Aftermath (1)
"Haah… haah… Is the Saintess still alive?"
Agnian staggered, glaring at Lowen.
"Of course she is. A Saintess doesn't die that easily."
Muttering to himself, Agnian closed the distance. His flames still burned, but the ferocious intensity from before had withered away.
"…Does killing the Saintess even change anything?"
Lowen forced himself to his feet. His body screamed at him to stay down, but he ignored it. Collapsing here would be an insult to the vow he had sworn to protect Ariel.
He gripped his sword and stepped forward. At the same instant, Agnian charged.
A heavy whoosh cut through the air. Lowen slipped past the blow and drove his blade into Agnian.
"Ghk…!"
The sword punched through the flame armor and into flesh. Agnian had clearly weakened. The heat that moments ago had threatened to melt steel now felt merely hot.
Agnian kicked Lowen hard in the chest.
"Tch…!"
Lowen was no better off. Blood streamed freely from his seared skin. A fog was creeping into his vision, and his heart pounded so hard it felt ready to stop — he wanted nothing more than to black out.
The exchange dragged on. Every time Agnian swung that greatsword, Lowen slipped an attack into the opening. One clean hit from the greatsword would end him. Agnian, by contrast, had his pain drowned out by endorphins — no matter how many times Lowen stabbed him, he kept swinging.
Unless Lowen took his head in a single stroke, this would only drag on. He needed to finish it now.
Dodging the greatsword by hair's breadths, Lowen sharpened his focus, pushing his judgment to its limit.
Find it. Find a weakness I can end this with in one blow.
His beast-like eyes narrowed to slits as he scanned Agnian. Searching, searching, searching, searching, searching, searching, searching, searching, searching, searching—
And then he found it.
The moment he saw the way to end it in a single stroke, Lowen moved. Planning and execution were different things, but this was the only path left. He could have run and stalled until Agnian collapsed from exhaustion — but as he'd already noted, Lowen's own condition was a wreck.
He kicked off the ground. Knowing that being stabbed barely hurt him, Agnian poured everything into offense rather than defense. He unleashed as much flame as he could and swung the greatsword in a massive arc.
The blade crashed into the earth and fire erupted outward. Lowen crushed his lip between his teeth, enduring the heat, and leapt upward.
"Ugh———!!"
He thrust.
The tip of his sword drove through the narrow gap in the helmet — straight into those blood-red eyes wild with madness.
"Go on ahead…"
The blade tip sank into Agnian's brow. It shattered facial bone, crushed an eyeball, and punched clean through the back of his skull.
"I'll see you in hell…!"
Lowen finished it by splitting Agnian's head nearly in half. Still clutching the greatsword, Agnian took a few more steps, then swayed and toppled.
"Ha… haah… ha… ha…"
Lowen spat blood and looked down at the man who had burned himself like kindling. The flames cloaking Agnian slowly died. Beneath the flame armor, his body was charred black. He had been wielding tremendous power — and it had been devouring him from within the entire time.
The wall of fire ringing the plaza vanished. Support forces who had been fretting helplessly outside poured in and took in the sight: a plaza with its floor caved in, a plaza reduced to a bomb crater — and a priest, staggering on his feet, holding the Saintess in his arms.
The firework festival had been ruined, but Rest Town itself was safe.
Aside from the clock tower keeper and his acquaintances, who had died in the tower's explosion, every traveler in the plaza had survived. The knights who had fought a bloody battle against the terrorist had taken serious wounds, but there were no fatalities.
All of it was thanks to the protection of the Seventh Saintess. The Saintess renowned for her vast divine power had shielded everyone to the very end — even as she herself suffered a grievous wound.
"I heard someone was holding the Saintess at the end, though?"
A townsman reading the newspaper asked the person beside him.
"Word is it was a priest."
"A priest?"
"According to the rumors, that priest was the one who turned the tide at the end."
The man shook his head as if the idea were absurd.
"Come on. He's not even a Holy Knight — a priest with no combat ability?"
"Anyway, did they say who was behind it?"
"Nothing confirmed yet. But given they targeted the Saintess, it has to be the Demon Cult."
Rumors that the Demon Cult — silent for so long it had seemed forgotten by the world — was stirring again left people uneasy. There was also talk of a high-danger monster appearing in the Night Sky Spring Forest.
"I heard the Seventh Saintess handled that one too?"
"That's right."
"Lucky for us, I guess. Because the Saintess was in Rest Town, everyone made it through safely."
Whenever talk of Grand Saintess candidates came up, the Seventh Saintess had been known only for her vast divine power. Now, though, people were speaking of how she had slain a monster in the Night Sky Spring Forest, and of how she had protected everyone in Rest Town even at the cost of herself.
"Anyway, it's a relief."
"What's a relief? The Saintess got hurt."
After the incident, the Seventh Saintess's standing soared. People in other regions who read the news in the papers began to look at her with new eyes as well.
While the world buzzed with talk of the Seventh Saintess—
"Haahng…!"
—the Saintess at the center of it all, Ariel, was stroking her slick, dripping pussy.
