Chapter 125: The Lord is With Us (46)
Chapter 125: The Lord is With Us (46)
“This is contract magic used by the Dark Cult. It is a pact made by staking one’s life against another’s. Lies and loopholes will not work.”
Guildford spoke as he stood before a magic circle emitting a sinister, blood-red glow.
The Saintess swallowed hard.
Guildford stood right in front of her, his eyes unwavering. It was a clear declaration of intent: he would make her sign this contract by any means necessary.
She was in a crisis. Realizing this, cold sweat trickled down the Saintess’s back.
For now, she tried to voice her refusal.
“...Do you really think I’d sign something like this?”
Despite her words, Guildford didn’t even blink. He shot back a question immediately.
“And what else will you do?”
Guildford’s words were bordering on an outright threat. However, his eyes looked strangely sorrowful.
He stared at the Saintess and continued.
“Can you defeat me and the hundreds of demonic beasts stationed outside? Furthermore, I hold control over the flesh seeds. It is thanks to me that those monsters are staying quietly inside the cave.”
The Saintess’s mind began to race, calculating the odds. Hundreds of demonic beasts, a fiend of unknown strength, and even monsters from the Mythical Era.
It was not a force to be trifled with. No, it was a force that even a knight order would find overwhelming.
It was a scale that required an entire army to handle. Her group of eight—or rather, seven, excluding the theoretical magician who offered little in the way of combat power—was in no position to face them.
She was being persuaded. Frustrated by that fact, the Saintess curled her lip and mocked him.
“And it’s thanks to you that those monsters are multiplying, too.”
Even at the Saintess’s words, spat out through gritted teeth, Guildford merely let out a deep sigh.
“Let us stop this endless armchair theorizing. You are right. I am a sinner, and I should go to hell. I have not a single complaint about that... If someone must go to hell to save the children, I am more than willing to go.”
“Do you expect people to think you’re making some grand sacrifice? You’re selling children off as materials for monsters. Don’t pretend to be virtuous; it’s disgusting.”
Even at the Saintess’s condemnation, Guildford’s expression remained unchanged. His attitude suggested he had already braced himself for such criticism.
Judging that further conversation was meaningless, Guildford shook his head.
He made a proposal that sounded like an ultimatum.
“All eight of you must sign a contract bound by secrecy. If you do, I will let you leave safely. I ask for nothing else.”
It was a better deal than expected. The Saintess fell silent for a moment.
Her hesitation was palpable, but soon she glared at Guildford with suspicious eyes.
“...How can I trust your word?”
“Do you have any other choice even if you don’t?”
He was right. The Saintess bit her lip.
She recalled Guildford’s words. ‘Reality.’ The wall he faced must have been that high and steep. Deep down, the Saintess couldn’t deny his words.
Because she was the same.
Whether it was her trying to run away and leave the children behind, or Guildford sacrificing one for the sake of hundreds, they were essentially the same in their pursuit of efficiency.
His point—that nothing was as hollow as a sermon without an alternative—stung bitterly.
For now, the only way to guarantee their safety seemed to be accepting Guildford’s proposal.
After hesitating for a long time, the Saintess let out a resigned sigh.
“...Fine.”
She resented herself for trusting her Spiritual Eye and coming to find Guildford alone.
Suddenly, she thought of a certain man. A man with golden eyes who always managed to get under her skin.
‘Don’t trust those eyes too much, or you’ll pay for it one day. You can never be too suspicious when it comes to judging people.’
His advice was spot on. The Saintess suddenly missed that man terribly.
He was violent, cruel, and a jerk who tormented her, but more than that, he was an honest and steadfast man.
He treated commoners and orphans alike. She had liked that about him. Being an orphan herself, the Saintess had seen plenty of people who claimed to pity orphans while looking down on them behind their backs.
But he was an exception. He hid neither his goodwill nor his malice. He was fundamentally different from people like her or Guildford.
Realizing this, a hollow smile played on her lips.
She had called Ian trash all this time, but now that she was facing a man who was like her own mirror image, she felt she didn't even have the right to say such things.
Walking slowly, the Saintess stood before the magic circle drawn in blood. Guildford stepped back slightly, yielding the spot beside him.
His explanation continued in a low voice.
“You only need to drop a single bead of blood in the center.”
The Saintess let out a heavy sigh.
With a look of clear dissatisfaction, she raised her hand, as if she were about to draw a drop of blood and let it fall into the center of the circle.
It happened in that split second.
Thud. The Saintess’s hand shoved Guildford’s shoulder upward. While a startled Guildford stumbled back, the Saintess lunged into his embrace.
It was a surprise attack so perfect it could have been included in the Holy Kingdom’s technical manuals.
The Saintess grabbed Guildford’s arms with both of hers and attempted to slam his body into the ground with all her might.
Holy Kingdom Secret Martial Art: Moon Reversal.
It was a powerful technique that, if it landed properly, would leave the opponent unable to stand for a while. The Saintess was grateful that her acting skills, honed over time, had paid off.
