Cold Fire
"Hmm. I wonder how that old woman will react..."
Cardinal Rodenhaf tapped his desk in his study. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of fingers tapping on the dark wood echoed softly between the ancient stone walls.
The study beneath the western spire was, as always, dark and quiet.
A faint light hung by the window draped in white cloth, and shelves were stacked with sealing records and lists of sacred relics.
There were too many documents for it to be a prayer room, and too many holy statues for it to be an office.
Rooms where power was wielded usually took such a shape.
On the desk lay a copy of the preservation record sent to the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order regarding the disappearance of the former Hero.
The original had not been sent.
Key sentences had been redacted, leaving only the lines deemed safe to show.
Yet, he had not hidden it completely either.
The former Hero, Adeline Lucretia. Missing while in possession of the Holy Sword. Recovery team failed to return. Decision to seal. Substitute relic.
That much was enough.
The Sword Order would be shaken. Especially that old Commander-in-Chief.
Ena.
Rodenhaf stopped tapping his finger at the thought of that name.
In the records of the Holy Church, she was a monster.
The Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order. The Owner of the Hundred Days. The one who had single-handedly withstood the curses of the Demon King's sorcerers.
The one who had overturned guaranteed defeats on countless battlefields.
And a person with whom dragging out a conversation was dangerous.
Under her influence, the Sword Order had been changing recently.
The selection criteria for the 10th generation had changed, survival rate had become official terminology, and the names of the deceased and their recovery routes were now officially recorded.
Rodenhaf did not like this.
An institution that dealt with death had to choose its words carefully.
Martyrdom. Disappearance. Sealing. Silence.
The Holy Church had wiped away blood with such words.
But the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order was trying to pull back that veil.
Rodenhaf calculated the possibilities.
The probability of her flying into a rage was high.
The probability of her dragging in the Royal Family and the Magic Tower was also high.
The probability of her demanding access to the Holy Sword Sealing Chamber was almost certain.
He had to assume the probability of her moving in person was low.
The Eastern Rift Containment Zone was far away, a place the Holy Church had not dared touch for hundreds of years.
But he soon realized he was merely choosing the conclusion most convenient for himself.
Knock, knock. There was a knock at the door.
"Enter."
A young priest entered. His face was pale as a sheet.
"Your Eminence."
"Speak."
"The Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order has arrived."
Rodenhaf's hand froze.
"An unscheduled visit, is it?"
At least he had a starting point to criticize.
"Yes, Your Eminence."
"And her entourage?"
"Only a single adjutant."
Roen. Though overshadowed by his title of adjutant, he possessed combat power on par with the highest-ranking Squad Leaders. The master of the Ten Thousand Black Iron Seas. A man who had survived by the Commander-in-Chief's side for a very long time.
Should I treat this as facing the Commander-in-Chief and a Squad Leader-level combatant...
Rodenhaf felt his throat go dry.
"Where are they now?"
The priest's face grew even paler.
"They have already entered the inner corridor."
"...Who authorized that?"
The priest could not answer.
That single silence was answer enough.
No one had authorized it.
And no one had been able to stop them.
A commotion erupted deep within the corridor.
At first, it was footsteps. The hurried scuffling of boots on white marble.
The low, urgent shouts of priests calling out to one another.
The cold, metallic clatter of paladins' armor as they scrambled.
And amidst all that noise, a perfectly steady, rhythmic stride continued.
Ena did not stop.
Her silver-white hair swayed gently beneath the dim light of the cathedral.
The hem of her Eastern-style white robes rustled softly with each step, and the swords at her waist remained sheathed.
She did not draw her swords. As if there were no need to even bother, she simply walked forward.
There was no smile on her face. The rare smile that Rodenhaf had been reported of just moments ago was gone.
In its place was only a cold, dry expression.
It was not a face contorted with rage, nor was it one with clenched teeth.
It was a face as hard and unyielding as iron cooled over a long time.
That very expression made the paladins' feet feel all the heavier.
"Commander-in-Chief," a paladin who blocked her path said, placing his hand on his hilt.
"Beyond this point lies the inner sanctuary of the Holy Church. You cannot enter without authorization."
Ena looked at him.
The moment her gaze landed on him, the paladin's throat seized.
He was a trained warrior. He had slain low-ranking beasts of the Demon King's Army and had executed numerous defense missions for the Order.
But the woman before him now was not an enemy.
She was far too massive a presence to be categorized by the mere word 'enemy.'
Ena spoke in a low voice.
"Step aside."
The paladin did not back down. Instead, he drew his sword halfway.
A foolish choice.
In that instant, Ena's hand moved.
It was not her sword. Her palm struck the center of the paladin's breastplate.
Thud. The sound was brief.
The paladin was sent flying backward. He slid across the white marble floor and crashed into the wall.
The candelabras on the wall rattled, and a sharp gasp escaped from beneath the paladin's armor.
He was not dead. Not even a bone was likely broken. But he would not be getting up anytime soon.
Ena did not spare him another glance. She simply kept walking.
"Stop her!" someone shouted.
Two paladins lunged at her simultaneously.
One raised his shield forward, while the other drew his sword low from the flank.
It was a disciplined, coordinated maneuver.
A formation designed for the shield to block her vision, the sword to threaten her flank, and buy time for the priests behind them to reach the sealed doors.
Ena stepped inside their guard.
Before the shield could fully brace for impact, the back of her hand struck its edge.
Clang! The arm of the shield-bearing paladin flew upward.
The very shield that was meant to block her vision instantly became a gaping opening.
Ena pressed the side of his knee with the tip of her foot.
She did not even kick hard. She merely redirected the joint slightly.
The paladin's body lost its balance under its own weight.
