Chapter 367
Chapter 367
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 367
Chapter Title: The Saint and the Completer (23)
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Crunch, crack!
“....Saint Aylis? Could it be we've come to the wrong place?”
“Ridiculous. The Saint of Wisdom, hailed as the repository of all the world's knowledge, asking questions of someone else.”
“Well, you're the only one here who isn't shaken right now.”
The Saint of Wisdom, Certa, gestured toward the others frozen in similar expressions as she spoke to the Saint of Courage. She and her accompanying Wisdom Holy Knights all had their mouths hanging open or were blinking in disbelief—hardly reliable for sound judgment.
“Weren't we guided to where the Saint of Light is?”
“Indeed.”
“And the room before us is the 'Saintess's Room,' one of the church's most sacred places.”
“You know that well.”
Certa asked for confirmation once more, while Aylis watched with keen interest, arms crossed.
....The Church of Wisdom teaches: 'Do not believe what you know is the entirety of the world. Knowledge grows the moment you accept what you do not know.'
Accepting the unknown.... Fitting that incomprehensible thing into the knowledge of the person who should be here by circumstance....
Squish, spluuurt!
Gulp.
“....That person there—is that perhaps the Saint of Light.... Professor?”
The only inference possible in this situation. Certa herself thought it absurd as she asked, but the other nodded, cheeks bulging like they might burst from the food he was cramming in.
“Mmm, ayu, this is— (crunch!) Sorry. I should have announced I was eating, but every priest who visited has fainted one after another. Should've called a Holy Knight.”
“Ah, um....”
“Saint of Light (gulp) Professor here. Ahem, Latura. Ro Haram.”
“....Latura, Amis. The unchanging treasure, Chronicler of Wisdom, Certa Racogna.”
Certa Racogna. The Saint of Wisdom, known as the Chronicler of Amis.
They had come because the Saint of Light—who, for the sake of absolute rest, had refused all meetings—had recovered. Yet the figure they faced.... didn't look like a patient who couldn't even walk, to anyone.
‘Is this.... some kind of ascetic practice?’
There were records stating that after losing their saintess, the followers of Light had developed a tendency toward self-flagellation. A mutant could turn a human with just a drop of its blood, yet to consume its tough flesh raw, without even cooking it. No matter how tolerant the Saint of Wisdom was toward the unknown, she couldn't imagine it as anything but asceticism.
“It's not asceticism—it's more like.... a health supplement? A tonic? Something along those lines.”
“With a mutant brimming with toxicity that turns people with a single drop of blood?”
“Yep. I've got a bit of an unusual body.”
As Professor nodded, Certa's rigid expression softened.
‘A corpse pulled from a shabby sack. The sacks lined up behind must contain the same sort of contents. In mere moments, the Saint of Light devoured an entire massive thigh, and his physical vitality has surged exponentially compared to when we first entered the room. His body is visibly growing.’
The saintess's eyes sparkled, and her gaping mouth began muttering unintelligible words, as if lost in a trance.
“Sa-Saintess?”
“Unimaginable.... such a precious thing....”
Something utterly unimaginable. And yet, she had confirmed its reality with her own eyes.
Wisdom saints were generally known to be more composed than those of other churches, but that was merely because ordinary folk didn't truly understand the Chroniclers of Amis.
To the average person, Wisdom followers were the neighborhood intellectuals, teaching everything from letters and knowledge to reading the weather or finding ley lines. They revered wisdom, prioritizing its preservation and dissemination, so they shared their knowledge freely with all.
Always in the position of teachers. Thus, ordinary people rarely glimpsed the true nature of the Church of Wisdom. Everything happening around them was already stored in the church's unique holy communion rite, the 'Great Archive of Knowledge.'
“The unknown.... new.... knowledge!”
“Yes?”
Grab!
“You! An entirely new unknown! Saint of Light! You possess knowledge yet to be recorded!”
“Che-Certa Saintess! Blood! Blood! I told you to stay back!”
Their true faces emerged only when Wisdom saints encountered the 'unknown.'
The unknown. The instant something completely undocumented manifested before them in reality, they transformed into zealots, charging forth to probe and comprehend it.
“Was that body forged by the grace of Light? Do you consume specific mutants? Or is it possible with ordinary animals—or even humans? Any side effects? What powers does it hold? How does it relate to Light's divinity? Mind if I touch it just once?”
“No, that's— eek!”
“I can't... hold back anymore.... I want to know, I want to know! Saint of Light! For knowledge passed down eternally, just a little sacrifice! I'll heal you—I swear it on Saintess Certa's name!”
“Sacrifice? What do you— waaah!”
Shing!
“I have to see that astonishing unknown internal structure!!!”
The thirst for the unknown—that was the driving force propelling the saints of Wisdom. The high priests known as Chroniclers of Amis were fanatics so obsessed with new knowledge that they would gladly stake their lives for even a fragment of it.
