The Saint Has Gone Mad
The Saint has gone mad. Even in broad daylight, not a single ray of light pierced the grounds. It was as if the heavenly grace that fell equally upon all living things simply could not bring itself to love this place. The sky remained pitch black. No sunlight reached it by day or night. Without light, no grass could grow. Without grass, no herbivores could survive. Naturally, that meant no carnivores either. With neither plants nor animals, people had long since abandoned the land. And with no people left, not even the monsters that preyed on humans lingered here.
That was why everyone called it the forsaken land. A place abandoned by both God and the devil.
Abaddon.
The only lights that ever touched Abaddon were the faint blue will-o’-the-wisps created by undead ghosts and the occasional campfire lit by criminals who had fled here in desperation to survive. At least, that had been true until ten years ago. Until the day a certain devil settled in this place, built a colossal mansion, and raised a Black Sun high into the sky, declaring himself the king of Abaddon.
Creak… creak…
The entrance to Abaddon. As though the heavens themselves had drawn a boundary, black flames flickered and sparked across the ground. Beyond the flames stretched a barren black canyon devoid of even a single blade of grass. The wind howling through the cracks in the stone sounded like ghostly wails.
At that border—no sane person would ever cross—a battered carriage came to a halt. The middle-aged coachman broke into a cold sweat. He cracked open the small window connecting him to the carriage interior just enough for his voice to carry through.
“Do we really have to go in?”
“Weren’t you the one bragging that you knew Abaddon better than anyone?”
The stern voice from inside made the coachman flinch, but he still tried to defend himself.
“N-no, but…!”
“We already paid the contract fee. According to imperial law, if you wish to cancel a completed contract, you must pay double the fee in compensation. …Assuming you have that kind of money, of course.”
The coachman looked like he wanted to die. I thought it was just the usual—drop them off nearby and be done with it! He hadn’t lied. The other coachmen in the area refused to even come this far; they claimed the road leading here was too horrifying. This is my own damn fault for being blinded by money. When someone had tossed him a gold coin, he hadn’t even read the contract properly before signing.
“Don’t worry. Even if you die, it will be recognized as martyrdom. Your soul will be worthy of resting in the embrace of the Heavenly Mother.”
The voice added what was clearly meant to be comforting, but to the coachman it was nothing but pure terror. So you’re saying I might actually die!
Still, with a face twisted in despair, the coachman had no choice but to urge the horses forward. In the end, he was a slave to money, and he knew running away was impossible. These were the kind of people who casually tossed gold coins as a deposit. Their faces were hidden behind robes, but their natural tone and attitude—speaking down to him from the moment they met—made one thing clear.
They must be nobles…
If he defied a noble’s order and earned their displeasure, he would die anyway. All the coachman could do was pray that nothing went wrong and keep driving.
Creak… creak…
The carriage wheels let out an ominous sound as they crossed the boundary into Abaddon. Every time the wheels rolled over something with a sickening crunch, the coachman desperately told himself it was nothing. J-just a branch. Yeah, it’s a branch. There were no trees in Abaddon, so no branches could fall here, but he clung to the lie anyway.
His futile hope was shattered by a voice rising from the spot they had just passed.
[How long has it been since I last smelled living humans?]
“H-hiiiiiik!!”
Bones were rising from the ground. An undead. A skeleton. A soldier made entirely of white bone stood on one leg, blue will-o’-the-wisps flickering inside its empty skull sockets instead of eyes.
[You step on someone’s shinbone, shatter it, and don’t even apologize?]
The skeleton shook its broken leg, jawbone clattering. And it laughed. There was no face to read, yet the coachman could feel it.
[You wouldn’t complain if I ate you, would you, intruder?]
The skeleton charged at a speed impossible for something hopping on one leg.
“H-huaaaak!!”
The coachman screamed and squeezed his eyes shut, but the pain never came. When he cracked his eyes open again, feeling a warm, wet liquid soaking his crotch, the carriage was wrapped in a sacred white barrier.
[Damn it, my arm melted off.]
The arm the skeleton had thrust toward the coachman had been severed cleanly at the barrier’s edge, reduced to black ash. The undead looked genuinely annoyed by the fact.
The carriage door opened, and a man stepped out.
“Filthy undead.”
His voice made no attempt to hide the overflowing disgust.
“Alphonse. Control yourself. It does us no good to disturb his mood.”
A middle-aged woman’s voice—older than the man who had just exited—came from inside the carriage. The man called Alphonse bit his lip, nodded, and spoke to the skeleton in warning.
