A Sudden Visitor in the Black Shroud
A moment passed.
A moment passed.
“Uwaaaaaah!!”
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
The small foot of stone Aslan had torn from the ground had triggered utter chaos.
The three-story building was collapsing at an alarming speed, and as the ceiling buckled and fell, the scattered torches on the floor turned the entire space into a sea of flames.
Those with a will strong enough to choose between burning to death or being buried alive fought their way through.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
“Get back!”
Inside the raging wave of people, friend and foe were indistinguishable. They ran as one, hearts and minds united.
Zeroa and Aslan threw themselves into the flow and ran without thought.
At first the cultists blocking their path, stunned by the deafening sounds of the crumbling ceiling, turned and fled without looking back.
Aslan joined their ranks without hesitation. There was no time to fight when survival was at stake.
“Turn! Turn! It’s blocked!”
“Uwaaaaaah!”
Aslan’s remarkable diplomatic skill turned his former opponents into fellow escapees.
Phia praised him effusively.
“Ah! You stupid orc! Think before you act!”
The words spat out with blood and fury, Phia hurled herself at a window and smashed through it to escape.
Thanks to her sacrifice, others followed, and soon the building fully collapsed, burying everything in a vast cloud of dust.
“Cough, cough… Hey, everyone okay?”
“Does this look okay to you?”
Phia spat out the dirt in her mouth and glared at Aslan.
As the dust settled, the cultists surrounding them came into view.
The group stood back-to-back with those who had escaped earlier and those who had escaped later, on constant guard.
“There’s no way out left,” Zeroa said calmly.
“…That’s right.”
Aslan answered honestly.
“But we’ve already thinned their numbers.”
“We almost got thinned ourselves.”
“Everyone’s still alive, right? Don’t overthink it. You’re surprisingly soft.”
Phia bristled at the word “soft,” but the more pressing threat was the cultists around them.
Only moments ago she had been running with them to stay alive. Now they were enemies once more.
No, the rage at having destroyed the building had made their eyes far more vicious than before.
Guarding against the cultists who radiated killing intent as if they wanted to drink her blood on the spot, Phia asked Aslan, “What’s the next move?”
“There isn’t one?”
The casual reply earned a frown from Phia, but his expression remained confident.
“It’s fine. We can cut through them. There are no strong ones left.”
“The problem is divine power.”
“That’s right.”
Nodding at Zeroa’s words, Aslan scanned the surroundings for anyone attempting a miracle.
Lydia and Phia, who had only ever seen gentle priests healing the injured, failed to grasp Zeroa’s worry.
“How dare those wicked wretches defile the shrine of Kertasine!!”
A man emerged from the rubble, his priest’s robes torn and covered in dust, yet still bearing the fine embroidery that marked him as high-ranking.
“How dare you… How dare you ruin the altar of Kertasine?! You will suffer eternal torment in the flames of eternity!!”
The words of the high priest as he hurled a curse at Aslan were quiet enough for him to lean close to Zeroa and whisper.
“Priests all sound the same when they’re angry.”
Zeroa, who had never seen a priest in such a rage, did not fully understand the meaning but sensed its gravity.
“Receive the anger of Kertasine!!”
The high priest shouted loudly, then drove his dagger into the heart of the cultist who had been supporting him.
Aslan and the others were startled that an ally had been struck, but the cultists lowered their heads in familiar prayer without surprise.
A foreign, ominous prayer echoed from all sides, and the ground where the stabbed cultist had stood split open.
A black fissure tore through space like fabric, and slender tentacles erupted from it, coiling around the cultist.
“So there really are tentacles!”
Lydia shouted, but Phia only glanced at her before returning her eyes to the tentacles.
Meanwhile, Aslan charged at the high priest without fear of death and was pushed back into place by the surging mass of cultists.
The madness of the fanatics, who reached out with their hands even as their waists were halved, was something Aslan found nearly impossible to match.
“Damn it. I can’t get close.”
“We’ll draw in mana just in case something comes out.”
Zeroa, pushed back by the cultists just as Aslan had been, poured mana across his entire body to prepare for whatever was coming.