Thanks to that, the surprise attack was a success. The entire conversation leading up to the contract had been a performance.
However, the Saintess’s gratitude did not last long.
It was because Guildford’s body showed no sign of being lifted at all.
The Saintess’s eyes went blank as she struggled to throw Guildford over her shoulder.
The terror of Moon Reversal lay in the fact that even an opponent with immense physical strength could not resist it.
No matter how strong one was, they couldn't use strength to stay glued to the ground. The only factor that could interfere was mass.
And yet, he didn't budge. Something was wrong.
The moment the Saintess’s bewildered gaze turned toward her back—
Grip. The old man’s hand violently seized the Saintess’s wrist. Then, with a swift turn of his body, he began to forcibly drag her hand toward the magic circle.
The Saintess screamed instinctively.
“Kya— Kyaaaaah! Ow, it hurts! S-Stop it!”
“...I am sorry. Do not forgive me.”
But Guildford only offered that single apology before drawing his knife. Against his monstrous strength, the Saintess couldn't resist at all.
The Saintess’s eyes filled with terror.
It was called contract magic, but there was no telling what terms were inscribed within. She might have to live the rest of her life as a slave to the Dark Cult.
In fact, that was highly likely. The Dark Cult wouldn't have created a fair and proper spell.
In her fear-stricken mind, many faces flashed by. If she were to think of someone who could help her right now, it normally would have been Yuren.
Her reliable escort warrior.
But for some reason, she didn't know why. Suddenly, the image of a certain man lodged itself firmly in her mind.
Perhaps it was because Yuren was too similar to her. They could share a sense of camaraderie, but there was no deeper feeling of admiration or affection.
If anything, it was closer to sibling love.
But that man was different. He was unrefined and arrogant, and he meddled in everything she said, but there was one thing.
He never lied. That was why she could trust him.
Perhaps, for the first time in this world, the Saintess wanted to believe in someone.
And so, the Saintess cried out without thinking.
“H-Help me...! Please help, I—”
She was about to finish the name Ian.
The Saintess’s eyes flew wide. A sharp sonic boom had scraped past her ears.
Guildford and the Saintess both turned their gazes toward the entrance of the office at the same time.
Something was flying through the air. A single hand axe, aimed straight for Guildford’s head.
Guildford displayed incredible reflexes, tilting his head to the side. The hand axe was at an angle where it would narrowly graze him, and his tenacity showed as he refused to let go of the Saintess’s hand until the very end.
If he could just bind the Saintess with the contract magic, everything would be smooth sailing from there. At the very least, he would have her cooperation.
The contract condition was that ‘all eight people must not reveal the secret,’ and the moment the contract was made, it wouldn't be fulfilled just by the Saintess alone keeping the secret.
In other words, the obligation to manage the rest of the group’s silence would be thrust upon the Saintess. Guildford intended to have the Saintess sign first with exactly this in mind.
He wished he had more time, but that was no longer possible.
It seemed Guildford’s identity had finally been discovered.
Having made his judgment, Guildford forcibly twisted the Saintess’s wrist. He then showcased the skill of coating his fingernails with a thin layer of Aura.
It was a technique only a master-level swordsman could perform. And just as that Aura was about to pierce the Saintess’s finger—
Thwack!
The hand axe struck Guildford’s wrist—the one gripping the Saintess—directly.
Blood sprayed out, and a fierce pain surged through his nerve cells, white-washing Guildford’s mind. Even then, Guildford stared with wide, disbelieving eyes.
The hand axe, which had seemed to be heading for his head, had snapped at a right angle like a waterfall and embedded itself in his wrist.
It was a physically impossible trajectory. No matter how skilled a swordsman Guildford was, there was no way he could have accounted for such a variable.
“...Aaaargh!”
Faced with the sudden, unexpected pain, Guildford instinctively let go of the Saintess to clutch his wrist. A delayed scream echoed through the office.
The Saintess didn't miss the opportunity and quickly pulled away. Guildford tried to grab her again, but the hand axe embedded in his wrist moved on its own, flying back into someone’s hand with a whoosh.
As the axe pulled out, blood splattered into the air once more. Guildford gritted his teeth, suppressing a groan.
His eyes turned toward the entrance of the office. Someone was walking in.
Black hair, golden eyes.
There was no way he wouldn't know him. He was the man who had devoted himself to the orphanage for the past few days.
Upon confirming his identity, Guildford’s eyes were once again clouded with guilt.
Unable to meet the man’s gaze, Guildford let out a long sigh. He felt so much shame that he couldn't even feel the pain.
“...Young Master Ian.”
“Mr. Guildford.”
Ian simply started with that. After confirming that the Saintess had hidden behind his back, a faint smile played on his lips.
It was a smile mixed with all sorts of emotions—anger, distrust, pity—making its true nature impossible to discern.
Wearing such a sorrowful smile, he spat out a single sentence.
“Get your hands off our Pouch of Divine Power.”
The story was now racing toward its finale.