“Filthy beast. It pains me that I cannot drag your wretched life before the Heavenly Mother, but I shall overlook it this once. Begone at once and inform your master that guests have arrived.”
Alphonse had no doubt the skeleton would obey. Undead were wretched creatures who could not accept the end of life granted by the Heavenly Mother. They greedily clung to unfinished lives, envied the living, and sought to steal what was not theirs. Having just witnessed its arm vanish without a trace from the aftermath of holy power, it would surely flee in terror.
But the skeleton did not move.
[You wish to see our king?]
What the skeleton radiated was clear hostility. Even with one leg broken and one arm turned to ash, barely able to keep its balance as it swayed, it glared at them with ferocious intensity.
[Intruders. Do you wish to die?]
Black flames erupted from the skeleton’s body—ominous flames that resembled the unholy sun hanging in Abaddon’s sky.
For a moment, Alphonse felt fear toward the skeleton. Fear of a weak undead that should have been purified with a single prayer to the Mother Goddess. Fear from someone whose faith and holy power had already earned him the certainty of soon becoming a bishop.
I cannot accept this!
Alphonse began preparing a combat prayer against the insolent beast staring him down.
“…Alphonse!”
A voice from inside the carriage tried to stop him, but he would not be restrained. It was only the weakest tier of undead. He believed that eradicating such a trivial creature would not possibly disturb him.
“I shall return you to the Heavenly Mother’s embrace! Consider it an honor!”
Brilliant light shot from Alphonse’s outstretched hand. The prayer was far too powerful for merely purifying a single skeleton, but he was certain the bones would be reduced to black ash without resistance.
But—
“What…?”
The light burned black and scattered away just before it could touch the skeleton. Then came the sound of clattering bones from farther up the path. Alphonse felt the weight around them grow heavier. In fact, the holy barrier enveloping the carriage was visibly dimming, as if crushed beneath an overwhelming force.
The skeleton had already withdrawn its hostility. It knelt awkwardly, bowing toward the black mist approaching from the distance.
“Stand down, Alphonse.”
“Y-Your Grace…”
“I told you to restrain yourself.”
The Archbishop who stepped out of the carriage—Alphonse’s mentor—recited a short prayer, reinforcing the light surrounding the carriage. The coachman, who had been choking and gasping for air, finally began breathing normally again. The horses, however, had already collapsed and died, unable to withstand the approaching presence.
Soon the black mist parted, revealing an ominous, colossal carriage drawn by ghostly steeds. The door opened, and out stepped the highest-tier undead, cloaked in an unbearably thick aura of death energy.
A lich.
Alphonse stood behind his mentor, struggling not to be overwhelmed by the lich’s oppressive aura. How can something be this horrifying…? A cursed power so vile that simply approaching without prayer would cost one’s life. And yet the lich held no killing intent. It wasn’t even exerting pressure on purpose.
So this… is the devil of Abaddon…?
A heretic. A being that should be slain and returned to the Heavenly Mother’s embrace. Just as Alphonse was steeling himself to stand tall before it—
Thud.
The lich, who had exited the carriage first, suddenly dropped to its knees and bowed its head toward the vehicle.
[Insolent religious fools. Show proper respect. The master of Abaddon approaches.]
The lich’s posture was identical to that of a devotee worshiping a god. It kept its head bowed, only turning its blue eye flames to observe the group.
[Are you so stupid that you cannot understand an order to kneel when it is phrased politely?]
“We kneel before no one except the Mother Goddess…!”
Alphonse felt a chill run down his spine mid-sentence. I’m going to die. The instinct was absolute. Had his mentor, the Archbishop, not stepped in front of him and unleashed a massive wave of holy power, Alphonse was certain he would have died right then.
“…Your warning is excessive. We are guests who have come to see your king.”
[If you were truly guests, you should not have touched our people in the first place.]
The lich spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. What was even more terrifying was that it had unleashed such power while still kneeling with its head bowed. This was not even a full-powered attack—merely a casual release of force—and yet an Archbishop-level priest had been forced to step forward and block it.
Even a monster like this… is not the king…?
[You still stand so stiffly. Shall I rot everything below your knees so you are forced to lower your head?]
The moment the lich slowly raised its head, clearly preparing to express open hostility—
Someone stepped on its skull and slammed it straight into the ground.
“Shut up.”
[My apologies, my king.]
No one had sensed him emerge from the carriage. Yet what was even more shocking came next.
“A… human…?”
