Demon Knights Shouldn't Pick Fights With Guards

Seven demon knights.

I murmured to myself as I eyed the carriage. The ones who'd finished arming themselves had climbed back aboard; only Colin remained outside.

Colin whistled nonchalantly, as if nothing in the world were wrong.

"Oh. We meet again."

At my words, Colin's gaze swung toward me. For an instant, his eyes crumpled—the way one looks at a bug one has just stepped on.

But only for an instant. He quickly donned his usual mask of kindly politeness.

"Officer. A pleasure to see you again."

"Strange place to be standing. This isn't the guard post."

"Haha, I was merely catching my breath before departing."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, perfect timing. I'm just getting off work myself. Mind if I hitch a ride?"

At my question, Colin's eyes crumpled far more violently. It was the expression of a man watching a bug jump at him.

"My apologies. The carriage is already at full capacity."

"That's fine. I'm quite slim, you know."

"Haha. What an amusing joke."

The man burst into an easy laugh. I laughed along with him and said,

"I wasn't joking."

"……I must decline."

"Why is that? Something bothering you about it?"

Colin's eyes narrowed. Those serpentine eyes glistened.

I continued breezily.

"Then I'll just have to run an inspection. Are you going to refuse that too?"

I tapped the button at the base of my guard baton. Colin glanced behind me, spotted Milo standing a short distance away, and nodded.

"Please make it quick. I'm rather busy."

"Good. So am I."

I extended the guard baton toward the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠carriage.

Colin merely watched me with irritated eyes, making no move to stop me. He seemed certain that nothing would come of it.

And he was right. Demon knights were like cockroaches—detection magic struggled to pick them up.

Not that I had any intention of using detection magic.

There was a far more certain, far more intuitive method.

"Fireball."

I rapped the carriage with the baton. Light scattered from its tip.

Colin's eyes went wide at the sight. Because that light wasn't blue, as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it had been before—it was red.

A moment later, a sizable fireball popped out of the baton's end. Slow, but undeniably potent.

"What the—"

The fireball struck the carriage dead-on.

BOOM! The carriage lurched sideways and toppled over. WHUMP! The fireball burst, and the carriage was swallowed in flame.

Colin stared at me, eyes round as saucers, as though he couldn't comprehend what was happening.

I checked my quest window.

As expected. Still alive.

I clicked my tongue and gripped the baton.

"GRAAAH!"

Colin's eyes flooded red. Black fire surged up, his skin charred into something hideous, and grotesque horns sprouted from his forehead. At that moment, the carriage splintered apart and the rest of them came boiling out of the flames, twisted into the same monstrous shapes as their leader.

"Oh. Well done on all sides."

I nodded in satisfaction.

"DIE!!"

One of the demon knights lunged. A rotting black aura blazed from his sword, and a curse spread out like a mantle.

Ordinarily, the efficient way to bring down a knight is to weaken him with curses first. But a demon knight, bound by contract to a demon, carried strong resistance to curses. A serious, deliberate curse would land—but the efficiency was poor.

Not that it mattered.

I moved the baton lightly. Blue aura wreathed it as it sought the man's throat.

He didn't dodge—instead, he thrust his sword at me.

Crack. The baton half-tore through his neck.

Any ordinary man would have died. He didn't stop.

His sword punched into my shoulder. A sharp pain flared up.

Half his neck severed, and the man was still grinning at me.

He trusted his durability.

So long as the heart isn't destroyed, a demon knight shrugs off a half-severed neck. He doesn't even feel pain.

That was why real knights recoiled at the very name of demon knights.

But no matter how tough something is, tough is all it is.

"O God."

I murmured it lightly, watching him.

At the same moment, a pure white radiance flared brilliantly.

Splick. With a hideous sound, the wound punched through his body began knitting shut at terrifying speed.

"……Huh?"

Confusion bloomed across the man's face. He scrambled to move his sword, but it was already too late.

Thud. His head rolled across the ground.

"One."

I brushed off the baton and smiled.

"The Battle Priests, you say? Weren't the Battle Priests a failure?"

At Karel's question, Elena gave a small nod.

The Battle Priests had been mediocre at both aura and divine power—half-baked in every respect—and so they had ended as failures. That, at least, was the commonly known reason the Holy Nation decommissioned the program.

The truth, however, was different.

"The cultivation of the Battle Priests didn't fail. Quite the opposite—it succeeded."

"Then why decommission them?"

"Why do you think the Holy Nation created the Battle Priests in the first place?"

"To overcome the incompatibility between aura and divine power, surely?"

"Correct. It was meant to break that incompatibility. But there was a fatal flaw."

"Yes. There is a contradiction between aura, which believes in the self, and divine power, which believes in God."

Elena flicked her long fingers with a soft tap.

"Exactly. So the Holy Nation tried to force the belief in."

"……Is that even possible?"

"When does a man turn to God?"

"In times of hardship."

"Right. A happy man pats his own belly; an unhappy man blames someone else. The Holy Nation made its knights seek God."

"Made them seek God—that means—"

"They forced penance upon them. Until they could wield divine power."

"……Did that actually work?"

"It did. They produced quite a few competent Battle Priests."

Horror dawned in Karel's eyes. Elena ignored it and continued.

"Well, naturally, a problem arose. The Battle Priests couldn't use blessings."

Divine power was broadly divided into three aspects.

Blessing, healing, and judgment.

And of the three, the most important was blessing.

Blessing was the flower of divine power—its very heart.

And the Battle Priests could not use it.

It was obvious why. A blessing is a sincere hymn of praise sung to God.