Classifying mutants by infection and treatment methods, ranking and naming them by type to convey countermeasures to regular soldiers and knights—all that was the achievement of these manic explorers who had plunged into the battlefield risking their lives.
“Dissect! Let's dissect it! Oh, right—there were rumors the Saint of Light is immortal too!”
“C-crazy woman! The saintess has gone mad!!!”
“I'll heal you! I'm healing you, I said!”
As the Wisdom Saintess Certa lunged at me declaring she'd dissect me, swinging a dagger wreathed in holy radiance, I screamed and stumbled backward.
With this being the second commotion of the day alone, Holy Knights from the churches of Light, Wisdom, and Courage came rushing in en masse.
The Wisdom Holy Knights went feral the moment the somewhat embarrassingly entangled Certa shouted, 'This person's unknown!' and charged in—only for the Light knights to charge in to block them.
Meanwhile, the Saint of Courage and his subordinates gathered at the back, clapping and cheering on the chaotic brawl between the two churches.
“How dare you cause this ruckus in our sacred headquarters!!!!”
The clash among the continent's most holy figures came to an end with the bellowing roar of Archbishop Norman, who had come sprinting in breathless.
****
“....My apologies for the disturbance. Chronicler of Wisdom, Saintess of Amis, Certa Racogna.”
Certa Racogna.
A strikingly Western beauty with a near-slender build and considerable height. The Saintess of Wisdom, wearing a silver mirror necklace symbolizing her church.
Verdict upon confirmation: total nutcase.
Her mania finally ebbed only after Archbishop Norman latched onto the 'ownership of the holy body' dispute, stating it was just to demonstrate their power anyway. Her now-calm breathing and serene poise were all the more chilling in contrast to the Certa who had moments ago brandished her dagger with eyes gleaming maniacally, screaming 'Unknowwwn!!!'
“....Great warrior of the War God Da-Karaza, Aylis Calbright.”
The Saint of Courage—or great warrior, as they called him here—Aylis Calbright. A lunatic who had bulked his body to my size with sharply defined, rock-hard muscles that looked like they'd clock in under 1% body fat. True to his role as leader of those who equated training with faith and battlefield sacrifice with prayer, his body was honed to its absolute limits.
Contrary to expectations of a macho brute, he was curt and taciturn.
“Latura, Tenebrie. Follower of Abundance's footsteps, Saintess Tenebrie. Of course you're acquainted with the Saint of Light.”
“Ah, yes. Nearly a year since we met at the hero conference.”
Seated beside him was the Saintess of Abundance, Tenebrie, whom I'd seen at the hero conference.
The one who could single-handedly supply a massive army.
Indeed, every holy spell from her side's priests had the unique effect of replenishing stamina and satiety. Among the known churches, hers had the mildest, most ordinary reputation.
And—
“My apologies for the delay. The Holy Knights of our church are a bit.... overly protective of me.”
“Latura, Ro-Haram. It's an honor to meet you, Saintess of Mercy.”
“Latura, El-Samia. I owe the Saint of Light a debt I can never repay. Before the Goddess's mercy, I am Panisia Delsana.”
The Saintess of Mercy, Panisia, who looked no older than ten.
She too had inherited her saintess soul and received the stigmata just a few months prior. Upon hearing I was here, she'd waited to be the first to pay respects, but her Mercy Holy Knights had thrown a fit over even the tiniest risk, delaying her slightly.
“The world truly seems on the brink of apocalypse. For the saints and saintesses of the five great churches to gather in one place like this.”
“We can't repeat the tragedy from seventy years ago. We learned that lesson the hard way, so things must be different this time.”
Saint of Light.
Great Warrior of Courage.
Chronicler of Wisdom.
Saintess of Abundance.
Saintess of Mercy.
The undisputed pinnacles of the five great churches—five representatives of the holy forces, differing only in nomenclature.
“Hmm.... Being beside such profoundly holy figures makes my mana instinctively recoil. For now, I am water mage Ottoman Bodler, attending as representative of the mages deployed around Koern and its environs.”
“Ottoman? When did you snag the representative spot?”
“You think I wanted it? Koern's crawling with gale wielders, fireball chuckers—mages a whole rank above me. They said since I'm the mage who's stuck by you longest, Professor, any talks with you fall squarely on me. Damn, people sure catch on quick.... Would've been easier if I'd skewered a few noses like Aldrich and dragged them along, but nope—they dumped it all on me and bolted.”
“Oh dear.”
The nominal representative of the alliance mages, Ottoman.
“....I still don't care much for humans, so gatherings like this displease me.”
“I'm fine with my benefactor Professor, but the other humans are.... a bit....”
“Just sit down already. Don't complain later about getting stuck with some crap assignment.”
The leaders of the beastman alliance forces, the werewolf siblings Tusan and Marca.
“Aigooo—Savior Saint! So good to see you again! You remember me, right? I drove your carriage back then!”
“....Muto? What are you doing here?”