In the innermost room of Rest Town's cathedral, Ariel was resting and recovering. The wound on her back had healed cleanly, and the divine power she had spent more than half of had been partially restored by drinking holy water. She was healthy enough to get up and run around if she wanted — but as anyone could see, the aftershock of overusing her divine power had her locked in her room, masturbating.
This was her third day of it.
If she got herself off in the morning and again before bed, she could just barely stand in front of people. But this damned lust refused to settle no matter how she soothed it.
"Aaaahng… aheung…!"
She cried out as she hit her fifth climax of the day.
"Hauk… haah…"
Her body went limp. A cool breeze seemed to blow through her head. But it lasted only a moment. Her hips twitched, her ass clenched, and fog filled her mind again. The thought that she wanted even greater pleasure dyed her thinking pink.
"That's right… I need something bigger."
Kneading her breasts, tapping her clit, gently probing her entrance with a single finger — none of it was enough to satisfy her body. She needed something more intense. More extreme. More stimulating.
"Ah…!"
A brilliant idea suddenly struck her.
Smack! Slap!
The intermittent crack of flesh on flesh rang out.
"Ang…! Haahng…! I-I'm sorry…!"
Ariel's plump ass rippled with every blow. That pale, soft flesh was flushing peach-pink from the stinging heat.
Smack!
"Hic…!"
Her ass quivered like pudding. Breathing out sweet, heated gasps, Ariel wriggled her hips.
Slap! Smack! Crack! Slap!
Every time that sound — the kind that gently scratched at sadistic instincts — rang out, Ariel sobbed and apologized to the palm of her hand. Yes: to her own palm, the one currently thrashing her own ass without mercy.
The brilliant idea she had come up with for greater pleasure was spanking herself.
She had already proven, with Lowen, that pain delivered to her backside could convert into pleasure. She also knew that the pleasure then, laced with the thrill of taboo, felt several times better than usual. So now Ariel was paddling her own ass with her soft, childish hands.
Compared to what she had felt then, it wasn't much. When she had lain across Lowen's lap and taken it, the pleasure had been so intense she could barely stay conscious. More than anything, every time she tried to put real force behind a blow, something held her back. Instinctively, she was afraid of the pain. If someone else were hitting her, controlling the strength would be impossible — but hitting herself, even a brief hesitation changed the force completely. Even now, she wasn't striking with everything she had.
"But it still feels good… heuk…!"
Spanking her ass was more stimulating than tapping her clit. Imagining that Lowen was the one doing the hitting made it even more effective. She hadn't even touched her pussy, yet thick juices were dripping onto the bedsheets, leaving wet stains.
Knock, knock.
"Eep…!"
Sprawled face-down on the bed, paddling her own ass with both hands, Ariel clenched her loosened cheeks tight at the sound of knocking.
Knock, knock.
"Uwaaah…! Uwaaah…!"
Completely naked, Ariel scrambled into her nun's habit — a black one with a hole cut right through the center of the chest. If she wore the white habit, the stigma on her lower belly would shine through, so she had no choice. She yanked the blanket over the bedsheets soaked with her juices, kicked the damp underwear lying on the floor under the bed, and as a final touch opened the window and sprayed air freshener everywhere — a perfect crime, she thought.
"Neh…! Ahem, ahem… Yes, coming."
Ariel put on a gentle smile and opened the door.
"Oh…"
Her eyes went wide at the person standing there. Her violet irises heated.
"Saintess. It's been a while."
It had only been three days, but it felt like an eternity.
"Bishop Lowen…!"
Ariel bounced up and threw herself into his arms.
After that battle, Lowen had been unable to rise, eyes closed the entire time. He hadn't taken catastrophic damage — ironically, it was because his body had absorbed an excess of divine power. To receive divine power, one needed a vessel of faith prepared to hold it. Lowen's vessel was about the size of a water cup. Ariel's divine power had been poured into it without restraint, overflowing until the cup was completely submerged. In such cases the body suffered no lasting harm, but the person remained unconscious, sleeping until every last drop of divine power had soaked in.
"When did you wake up? Do you have any idea how much I wanted to see you?"
Ariel nuzzled her face happily against his chest. She had wanted to stay by his side and nurse him, but her lust had made that impossible. So for three whole days, she hadn't even seen his face.
"I'm so glad. I'm so glad you're awake!"
Lowen turned his head and glanced around.
"Saintess, may I come inside first?"
What would people think if they saw the Saintess clinging to a man in the hallway?
"Yes, come in!"
Ariel tugged him by the hand. It was late, but she wanted to talk with him about all sorts of things. She wanted to hear his voice, look at his face, feel his warmth.
"Ahem… Saintess?"
Stepping into the room, Lowen paused and called her name.
"Yes!"
Beaming, Ariel spun around and looked up at him.
"It seems I've come at a rather busy time…"
"Pardon?"
Lowen pointed a finger at Ariel's backside. The open-sided skirt had folded over, leaving one of her cheeks bare — no panties, just a pretty little ass still marked with the red imprint of a small hand.