A Saintess Purifies Heretics with Dual Pistols—That's Just Common Sense
Two days had passed since the day I gave the order to Mist.
The imperial permission to launch the raid came surprisingly quickly.
The moment it dropped, I and the others scattered, each heading to the enemy base we'd predetermined.
I tapped the communicator in my ear as I stared at the lounge bar before me.
"This is Abel. I've arrived at the target."
It was a small device akin to a walkie-talkie, crafted through mana engineering.
I checked the time at the voices crackling through the communicator.
We'd coordinated for everyone to breach simultaneously, just in case the mage tried to flee.
Breach time: 20:00 sharp.
Click.
I pulled out my pocket watch to confirm the hour.
"Current time: 19:30. Breaching in about thirty minutes. Mages might intercept comms, so only transmit after the op ends or if it's a bust."
At the confirmations, I leaned against the alley wall and exhaled a long trail of cigar smoke.
Gazing at the smoke drifting into the air, I rolled my eyes toward the lounge bar I suspected was the mage's workshop.
Everything was proceeding too smoothly.
And that very smoothness was putting me on edge.
Is this really how it all ends?
The Church of Light's Saintess, the Nostra family, and the Nebla Duke family's execution squad Am-Young.
Our forces were overkill, practically bursting at the seams.
Yet something felt off. The problem was, I couldn't pinpoint the source of that nagging unease.
As I stewed in that vague anxiety, killing time, the communicator buzzed again.
"This is Abel. What's up?"
Ariel's voice came through, and I couldn't help but grimace.
***
Thirty minutes earlier.
"Understood."
Ariel responded to Abel's voice on the communicator and eyed the hotel visible from the alley.
A seven-story building.
Being near the central fountain in the imperial capital, crowds of people came and went constantly.
This might be tricky...
Peering from her hiding spot, Ariel sighed and checked her outfit.
Her standard nun's habit was utterly impractical for combat.
It wrapped her body tightly, offering no stretch whatsoever—hardly battle-ready.
So the Church had prepared combat nun attire for true emergencies.
Even the robe is embarrassing...
The issue? Prioritizing function meant high exposure.
Fortunately, the holy power it channeled made it appear ethereal, like an angel's garb, to onlookers.
Eek! The wind!
Ariel shuddered as a chill breeze slipped into her battle suit, which left her hips fully bare.
A natural physiological reaction.
Whoever designed this...
Functionality? Sure, top-notch. No fabric where joints moved—practically skin-tight!
What hindered movement? Clothes. Destroy them all!
No other mindset explained this design.
"Ugh."
"Saintess."
A voice called as Ariel pondered her attire deeply.
"What is it?"
Snapping out of it, Ariel turned with her usual smile.
"Is something wrong?"
The priest hesitated, face darkening slightly.
"Yes... Heretical power is emanating from that hotel."
The priest's voice was grave. "...What did you say?"
Ariel blinked in disbelief, raising her voice unconsciously as she stared at the priest.
Heretic power? The types she knew numbered three.
The legendary evil god's power, or demonic force. But those were myths or legends.
The Church deemed only one power heretical in this world.
"Black magic?"
Black magic hadn't originally been heretical.
It began as spells to preserve dead meat from decay, aiding food storage.
But black mages fell to corruption.
Curses, necromancy, and alchemy trading life for power.
"Is it truly the heretical kind of black magic?"
Ariel asked seriously.
Not all black mages dabbled in forbidden arts; the Church didn't condemn the entire field.
Its origins helped humanity.
Rashly labeling all black magic heresy would tarnish God's name.
Thus, the Church distinguished carefully: only two types.
Necromancy, mocking the dead's rest by raising undead.
Alchemy, wielding vast power at the cost of one's or others' lives.
These alone were heretical.
"Yes..."
The priest nodded heavily.
"Necromantic power is detected from the hotel right now."
"Ha..."
Ariel sighed, squeezing her eyes shut before steeling herself.
"Control the area first. Priests and holy knights, block more people from entering. Inform the imperial aides of the situation."
"Yes!"
