The Rock Spirit Saint
3,129 people.
As a number, it didn't feel real. Just a vague sense that it was quite a lot.
Too few to be called a massive gathering, yet far too many to call it a small one — a stubbornly ambiguous figure.
But seen with one's own eyes, that staggering headcount was impossible not to be overwhelmed by.
Just as Erzena was, standing there upon the stage.
"..."
The great southern plains of the continent had once been so vast they verged on emptiness itself. A land where nothing appeared but grass and soil, and the occasional exhausted bird passing overhead.
But the moment banners bearing the rose-cross emblem were driven into the earth and the pilgrimage declared this place its temporary camp, that empty expanse filled edge to edge with people in an instant.
And on this dew-laden morning, Saint Erzena stood in silence, facing the 6,258 eyes fixed upon her.
Even from only slightly raised ground, the dense crowd stretching out to fill the entire plain was plain to see at a glance.
-Whoosh.
She couldn't breathe.
It's human nature to feel pressure under the gaze of just ten people — and this was three thousand.
Her heart pounded and pounded with tension until it was practically convulsing. Her mouth had gone bone dry.
No one spoke.
Even with this many people gathered, the heavy silence settling over the plain felt almost uncanny.
But the Saint was not afraid. She did not shrink away.
She swept her gaze slowly across the crowd staring back at her.
Children to the elderly. Men and women, humans and elves. Wolfkin, and countless other races besides. Horses and carriages — even a crow wheeling lazily above her head.
For quite a long while, Erzena looked at each and every one of them.
And for quite a long while, the pilgrims quietly gazed back at the sight of her.
Even after their long journey, no trace of weariness showed on their faces.
If anything, they were watching her with an expectant — no, an outright yearning — desperation burning in their eyes.
Only after meeting the eyes of the band behind her did the Saint at last grip the long, slender staff planted before her with both hands.
"Hoooooh..."
A deep breath left her in a plume of white mist, fear and tension alike carried out of her body and cast away within it.
"Siiiiii—"
This time she tipped her head all the way back and inhaled to her very limit, letting the sharp morning air seep through her lungs entirely.
And then—
"HELLO!!!!!!!!! GOOD MORNING!!!!!!"
She threw it out with everything she had.
The Saint's clear, resonant voice, amplified by holy power, burst across the horizon without a single break.
And in the same instant, a thunderous answer rolled back.
"HELLO!!!"
"Erzena! Saint Erzena!!!"
"She looked at me! She really looked at me!"
"No, she was looking at the horizon! At the future beyond it — at the Lord God himself!"
Voices swelled. People babbled in their excitement.
Some were so overcome they fainted outright.
Erzena let the answers churn through the silence for a moment before shouting even louder to the faithful and the pilgrims alike.
"Are you all ready to praise our Father in heaven?!?!?!?!"
"YEEEEEEES!!!"
"I can't hear you! How is the Father supposed to hear that? SCREAM until the whole world can hear you!!!!"
"WOOOOOAAAAAH!!!!!!!"
In the early morning, a frenzied cry shook the earth and rang up to the heavens.
The cool air blazed hot.
Right on cue, the sun crested the horizon, and a brilliant halo blazed behind the Saint's back.
"The sun has risen! The Lord God has heard us!"
"The Lord God shines upon the Saint!"
Erzena did not miss her moment.
As her sky-blue hair caught the sunlight and glittered radiantly, holy power came pouring out of her.
"We open with Hymn 174, Smite the Unbeliever! You all know the verses, right? Here we go! Everybody — JUMP!!!!"
The instant an ear-splitting, razor-sharp melody erupted from the band, all 3,129 souls — not a single exception among them — plunged into a maelstrom of frenzy.
Known commonly as the Rock Spirit (= soul-shaking) Saint.
That was Erzena's nickname.
And since her elevation to sainthood, the Holy Church had been enjoying an unprecedented golden age.
*****
Only after twenty-two songs had been belted out until the crowd's voices were nearly spent did the frenzied performance finally come to an end.
The plan had called for roughly five songs, but the Saint, driven half-mad by the ecstatic response, had gone and taken seventeen encores.
