Holy Crusade 3

Priests and nuns stood arrayed like an army before the gate to the 35th floor. Whether for the Holy Crusade or not, the nuns wore pure white garments embroidered in silver with symbols and ornate patterns, while the priests' were done in gold.

On top of that, the pure-silver staves they held like flagpoles, or the short golden ones studded with jewels. And when you factored in the pure white marble they'd hauled in claiming they were going to build a temple, it was impossible to even guess how many gold coins they'd poured into this.

In the middle of that dizzying festival of money-flinging, someone pushed through the ranks of nuns and priests and approached me.

"Brother, are you ready?"

"Yes. Anytime."

The kindly-faced old man who strode up to me in that overwhelming situation. His pure white eyebrows and half-bald head were nothing to look at, but something about his upright posture gave off an extraordinary air.

Unlike the priests and nuns standing in formation, he wore a tattered, worn brown monk's robe. What poked out from his loose sleeves was a shabby wooden staff so old and humble it felt almost rude to compare it to the gold-and-jewel-encrusted ones.

As the old man, wooden staff worn smooth by use in hand, pulled a leather-bound book so battered it was falling apart from his robes, I felt my shoulders tense up of their own accord.

"…Whoa, hang on? He doesn't look like a natural-born 6-star, but he's got six stars? NPCs can awaken and raise their own stars without a player?"

…This old man wasn't an ordinary priest. He seemed more like a monk.

The wrists visible beyond his loose robe weren't those of a thin, wrinkled old man — they were supported by muscle tougher than ancient timber. The hand gripping the staff felt heavy and massive enough to crush a human skull without effort.

Apparently this "saint specialized in enhancement rites" was on the monk buff side of things. Even without knowing the details, my instincts told me that once he was fully buffed up, he could deal meaningful damage even to me.

Whether Han Se-ah stood gaping in awe or I tensed my muscles and sized him up, the old man paid it no mind. A glance at Han Se-ah's stream window told me his name and title.

"Through the holy rite, I intend to pour Holy Power into you, Brother."

"Right now?"

"No. I plan to conduct the ritual as we walk from here to the front of that abomination. All you need do, Brother, is match your steps to ours."

He spoke as calmly as if suggesting a stroll for conversation, then turned and walked forward. Matching his pace, the throng of priests and nuns began to move as one. At that magnificent sight, Han Se-ah's camera started darting about busily.

To the left, priests resplendent in white and gold; to the right, nuns adorned in white and pure silver. As a lavish parade began that could have passed for a ruler's procession rather than a religious ceremony, my companions shrank oddly and stuck close to my side.

"D-do we even belong here?"

"Is this… really the procedure for a holy rite?"

Whether as adventurers they had instinctively sensed Ambrose's power, or whether they were simply cowed by the Temple force's extravagance taken to the point of opulence, their faces were full of worry. Then again, even a noble wouldn't see a spectacle like this easily.

"Well, they left us alone, so it must be fine. Looks like they're heading forward — probably planning to enter the 35th floor. …Did Irene go to assist with the rite?"

"She went up ahead with that old man earlier."

So that was why I hadn't seen Irene — she'd been summoned as a Candidate Saint. As I thought that, the priests and nuns who had paused briefly before the passage began to move again.

The Tower's passages are small.

More precisely, they were never designed for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠large numbers of people to pass through. There was a stone doorframe wide enough for a cargo wagon, but nowhere near large enough for hundreds of priests and nuns to file through in neat ranks.

A doorframe maybe three meters wide and five high — just enough for a single carriage. That had been the Tower passage I'd known for ten years. That had been common sense.

Shit. Did they not raise the game's difficulty — did they lower it?

And that common sense shattered with almost casual ease.

"Roland, that… the passage…?"

Priests and nuns advanced while singing hymns. Making no attempt to hide their Holy Power, people pressing forward without hesitation to carry out the Goddess's will. And as they did, the passage that had looked far too narrow for everyone to pass through expanded — large and wide — until it transformed into something like the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entrance to a temple.

…Just as the mages of the Magic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Tower had researched every method for the players' sake and opened the gates every ten floors, could the Temple also interfere with the Tower to ensure smooth progress for the players?

Priests and nuns walked into the now-broad, luxurious passage as if an epic event cutscene for pure hype had just begun. Moving along with them through that throng, pure white light poured down from overhead like a waterfall. At the same time, I felt a tingling sensation run through every muscle in my body.

"Ohhh, looks like it's starting. Watching from the side like this really makes me want popcorn."

Entering the widened passage of the 35th floor, what met my eyes was a broad grassland. More precisely, it was a storm of Holy Power forcibly filling in the poison pools and paralysis mires. Just as I inefficiently reinforced my body, the Temple side was brutally slamming Holy Power into the field and bulldozing it flat.