“Ahem. Well, as for yours truly, Muto Glen 'Duke'! By the decree of the Great Baltin Empire's Emperor, the great Gainax Agdan His Majesty, I am here as commander-in-chief of the Lordric relief forces to carry out that glorious mission—that's the gist of it. His Majesty and Her Majesty the Empress send their regards. Oh, and this is a gift.”
“Glen 'Duke,' huh. So the previous Duke Glen retired?”
“The old man's mouth was fixed, but his body was creaking anyway. Overdid it during the last plague disaster, and now he's living it up at the academy, squeezing tears out of the young scholars.”
Baltin Empire relief forces: 300,000 infantry, 2,400 knights. Commander-in-Chief: Muto Glen.
“Pleased to meet you. I am Charlotte de Agate, Captain of the Lordric Royal Guard and proxy for His Highness Erwin Siod IV, stationed in Koern. I attend representing the western front alliance forces.”
“Time must've been tight, but you made it. No one gave His Highness the Koern commander any grief?”
“There was some minor static, but one mention of your name and they all went limp like dead rabbits. No issues representing the alliance's intentions.”
Beastman alliance leader.
Nominal representatives from each mage tower.
Empire relief forces commander-in-chief.
And representatives from the existing alliance forces.
‘Yeah, this is the caliber you need to call it a commanders' conference!’
Professor smiled contentedly at the lineup of each army's supreme commanders gathered in the saint's room.
The reason the five great churches had garrisoned at Light Church headquarters stemmed from friction in Koern. Word was, noble commanders couldn't shake old habits and treated the clergy like 'holy laborers,' sparking major clashes with the churches.
As a result, the other four churches besides Light had ended up staying at the Light headquarters—about a day's distance from Koern—allowing them all to gather here en masse.
‘....Definitely, the final battle is drawing near.’
Everything I'd built up through a full playthrough of the three worlds—every ally I'd saved, every bond I'd forged—seemed to be converging right here.
In GG, which offered perfectly free play, there was exactly one forced progression event.
Tusan and Marca were here because of their bond with me,
Ottoman went without saying.
The saints and saintesses' meetings with me—which had been forbidden for absolute rest—were permitted all at once now that I'd recovered.
The empire forces' commander had naturally come here since the other commanders had gathered at headquarters.
Everyone had their reasons, but the timing overlapping so perfectly made it obvious some external force had drawn them all to one place—specifically, to my side.
Probably because even the system knew the game had reached its endgame.
‘The final episode. The ultimate showdown. A forced progression event that advances no matter your playstyle—the clear event.’
An all-out clash pitting every ounce of allied might against the enemy's. Strength against strength....
‘Enough here to run the odds.’
These people gathered right now were the crystallization of every hard-fought small victory I'd scraped together so far.
“Attention.”
As if they'd all been waiting for someone to kick things off, the room—buzzy with small talk—fell naturally silent. Of course; from empire dukes to pinnacle clerics, they were all heads of their factions. None could miss the significance of this many gathered in one spot.
“You're all dawdling far beyond a sick visit, like you're waiting for something. If it's all right, may I take the lead?”
No verbal replies, but wordless assent swept the room.
“Very well. Then let us commence the commanders' conference for cleaning up after those gimped fools and dismantling the evil god 'Mutation Blood Queen.'”
No fancy round table from Koern, no amplification spells.
The only seating was a small tea table in the corner with three chairs—so the two werewolves sat on the floor, the Saintesses of Mercy and Abundance perched on the bed, the rest stood or leaned against walls, and the empire duke habitually scrounged chairs from somewhere for them.
And yet, not a soul doubted that this meeting would decide the war's fate.
‘No need for intricate operations or minute force allocations here. What we must decide now is the most crucial element: the form of our offensive.’
Delaying war through sheer numbers.
Deep breakthrough into all-out battle.
And so on—the seat to decide our victory plan: in what form, how we attack the enemy, and ultimately achieve triumph. Just like when Koern's commanders had planned the encirclement annihilation op; determining how we'd maneuver the entire army.
The decision wasn't hard. I'd thought of it from the first time I'd tallied our forces.
Truth be told, there was no other real option anyway.
“We've been running a hammer-and-anvil setup.... or something like it, right?”
“That's right.”
“And strategies for maneuvering great armies....”
A rough sketch of allied formations drawn in blood. Occupied territories thinly encircled, fragmented into pieces.
The hammer might as well have been glass—it'd shattered outright, leaving only the anvil of Kingsland and the western front line getting hammered relentlessly.
With a flick of his finger, the blood-drawn formation shifted fluidly.
“....Let's reverse the formation entirely.”
Reinforced infantry strength plus the holy forces bolstered by stigmata.
The precariously holding anvil side was now massively thickened, so they'd take the pounding head-on.
“Slow penetration. Have our scattered allies—not hold key points, but disperse to link up.”
Assuming infinite enemy numbers, humanity's greatest strategic asset—a 'castle'—could turn into poison. Just look at Kingsland's pollution nightmare.
At the very least, this was the only way to incorporate our fragmented allies into the main force, as far as he could see.
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