Which meant Paladin Commander Mohaim had been forced to endure an hour and a half longer than planned, plugs in his ears, in a purgatory of patience.
-Flutter.
"Agh, I'm dying. Mohaim, it's over."
Totally drained, Erzena staggered into the tent.
"Well done, Your Hol— whoa."
The moment Mohaim turned his head to look at her, he froze solid.
Her state was beyond words.
Across her forehead was written in huge letters: THE LORD GOD'S HEAVEN, THE UNBELIEVERS' HELL. Painted across both cheeks were vivid red crosses.
Face paint fit only for fanatics was emblazoned on the Saint's face.
Worse, her right hand dangled a guitar that had been smashed utterly to pieces.
"Hmm? What's wrong?"
"Ah, that is, well..."
To anyone who didn't know her, she looked less like a Saint and more like a raving performance artist.
'Why on earth does she always take the stage looking like that...'
Choked by a stage presence no ordinary mortal could ever hope to comprehend, the commander groped for a suitable response for a moment before speaking.
"Hmm. You've destroyed another instrument, I see."
He had decided not to ask about her face. She was wearing an expression that suggested she had no idea anything was wrong at all.
"Ah, the faithful were cheering so enthusiastically, I couldn't help myself."
This was already the sixth instrument she'd demolished mid-performance.
How frenzied her singing had been was obvious from her clothes alone. Her white garments, soaked through with sweat and clinging to her skin, had long since stopped resembling clothing — they were practically underwear, giving a revealing glimpse of the flesh beneath.
Her sky-blue hair, drenched in sweat as well, clung slickly to her neck, shoulders, and back.
"You're full of energy every single morning. First, then... let's get that paint off, shall we?"
Mohaim snapped his fingers, and a maid waiting in the corner hurried over to wipe down the Saint's face and body with a towel.
He walked toward the changing screen, leaving the Saint behind him to change clothes, and turned his gaze to the map spread across the table.
"We will reach the border of the Crossline Kingdom soon, Your Holiness. Two days at most."
"Oh, already? I guess we travel faster than I thought. I figured it would take at least another five days."
"Thanks to you sprinkling holy power over the pilgrims every morning, everyone is bursting with vigor, it seems."
And so no one is even that hungry anymore, he added, plucking a piece of bread from the table and eating it.
At that, Erzena popped her head out through a gap in the screen and narrowed her eyes at him.
"Hey! You skipped my singing again, didn't you? How many times do I have to tell you that's not allowed. You're at the age where you should be thinking about your health, Mohaim."
"Your singing is not to my taste, Your Holiness. My apologies. I prefer quiet songs."
He said that, but Mohaim had known for some time now that the aching knees that had plagued him for years were somehow perfectly fine.
'Fifteen years I couldn't fix them, not since that Evil God Cult spear took me.'
The throbbing pain and the telltale limp that no priest or healer had ever managed to banish were simply gone.
He was brimming with vigor — as much as in his youth.
And that was not all.
All 726 members of the original pilgrimage had been patients, each afflicted with some ailment or another.
But somewhere along the way they had transformed into the healthiest souls in the entire company, and now led the charge in the morning rampage at every single show.
A phenomenon that could only be called a miracle — or the power of faith.
Mohaim flicked a glance toward the screen from which that power flowed.
'An absurd miracle indeed.'
Saint Erzena's holy power existed on a plane utterly apart from anyone else's.
"Heh, heh heh~."
Even now, that abstract force — one no eye was ever supposed to see — shimmered around her like heat haze and halo light.
No prayer required. No lonely asceticism required.
No need to carve scripture into one's flesh, no need to battle corruption and darkness.
Simply sing — loudly, flamboyantly, with just a touch of fanatic fervor — and that was all it took.
That alone allowed Erzena to amass, with ridiculous ease, more power than an archbishop could accumulate in a lifetime of prayer and abstinence.
'Not that... the genre of those songs bears any resemblance whatsoever to a traditional choir.'
He had served two Saints before, but never once had he met anyone so vibrant, so half-violent — and so utterly drenched in the love of the Lord God — as Erzena.
