From the perspective of the Gray Divine Army, it was as if a group of lunatics had suddenly broken through the middle of their forces.
To make matters worse, they had watched as these intruders strolled casually into the monastery. In the process, four crusaders had been killed, a blow they hadn’t anticipated.
This strike became the signal that marked the start of battle.
Not waiting quietly for divine punishment but striking first?
Muel couldn’t help but wonder what sort of madmen had arrived as he watched them loitering inside the monastery.
The monastery, situated in a basin, was accessible only by climbing a steep slope.
The gate was positioned on higher ground, and from below, one could look up and see the inside.
While thorn bushes and palisades blocked much of the view, they couldn’t completely obscure the sight.
Similarly, those inside the monastery could see the outside.
Muel focused on the one standing at the center of the opposing group—a man with black hair and no helmet.
He didn’t seem to care about hiding himself, nor did he appear to have any intention of doing so.
That irritated Muel for some reason.
He couldn’t see the man’s eyes from this distance, but his casual demeanor grated on him.
Feigning such calm? What an insufferable fool.
Though aware that four crusaders had died and his forces had been breached, Muel didn’t see this as a crisis.
He recognized that the attackers must have exerted tremendous effort to kill the crusaders, but he believed it wouldn’t change the overall situation.
To him, the tide was still in their favor, a delusion born of overconfidence.
"Let’s end this."
Muel declared. One sentence was all it took to start the fight.
What power could the monastery possibly have to stop an army?
The holy priests began the attack, wielding combat spells.
They summoned their divine energy, gray light gathering to form their incantations.
"The time of punishment has arrived."
Muel added a lofty declaration for effect.
To be a Pope, appearances mattered.
He firmly believed this, embodying the ways of a priest consumed by worldly desires.
* * *
"Gray Explosion Spell!"
The gray mass sprouted four pairs of elongated wings and was about to launch itself forward.
The nameless crusader recognized the spell and shouted in alarm, but the others remained unfazed.
"Everyone, get out of the way!"
He cried, but no one reacted. Instead…
A woman he didn’t recognize was suddenly standing beside him.
When had she gotten there?
She had black hair and was a beauty so striking she couldn’t be forgotten after one glance.
The crusader, panicking and waving his arms, shouted for everyone to move while being startled by her sudden appearance.
The woman extended her hands.
Her fingers moved as though playing invisible piano keys, her gestures reminiscent of an organist.
The air around her vibrated.
Then—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The gray dragonflies, which would have sought out living targets to explode on impact, all detonated on the monastery’s walls.
Watching this, the woman spoke, her voice and expression devoid of humor.
"How crude."
Esther, having transformed into human form, opened her spell world and used her energy-seeing eyes to dissect the enemy's spell.
The innate intuition gifted to those with talent allowed her to instantly grasp the nature of the magic.
It was a mix of magic and divine power.
What they called ‘divine power’ was, in truth, corrupted holiness infused into the spells of the Gray God.
Esther dismantled it with ease.
Intuition provided answers, and answers led to solutions.
She reversed the explosive spell by injecting vitality into the formless energy.
As a result, gray masses known as Holy Blasts rained down on the enemy army.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
If it weren’t a real battlefield, it might have been a spectacular sight.
The gray masses, each larger than a human head, tore through the air.
"Hmph."
“D’muller’s Wind Cliff.”
Esther murmured, activating a borrowed spell.
Compressed magic from her spell world poured out in a gust, forming a barrier of wind before them.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The nameless crusader heard the sound of metal balls striking a wall.
It was the sound of the Holy Blasts smashing into the invisible barrier and shattering.
The gray priests began chanting new spells.
"O God, smite the enemy with lightning!"
"Crush them with the hammer of fire!"
"Burn and sear them, showing them their sins!"
Gray lightning streaked across the sky.
Hammer-shaped Holy Blasts the size of an average man’s torso flew through the air.
Flaming gray orbs, flickering like fire, also rushed toward them.
The crusader recognized the skill level—these weren’t ordinary priests but ones with a reputation for power.
He shouted again, alarmed by the danger.
"Get down—"
He didn’t finish.
To Esther, the spells were riddled with flaws.
Before the crusader could finish his warning, Esther chanted new incantations.
“D’muller’s Scythe, Del Grecher’s Sneeze, Bonehead, Run Wild.”
Despite the multiple incoming holy spells, three of her own sufficed.
Her compressed magic materialized, forming a scythe of wind that slashed through the gray lightning.
CRACK! RUMBLE!
The spells clashed, canceling each other out in a storm of energy.
The lightning dispersed with a sharp, crackling sound.
A miniature blizzard coalesced midair, extinguishing the fiery orb and shattering the hammer.
And it didn’t end there.
A flesh golem appeared before the Gray Crusaders, swinging its arms wildly.
THUD! CRASH! WHAM!
Though unarmed, Esther had observed Encrid’s training and sparring enough to gain a deep understanding of martial arts.
As a witch, it was her duty to apply that knowledge.
Her Bonehead moved with a fluidity uncharacteristic of typical flesh golems.
Flesh golems were usually oversized meat shields, but Esther’s creation was different.
It snatched a soldier’s spear, using it to fight.
Kicking one soldier in the stomach, it swung the spear’s shaft to smash another’s shield.
