Saintess
Saintess
Nine needles flew toward the entrance without the slightest warning and returned at the same speed.
I couldn't aim for precise vital points, so with attacks targeting the upper body rather than the head, every visible cultist—about ten of them—collapsed to the floor. There were plenty who died in a single strike, but also quite a few who tried to rise again after falling.
And Yekaterina didn't miss that opening, charging forward.
"Hraa, ah, nnh..."
Yekaterina didn't let out a battle cry, didn't scream. With just a short breath, she scraped the floor with her war hammer and swung it in a wide, low arc. That alone was enough to gouge and blast apart the dirt floor, sweeping away the defenseless cultists along with it. The lucky ones went flying whole; the unlucky ones had limbs torn off in a brutal strike that was simple yet devastatingly powerful and threatening.
That single surprise attack triggered a simultaneous eruption of unintelligible shrieks and screams from deep within the entrance, turning the place into something resembling the gates of hell with the dead clawing their way out.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
"Shield-bearers! Shield-bearers forward!"
"Wrong! That last attack punched right through shields! We have to close in!"
"A warrior broke through! That attack clearly needs preparation! If we don't charge now, we'll take another hit!"
It was a fascinating sight. These were men who had clearly fled the battlefield, yet when crisis struck, they instinctively started giving orders and acting like soldiers. What was even more astonishing was that some of them, using those irrational heads of theirs that believed they could be reborn as Demonfolk after death, made the sharp deduction that since Yekaterina had rushed in after my single attack, I wouldn't be able to use my needles frequently.
Of course, there was no such delay.
It was a bluff I'd designed to make sure they'd draw exactly that conclusion, but the real target had been the unidentified commander still deeper inside their hideout, not these guys. What I'd wanted from the ones here was simple panic and chaos.
"Well, doesn't really matter either way."
While I drew my sword, arrows flew relentlessly from behind me toward the entrance. From the positions of our party members, who had set up an ambush to my left and right with me and Yekaterina at the center, magic missiles and other spells shot forth. At a glance, it looked like Yekaterina was in an incredibly precarious position rampaging at the front, but the arrows and magic alike curved around her as if alive, targeting only the enemy.
A truly reliable coordinated attack. Work really did get easier when I fought alongside Gaendal's party.
"We're breaking through like this! Gin, Kals, Baije, Sen—protect the mages! Mr. Gaendal, come with me and cover Yekaterina!"
Like the seasoned Red-rank adventurers they were, their answer came not as words but as action.
◈
"Hraaak?!"
When the projectile burst through the back of Number 20's head ahead of him, spraying blood and flesh, the only reaction Number 21 could manage was a scream. The awl-like object, protruding about as much as an index finger, spun inside Number 20's skull with a sickening sound before vanishing with a wet thunk.
Number 21 belatedly understood that what he'd just witnessed was the projectile Number 84 had described in terror. And that it hadn't simply vanished—it had returned to its wielder. And that with that single strike, most of the brothers in front of him had collapsed and begun crawling across the floor.
Amidst hell itself, where shouts filled with fury, shock, and panic erupted and other brothers charged forward, only to be torn like sheets of paper by the mass of iron swung by the warrior woman who appeared after the projectile, by the time he belatedly came to his senses, he was already turning his body and sprinting madly back down the passage he'd come through.
'Re, report! I have to report!'
The plan had gone wrong. Therefore, alerting them to the abnormal situation as quickly as possible was the priority. I am absolutely not abandoning my brothers and running away.
Clutching countless justifications he couldn't bring himself to voice, Number 21 ran toward the deeper parts of the cult's hideout. Because he'd been so tense, he couldn't control his breathing and was out of breath in an instant, but he couldn't stop. Even though he was running like mad, the screams and sounds of destruction from behind showed no sign of growing distant.
It didn't take long to understand what that meant. The moment he realized the enemies were literally 'sweeping away' his brothers as they charged, Number 21 shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Attack! Enemy attack!"
The cult's interior, cobbled together by arbitrarily remodeling the existing altar and space, wasn't that complex. Just his shout was enough for the brothers, already on high alert and aware of the situation's severity, to immediately ready their weapons and reveal themselves.
The brothers responded properly to the warning. And zealously ran toward the entrance—only to vanish, screaming, just the same.
