Priest or Holy Knight?
“P-Priest-nim.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure you're not actually a holy knight...?”
“Nah? I'm just a priest.”
The people staring at me wore expressions of utter disbelief.
Whatever. I pressed my foot harder into the black mage pinned beneath it and asked,
“So, you gonna arrest him or what? Should I just kill him?”
Crunch!
The sound of bones grinding under pressure echoed out, and the man they'd called Linehit earlier hurriedly summoned a servant.
“H-Hey! Bring rope and mana restraints!”
Soon enough, knights arrived and slapped the restraints on the black mage.
Not content with that, they gagged his mouth and thoroughly crushed both his hands.
For mages who relied mainly on incantations and hand seals, it was a fatal blow—and an effective way to neutralize them.
'Of course, if they're skilled enough, that's another story.'
Archmages, or those on the cusp, could cast spells without incantations or seals.
This black mage didn't seem anywhere near that level.
I crouched down in front of the thoroughly subdued black mage, who still hadn't regained his senses.
“Priest-nim! It's dangerous!”
“It's fine. If he twitches, I'll just snap a bone or two. Everyone else, stay put and don't wander off. We need to check if there are any more black mages lurking around.”
With everyone in place, I examined him closely.
'Doesn't look like the one who cast the curse...'
He was too weak for that level of curse.
His weapon skills earlier had been decent, but as a mage?
'He could probably summon skeletons or something... but that's about it.'
Far short of handling a high-level curse that slowly gnawed away at life.
And there was another puzzle.
'If he knew he was made, why not run? There's a priest—his natural counter—right here. Why charge in?'
As I stroked my chin in thought, someone approached from behind.
“...What exactly are you?”
A voice I'd never heard before.
I'd told everyone to stay put, hadn't I?
A noble, maybe?
Curious, I turned around.
'Oh... a knight.'
A tall man in plate armor looked down at me.
Knight! Symbol of strength and vitality!
But there was no trace of the usual knightly robustness or arrogance. Instead...
'Melancholy?'
Gloom, sorrow, self-loathing... a storm of negative emotions swirled in his eyes.
He gazed at me and spoke again.
“...How did you spot the black mage?”
“Just did.”
“As expected... a difference in talent, then?”
“?”
Why bring up talent out of nowhere?
“I... was right beside him, a faithful believer, and yet I noticed nothing.”
“Obviously. You're not a holy knight. Or a priest, for that matter.”
“No... it was my faith that fell short.”
Doesn't seem like it.
There was something called holy affinity.
It measured how well one's body could handle divine power. Low affinity meant no amount of faith could make you a priest or holy knight.
'This guy's got none.'
His holy affinity was despairingly low.
No matter how devout, his body simply couldn't hold divine power.
'But it'll take to aura or mana just fine.'
In other words, no reason for despair at all.
Having talent elsewhere—and as a knight, excelling in aura or mana—was practically a blessing.
“It's not about talent; it's roles. I'm a priest, so I sniff out black mages. You're a knight, so you smash them.”
“But I couldn't even catch the black mage.”
“I was already fighting him. Can't be helped.”
Yet the gloom radiating from the knight didn't lift.
'What the hell is this.'
Apathy knight?
Chatting longer might drive me insane.
“Just sit tight over there for now. Gotta inspect everyone soon. Oh, any idea why this guy charged me instead of bolting?”
“Pardon?”
“Why fight instead of flee?”
“Well... a brute like me wouldn't know...”
“Exactly—brute asking brute. No need for expert analysis. Just spitball. Got it?”
The knight pondered briefly, then replied in his usual listless tone, slow and deliberate.
“Underestimated you... or under a powerful compulsion... or ordered to fight if exposed... or told to battle to the death upon discovery? That way, no loose ends leading back.”
Made sense.
Without a priest, black mages ended with death.
Overwhelming subjugation like this was rare.
Without my divine power, I wouldn't have knocked him out so easily either.
'A backer, huh...'
I glanced at the priest. He had some divine power, but it was feeble.
Useless against a black mage like this.
'Someone who knew that.'
Either planted a spy or held such a position themselves.
'Feels like more black mages inside.'
How oblivious were they to miss one hiding in plain sight?
I stood up.
“...Did that help?”
I nodded at the knight's question.
“Yeah. Gave me a rough idea what to do.”
“As expected of someone on another level.”
“?”
“I'd know, but never act on it...”
How does someone churn out such deflating lines nonstop?
Not trying to rile anyone—just stating his thoughts plainly...
'Gonna lose it. Depression?'
But it didn't quite fit depression.
'Apathy? Self-esteem issues?'
Either way, this knight needed fixing.
I flashed a smile pious enough for any devout follower and pulled a single sheet from inside my priest robes.
Try the War God!