Its speed, strength, and technique were formidable.
It felt no pain and was nearly impossible to kill, making it an exasperating opponent.
And—
"The dead shall return to the dead!"
Even the holy spell ‘Turn Undead’ failed against it.
While such exorcism spells typically worked against undead, the magic animating Bonehead was immune.
It would only stop if its magic supply was cut, not from exorcism alone.
"Stop it!"
"How dare you?"
"Crush it!"
The enemy resorted to physical means, trying to pierce, slash, or bash the golem to death.
Holy Blasts and lightning continued to rain down, but their attacks were neither innovative nor effective, becoming repetitive labor.
Standing alone, Esther blocked every spell cast by dozens of enemy priests.
"...She blocked it all?"
The crusader muttered, astounded.
But this was only the beginning.
While Esther held off the spells and Bonehead distracted the enemy, someone near Encrid vanished without a sound.
In broad daylight, he melted into the shadows, scaling walls unseen.
Silently, he identified the locations of the enemy priests and began his work.
Stab. Slash.
The first sign of trouble came when Noma, Muel’s most prized disciple, was found dead.
Noma was the most skilled priest in casting holy spells after Muel himself.
"Noma has been killed!"
Someone shouted.
"What?"
"How?"
A crusader guarding Noma froze in shock.
It was Jaxon who had killed him. Jaxon altered his voice, announcing Noma’s death to draw attention to himself.
If the results couldn’t be hidden, drawing attention at the right moment was a tactical choice.
It created chaos, allowing Jaxon to disappear and target another priest.
Sneaking up behind, he slit their throat just below the vocal cords, ensuring no sound escaped.
Gurgle.
Only the faint hiss of escaping air could be heard before the victim collapsed.
Another priest was stabbed through the back, puncturing their lungs to silence them completely.
Neither screamed nor uttered a death cry.
The next priest, in the middle of casting a high-level spell, had a Silence Knife embedded in his throat.
Thud.
The divine energy he had been gathering scattered like dust.
"Ugh."
Several priests coughed up blood as the disrupted divine energy rebounded on them.
At last, one of the crusaders spotted Jaxon’s location.
"There!"
Among the defenders, a few skilled enough to recognize him charged.
But Jaxon was already gone.
By the time the crusader pointed and shouted, Jaxon had moved.
The spot they indicated was empty, leaving them grasping at shadows.
Amid the confusion, Jaxon feigned alarm, blending in with the soldiers and slipping out of the battlefield.
A thin-browed soldier beside him asked dumbly,
"Hey, where are you going?"
"Bathroom."
Jaxon replied casually. The soldier, confused, accepted the answer.
"Huh? Oh, I see. Nature calls."
While the stunned soldier fumbled for words, Jaxon quickened his pace.
It was ridiculous how many key enemy priests fell this way.
With Noma and several holy spellcasters dead, the Gray Divine Army's morale faltered.
What’s happening? Why are people dying? Who’s attacking us? We can’t even see them!
Humans feared the unseen more than the visible.
Jaxon exploited this.
To hold off an army with a small force, creating such pressure was essential.
It was a familiar routine for him, though this time the enemy’s response came swiftly.
"It’s the work of evil spirits!"
Muel shouted.
Learning of his disciple’s death, Muel quickly declared the attackers minions of demons.
The claim carried some weight.
"Truly, the spawn of demons!"
Those who followed him blindly were deceived.
Even those who knew the monastery had no ties to demons nodded along.
It was a convenient rationalization for those burdened by guilt.
Surely, given the circumstances, it was reasonable to think this way.
Even if someone questioned them later, they could justify it as the only logical conclusion at the time.
Meanwhile, Encrid was still calmly watching.
* * *
"Quite the interesting bunch."
Among the followers of the Gray God, some prided themselves on their exceptional skill.
Though not officially Holy Knights, their abilities were on par or even surpassed that level.
These were part of the Holy Nation’s hidden strength.
Though the past few decades couldn’t be called peaceful, most major forces across the continent had concealed portions of their power.
If Aspen had done so, others certainly could have as well.
Naturally, the Holy Nation had hidden some of its strength too.
From a broader perspective, the Mad Knights of the Border Guard seemed to be drawing out these hidden forces across the continent.
"My spear."
One such figure lifted his barbed spear, its blade emitting an icy chill.
It was an enchanted weapon imbued with frost magic, his personal engraved weapon.
Though nameless, he wielded divine energy befitting a Knight’s rank.
"Hmm. Good, very good."
Beside him, Azratic, a Holy Knight, murmured as he wrapped a long cord around his wrist.
Yet neither of them moved first.
The army began the advance.
Like ripples building into waves, they marched forward.
* * *
Just as the army’s tide began to stir,
"I almost missed the fun."
A new ally joined the monastery.
"Captain Brother."
It was Audin Plumray, a member of the Mad Knights, a bear of a man.
"Oh, you’re here?"
Rem greeted him first.
Of course, there was no warmth in the greeting—just a matter-of-fact acknowledgment.
"Yes, I had a long vacation."
Audin replied just as nonchalantly.
His return was expected; there was no need for fuss.
Everyone thought the same.
Encrid merely nodded in recognition and gave his orders.
"Lawford, Pel, Teresa. Go hold them off."
It was his answer to the ripples of the advancing army.
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