The so-called devil of Abaddon who had stepped on the lich’s head and descended to the ground was, by any measure, a human male. His skin was pale from lack of sunlight, and both his eyes and hair were as black as the unholy sun above, but there was not a trace of death energy on him. Cloaked in an aura of decadence and utter boredom, he let out a sigh as he looked at Alphonse, the Archbishop, and the coachman who had fainted after wetting himself.
“State your business.”
The Archbishop appeared equally startled, but she quickly regained her composure, cleared her throat, and spoke.
“O King of Abaddon…”
“State your business.”
The man cut her off, his weary expression making it clear he had no interest in formalities.
“Skip the nonsense and get to the point. An Archbishop of the Holy Kingdom wouldn’t come all the way to this land out of boredom. Especially not…”
His eyes gleamed darkly, as if piercing straight through the carriage.
“With a monster like that in tow.”
“Monster…!”
Alphonse’s anger flared so intensely that he forgot his fear and snapped back, but the moment he met the lich’s eyes—which had whipped around to glare at him—his heart felt as if it had frozen solid.
[Does that offend you?]
“She is not to be called… such a thing…”
Alphonse gasped for breath as he tried to argue, but the lich slowly increased the pressure.
[When you call our king a devil, we feel much the same.]
The one who cut off the lich’s aura was none other than the man himself.
“Who said you could raise your head?”
[Yes, my king.]
The lich instantly became docile again and slammed its head back to the ground. The highest-tier undead, capable of overwhelming both Alphonse and the Archbishop single-handedly, was obeying—no, blindly worshiping—a mere human’s command. Alphonse swallowed dryly at the bizarre sight. The Archbishop scolded him as well.
“Do not act rashly, Alphonse.”
“Your Grace…”
“Remember our purpose.”
Alphonse pressed his lips together and nodded. The Archbishop steadied her breathing and addressed the man once more.
“I was surprised to learn you are human, yet I also find it fortunate. King of Abaddon.”
He frowned. He had told them to state their business, yet they kept digressing. It clearly displeased him. Rowena, the Archbishop, noticed his expression and quickened her words.
“You must already know. Beyond Abaddon, humans and demons wage daily war with the fate of the world at stake.”
“Is that any concern of mine? This is a land abandoned by both humans and demons.”
His indifferent tone. Rowena had expected as much, so she continued. The fact that he was still listening at all was a good sign.
“You are right. It would be improper for us to ask a favor of you simply because you are human after having excluded Abaddon all this time.”
His expression shifted slightly, showing a hint of interest.
“Therefore, the Holy Kingdom wishes to commission you.”
Rowena signaled Alphonse with her eyes. He nodded and brought someone out of the carriage. The figure was completely covered by a robe that hid both face and clothing, but the pronounced curves beneath the thick fabric made it obvious the person was female.
Rowena finally spoke the true purpose of their visit.
“King of Abaddon. You who have mastered every curse in existence and stand closer than anyone to the truths of life and death. What we wish to commission you with is…”
Her solemn voice was cut off by a bright, innocent one that burst out without a care for the world.
“Rowena! Look at this! A booger!”
“…So, what we wish to commission you with is…”
“It’s huge! I can’t believe it came from my nose! I saved it instead of wiping it away just so I could show you, Rowena!”
“……Th-that is to say.”
“Rowenaaaa!! Look at this alreadyyy!!”
“Saintess… please, have some dignity…!!”
Alphonse was desperately trying to restrain her, but he was the one being dragged along helplessly. The girl, pulling Alphonse by one leg as she approached Rowena, suddenly stopped. A radiant smile bloomed on her face.
Rowena instantly sensed danger. That smile meant nothing but pure, vigorous curiosity and interest. And its direction was aimed squarely at… the devil of Abaddon.
“S-Saintess…”
Before Rowena could stop her, a massive surge of holy power exploded from the Saintess. It was not meant to harm, but to warn others not to interfere. The burst of divine energy flung both the clinging Alphonse and Rowena beside him far away.
The daughter most beloved by the Mother Goddess. The Saintess, Iris. The power she possessed pushed back even the darkness of Abaddon, casting a small light upon this forsaken place.
“Hey.”
Iris skipped forward with light steps, her pale pink hair bouncing. She smiled brightly and held out her pinky finger.
“It’s really huge, right!”
In the light that was never permitted in Abaddon, the man looked at the smiling Iris, nodded, and opened his mouth.
“The Saint has gone mad.”
“……Hehe.”
“And quite thoroughly at that.”