Helps you crush those who belittle or underestimate you with raw power! Cost: Faith and a small offering! Wow! What a steal!
Boredom had inspired it, but Arcana freaked out and incinerated the lot—leaving just this one survivor.
“...What's this?”
“Try the god.”
“...I'm a follower of the God of Light.”
“Gods can change anytime.”
Of course, lightning would smite me instantly.
“Only one left, and it's yours.”
“Why...?”
“You look badass? And keep draining your own energy with that deflating talk? Plenty dream of knighthood like yours—take pride in it.”
I patted his shoulders and slipped away.
Any longer, and his gloom might infect me.
'Good, not following.'
With the black mage front and center, I crooked a finger at the oblivious priest—when Nipella sidled up from behind and whispered,
“Priest-nim. You just sounded awfully like a con artist.”
“...”
That was a meticulously rehearsed line!
As my face fell noticeably, Nipella panicked and backpedaled.
“I meant your eloquence was so dazzling it tricked me into thinking con artist...!”
Still calling me a con artist, basically?
I shuddered.
The bundle at my side vibrated faintly in agreement.
The camp was in chaos.
Hardly surprising.
Here to subjugate, only to find the target hiding among the subjugators?
The nobles, obsessed with honor, faced a crisis.
United, they pinned the blame on one man.
“How could you miss a black mage right in front of you?!”
The obvious target: the priest.
One of the continent's highest-earning jobs was priest.
Beings who wrought miracles on demand!
Priestly cliques were tight, and common folk or parvenu merchants feared them.
Not to mention the holy knights whose main duty was protecting priests—their might ensured heads rolled for insulting the faith.
But that assumed competence.
Failing to detect a continental archenemy like a black mage proved utter incompetence.
“Th-That was...”
“We'll lodge a formal complaint with the Temple of Light.”
“W-Wait...!”
“A priest who can't spot black mages... We'll need a replacement.”
Marin's eyes shook.
Priest was privileged, authoritative—but not eternal.
Politics. Proven incompetent? Exiled from the territory or recalled to headquarters.
'My cushy life...!'
Karma Territory wasn't the capital, but developed enough for comfort—especially for a capital native like him.
Marin lived easy on 'easy mode': prayers and healing tithes.
Who wouldn't take the easy path?
No embezzlement—just manual from HQ, treatments as boss taught.
Skill? Meh. But subbing for boss on black mage hunts? No sweat.
'Goblins at worst. No biggie...'
Fooling even his priestly eyes, disguised as a servant?
Not just dismissal. Summoned to temple? Fanatics would 'reeducate' him.
Worse, boss—the temple overseer—would chew him out first.
'Anything but that...!'
Oblivious to his panic, Linehit—who'd missed the servant black mage—cleared his throat and piled on.
“Formal protest it is. Hope that priest shows. Subduing with one hand? Is he even a real priest?!”
'You idiots...'
Marin inwardly cursed their nonsense.
'That priest was the weirdo!'
Bundle on back, barehanded pummeling a black mage unconscious?
No holy knight could do that.
No incantations either. Just a bit of divine power and raw physicality!
'Not a Light God follower.'
Continent had many gods.
Most influential: Light God, golden divine power signature.
His was blood-red.
'Wait. Blood-red?'
An old lecture resurfaced.
“We must respect and befriend other faiths.”
“For the money?”
“Industry solidarity. But don't touch War God priests.”
“?”
“Mess with them wrong, and your head's gone.”
“But fellow believers...”
“Last thought cost a saintess her head. Barely revived.”p>
“...”
“Meet one? Bow and obey—especially barehanded fighters. Or else.”
The lecturer—a holy knight veteran, tough against criminals and black mages—had sliced his throat emphatically.
Seared into Marin's mind.
Untouchable!
Unseen for ~200 years... here?!
Then, Eugene pushed through the nobles.
Seventeen at most, but to those in the know, a devil incarnate.
“Come with me, brother.”
Soft smile—utterly terrifying.
For real.
“And everyone else, stay put. Gotta check who's black mage or not.”
“...Understood. How much?”
“...Understood. How much?”
How much? His question left me dumbfounded for a beat.
'...Why charge for this?'
Did they bill everything separately?
Glanced at Nipella—his face grave.
'For real. They gouge hard.'
Mana exposure risked corruption or illness, so checks and heals were tricky.
But wasn't that baseline priest duty?
'Benefits of refusing...'
None. Folks treated favors as rights. Nobles no different.
'Gotta charge. Standard rate?'
Ask?
I turned to the priest called Marin. Eyes met—he yelped and prostrated.
“Eek! S-Sorry!”
“?”
Just eye contact?
“I haven't even hit y—”
“J-Just don't kill me!”
I swallowed a curse.
'What the hell did he do for this rep?!'