Charging straight toward that massive tree without regard for what lay ahead looked less steadfast than simply crude.

"Roland, how do you feel? It seems like Holy Power keeps flowing into you."

"My body feels a little lighter. Still hard to tell."

They filled the poison pools and overturned the contaminated earth. At the same time, Holy Power was being forced into my body the way water endlessly cycles through a fountain. Priests and nuns holding precious holy relics poured ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Holy Power from both sides, and Irene and Ambrose up ahead seemed to be the ones wielding and directing it.

Every time the priests and nuns recited scripture in unison, the Holy Power grew stronger still. The sacred domain spinning so fiercely it made the sanctuary of a safe zone look like child's play sent ash-gray waves rising at the edge of my vision.

What did they plan to do about those ash-white vines that drank Holy Power and multiplied?

Thinking that, I kept walking slowly at the center of the priests and nuns without stopping — and something leapt forward ahead of us. Naturally, it was Ambrose in his tattered brown monk's robe.

An old man clad in Holy Power like armor, and a horrific wave of vines surging in like the sea in a storm. It looked as though he would be swept under and buried in an instant — but the result was the exact opposite of appearances.

Vines lunged at him like a school of piranhas swarming a bleeding animal, only to turn to powder and scatter into the air in the blink of an eye.

Blink — that fleeting instant when eyelids drop and the world goes dark. As I reinforced my body with overflowing Holy Power, the world slowed and every detail burned itself clearly onto my retinas. The old man's gestures, slamming an excessive amount of Holy Power into those vines.

Damn, that's just pure brute force.

Thanks to that, I could tell Ambrose's combat style was similar to mine. As a former monk he could probably use martial arts too, but the essence was overwhelming output — unilaterally pushing forward no matter how the opponent reacted.

"……Huh?"

"…What? Where'd Roland go?"

As I was thinking that, I somehow found myself already at Ambrose's side.

Turning around in confusion, I saw Han Se-ah's camera spinning wildly through the air. I, who should have been standing in the middle of hundreds of nuns and priests, had crossed dozens of meters in a single stride and stepped out to the very front.

It wasn't intentional, so I glanced around — and Ambrose, who had casually brushed vine dust from his sleeves, leapt over to my side.

"You accept Holy Power far better than I expected, Brother. In eighty years of making holy rites my life's work, I have never seen a brother adapt so readily."

"This… right now…?"

His kindly smile resembled that of an old man watching a child at play. And thanks to that, I roughly grasped the state of my body. Just like the first day a ordinary returnee became a superhuman, I was failing to adapt to the specs of this enhanced physique.

Like a superhero who gains superhuman abilities from a spider bite and smashes a sink, I had failed to control my strength and taken a single stride from the center of the group all the way to the front.

The moment I realized that, my head felt hazy. Every breath I drew made my chest swell as if it would burst, and every time I slightly rotated my wrist and clenched and unclenched my fist, a spine-chilling sound rang out. Staring at that alien hand of mine, I took a step.

"…Now you may advance, Brother."

The hard-packed earth crumbled and cracked beneath my feet as if I were walking on cotton candy. Slowly releasing the tension in my arms, I drew the mace from my waist — and with a soft tuk, the leather belt hooked to the handle tore like old thread, sending lanterns and such tumbling to the ground.

That wasn't part of the avatar, but it was still a special-made belt from the Magic Tower.

Thinking that, I took two more steps forward — and before I knew it, my vision had gone dim. In three strides, I had completely ignored the vines and ash-gray trees and was standing before the giant tree. Letting out a long breath — hwaaah — I finally registered that I had covered hundreds of meters in a single breath.

At this point I wasn't a hammer, or an anvil, or even an awl.

I habitually raised the mace to bring it down, then thought better of it. The thought that if I slammed the ground in this state, I'd see something I really didn't want to see. So I gripped the mace with both hands the way you'd hold a baseball bat.

"Heh… huhuhaha—"

Even I had to laugh at the clumsy stance that lacked even the basics of weapon technique. My head had been oddly hazy for a while, and my body felt light. It didn't feel like heading into battle — more like an adult who'd barged into a children's playground and was running wild.

My head was foggy, my feet were light. I was holding a mace but it felt like empty hands, and even as I pulled my shoulders back and put power into them, the strength seemed to drain from my muscles. If I stuck my hips back just a little more, wouldn't I look like a comedian imitating a baseball player?

But the crackling sound in my ears carried a destructive force that had nothing to do with children's toys. Putting more than just strength into my shoulders, I twisted my waist and squeezed power into a body that oddly felt drained of force, drawing in a breath.

…If I let this one out, that'll be the third breath?

And then, exhaling — BOOM—

A cool wind blew, and the world turned bright.