The Great Forest War
"That's no ordinary priest. At least a cardinal or higher, right?"
"What the hell is going on here?"
The hero's party was badly rattled, but they first leaped atop a building and sprinted into the grand plaza. Seeing it up close made their eyes bulge in shock. Everyone inside the vast square was armed and fighting with murderous fury. Curses and sprays of blood flew in every direction.
"Kill that muscle-brained idiot!"
"Blow that pathetic weakling's head off!"
When the hero's party descended into the plaza, a figure in the ornate robes of what appeared to be the War God's high priest hurried over.
"Swordsmen at twelve o'clock, martial artists at three o'clock, mages at six o'clock, priests and all other classes at nine o'clock."
"Eh?"
"Huh?"
It felt exactly like new recruits being sorted by specialty the moment they reached the barracks, and the one-sided explanation continued without pause.
"Enter the wrong camp and you'll die the instant you step inside. It's dangerous here too, so move to your assigned faction immediately."
"Uh? Factions?"
"Our own faction?"
"Shops selling consumables and additional equipment are near the plaza entrance. We strongly recommend you purchase plenty."
"What purchases?"
"Consumables? Extra gear?"
Questions piled up, but no answers were offered.
"Good luck. Hey, you over there! I said block civilians from approaching—it's dangerous!"
The War God's high priest spat out only what he needed to say, then turned and shouted at someone behind him before vanishing.
The hero's party was now in utter chaos. But the confusion lasted only a moment.
"!?"
"!!!"
Someone had slipped past their awareness, grabbed their shoulders, and yanked them forward.
"Fresh beginners who just arrived, I take it?"
"Hurry up and come with me. Those damn mages are pushing us back!"
"Eh?"
"Beginners?"
"Whoa—!"
When the hero looked back, he saw an elderly swordsman. The old man lifted him as if he weighed nothing and leaped into the camp.
"W-wait, sir?"
"Stay here and you'll die."
"Die?"
The bewildered hero glanced at his companions and saw they had all been seized by old men and dragged away.
Inside the tent, countless swordsmen had drawn their blades and were swinging them skyward.
Fwoooooosh!
Fwoooooooooosh!
Ruuuuuumble!
Grrrrrrrrumble!
Aura launched from the swords streaked through the air and detonated the countless incoming spells and arrows.
The old man set the still-confused hero and Sword King down. Another white-haired elder carrying a massive greatsword approached.
"Young beginners coming as reinforcements. How's the front line?"
"The mages' reinforcements are arriving too quickly. They're spamming teleportation magic and personal spatial movement. This is outright cheating!"
"Tsk! We've sent word too, so they should be here soon. I told them if they don't show up this time, I'll piss on their graves."
"I'll shit on them while I'm at it. Our alliance with the martial artists is solid for now. We just need to crush those lunatic representatives and the mage bastards."
"Everyone heard? You head to nine o'clock and push toward the fanatic representative's side. It doesn't matter if you die, but do not let them push you back."
"It doesn't matter if we die?"
"Fanatic representative?"
The hero and Sword King had a mountain of questions, but the old men simply roared first.
"Beginners! Stop thinking and obey your seniors!"
"Kids do what the old folks tell them and everything works out fine!"
"Yes!?"
"What!?"
Wooooong!
Puhahaha!
The hero and Sword King's bodies floated into the air under the elders' powerful aura and were hurled skyward.
"Whoaaaaaaa—!"
"Huuuuuuuh—!"
From above, the plaza revealed itself as a battlefield of Transcendents.
Booom! Booom!
Thousands of 7th Circle swordsmen advanced in perfect step, auras blazing, while mages answered with storms of fire and ice that fell like torrential rain.
Wooooooong!
Papapapapa!
Martial artists with aura-clad fists closed in at terrifying speed, only to be met by cascading spells.
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
"Uwaaaaaaaa—!"
Hundreds died to magic in a single clash, limbs severed, yet the fighting never stopped. Strangely, despite the carnage, no corpses littered the ground and the terrain remained undamaged.
"What is happening here?"
"Wasn't this supposed to be the War God's Pope selection battle?"
The moment the airborne hero and Sword King regained their balance and landed, dozens of aura-infused arrows shot toward them as if lying in wait.
"Huk—!"
"Aura arrows?"
They threw themselves into an ugly roll to dodge. Four figures materialized from thin air, brandishing bizarre dagger-like weapons, and charged while shouting.
"Those are definitely beginners! Kill them fast before they adapt!"
"Beginner? Kill me?"