Ariel strode from the alley straight to the hotel.
Ten minutes later.
Swift priestly action, plus imperial police and knights, contained the site rapidly.
"I'll fight alongside you."
At the cordoned hotel entrance, Ariel addressed the staring priests and holy knights.
They bristled to object, but she raised a hand to calm them.
"I know your concerns. Hear me out."
Necromancy. Necromancers commanding undead.
Storming with a large team was suicidal.
A fallen comrade rising to attack—tragic, and mentally shattering, no matter one's resolve.
"But if it's truly necromantic aura from the hotel, doesn't a small team make sense?"
Church training emphasized small teams against necromancy.
Ariel glanced at the seven-story hotel.
"If the whole place swarms with undead, you couldn't handle it anyway."
She gauged her escorts: minimal for a drug bust.
Mostly priests for addict treatment; only five holy knights for muscle.
Fine against a lone mage, equipped as they were.
But undead hordes demanded massive holy power and personal durability.
Her participation was inevitable.
...
After persuading the priests and knights, Ariel stroked the hotel wall, confirming the chill once more.
She prayed deep down it wasn't necromancy, but reality was cold.
Definite.
Heretical power. Necromantic.
It matched the Church's heresy samples perfectly, chillingly so.
Seeping through walls? The interior was likely overrun already.
...
A brief prayer for the dead, then Ariel lifted her head.
The Red Dawn Society's airship hijacking and crash into the imperial mage tower—a massive terror attack.
Tied to it, Miraz forcibly awakened normals, ravaging the capital.
Back-alley thugs gaining powers, sparking chaos.
Terror-fueled unrest plus empowered addicts: pure pandemonium. That was the empire before her regression.
But Ariel harbored one persistent doubt.
Learning the mage culprit behind Miraz from Abel and Breck turned it to certainty.
There were accomplices.
Too grand for one mage.
She'd discussed it pre-raid with Abel and Breck.
They suspected accomplices too, sans hard proof.
"This is Ariel. Do you read?"
Proof now confronted her.
Ariel activated her communicator to alert the others.
"I say again: Ariel here. Copy?"
Confirming the link, Ariel rapidly briefed: heretical necromantic aura from the hotel.
"I'm entering the hotel immediately."
[...Am-Young, you didn't know?]
Abel, who'd listened silently, lowered his voice, grilling them.
[...May I explain?]
[Go ahead.]
Lena, handling Am-Young's comms, spoke cautiously.
[Two days ago, we pinpointed these four sites as the mage's workshops due to high mana density.]
However.
[Post-identification, we only surveilled—no infiltration. Obvious detection risk in a mage's lair.]
[So you missed the aura externally?]
Breck interjected, displeased.
[From the Saintess's report, the black mage nested here in those two days we wasted surveilling.]
"I agree."
No other explanation fit. A prior necromancer nest would've alerted imperials before Am-Young's probe.
Reaching the entrance amid debate, Ariel transmitted finally.
"Necromancy means we move fast as possible."
Imperial capital, central fountain—densest crowds. Containment possible; the empire wouldn't buckle to one necromancer.
But undead outbreak? Mass casualties inevitable.
Ariel wouldn't allow that disaster.
[...Good luck.]
...
"Fuu..."
Ending comms, Ariel steadied her pounding heart before the entrance.
"Shall we?"
"Yes..."
Glancing at her accompanying holy knights, Ariel entered slowly through the door they held.
Zombies appeared in the lobby, as expected—the interior teemed with undead. The signature necromantic chill, like corpses, confirmed it skin-deep.
"Haa..."
Sighing briefly, Ariel drew her personal weapon from beneath her robe.
Custom Church-ordered, Saintess-exclusive.
Unlike priests' revolvers: thick, hefty barrels, pure white to match her snow-white hair.
If Abel saw these pistols, he'd instantly recall a certain gun.
Desert Eagle.
"Then."
Ariel fired instantly.
Holy power-infused bullets erupted from the barrels, shattering a zombie's head mid-feast in a blink.
"Let's begin the heretic purification."