Divine power creates miracles.
A simple statement that constantly plagued commanders.
Priests were seen only as healers who saved the wounded, so the image of divine power was limited to battlefield support. In truth, however, it was used with terrifying breadth on the field of war.
It was not mere physical strength.
Miracles bent the laws of physics themselves, creating impossible situations.
Under the guise of the miraculous, they could part a wide river for soldiers to cross or spread a plague.
Commanders who had to predict every outcome and plan accordingly found the priests who wielded them annoying as hell.
Those who fought at the front felt the same irritation.
The strong trained and built their power only to watch the unreasonable situations created by simply offering divine power. It was infuriating.
Especially when the act of offering a sacrifice intensified the miracle’s power.
That was why those who sought strength often worshipped evil gods, and most nations worked to suppress the religions tied to them.
Aslan hurled his greatsword in frustration, but the moment he planted his feet the cultists leaped at him.
The blade that tore through thirteen bodies with the force of a meteor fell to the ground without reaching the high priest.
The tentacles burrowing into the sacrifice’s body writhed greedily, sucking blood.
On the desiccated corpse, the tentacles spasmed once, then shot upward, spraying blood into the sky like a fountain.
Zeroa quickly raised a mana shield overhead.
Ssssss…
The sound of rain accompanied a black tent-like barrier that enclosed the village.
The kneeling cultists widened their mouths as wide as they could to drink every last drop of blood.
“Ugh…”
Phia grimaced at the gruesome sight, while Lydia unconsciously clenched her fist.
Unlike the tense adventurers, Aslan casually shook out his scabbard and drew a broken sword fragment. Zeroa, meanwhile, spread mana outside to examine the red rain.
Both paid no attention to the horrifying scene around them.
Events had happened; now each prepared for what came next.
Phia felt a strange sense of defeat as she noticed herself and Aslan frowning at the cultists without a trace of panic. She clicked her tongue and straightened her posture.
She did not know what to do, but she was certain something had to be done.
The black tent was probably a barrier. They could not escape until the high priest was defeated or every cultist was dead. Even low-level cultists were dangerous, and divine power was terrifying beyond imagination.
That was all Phia had figured out.
No matter how she looked, no escape route appeared.
Although Aslan had said there were no strong ones left, the cultists’ eyes had begun to redden under the influence of the blood rain, and sinister auras leaked from their bodies.
Considering the high priest had once been pushed back by cultists who feared no death, the situation was growing worse by the second.
“Drex…”
As Phia silently prayed for Drex to return quickly from bringing reinforcements, the high priest spoke in a low, ominous voice.
“Children of Kertasine, show these foolish, ignorant worms the true meaning of your god’s wrath.”
At the words, the cultists who had been drinking blood slowly rose.
Blood dripped from their open mouths; their eyes were blood-red.
When the cultists raised weapons in eerie unison, Phia and Lydia tensed and took shallow breaths.
“O Kertasine! Punish these lowly servants who oppose you, you wicked worms…”
“P-please forgive me…”
Aslan cut the high priest off as someone raised a hand and spoke loudly.
The high priest, mouth still open, and Aslan and the red-eyed cultists all turned toward the voice.
In the very back of the crowd, someone waved.
“Just a moment, please. Hold on a second. Yes, here I come. Whew, so many people…”
The light voice that shattered the tense atmosphere reminded Zeroa and Aslan of Rai. They pushed through the crowd to stare at the approaching stranger.
The strange figure moved slightly to make way for the few cultists who seemed oddly friendly despite their grotesque appearance.
“Long time no see, Aslan.”
A man with long black hair greeted them in a bright voice. He was Joshua, Vice-Minister of the Imperial Intelligence Department.
“Hello! Vice-Minister Joshua!”
As soon as Aslan saw Joshua he bowed at a perfect ninety degrees.
Phia was bewildered. A monster had suddenly appeared, and now the same monster was bowing like a servant. Lydia looked just as lost.
