"So Do-jin!"
“So Do-jin!”
Ha Ye-jin hurried over to the collapsed So Do-jin. He was barely staying upright, leaning on his sword for support. She unleashed her divine power.
“Don’t move! Ugh, I’m drawing a healing circle right now!”
She shouted as she began sketching the healing circle. Her hands trembled violently, making it hard to draw properly. Ha Ye-jin had more talent for blessings and miracle recreations than healing anyway. No, even if she tried to use those now, she doubted her mind would cooperate.
“Cough...! Hoo, ngh...!”
Splat, splat.
As she drew the circle, So Do-jin coughed. Each cough brought up clots of blood that splattered onto the ground. Finally, with her shaking hands, Ha Ye-jin completed the healing circle. But she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what needed healing. There were no visible external wounds, yet the blood he was vomiting with every cough suggested internal damage.
“Hold on a sec.”
She lifted his shirt. His abdomen was exposed. A dark, ugly bruise marred his lower belly. It looked serious. The healing would keep him from dying, but he’d probably be bedridden in a hospital for at least a few weeks. What the hell hit him to do this to a human body?
“...What the hell happened to you?”
“Fist... ngh.”
“Don’t talk if it hurts.”
Ha Ye-jin’s voice nearly cracked with tears. Propping himself up with his sword, So Do-jin fixed his weary eyes on the cult leader approaching from afar and continued.
“...Got punched.”
Not anything else—just a straight-up punch. Seeing that the cult leader wasn’t manipulating the weather, So Do-jin had assumed he was off guard. Or maybe he’d lost that power. Or perhaps he was planning to negotiate for his followers’ sake. But that single punch had shown him the cult leader harbored no such soft illusions. He didn’t even feel the need to use his bizarre abilities to control weather, fire, or water.
The forces deployed for this mercenary suppression op weren’t numerous. The Trinita Crusaders, the Papal Holy Knight Order, and a handful of individual clerics. In terms of numbers, it was barely a company at best. Seemed like a lot for crushing a single mercenary band, but the cult leader’s appearance changed everything.
“Ha Ye-jin... Grab the radio. We need to issue a retreat order...”
“The radio? Isn’t that only issued to Holy Knights? I didn’t bring one.”
“...Damn it.”
So Do-jin muttered under his breath and started staggering toward the command tent, using his sword as a crutch. Ha Ye-jin, still drawing the healing circle, jumped in front of him in alarm.
“Stay here! Why are you moving in that condition? Do you wanna die?”
“...I won’t. It’s not that bad.”
“You will die, you crazy bastard!”
Ha Ye-jin yelled, then cleared her throat and spoke again, her voice steadier.
“...Just stay put until the healing’s done. That’ll actually be faster.”
“We need a retreat order now... Or everyone dies. Total wipeout.”
“Fine, then I’ll go tell them to retreat. So...”
“You think they’ll listen to you?”
So Do-jin lifted his head and said. Holy Knights looked down on priests and paladins. Just as priests looked down on Holy Knights and paladins, and paladins looked down on the other two. Unless it was someone like Mun Yo-seop, no Holy Knight would even acknowledge Ha Ye-jin’s orders. Using his sword like a cane, So Do-jin trudged forward as he continued.
“I have to go.”
“...And after the retreat order? You think the cult leader will just let us pull back?”
“It’s fine. I’ll buy time fighting him. That’ll stop any pursuit.”
Even in his barely ambulatory state, So Do-jin spoke as if battling the cult leader was the most natural thing. By then, Ha Ye-jin had finished the healing circle. Healing light enveloped him. Thanks to it, So Do-jin felt his steps lighten a bit. But the burning pain from his abdomen lingered.
“...How the hell are you gonna fight like that?”
“I can fight.”
Gripping his sword tighter—now he no longer needed it just to walk—So Do-jin answered. Then he gazed at the approaching cult leader in the distance. Staff in hand, masked, poncho-clad. The mask hid his face. The poncho concealed his build. The cult leader was hiding his identity. There had to be a reason.
“Aim for the neck. Target the mask and poncho.”
The Voodoo cult leader was likely living disguised as a Romanica follower. No need to kill him here and now. Stripping the mask and poncho to expose his face and build would be victory enough.
“...Ha Ye-jin, bless me. Now.”
So Do-jin lowered into a stance. Dark clouds gathered in the previously clear sky, shadows blanketing the ground.
*
“Huh, So Do-jin...?”
Trinita Crusader sniper John felt the vibrations and stepped out of the command tent. He immediately saw So Do-jin leaping toward the cult leader—followed by him flying back from a punch.
