Memories of Notre Dame Cathedral

I wanted to stay as far away from their fight as possible. But Angelica wouldn't allow it. She gripped a blue sword pulled from her subspace in one hand and wrapped her other arm tightly around my waist. I should have just said I'd stay in the room. A sigh escaped before I could stop it.

Angelica and the hero stood with swords drawn, facing each other in silence. The cathedral lobby was so quiet that even the smallest breath would have echoed. I watched them, throat tight, and swallowed hard against the mounting tension.

The hero broke the stillness first. He kicked off with his left foot and shot forward, closing the distance in an instant. His speed was faster than I'd expected. The problem was how brutally straightforward the attack was. Against a superior opponent, not even attempting a single feint? That was suicide.

Well, he won't last one exchange.

Of course, that was nothing more than a hopeful delusion born from my own subconscious inferiority complex.

The hero deflected Angelica's strike with the flat of his blade, letting it slide off smoothly while driving his fist straight into her abdomen. Angelica tried to raise her hand to block, but she had a problem. She had no free hand left. The one holding the sword couldn't move in time, and her left arm was still coiled around my waist.

She realized her mistake too late and tried to cast a spell, but the hero's fist had already slammed home.

"Shii—"

It was too late. A sickening crack echoed from her stomach. Angelica floated in the air for two full seconds before crashing into a grand mural on the far wall. The stone shattered on impact, filling the air with choking dust that stung my eyes.

Shit... Is this guy insane?

If Angelica hadn't released me before she hit the wall, I would have been crushed right along with her. I never imagined she would fall for such a simple, brutish blow. Because I'd let my guard down, I hadn't circulated any mana through my body. Without mana, I was no different from an ordinary human woman. If I'd been sent flying like that, my organs would have been destroyed. In the worst case, I might have died from a head injury.

This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bastard said he came to take me away, but was the road he planned to lead me down not a journey, but the path to the afterlife?

The hero turned to me and smiled brightly. What the hell was he so proud of after smashing someone like that? I seriously considered punching that obnoxious grin off his face.

Maybe the gods had heard my wish. Ice flowers suddenly bloomed across the floor—Angelica's magic.

The hero rolled swiftly to the right. Where he'd been standing, an ice ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rose burst upward. Thorned vines exploded from it, freezing the floor and every decoration around us solid.

He looked at me with an expression that seemed to ask, You're abandoning me? The hero, now a good distance away, offered an awkward smile.

What was there to smile about? The whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth.

When I looked around, the area within ten meters of me had become a rose garden of ice. The only mercy was that the vines had carefully avoided the exact spot where I stood. Angelica's meticulous care, even in the middle of battle.

Dust-covered and furious, Angelica walked forward while casting a regeneration spell on her abdomen. Her face was twisted with rage as she glared at the hero.

"Sirmiia, go outside."

"Sirmiia, go outside."

Sirmiia nodded and immediately dashed out of the cathedral. I wasn't worried she'd run away. My spell was engraved on her back, after all.

Originally I hadn't wanted to let her out of my sight for even a second. But that so-called hero had crossed the line. My Sirmiia had nearly been hurt.

I will definitely kill him.

I didn't care about the problems that would come from killing the hero. That was the Pope's problem, not mine. Demon King or otherwise—if anyone interfered, I would simply erase them. Anyone who tried to take Sirmiia from me would meet the same fate.

But for now I set those thoughts aside. The hero was muttering something far away.

The hero's form blurred, then vanished completely.

Hide?

None of the previous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heroes had used spells. This was the first time I'd seen one like this.

"Useless."

The seal over my eyes shattered. My blue pupils narrowed into vertical slits as the dragon eyes awakened. I could see the hero in the distance, clearly startled.

First time seeing dragon eyes?

He took a deep breath and readjusted his grip on his sword. With a short exhale, he kicked off with his left foot, and his body seemed to disappear.

The holy sword and my own blade clashed, sending up a spray of shallow sparks.

"Tch."

I clicked my tongue and kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him flying. The damned hero had deliberately delayed the activation of his spell. It had been a long time since I'd faced someone who liked to play tricks with magic.

The hero charged again the moment he landed. I blocked the holy sword that came slicing into my blind spot. A clear metallic ring echoed through the lobby.

The recoil from our blades shook his stance, but he twisted his ankle to forcibly correct it and swung again. His sword aimed for my neck. I struck the flat of his blade at the perfect moment, knocking the holy sword upward, then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠twisted my wrist to bring my own blade crashing down toward his head.

He angled his sword to deflect mine smoothly to the side. It was a ferocious exchange where neither side would yield an inch.

The hero's swordsmanship was quite unusual. Unlike previous heroes, he didn't use the imperial style. There was no fixed form to his blade; the trajectory changed unpredictably depending on the situation. He would cut from the right, then suddenly shift upward, or sometimes use his empty hand to exploit gaps in my defense.