But the death pursuing from behind didn't slow its pace. Number 21 headed deeper, deliberately suppressing the awareness that he was sacrificing his brothers as offerings to the unidentified attackers in order to survive.
The cult's interior, which had felt majestic until now, began to feel like a massive stone tomb. Even knowing what the dwindling number of brothers meant, he simply ran. The brothers who answered his shout didn't even consider running in the same direction as him. They just zealously ran the opposite way to stop the intruders.
And still, death didn't slow its pace.
"High Priest! Intruders are breaking through into the interior!"
When he finally reached the cult's chapel, he found the High Priest and the brothers in the 10s utterly composed. Seeing them remain so calm amid all the chaos filled Number 21 with deep relief and the conviction that they would solve everything.
"Brother Number 21. Were you not part of the ambush? How is it you are here?"
"Th-they struck first! Even now they're madly charging this way...!"
-Fweee-ik!
At that moment, something shot past him toward the altar from behind with a horrific whistling sound.
"The thing Number 84 spoke of...!"
Before the sight of his brothers' faces contorting in shock, what entered Number 21's vision first was the hole punched through the forehead of the High Priest, who had been looking at him with a solemn expression. The High Priest's head snapped back violently from the impact, then, as if rebounding, returned to its original position before slumping to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
Their spiritual pillar and the cult's highest authority, the High Priest, met his end without even managing a proper response.
"Ambushes really are always the right call. They just drop dead without being able to do shit, like moths flying into a flame."
Number 21 collapsed on the spot and turned around. Despite having sprinted at full speed, the attacker had reached the chapel almost as quickly as he had. The realization numbed his mind so completely that he couldn't do anything else.
"Nice to meet you, you demon-worshipping fucks. Where did Number 84 go? I'd decided to kill that bastard last. Hope I didn't accidentally kill him on the way here."
There stood a single attacker, drenched in blood, holding the projectile that had returned to him in one hand and grinning with bared teeth. He seemed utterly unbothered by gripping the gore-soaked projectile. Though, given that his entire appearance was such a wreck that revulsion at such a thing was already beyond him, it was perhaps only to be expected.
Behind Number 21, the sound of the 10th squad brothers drawing their swords rang out.
"Goddammit! Attack..."
-BOOM!
But they couldn't charge the attacker. This time an unidentified explosion erupted from behind the altar.
The terrible word pincer attack flashed through Number 21's mind. At the same time, he recalled that the cult had a secret exit prepared for emergencies. It was a memory so old and so unused that it had naturally been forgotten.
"What the hell is that?"
But the attacker simply tilted his head and warily eyed the blasted-open area behind the altar. Not an attack? Then what on earth was that explosion?
"In the name of Epaga!"
"The price of blasphemy shall be paid with your lives!"
Demonfolk emerged from the explosion, shouting the answer to his question.
◈
Deoni Bire maintained the same charging posture she'd used to smash through the wall, shield raised as she slammed into the first cultist in sight and swung her mace.
Her body, reinforced by Divine Power, moved like lightning, and as the cultist hit by her shield went flying through the air, she confirmed the skull of another cultist who couldn't react in time shattering as he met his end. She then swung the heavy mace like a sword, churning through the cultists.
Those who came with her were no different. They were, after all, seasoned heresy inquisitors. Fewer than ten cultists met their deaths without even managing a proper response to the sudden ambush.
"...Saintess. Something's strange."
"Indeed."
They had readied their formation and scanned the surroundings, expecting to face a massive horde of cultists immediately, but no attack came toward them. In fact, the only things in sight were a single cultist crawling on the floor and an unidentified man drenched in blood and wearing completely different attire.
It was a ghastly sight. Unless he'd killed one person and deliberately drenched himself in their blood, the man's appearance was such a wreck that it was impossible to guess how many he'd slain to reach this place.
Even at her sudden appearance, the man only tilted his head and showed no particular reaction. Instead, he walked forward calmly and lopped off the head of the cultist collapsed on the floor in a single stroke. Only after that did the man properly meet Deoni's eyes.
With a businesslike attitude, as if simply handling tasks in order, the man stared at her for a moment before tilting his head to the side and speaking.
"Demon King's Army? Or just the Demon God Church?"
Under the intense sense of danger that her life or death would be decided by her answer, Deoni unconsciously tightened her grip on her weapon.