Cale, who always supported Joshua, offered him an umbrella with a weary expression. Behind him walked a noblewoman in a lavish dress, also carrying an umbrella.
The woman was stunning, yet she glared at Joshua with a hawk-eyed, axe-like stare as if she disliked the atmosphere.
“No, it’s not a trap. I really just had some business.”
“…”
The beautiful golden eyes stared straight through him.
As the killing intent began to leak, Joshua spoke quickly.
“You won’t lose anything, you know. Hey, those two there. They’re his students.”
At the mention of “students,” the woman looked at Zeroa and Aslan.
Unlike the cold glare she had given Joshua, her eyes were soft, warm—like the look she might give a long-lost child. Aslan felt his stomach twist. He met Zeroa’s eyes.
“You… mean Instructor Rai?”
“That’s right…”
“Look, we came the moment we heard you were in danger. It’s not a trap.”
“Shut your mouth.”
Joshua closed his mouth, but he folded his hands in front of it in a childish gesture.
The woman ignored him and stepped forward into the mana barrier, folding her umbrella and staring at Zeroa and Aslan.
“Hello…”
“Hello.”
Zeroa greeted awkwardly. The woman answered quietly.
Unlike the way she had spoken to Joshua, her voice was gentle and refined.
Behind her, Joshua stretched his words long—“Annnyeong~”—and Cale poked his side.
Aslan’s eyes were drawn more to her clothes than to the woman herself.
A thin mana barrier wrapped around her body over the luxurious dress.
Enhancing armor with mana was something any skilled warrior could do. The consumption, however, was high, so it was used only when necessary. The mysterious woman had simply wrapped herself in mana to avoid the rain.
As the woman locked eyes with Aslan, the high priest shouted again.
“Who are you? How did you break through the Black Shroud?!”
“Pay attention. We’re having a slightly emotional moment right now.”
At Joshua’s teasing remark from behind, the high priest stammered in shock.
“H-how… My name…”
“That’s simple. I’ve been checking on you. Did you really think I wouldn’t know? You worshippers of evil gods are surprisingly pure. I thought you’d guide everyone to the hidden cult… Well, it’s a shame.”
The high priest shouted in disbelief at Joshua’s words.
“Shut your mouth! How dare you speak such filth!”
“Annoying. Do you need this?”
The woman turned back with her usual indifferent expression and asked. Joshua shook his head.
“No, it’s useless now. Can you handle it? I’d appreciate it.”
“What are you—?! You insolent—”
The high priest’s words were cut off.
As he spoke, he suddenly sensed something wrong. He slowly touched his forehead and looked at his hand.
The blood rain fell, yet the blood on his fingers was warm and living.
The high priest collapsed backward with a look of utter disbelief.
“……”
Even Aslan, standing right in front, had not reacted in time.
A light swing like shaking out a folded umbrella, yet the speed was so fast that not even Joshua had been able to respond. The hole it punched in the distant high priest’s forehead proved how powerful it was.
“Anything else?”
“Not needed.”
With a smile that was handsome yet somehow cruel, Joshua answered. The woman drew a thick-bladed halberd from empty air.
Zeroa’s eyes widened at the absurd skill, but the scene that followed left him even more stunned.
A single swing that drew a circle.
Every cultist in the vicinity was bisected at the waist and fell.
“Kyaaah—”
Phia screamed in shock, but Zeroa simply stared blankly. He had seen that technique before.
Rai’s.
‘No… that’s different.’
It was similar but not the same.
Rai tore space; the halberd right now was like a rubber band—stretched thin, sweeping through everything.
It was astonishing that the halberd itself was long enough, but even more so that only the cultists were cut; no one else had been harmed.
“Hey, why me?! I almost died!”
“Too bad.”
Joshua, who had just drawn his sword to block, complained. The woman sighed apologetically.
Joshua rubbed his sore wrist and laughed brightly as he introduced her.
“This is Melanie, Rai’s ex-lover.”
“I’m not his ex.”
“Usually the one who clings talks that way.”
The conversation felt completely out of place amid the horrific scene, but neither Aslan nor Zeroa had the mental space to care.