Step, Step.
Step, step. The paladins advanced. As they marched toward the forest where the cult leader was hiding, they kept glancing nervously over their shoulders. In the rear, a snake watched them. After wiping out the sniper squad, it had done nothing but coil up right there. It neither approached the paladins up front nor launched any attacks. That stillness terrified them even more. The snake flicked its tongue as if urging the paladins onward, staring right at them. The cult leader's intent was obvious. He was waiting for them to step into the massive forest he'd conjured.
Plip, plip. Sudden raindrops fell, and the paladins looked up at the sky. The clear blue had been swallowed by thick black clouds. Whoosh... The scattered drops thickened and multiplied in an instant. A downpour unleashed itself. Thunder rumbled occasionally, and gusts of wind whipped through. The paladins swallowed hard at the abrupt weather shift. They were freshly reminded of who—or what—stood before them. Their opponent was the cult leader of Voodoo, the faith that had once waged war against the Romanica Church.
"......"
The paladins halted just short of the forest. Silence fell. The woods loomed dark and eerie, choked with tangled roots and dense foliage. No sounds emerged, no shapes stirred. A profound darkness greeted them, chilling their spines. No one wanted to be the first to step in. They had no idea what might await the reckless. And inside, visibility was zero. Fighting with Divine Power and Blessing Circles would be impossible. In that gloom, the glow of holy light would only give away their positions to the cult leader.
"......I'll go first."
As everyone hesitated, the woman at the front drew her sword first. She was the one who'd ordered the advance despite the terror sparked by the sudden snake—and the nominal captain of the squad. She unleashed her Divine Power, sketching a Blessing Circle. Holy light enveloped her body and blade. In the darkness cast by the thunderheads and forest, she alone shone. Donning her spell-filtering mask, she continued.
"If I spot the cult leader, I'll signal with Divine Power. Rush in and attack all at once."
"......"
"There's only one of him. No need to be scared......"
The captain muttered as she stepped forward. It sounded less like encouragement for the others and more like self-hypnosis. The paladins gripped their weapons, watching her vanish into the shadows like she was being sucked away.
The captain swallowed hard, advancing slowly into the dark. Rustle... Drip, drip. Wind rustled massive leaves, and raindrops pattered now and then. The forest's utter silence amplified every tiny noise. Each one made her flinch. She'd grip her sword tighter, scowl into the void.
"......"
She knew a proud Romanica paladin shouldn't fear mere darkness. Paladins were swords and spears that cleaved it. Yet her body trembled, her back prickled. The cult leader lurked somewhere in those shadows—who knew when or how he'd strike? The spell-filtering mask would keep her from falling to cheap Voodoo tricks. But it wasn't just spells she had to watch for. No one knew his exact powers, so she had to anticipate everything.
Crunch!
A sound. Leaves rustling. Then, a faint light flickered in the gloom. It was light, sure, but dim and sinister—no power to pierce the dark. Voodoo Magic's glow. The captain aimed her sword toward it. Purple mist crept toward her, cloaked in shadow. She stared past it, into the darkness where the cult leader surely watched.
"......"
"......"
The mist reached her. But she didn't lose consciousness. The mask held. It couldn't block everything, though—a mild dizziness spun her head. Manageable. Instinct told her the cult leader was watching. She glared back.
Grit.
Her sword still faintly glowed from the earlier blessing. Whoosh! She swung hard. The holy light scattered like dust, hurtling toward the cult leader. For a split second, the darkness parted, revealing a human shape. Too shadowy to confirm if it was him. No time to hesitate. This glimpse was her chance—maybe the last. Any delay could doom the squad. She charged, sword raised.
Slash!
She swung for the throat. She felt the cut connect. But not flesh—dry straw, like slicing a scarecrow. Thud. The head hit the ground. No face. She'd cleaved a doll woven from slender plant stems. The captain swallowed, whipping her head around. But the dark disoriented her. Every direction looked the same. Her breath caught.
Thump.
A heavy, solid impact shook the earth. Familiar now—the cult leader striking the ground with his staff. Staff? He'd thrown it at the snipers in the rear. It became the snake that massacred them. He shouldn't have it anymore. So why the sound of it slamming down...?
She tried to turn toward it, but her body wouldn't move. Thin tendrils, like threads, had split into hundreds, thousands, binding her tight. They seemed fragile enough to snap, but they held no matter how she struggled.
"Using something interesting."
A low, heavy voice from behind. She tried to turn, to glimpse his face, but even her neck was locked. The tendrils had reached her throat. The cult leader stood at her back, reaching out. He peeled off her spell-filtering mask. She clenched her jaw, eyes squeezed shut. Bound helpless, she couldn't even twitch a finger. No last desperate fight.
"Why'd you come alone?"
He asked. His voice was low, laced with faint anger.
"......Kill me. I won't say a word."
She opened her eyes, resolute. She wouldn't let herself become a Voodoo hostage, harming her comrades. Better he end her here.
He scoffed.
"Why would I?"
"You're disguised as one of us Romanica clergy, aren't you?"
She forced a casual smile. Obvious—he hid among them, face and build concealed by mask and poncho. The thunderclouds for darkness, the conjured forest. She pressed on, voice sharp.