"What the hell is this?"
Enveloped in murderous intent, the hero drew his divine sword, aura flaring, and countered with everything he had. Yet all four attackers slipped past the blade and struck at his vital points.
"They dodged everything? Are they really all 7th Circle masters?"
"They're all assassin Transcendents! Watch out!"
The hero and Sword King panicked and barely evaded the daggers, but they could not avoid every cut.
Papapa!
Slash!
"Ugh!"
"Damn it!"
The assassin Transcendents attacked relentlessly, aiming for throat and heart while inflicting shallow wounds. The two defended desperately until nearby swordsmen came running.
"Stop tormenting the beginners, you cowardly assassins!"
"Shut your mouth! You outdated, brainless swordsmen! What's cowardly about striking the openings first?"
"Efficiency and speed are what matter in killing."
When the assassins turned to meet the incoming swordsmen, the hero and Sword King finally caught their breath and checked their injuries—only to freeze in astonishment.
"No wounds?"
"Did they heal instantly?"
They had definitely been hit multiple times, yet only their armor and clothing showed damage. Their bodies were completely unharmed.
As they grew accustomed to the battlefield, the meaning behind the roaring shouts finally registered.
"Aren't you the Pope of the Water God? What are you doing here?"
"It is all permitted by the God. Multiple popes are acceptable as long as there is no conversion, he said. The Pope of Water and Combat! Isn't it magnificent?"
"You insane cultist! You've gone blind chasing treasure!"
"I'll cleanly shut that filthy mouth of yours. Since you don't die, there's truly no burden. Now! Kneel before the power of the great God."
Puhahahahaha—!
Kwaaaaaaar!
Vast divine power shaped a water giant in the air that surged forward like a tidal wave. The swordsmen met it head-on with their auras.
"You muscle-brained fools who only know how to charge! Fly away cleanly. Tornado!"
"You cowards and frauds who only flap your lips from the back lines, what are you even babbling about!"
Magic and curses flew in equal measure. The red mage had somehow blended into the frenzy and was unleashing destructive spells with abandon. The right sleeve of the priceless silk robe he had always boasted about was sliced clean off, driving him into a rage.
"How dare you damage my clothes! Unforgivable!"
"Your figure is excellent, but you're really going to fight looking like that?"
"Argh! Full charge it is! Honorable knights! Let's go kill them all!"
Knight Transcendents encased in full plate armor—every inch covered in metal except the eyes—charged the mages' lines, blocking spells with enormous shields.
"Chaaaaarge!"
Ruuuuuumble!
Gruuuuuuuuumble!
The knight Transcendents who finally broke into the mage camp slaughtered them with aura radiating from their massive weapons. Yet that was not the end.
Martial artist Transcendents and mages traded vulgar personal insults as aura fists and spells collided, scattering sparks.
"You homo bastards who walk around half-naked all the time! Siding with the swordsmen again?"
"Ha! Jealous of my beautiful muscles, are you? Of course you'd need a robe to hide that bulging tadpole belly. Kwahahahahat!"
In the central zone where Transcendents of every class clashed, monsters so ancient their ages were impossible to guess rampaged wildly.
Goooooooo—!
Paaaaauuuuuuuung—!
A colossal, shirtless, muscle-bound old martial artist hurled pillar-like auras at a mage, who twisted each one with magic barriers and sent them flying back. The old martial artist dodged and hammered his fists toward the mage's heart in a relentless barrage.
Huuuuuuuuuuung—!
Above their heads, a giant figure of light endlessly searched for openings. These were clearly the strongest beings on the battlefield, and their voices cursing each other rang out.
"You bastards! Why are you only attacking me?"
"Didn't you say you were severing all attachments and returning to the gods to enter Heaven?"
"The Main God said not to come yet. He instructed me to send you lot first if possible."
"Eh?"
"Heh?"
The voice was painfully familiar to the hero's party.
"Everything follows the will of the gods! You raised an excellent disciple, so you have no lingering attachments to life, correct?"
"Life begins at two hundred! You, with Heaven guaranteed, go die instead!"
"I agree, but how about yielding a little? I'll only research the War God's ring and armor before lending them to everyone."
"Pay me back before you die, you crazy debt-ridden mage!"
"You're so stingy for someone your size! Demanding repayment between friends? Besides, do you even have proof I borrowed anything?"
"You were the one who said friends don't need paperwork! This is my chance to settle the score with you too."
The old monsters made no effort to hide their irritation and fury. They were no longer old comrades but formidable rivals lusting after the same treasures.