Which was precisely why the role she played in this northern expedition, disguised as a pilgrimage, was enormous.
"Your zeal for the faith is admirable, but do not forget why we are going north."
Erzena, now dressed in somewhat calmer attire, dropped herself into a chair.
Thankfully, the words painted on her face had vanished without a trace.
"I know, I know. We're going north to buy that mind-blowingly delicious wine, right? What was it again — Frost Dragon wine?"
"Your Holiness."
"Whoa, it was a joke, relax your face. Purging the remnants of the Evil God Cult and sanctifying the defiled icons. I haven't forgotten."
She was the picture of a sheepish girl, laughing awkwardly as she traced a cross into the dirt floor with her finger — but Mohaim, watching a blade of grass sprout from the soil her fingertip had brushed, fell deep into thought.
Power so abundant that it overflowed even after being distributed among three thousand faithful and laypeople alike. Against the Evil God Cult, it would be nothing short of a decisive weapon.
'The intelligence is certain. Remnants of the Evil God Cult remain in the Northern Empire.'
At long last, the chance had come to fulfill the Holy Church's most cherished, longest-held wish.
All they needed was to cross into the north. There, joining forces with their brethren in the local branch, they could wipe the Evil God Cult off the face of this earth.
But to do that, one gate remained to be passed.
"Everything has proceeded smoothly so far, but the immigration officers of the Crossline Kingdom trouble me."
"Hm? The immigration officers? Why?"
"The Crossline Kingdom despises war and conflict. Religious conflict, all the more so. If they learn our purpose, there is a real chance they will refuse us entry."
The purification of the Evil God Cult.
That purpose could never be achieved peacefully.
They would inevitably meet resistance, and attempts to harm the Saint would be countless. Armed conflict, in other words, was unavoidable.
The brethren in the north were already buying up arms and war materiel by every means available.
Should the immigration officers catch wind of that, the pilgrimage's true purpose would very likely be exposed as well.
"Which is why, Your Holiness, you need only say that you are visiting the holy sites of the north to offer encouragement to the faithful."
"Ahaha. You're telling a Saint to lie, Mohaim? The Lord God will scold you for that."
"Of course not. On the surface, it really would be a visit of encouragement. I merely mean... there is no need to reveal every card in our hand."
"Hmm. If the Commander of the First Paladin Order is saying it, I suppose it's no joke."
Erzena slowly straightened her posture.
"So you're telling me they could refuse a sacred mission to drive evil from the world over some petty pretext called 'war prevention.' Why?"
"Because they fear being called the ones who paved the road to war."
"Even though this is nothing so simple as a quarrel between unbelievers?"
"In their eyes, I doubt there would be any difference."
The playful expression on her face hardened, bit by bit.
"No difference."
There was no trace of innocence left in the voice that echoed Mohaim's final words.
"They know exactly who we are — the very will of the Lord God given form — and still, they might stand in our way."
She looked down at the Crossline Kingdom set at the center of the map.
Smaller than any other kingdom or empire on the continent.
A nation that had, by sheer luck, settled itself into the valleys of the Urakaras Mountains.
I understand.
A country perched upon the most vital crossroads in the whole world — of course it had been tormented by infiltration and enticement from every outside power imaginable.
Simply opening a road had given others pretext for invasion, and the moment they clasped one hand in friendship, they were forced to turn another into an enemy. A merciless history, walked step by step.
And so, to never repeat that tragedy, they must have made this resolve.
I understand.
But she could not accept it.
"The kind of thinking you'd expect from heretics..."
We are different.
This pilgrimage had not been undertaken out of petty greed for territory or trade routes.
The reason the Paladin Order had taken up the sword was nothing like the desires of unbelievers. It was nobler, far more sublime.
The purification of evil.
To purge every last heretic called the Evil God Cult, and restore the authority of the Lord God — the true Creator — to its rightful summit.
They were the ones carrying out a sacred duty that all of the Lord God's creations were bound to follow.
And these people dared to defy that, over something as worthless as "war prevention"?
Erzena's hand closed around the edge of the desk hard enough to crush it.
"I don't like it."
At that single phrase, her holy power surged.