How could a man who had been forced into faith, at the point of a whip, ever sing it?

And within the Holy Nation, the inability to use a blessing carried enormous weight. It meant one did not truly follow God.

"So that's why they were decommissioned."

"Do you really think they'd scrap the program over something like that, after how much they poured into it?"

"Then why on earth—"

Elena looked Karel dead in the eye.

"Karel. What do you consider the most efficient form of combat?"

"Defeating the enemy without sustaining a wound, surely?"

"And if every wound you take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heals the instant it lands?"

"Then there would be no need to defend at all."

"Precisely. A knight who neither evades nor blocks, but simply charges in—where have you heard that story before?"

Karel swallowed dryly and answered.

"……The demon knights."

"Yes. Those who witnessed a Battle Priest in combat said they were more sacrilegious than the demon knights themselves."

Elena nodded and added,

"Sacrilege. That is the real reason the Battle Priests were abolished."

Demon knights—

Raven murmured inwardly, watching the knight roll across the ground. The knight's skin was blackened, grotesque horns jutting from his forehead.

A knight bound by contract to a demon. A demon knight, beyond any doubt.

Demon knights were notorious.

Knights were already durable to begin with; bound to a demon as well, they simply did not die unless decapitated outright. They didn't even feel pain.

And so demon knights abandoned defense entirely and hurled themselves at their opponent.

Reckless offense, heedless of their own lives.

That was why the demon knight had become a byword for terror.

Indeed, the demon knight Grave had just killed hadn't dodged a single attack. His strikes had been charged with a killing intent cold enough to freeze the marrow.

But Grave hadn't dodged either.

They had simply traded blows, nothing but offense.

Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been a scenario the demon knight welcomed.

Then Grave raised divine power, and the wounds began closing fast enough to watch with the naked eye.

The demon knight belatedly moved—but it was too late.

"Two."

Grave stomped the ground. He was the one charging at the demon knight.

The knight thrust his sword in answer.

Reckless offense, defense abandoned entirely—and once again, Grave didn't dodge.

Once again, nothing but traded blows.

"O God."

Pure white light flared, and Grave healed on the spot. The demon knight tried to press the attack, but the healed Grave's baton was faster.

"Three."

Grave swept the baton.

Red blood sprayed in a long arc.

The remaining demon knights spread out rapidly and encircled Grave. A perfect encirclement with no blind spots, each position covering the others—these were no rabble.

But Grave paid it no mind and dove straight at the knight on his left.

The other three took aim at Grave, but he didn't spare them so much as a glance.

The targeted demon knight desperately worked his sword, yet his blade was strangely sloppy and slow.

A fighter who'd spent his whole career ignoring defense could hardly be anything else.

"Four."

Thock. One more demon knight's head hit the ground.

In that gap, the remaining knights' swords punched through Grave.

It was a critical wound. Unquestionably critical—

Grave didn't so much as blink. He simply moved the baton, silent and methodical.

Crack. A head burst, red rain scattering through the air.

"Five."

Only two remained now.

"The vitals! Go for the vitals!"

The swords of the last two demon knights drove for Grave's throat. They meant to kill in a single stroke, before he had time to heal.

Grave, as if he'd expected exactly that, tilted his head just enough and slipped past the blades. The baton moved without sentiment.

"Six."

Grave swept the baton.

Once more, red blood pattered down.

Now all that remained was a single knight—the one who appeared to be their commander.

The demon knights weren't weak. If anything, in Raven's assessment they were stronger than their reputation.

But the matchup was terrible. The demon knight's strength lay in reckless offense—and Grave was more reckless than any demon knight alive.

Where a demon knight would give flesh to carve bone, Grave gave bone to carve bone—and healed himself instantly afterward.

No matter how durable a demon knight might be, he couldn't keep pace with a man who healed the moment he was cut.

In the end, the demon knights were forced onto the back foot—and a demon knight who could no longer fight offense-first was no longer a threat at all.

Just as the demon knights had devoured knights, Grave devoured the demon knights.

An absurdly hollow end for creatures of such fearsome renown.

"Why is your sword faster than ours? We can't even feel pain."

The demon knight stammered the question, as if he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

"Pain is a sense too. You've erased the sense—so of course you're slow."

Grave answered flatly.

It was true. Pain was a sense. Strip it away, and the body inevitably dulled.

The Full Moon, in fact, ran training regimens dedicated to regulating pain perception. That was how vital pain was to the body's function.

But there were limits.

Pain past a certain threshold bred fear. And fear felt mid-battle was more lethal than any poison.

Hesitate for even a heartbeat out of fear, and that heartbeat was where you died. In a mutual exchange of critical wounds like this, the man who felt no pain held every advantage.

That much should have been certain—

Yet Grave's baton didn't slow, even wounded and bleeding. It grew sharper, more precise, with every stroke.

And above all, the corner of his mouth was curling upward.

As if he were genuinely delighted.

"Seven."

Thock.

Watching the head roll across the ground, Raven swallowed dryly.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Holy Nation—what in God's name have they created?

And the problem was, that monster was holding Raven's leash.

"Hey, Raven. Go fetch my guard uniform."

Grave ordered.

This one…… there was no need to read between the lines. It was a chore, plain and simple.

He had more than enough Assassination Coupons saved up. There was no need to run errands like this—

At that moment, his eyes met Grave's. Drenched head to toe in blood, Grave looked more like a demon knight than the demon knights had.

Coupons are better in bulk, after all.

More is better than less—that's just common wisdom, isn't it?

It was simply that. Truly.

Absolutely, definitely not because he was scared.

Caw!

The crow's cry rang out loud across the field.