Gratia Sanctuary (2)
Kyle loosed his third arrow. Beside him, I leaped like an arrow myself.
The difference? His arrow was visible. I wasn't.
If I slipped through the regular monsters and severed the neck of the black wolf I'd spotted... Something felt off.
Even in midair, my eyes met those of scattered lycanthropes here and there. I was definitely stealthed.
My mind raced to assess the situation, but my descent was just as swift. Before gravity could fully seize me, I thrust my blade toward the target.
A world measured in seconds. The black wolf dodged me. How? No time to wonder now. It was a prime target, and I was right in front of it. Plus, my opening strike was still reloading.
I spun around, readjusting my grip on the dagger held reverse-style. A straight slash aimed at the throat. It missed again—much more sharply this time.
I hadn't closed in. ShadowHowl was getting more precise.
The alpha wolf, tilting its head back just enough, flashed a sinister grin. It tossed aside its helmet as if there was no need to hide anymore, ears perking and nose twitching nonstop.
That was it. I'd figured out what had pierced my stealth.
In this brief standoff, I still held the initiative. A half-beat faster thrust—throat optional. Heart would do. Line to point.
ShadowHowl's ears twitched twice, then it twisted away, reading the air currents from my movement.
Damn it.
I stabbed empty air. Beside me, the black wolf grinned wickedly. Its gleaming claws slashed straight for my side.
My toes dug hard into the ground. My ankle screamed as it crushed the momentum built into my body. I barely twisted away.
Phew. If that had hit, it'd have gutted me.
Tricky bastard. One strike had to be lethal. Miss, and it meant nothing. Until now, I'd only needed to aim for throats and swing. That had sufficed—no real back-and-forth.
I was an assassin, not a swordsman.
Damn.
ShadowHowl growled something, and soon the other lycanthropes surrounded me. Darker fur. Elite guards?
ShadowHowl let out another howl at a different pitch. They were beasts, and battle was a hunt. No lone predator hunts without the pack.
At the signal, the beasts' pincer formation closed in.
Within the arcs of feral claws. Beastly muscles bent straight lines into curves with elastic ease, narrowing escape windows.
No choice. To break this, I'd have to abandon the First Kiss Addict.
Or... did I really?
For some reason, guns and explosives were excluded from passives in Gravenfelt. Pure physical damage only? Or did they need to pass through my hands?
No time to test—or even think.
Had to improvise. I slipped the pincer by a hair, seizing a split-second breather in the exchange.
Staring at them as I stepped back half a pace, I carved a long red line down my forearm with the dagger.
"Ha! I was worried a skill might pop off here."
The lycanthropes flinched at the sudden self-harm. The blood scent? Their yellow eyes gleamed brighter.
The predators' gazes locked on my left arm. The spurting blood halted just before forming a red line from arm to ground.
It twisted like vines, coiling downward. So this is the sensation. As natural as moving limbs.
No wonder it was called Blood Dominion.
I held out my still-bleeding left arm. Neural signals raced down my spine, carrying my will to my fingertips.
Before they arrived, the blood bullet fired.
Blood Bullet
The blood droplet shot out, piercing the thigh of ShadowHowl, who smirked slyly from behind the guards.
Hit. An attack? No—expected. Blood Bullet was excluded from First Kiss Addict. Magic treatment?
Throat-slitting and guillotines would be too, probably. Didn't matter.
"Grrrr..."
ShadowHowl's low howl. Didn't speak dog, but displeasure was clear.
The guards charged again at the growl. This was the wave's heart—hundreds of enemies.
Fine by me. I was the hero mercenary who shifted battlefields. The fierce hammer pounding Gratia Sanctuary's sturdy anvil.
Before the guards took two steps, I whipped my wounded forearm. Blood rings arced like Saturn's, following the sweep.
Blood Bullet. My scattering blood defied inertia, freezing midair. My will: straight lines. Droplets streaked like bullets in all directions.