He fell to his knees, and in the next instant, Ena's palm pushed his shoulder.
Thud. His body rolled to the side.
The sword coming from the flank did not even graze the hem of Ena's robes.
Ena flicked her wrist and pushed the flat of the blade with two fingers, sending the sword's trajectory soaring upward.
Before the paladin could even register his shock, Ena's elbow drove into the bottom of his breastplate.
A choked gasp. The paladin dropped his sword.
Ena did not grab him by the collar. There was no need to seize and throw him. She gave a brief shove.
The paladin flew straight to the opposite side of the corridor and collapsed onto the floor.
Once again, he was not dead. But he would need quite some time just to catch his breath.
Roen followed quietly behind her. His expression was solemn, a slight departure from his usual placid demeanor.
His eyes scanned the entire corridor.
The breathing of the fallen paladins. The hands of the priests shrinking back against the walls. The defensive wards carved into the ceiling. The sealing lines of the cathedral running beneath the floor.
And the faint, thin heat radiating from Ena's shoulders.
Roen knew.
The Commander-in-Chief has not drawn her sword.
She isn't even using her full power, let alone releasing her weapons.
Yet the paladins of the Holy Church were being tossed around like ragdolls.
The issue was not that the paladins were weak. It was that Ena was too precise.
Just enough to keep them alive, but more than enough to ensure they could not fight back.
A power that shattered pride while sparing life—that was far more terrifying.
"Commander-in-Chief," Roen called out softly.
Ena did not slow her pace. "What is it?"
"The paladins are merely following orders."
"I know," Ena's voice was cold. "That is why I am not killing them."
At those words, breaths hitched on both sides of the corridor.
A priest dropped the holy water he was holding.
The glass vial shattered on the floor, and the holy water spilled across the white marble.
Ena's foot stepped over it.
The moment her foot neared, the liquid hissed with a tiny wisp of steam and instantly dried up.
The air inside the cathedral grew dry.
Roen narrowed his eyes.
This is dangerous. Her rage had not yet reached the tips of her blades. But heat was building deep within her body.
At this rate, the weaker wards in the vicinity would already begin to wither.
Beneath Roen's feet, a very thin layer of black molten iron began to spread. It crept low, barely noticeable.
It seeped quietly along the patterns of the floor, ready to become a wall, a chain, or a shield at a moment's notice.
He was not trying to stop Ena. Nor was he trying to protect the Holy Church.
What he was trying to protect was the line.
The line that the Commander-in-Chief's rage must not cross.
Roen was the only one in this corridor who knew exactly where that line lay.
Six more paladins gathered ahead. This time, they formed a proper line.
Three shields blocked the front, two swords held the flanks, and one in the rear held a spear.
As expected of the cathedral's inner guard, their movements were swift and precise.
Ena stopped as she looked at them. For the first time, she halted her steps.
The paladins tensed their grips. They thought Ena was going to draw her sword.
But Ena did not draw her sword. Instead, she spoke in a low, sigh-like voice.
"You lost the Holy Sword."
She took a step forward.
"You abandoned the Hero."
The shields lunged forward in unison. Ena charged straight ahead.
"And yet, you decorated your sanctuary with her achievements?"
The first shield crumpled. The metal buckled inward from the exact spot Ena's fist struck.
The paladin behind the shield could not withstand the impact and was sent flying backward.
The second paladin swung his sword downward. Ena tilted her head ever so slightly.
The blade grazed a few strands of her hair as it passed.
Her hand caught the wrist holding the sword.
Pop. It was not the sound of a bone breaking, but a joint dislocating.
The paladin swallowed a scream and dropped his sword, and Ena grabbed him by the collar of his armor and threw him backward.
He collided with the spear-wielding paladin, and both tumbled to the ground.
The third shield thrust forward. Ena raised her foot.
It looked like a kick, but in reality, it was closer to a push.
The moment the sole of her foot met the center of the shield, the paladin holding it slid all the way to the end of the corridor.
Just before his back could slam into the wall, he was caught by Roen's black molten iron.
Thud. The impact was cushioned. The paladin was knocked unconscious, but he was alive.
Roen said nothing.
Ena did not look back, even though she knew what he had done. She simply resumed her walk.
No one dared step forward in the corridor now.
The paladins held their swords, but their fingertips trembled.
The priests pressed themselves against the walls, casting their eyes downward.
Someone tried to mutter a prayer, but no sound came out of their throat.
Ena walked past them. Coldly. Arrogantly.
As if the Holy Church's permission had never even existed in this world to begin with.
Roen followed behind her. There was tension on his face. There was anger, too.
But greater than either of those was his resolve.
No matter how far Ena went in this corridor today, he would follow.
If necessary, he would stop her. If necessary, he would record it.
And if necessary, even if he had to bury the entire cathedral beneath a sea of black molten iron, he would protect whatever the Commander-in-Chief sought to retrieve.
The Holy Sword. The names of the dead. The things the Holy Church had hidden away for hundreds of years under the guise of a 'sanctuary.'
Ena finally stood at the end of the western corridor. A closed door stood before her.
A door sealed with the seal of the Holy King and the sacred words of the Cardinals.
Ena looked up at the door.
And she spoke in a low voice.
"Open it."
No one could answer immediately.
In that silence, Roen quietly pulled out his record board.
Everything that transpired here today would be recorded without omission.
The Holy Church's permission was not required.
"Oh my, what on earth is going on here?!"
Had the Cardinal not arrived, the door would have experienced a brief flight courtesy of Ena's foot.
"Well, what do you think is going on?"
No. Perhaps...
"...Pardon?"
"I asked why you think I have come, you fool."
...it was one of the Cardinals who would be experiencing flight instead.