At first, he couldn’t make sense of it. What kind of monster could send So Do-jin—who was unmatched in close combat—flying with one punch? And why had So Do-jin even charged? Only when the cult leader drew closer, revealing the mask covering his face and the staff in his hand, did it click.
The cult leader had appeared.
“...Prepare for battle! It’s the cult leader!”
John bellowed in his booming voice, rousing the Holy Knights resting in the tents. Jolted by the sudden tremors and his shout, they scrambled out, grabbing their weapons.
Their wandering eyes soon locked on one spot. Mask and staff. A figure anyone would peg as the Voodoo cult leader approached with unguarded steps.
“...”
Silence fell over the area. The Holy Knights’ eyes burned red at the sight. Trembling with excitement or fear—or both—they gripped their weapons. Guns, swords, holy relics. Without a word, they took positions and formed ranks. No one spoke.
The Papal Holy Knight Order had been trained in the “way of no communication.” They intuitively found their roles, synced up flawlessly, and achieved their goals without chatter. That was their way.
John felt a twinge of unease at the sight. They looked less like people and more like machines. Ranks formed in seconds. Snipers like John readied at the rear. Melee fighters with swords, maces, spears formed up front, eyes on the approaching cult leader.
John’s finger hovered on the trigger, staring down the cult leader. A profound silence gripped the field—not even a breath escaped.
“...Fire!”
John’s command shattered it. Bang, bang! Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Gunfire erupted simultaneously. Dozens of muzzles blazed at the lone cult leader, spewing lethal armor-piercing rounds. No non-lethal suppression ammo here—just pure killing power.
Then silence returned. Dust clouds from the impacts shrouded where the cult leader had stood. Visibility zero.
John peered through, prepping the next volley. Whoosh...
Wind blew, clearing the fog. A black silhouette emerged. The cult leader. Still standing. Hit but unbowed? Or untouched? The lingering haze made it unclear.
The Holy Knights held their breath, waiting. As wind peeled back layers of dust, his form clarified. Untouched. Spent casings littered at his feet.
The cult leader raised his staff. Thud!
He slammed it into the ground. Rumble-rumble!
The tremors intensified—like an earthquake. Dust swirled into fog, blinding the snipers. But it wasn’t just fog. The ground split. Massive roots and weeds burst forth. Giant plants writhed like tentacles, sprouting into a forest around the cult leader. He vanished into it.
John scanned frantically—no sign. Fog and overgrown flora hid him perfectly.
“...K-keep firing!”
No choice but to shoot. One bullet had to hit eventually. The Holy Knights unleashed at his command. Bang, bang! Rat-tat-tat...
Endless gunfire. Bullets hammered roots and leaves—but barely scratched them. The forest was too tough. This was wasting ammo.
John pondered: What’s his game? Letting us burn through rounds, then striking when we’re dry? Or waiting for us to stop? Nah...
Whoosh!
A massive spear-like thing hurtled at him. John twisted away on instinct. Pausing fire, he checked it. Not a spear.
“...A staff?”
The cult leader’s staff. Why throw it? No time to think.
Crack!
Ahh, you ill-mannered brat...
It wasn’t an ordinary staff anymore. It morphed into a colossal serpent in an instant. And that sweet, sticky voice slithered into John’s mind.
He yanked his sidearm pistol and aimed at its eyes. Fired. Bang, bang!
Perfect shots—one per eye. But the bullets didn’t pierce. They clattered harmlessly to the ground with a dry thud. This wasn’t just any snake. An overwhelming, absolute existence beyond human power.
Thud.
John dropped his pistol and collapsed. Whoosh. The serpent whipped its massive tail—not just at him, but every sniper in range.
Wham!
“Gahk...!”
John screamed as he flew. The snake kept swinging. His sniper rifle crushed under its body. Other snipers sailed through the air, vomiting blood, weapons lost.
Lucky dodgers fired pistols at its eyes. Tough-minded Holy Knights staggered up post-hit, stabbing scales with daggers. But bullets did nothing. Blades snapped on scales.
“Ah, ah...!”
No attack worked. Even desperate pistol and dagger fighters lost the will, dropping arms. The serpent flicked its tongue at the terrified Holy Knights.
Too bad I can’t eat you...
It licked their pale faces with its long, slender tongue.
Frontline Holy Knights, facing the cult leader with swords, spears, relics, froze in horror at the rear’s slaughter. Blocked from advancing by the leader, retreating by the snake, they flailed uselessly.
“...”
In crushing pain and fading consciousness, John realized the plan. Neutralize rear snipers with the snake, block retreat for the front. Lure them into his domain.
“A-advance! Push forward!”
Terror-stricken frontline Holy Knights shuffled ahead. They had no choice. Like moths hurling into flames.
(Continued in the next chapter)