The front rank was pierced—thighs, chests, heads. Tough vitality saved seventy percent. Didn't matter. Thirty percent dead.
One gap sufficed to break the encirclement.
ShadowHowl bolted, sensing the shift. Where to now?
Swift Step. The nimble beast slowed, human-paced, from the fist-sized hole in its leg. My blade finally caught the wolf.
Clean one-shot. An assassin is the stiletto. ShadowHowl's head fell.
Elite Monster Leader ShadowHowl has been defeated!
Summoned units receive compensation as a percentage of summoning cost based on contribution.
The wave has not yet ended!
Notifications popped up. And with them—
A death rattle? A screech like nails on chalkboard echoed from the severed head, too bizarre for words.
Living up to its name? The real threat was those who heard it.
Centered on ShadowHowl's head, lycanthropes bulked up one by one—rippling flesh waves across the field.
Obvious target: me.
Before the transformed wolves charged, I launched skyward.
Sky Step. I blasted Blood Bullets into their staring eyeballs. Dogs chasing chickens got their skulls popped; I soared higher than any chicken.
Body felt light. 'More' agile—didn't know the extent, but it registered. Nice.
I scattered their ranks every which way. ShadowHowl's death cry boosted the horde's power but fried their brains.
How would even dumber mutts catch a much nimbler me?
Blasting Blood Bullets, slashing with daggers, I broke free of the field's center at last.
Breathing room. The wolf pack abandoned me for the walls.
From here, easy. Time to be the real hammer.
Wave 32 cleared!
Summoned unit 'Slicer Berga' contribution rated highest grade!
Excess contribution available for claim! (Excess contribution affects grade recalculation.)
Contrary to worries, the wave ended without a hitch.
The walls from outside were a sight: dull white stone fused with golden aurora. A sanctuary indeed. If I'd been a monster, I'd have hesitated to charge.
Luckily, I was on the walls' side, and those soldiers in the aurora were safer for it.
The gates opened with a grand rumble, as if waiting for me.
Hm? I'd expected familiar cheers. Victory's thrill felt similar across battlefields.
But passing through, an unfamiliar scene greeted me.
White knights lined left and right of the gate. Helmets still on, sweat beaded at edges. Dirt and blood stains everywhere.
Battle traces not yet erased, yet they stood in perfect ranks. Straighter still: swords and shields.
A heavy silence filled Gratia Sanctuary.
"We greet the hero."
"Uncle!"
Dominic stepped forward. Precisely two paces behind Aurea, as always. Even amid her cheer, the knights held firm.
"Saintess. May I express the Holy Knights' gratitude on their behalf?"
"Sure! But first! I wanna talk. I'm the commander and saintess, hehe!"
"As you command."
Dominic stepped back with a soft smile.
"Uncle! I was praying hard in the chapel, so I missed it."
The sanctuary, huh. Now the chapel's splendor made sense. Finest stone. Probably doubled as a shelter for the saintess.
"Heard you were amazing. Thank you."
"Just did what needed doing. I got paid."
2,000 Cron. No clue what Gratia sold for it.
"No. You saved our knight uncles. Not stingy about it. We've got the Holy Nation's support! Just used what we had. Anyway, prayers might be light today. Wait, no! I'm not a bad kid or anything..."
"The Saintess means no requiem today."
Dominic clarified, then stepped past her toward me. One pace, two.
Handshake? My natural extension met air.
His deep bow.
Clanking metal rang through the sanctuary. Armored knights saluting in unison.
Knights facing across the gate's width raised swords in salute at once. The orderly motion formed a white corridor.
Its sole black: me. Its star: me.
Dominic wordlessly returned to position. Two paces behind the saintess.
She approached proudly, whispering.
"Hehe! Uncle, y'know? Dominic only bows to the Pope or me! Super big deal!"
That so. Vision filled with white. Not armor—pure light.
"Bye, Uncle!"
Aurea’s bright voice. Better than the stern captain's nod. Better than the knights' parade.
No sad prayers. A child's prayer with no listeners, but someone to remember.