, "Because I want you to remember my face. I'll be the one tormenting you from now on."

Before Lahast could even process those words, Caron charged at him with incredible speed.

***

The outcome of the battle was decided in no time.

"Urgh...!"

"How boring," Caron said with a click of his tongue, his sword lodged firmly in Lahast's chest.

It had taken only ten exchanges.

Lahast, who had been unable to mount any meaningful resistance, collapsed onto the ground. For someone with abilities comparable to a 7-Star knight, his combat performance had been downright pitiful.

Caron thought that if Lahast had been a regular holy knight, the fight wouldn't have ended so quickly.

As he felt the flow of Lahast's energy through Guillotine, his brows furrowed. Absorbing the energy directly made something clear—it wasn't the typical holy power he had expected.

No, it was something else entirely.

"Dark mana," Caron muttered to himself. "Or at least something close to it."

It was a force nearly indistinguishable from the destructive energy of dark mana, a power designed to bring about ruin.

Caron had heard vague rumors about the Inquisitors of the Holy Kingdom wielding a peculiar strength, but he hadn't imagined it would be this. It felt as though someone had artificially engineered this power with dark mana as its foundation.

Fifty years ago, even the Inquisitors he'd encountered had relied on holy power. Caron wondered what had transpired in the Holy Kingdom to bring about this change.

Caron pressed his boot down on Lahast's head, eliciting a guttural groan from the defeated knight.

"Care to explain this?" Caron asked as his gaze shifted toward Seria.

"Please, go ahead," Seria replied, her voice subdued.

"This isn't holy power, is it?" Caron asked, gesturing with a nod toward the gray light emanating from Lahast.

Seria's expression darkened as she answered, "We call it 'Perverse Mana.' It's a power designed to destroy all that is corrupt and, more importantly, to nullify holy power with devastating effectiveness. It's a creation of the Holy Kingdom, made to expand the Inquisitors' influence. In essence, it's a monster."

"A force capable of subduing holy power..." Caron mused, shaking his head with a wry smile. "The Holy Kingdom is far more twisted than I'd imagined. They say life imitates art, but in this case, reality far outdoes fiction."

While Perverse Mana could have proven devastating against holy power, Caron had already determined it was nothing special against him.

"No wonder their control over energy was such a mess, despite their swordsmanship," he remarked.

As far as he could tell, this so-called Perverse Mana was little more than a force suited for internal use—designed to deal with their own kind.

Crunch!

"Aargh!" Lahast screamed as Caron crushed his right hand beneath his boot.

Caron's gaze bore down on the writhing knight as he asked coldly, "Just how far have you fanatics fallen?"

Creating an entirely new kind of power—it was nothing short of madness. Caron couldn't even begin to estimate how many lives had been sacrificed to develop this incomplete force.

The very thought conjured horrific images of inhumane experiments, all conducted in the name of forging a weapon to suppress holy power.

It was madness, plain and simple. A vast, terrifying madness.

"So, tell me, how are you any different from the demons you claim to despise?" Caron's sharp rebuke hung in the air.

The Saintess pressed her lips tightly together, closing her eyes as though swallowing her emotions. Slowly, she nodded and admitted softly, "You're right."

"Oh, our dear Saintess," Caron said, smirking. "Not even going to deny it, are you?"

"...We've already lost our way," Seria replied, her voice trembling with bitterness. A flurry of emotions passed across her face—regret, resentment, and anguish.

Caron observed her silently before clicking his tongue impatiently. "Let's save the heartfelt confessions for later," he said. "Right now, we've got more pressing matters."

"Saintess... Seria... Do you... even realize... who you've aligned yourself with?" Lahast spat out from where he lay on the ground, glaring at her.

"...Hell awaits... the heretics," he cursed, summoning what little strength remained to him.

His venomous words only seemed to amuse Caron, who broke into a wide grin and remarked, "Hell, huh? Something like, 'May you burn for eternity'?" Caron chuckled. "But you're hardly in a position to be worrying about someone else's damnation."

Thud!

Caron drove his sword into Lahast's thigh, the blade piercing flesh with a sickening sound. Leaning down, he whispered in a voice soft enough to send chills down anyone's spine, "Where you are now—this is hell."

As Lahast's muffled groans filled the space, Caron pressed his boot firmly against the Inquisitor's mouth and turned his gaze toward Seria. "Don't you want to know why these bastards attacked you?" he asked. "I've got my guesses, but hearing it straight from the source has its own charm."

Seria hesitated, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face as she realized what Caron intended. "Inquisitors won't talk under torture," she warned. "They're trained to endure it—"

"That's because they haven't been hurt enough," Caron interrupted, his voice laced with malevolent glee. "Torture's got limits. You've gotta keep them alive, so there's only so much pain you can inflict. But lucky me, I've got someone right here who can heal even the dead, don't I?"

The sheer malice in his tone made Seria instinctively recoil.

"I think you've got talent, Saintess," Caron added with a mocking grin.

"...Excuse me?" Seria asked, unsure if she'd heard him right.

"Saintess of Repentance," Caron declared, smirking. "Just thought of that title for you—catchy, right? So here's your task, Saintess. Keep this bastard alive for me. Patch him up nice and good every time."

He glanced down at Lahast, his lips curling into a sinister smile.

These people—those who had come to murder the Saintess and slaughter the innocents in this place—deserved no mercy.

It was an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

There was no reason, Caron thought, to grant this man even a shred of compassion.

"I've already got the outside cleared up," he said, his tone casual, almost bored. "No one's coming to save you. Now, shall we get started?"

Whoosh.

Caron channeled mana into Guillotine with a wicked grin and said, "It's time for repentance."

Hell wasn't some far-off place. It was right here.