"If you don't kill me here, I'll remember your voice."
"......"
"Paladin Order, Paladin Squad, Priest Order. Florence Academy trainees. We'll scour everywhere for that voice. And drag you to the gallows."
Bluff. Even if he spared her, she wouldn't escape unscathed—hostage bargaining chip or torture victim. She knew, but provoked him anyway. To force his rage into a killing blow.
But he didn't rage. He strolled casually to her front. She glared murderously. Through the mask, his eyes faintly visible—blank, unfocused.
"You planned to signal my position with Divine Power, then have the rest swarm in?"
"......How did you—"
She frowned.
"Plants have sharp ears."
Before she could process, his hand cupped her temple. Ice-cold, like a corpse. Purple Voodoo Magic flowed from his fingertips. A spell circle etched instantly onto her head.
"Remember my voice, huh?"
Mist poured from the activated circle, invading her eyes, nose, mouth, ears.
"If you can."
"......Ah."
She tried resisting with willpower. Futile. Crunch, crunch. Ants gnawed flesh in her skull. Crawling through orifices to devour her brain. Bitter taste on her tongue. Senses hyper-sharp, all violated by his spell. No scream escaped—not even a whimper.
In fading consciousness, one thought: Thank God the others won't come. Entering the forest was suicide. He controlled every plant, the darkness itself. That's why she hadn't signaled despite seeing him. One death was enough.
"......"
Suddenly, light flooded her vision. Brilliant radiance from his fingertips banished the gloom. Blessing light.
*
So Do-jin, poised to leap at the cult leader, froze. He watched the paladin-captain's clash with the cult leader.
Merciless gunfire. Forest sprouting from barren ground. Staff to snake. The snake engulfed the rear lines, including his comrade John. All snipers down, combat-ineffective. Probably fatalities—he hadn't checked.
Thunderclouds blanketed the sky, rain fell, ominous darkness descended. The captain led the Holy Paladin Squad straight from the Papal Court into the woods. Never emerged. Hesitant squadmates followed one by one. Vanished too.
"......"
Dead quiet. Only rain and wind pierced the hush. Rear snipers sprawled motionless; the snake coiled still as stone. Front-line paladins gone. Swallowed by the forest.
"W-We need to run. Call for backup......"
Ha Ye-jin stammered. She'd been sketching Blessing Circles to support So Do-jin when the horror paralyzed her. Logically, she was right. The cult leader seemed unaware they lived. Escape via mountain or sea path, request reinforcements. Two against him? Impossible.
"......Yeah."
After agonizing, So Do-jin squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. He hated fleeing, but fighting was suicide. Ha Ye-jin, research-focused priestess, barely counted as combat power. No chance. Retreat was wise.
So Do-jin sheathed his sword at his waist, turned his back on the cult leader.
"Need help walking?"
"I'm good."
He waved her off. Each step twisted his guts with agony, but he'd rather die than lean on her. Last shred of pride.
So Do-jin looked up. Clouds thinning, blue sky peeking through.
"Sea path might evade him, reach the nearby Paladin Squad. From there......"
Ha Ye-jin chattered escape plans. But So Do-jin heard nothing. Every step was torment—organs churning, tearing. Cold sweat poured; heart thundered. Me, fight him like this? Insane. He twisted a bitter smile.
"......"
John was elite. Triple-digit demons and beasts felled solo. Skilled, principled paladin—the one So Do-jin truly respected. Even he fell. Wounded So Do-jin? Cannon fodder.
Yeah, fighting now was pointless death. He'd survived countless battles, lost countless comrades. Grief faded first time; later, barely stung. Death buried by more death.
Was John dead? If so, fine. Others' deaths would erase it. He'd learned the hard truth: survivors are the strong, not the other way around.
"......Ah."
So Do-jin halted, sighing. Survival hadn't numbed him to death. It taught forgetting. He always feared, hated losing comrades. "Doesn't matter if John's dead" was a lie. He rationalized cowardice, twisting his actions and beliefs to dodge the fight.
Realization eased the gut-wrench. Steps lightened; sweat stopped. Heart steadied.
"Contact Central from the Paladin Squad too...... So Do-jin, you listening?"
Ha Ye-jin prodded the silent So Do-jin. No reply. Dread hit. She turned—he was gone.
"......So Do-jin?"
She searched. Nothing. Staring at his empty spot, she glanced back toward the cult leader. So Do-jin charged, sword drawn.
Then, the cult leader emerged from the forest. His poncho and mask unmarred—not a scratch. Pristine, like no battle occurred. Dozens of paladins lunged to kill him; none landed a mark. Hopeless odds.
So Do-jin knew that best. Yet he charged. His choice: die before forgetting comrades' deaths.
He gripped his sword. Brilliant Blessing light wrapped him.
Clang!
He swung. The cult leader blocked with his staff. So Do-jin gritted his teeth, locking eyes through the mask—clear now.
Earlier swing, the cult leader punched his gut without thought. Now, staff block. Reason: throat aim before, mask now. He obsessed over poncho and mask. Fearing identity exposure.
A faint smile curled So Do-jin's lips.
(To be continued next time)