"Come on then, you damn bastards I'm sick of seeing!"
"Honestly, I had plenty of old grudges against you too. I'm no fool."
"You are a fool! I told you to put on some clothes!"
"What are you doing at your age? A face full of wrinkles and nothing but good muscles on display is pure perversion! Have you given no thought to the age spots covering your skin?"
"Uwaaaaaang! I'll beat you to death!"
Realizing the identities of these old men—who were clearly monsters even among the mighty Transcendents—the hero's party was left utterly speechless.
"M-Masters..."
"Dear gods... you're still alive."
The monstrous elders venting centuries of pent-up emotion through curses and lethal blows were none other than the hero's own masters—the former hero and his original party. The Fist Emperor, Sword Emperor, Archmage, and Unified Pope.
Should... should we run?
Too late. They've already spotted us. We'll definitely get caught.
The hero's party froze solid at the terrifying sight of their masters. The hero's shock was the greatest of all.
"What is this? Weren't these people supposed to have retired to wrap up their lives in seclusion? Why are they here?"
"Master! Watch out!"
The hero snapped back to alertness at his divine sword's warning, but a chill suddenly pierced his chest.
Stab!
Before he realized it, an aura-coated dagger had pierced straight through his heart. A mocking laugh rang out from behind.
"Kaka! Idiot! Loser! Coward!"
"!!!"
The 7th Circle master assassin's frivolous taunt—delivered while perfectly concealing his killing intent—sent the hero's rage boiling over. But the fatal wound to his heart severed his consciousness.
Damn it all! After defeating even the Demon King, to die this easily? And while being mocked like a fool, suffering such a meaningless death? This can't be real!
The instant his consciousness cut off, his vision brightened once more. He lay collapsed near the plaza entrance. When he frantically checked his chest, there was no wound at all.
"Huh? I definitely died..."
As the hero stiffened in confusion, whispers drifted from the onlookers around him.
"Looks like that guy got crushed pretty badly. He seems completely out of it."
"Yeah, he looks weak. No muscles, and his face is stupid too."
"!?"
Crack!
Spectators had gathered around the hero. At their mocking whispers, something inside his mind snapped.
Sensing its owner's abnormal state, the divine sword spoke urgently.
"Master! Come to your senses! Your body is completely fine. Just keep your reason!"
"Uwaaaaaaaaah! I'll kill you all! You cowardly assassins!"
Thudududududududa—!
The hero charged back into the magical barrier in a mad frenzy. The spectators roared encouragement, only fueling the chaos further.
The temporary pope of the new War God could only sit limply at the descent site and stare helplessly at the pandemonium.
"......"
As a mere 6th Circle, he could not participate. The newly selected cardinals, equally lacking in realm, could only remain silent, unsure what to do.
"You're telling me there isn't a single 7th Circle War God priest?"
"That is correct, Your Holiness the Temporary Pope."
"Ugh—!"
Tremble. Tremble.
At the cardinals' strictly factual reply, the temporary pope of the War God shook like a leaf in the wind.
Because I am weak, the god himself attached the word "Temporary." Every time I hear it, my heart pounds and it feels like my lifespan shrinks.
Each time he heard the title "temporary pope," his heart felt ready to stop. Yet forbidding it would be an act of apostasy—rejecting a position granted directly by the god.
"It's no wonder if I receive divine punishment! Among all those superhumans, not one is a priest of the War God? This is truly absurd."
"......"
Before his eyes, tens of thousands of superhumans waged a bloody contest for the divine items bestowed by the War God. One had to wonder whether so many Transcendents had even existed in the Middle World.
Yet not a single one was a priest of the War God.
The priests of the god who governs war should possess the greatest martial power.
This is an impossible situation.
The temporary pope and cardinals felt to their bones that they had committed a mortal sin. Still, there was hope.
"Participation will be possible in the next selection battle."
"The revenue from this selection battle already exceeds the Holy Nation's annual budget."
"With these funds, we will purchase divine items and raise priests to Transcendence without fail!"
There were many paths for a priest to reach the 7th Circle. When the cardinals spoke of absorbing the holy power of divine artifacts—the most extravagant and reckless method requiring astronomical sums—the temporary pope nodded vigorously.
"That's right! We must earn it thoroughly and build it properly, no matter what insults we endure. By the next pope selection battle, we will recruit or create 7th Circle War God priests and have them fight no matter what it takes."
Having grown bitter from a powerless life, the temporary pope had finally opened his eyes to the power of money.