In comparison, my swordsmanship was simple. It was nothing more than a poor imitation of Julius's style—an inferior copy. Even that wasn't perfect; it was optimized only for speed, containing no deeper principles.

But that wasn't a problem. If the hero swung unpredictably, I would simply respond with my dragon eyes and overwhelm him with even faster strikes that left him no room to react.

The moment his focus narrowed to our sword exchange, I seized an unexpected opening and cast a spell.

A violent detonation erupted between us. The blast was so powerful it shook the entire cathedral. Both my arms were blown apart by the explosion. The sharp ice shards tore through my flesh. My vision went dark—some fragments must have pierced my eyes.

It didn't matter. The hero wouldn't have escaped injury either.

How foolish.

This was the chronic weakness of every previous hero. They were summoned by the empire and trained by the knight order. As a result, their actual combat experience was far inferior to that of adventurers. That must be why he focused only on swords and ignored my magic.

I had used magic at the very beginning, then deliberately used only my sword afterward. I'd planted the assumption in his mind that I couldn't use magic while fighting with a blade. In the end, he became so absorbed in our swordplay that he never prepared for another spell.

This was the result.

I used regeneration magic to restore my body. A chill ran through me—my eyes had only just finished healing when my dragon eyes detected killing intent. A thin blade came streaking toward my shoulder. No time to cast. Ignoring the cut to my shoulder, I leaped backward to create distance.

The hero's sword sliced through the space I'd occupied a moment later. If I had tried to block or dodge that thrown dagger, my neck would have been taken by the holy sword right there.

Still...

"Not even a scratch?"

I had no idea how he'd survived the explosion unscathed, but there wasn't a single wound on the hero's body. He activated acceleration once more and closed the distance.

A thin layer of ice formed over my barrier. The holy sword stabbing downward froze solid the moment it struck the shield. I swung my blue sword at the hero's side.

Huh?

He released the holy sword. Using his knee to knock the blade off course, he lowered his stance and dodged. It was an impossible feat of skill. If his timing had been even slightly off, his waist would have been cut in two.

"Enough! Both of you, stop this at once!"

An old man's shout rang out from afar. The hero and I created some distance, glaring at each other as we halted our fight. Neither of us let go of our swords.

Down the cathedral corridor came the Pope and the cathedral knights. I noticed Julius was missing from their ranks.

"Ferdinand, where is Julius?"

"H-how dare—!"

"This is blasphemy."

The knights muttered among themselves. The Pope deliberately cleared his throat to silence them before answering Angelica's question.

"Knight Commander Julius has been dispatched to the Erebor Kingdom along with the inquisitors. It seems devil worshippers are running rampant there."

His acting is terrible.

The Pope's true intentions were painfully obvious.

"In any case, please cease this fighting at once. This is a place where we offer mass and practice His teachings. The God above is surely watching us even now. How can we possibly engage in battle in such a sacred space?"

The hero thought for a moment, then nodded. He sheathed his holy sword and relaxed his stance. I also returned my blue sword to subspace and withdrew my killing intent.

"Your Holiness, please prepare Sirmiia's holy relic. We will depart immediately."

"What? Who said you could decide that?!"

"...Ahem. Sister Angelica, please calm yourself for now."

"Do I look calm to you? Who exactly gave you permission to send Sirmiia anywhere?"

Trying to take Sirmiia from me?

Not a chance. I will never allow it.

"Blasphemy! To speak to His Holiness in such a manner!"

A knight I'd never seen before shouted from beside the Pope.

What is this insect?

The buzzing of a worthless bug left a foul taste in my mouth.

A new escort?

Even Cardinal Marcos treated me with respect here. No—the Pope himself had never dared raise his voice at me. I was the one who had refused the position of cardinal for twenty-five generations, choosing instead to serve God faithfully as a nun. Moreover, I was the daughter of Ananta, the great dragon lord of the blue dragons.

A pathetic creature like him had no right to speak to me so rudely.

"Be silent."

Uncontrolled killing intent swallowed the lobby. Even the hero instinctively drew his holy sword, meaning a little dragon fear must have leaked out.

"Hii—hiiik!"

The knight who had been directly exposed to my aura collapsed onto his backside and wet himself. The Pope's face had gone deathly pale as well, though he at least managed to remain standing. His authority as Pope was the only thing keeping his legs from giving out.

The cathedral knights all froze with hands on their sword hilts, but none dared draw. Their instincts warned them that doing so would result in instant decapitation.

"P-please withdraw your killing intent, Sister Angelica."

"This is your only warning. There will not be a second."

Those words were meant for the hero as well as the knights. If he tried to take Sirmiia from me again, I would drop a snow storm directly on the city without hesitation. Until now, mana constraints and the lives of innocent humans had made me hesitate to use even high-tier magic, let alone wide-area spells of greater power. But if he provoked me any further, I would no longer hold back. The hero would be granted an immediate private audience with the God above.