Cervito 3
A completely alien power, distinct from the swordsmen and mages who drew upon mana as their foundation. Unlike mana refined directly within the body, it borrowed the might of the gods themselves. Even Licht, an avowed atheist, had to acknowledge the tremendous power holy power brought.
No way.
Licht had once clashed with an opponent who wielded holy power to its utmost in his previous life. Palenia Holy Kingdom's elite strike force. The thirteen Executioners, bearers of summary judgment and execution authority. They were the Pope's proxies, his thirteen blades in truth.
His thoughts had reached that point when—
Thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip!
Dozens of hidden weapons rained down belatedly. Yet they missed their mark. Even those aimed precisely at Licht veered off, scattering in a perfect circle around him at a fixed distance, as if deflected by an invisible shield.
Licht glanced at the projectiles. Even now, faint wisps of that alien energy flickered into existence and vanished.
Holy power, confirmed.
Doubt turned to certainty. With a casual kick, one projectile clattered across the ground—clang—and came to rest at the feet of the first assassin who had dropped toward him. The corpse, bisected cleanly from head to groin, sprawled in a pool of blood, entrails spilling out.
"......"
A suffocating silence blanketed the alley.
Licht twisted his wrist slightly, and in the dim moonlight, the golden blade gleamed faintly. Shh. The white cloth wrapped around the hilt fluttered down.
Orkin's golden holy sword shone with crystalline clarity under the silver moonlight.
"......!"
A gasp escaped from amid the assassins. Faint, but it couldn't evade Licht's hyper-attuned senses.
In that split second, cryptic signals flashed between them, and the assassins sprang into action.
Shh-shh-shick!
In the blink of an eye, the six figures atop the buildings vanished.
The perfect ambush had failed. An attack timed for the imperceptible gap even seasoned Sword Experts would struggle to detect. Yet a comrade had been halved before their eyes, and the volley of dozens of projectiles had proven utterly futile.
Retreating. Quick judgment. But Licht had no intention of letting them escape.
4th Circle unique magic.
Tempest.
Whoosh!
A fierce gale summoned at his thought. Winds coiled around his legs like a whirlwind the instant the image formed in his mind. It was Licht's personal spell, an enhancement of the standard 3rd Circle Haste.
Crack!
He crouched, stepped forward with his left foot, and the ground splintered. Pouring mana into his soles—
Boom!
One leap covered dozens of meters. Winds whipped his face, bringing a mad rush of exhilaration.
"Ha...!"
El Sion's nightscape unfurled below, close enough to touch. Turning his gaze, he saw the central lights blazing eternally, the Sage's skyscraper tower piercing the sky at their heart.
Licht thinned and expanded his mana field. A faint presence snagged on his senses.
Found you.
The assassins were distant specks now. Impressively trained, terrifyingly fast. But—
Too late.
Whoosh!
Licht halted midair for an instant, then plummeted under gravity's pull at horrifying speed.
Crash!
He crushed the rooftop of a dilapidated building. The six had slipped from sight, but his ever-expanding mana pinned their positions precisely.
"Niel!"
"Focus! The ambush failed—it's over. Link up with Bryce first. Prioritize escape..."
"Behind—behind us!"
Thwip-thwip-thwip!
A woman's shrill voice made the man whip around, his eyes bulging.
A black silhouette raced across rooftops at insane speed.
"......!"
Mere moments ago, it had been far off; now the gap closed relentlessly. Moonlight glinted off an unknown golden blade, trailing a hazy golden afterimage.
Eyes darted among the six assassins. The decision came swiftly.
The three in the rear began hurling projectiles with practiced motions from their bosoms. Holy power shimmered at their tips.
Fwoosh!
"......?!"
"Ha...?"
But they didn't connect. Collective sighs of dismay.
Attacks aimed dead at the black figure. Seemingly random tosses, but each targeted vitals: head, throat, heart. Imbued with holy power, they should hive any decent swordsman or mage.
Then why?
They were blocked. The lead man's mind reeled in confusion.
As the figure extended his left hand—not the sword arm—the projectiles froze mid-flight.
Whirl.
A flick of the wrist reversed their spin, whipping them into a vortex with the winds.
Hummm!
A clear ripple of mana vibrated across the lower district.
"Dodge!"
The man bellowed, too late.
Thwip-thwip-crash!
"Gahk!"
"Urk!"
"Cough!"
The three in the rear plummeted. Thud! Projectiles riddled their heads, necks, chests, arms, legs—dozens per body. Their own lethal throws turned against them.
They'd drawn daggers to parry, but the numbers overwhelmed. Worse—
A mage...?
Fuck.
Elite assassins who had abducted El Sion's mages knew it instantly. Halting a barrage with a gesture, redirecting it—and the blades piercing their comrades bore the unmistakable aura of wind magic.
"Pol...!"
"Damn it all!"
Comrades alive moments ago tumbled as cold corpses. No spark in their lifeless eyes.
The remaining three gnashed their teeth, accelerating further.
How long had they run?
"Claude, Reno."
The leader spoke.
"We counter here."
"What?"
"Too late. He's caught up."
Boom!
Something shattered. Glancing back, the figure leaped dozens of meters—and midair, kicked backward.
Bang!
Air exploded as it hurtled forward at chilling speed. The Ascension Sword rose.
The rearmost woman reacted instinctively, too slow.
Slash!
The golden blade grazed her throat. Blood sprayed along the sword path etched in yellow light. Amid flying light-brown hair, her severed head spun lazily. Vacant eyes stared blankly, unaware of her doom.
"Reno!!"
The figure closed in. The man beside her roared in fury, lunging with a dagger over a chet long.
Yet he lasted less than a second.
Schwick! Slash! Slash!
"Guh...!"
One swing, three strikes. Right arm, left arm, then throat. He stared blankly at the leader.
This can't...
Impossible.
What...?
Schwick!
Denial shattered. A numb sensation; lifting his arm, it ended cleanly at the elbow.
Untouchable. The black figure's swordplay wove lethal angles even he, veteran of countless shadows, couldn't track—pure, transcendent speed.
From the start...
Wrong target.
Schwick! Slash! Crunch!
"Gahk!"
Thud!
Realization came with searing pain in his shoulder as he fell. On the ground, trembling eyes lifted to the black figure overlooking him coldly.
"Who sent you?"
"...What?"
"Who dispatched you? Answer."
A clear, boyish voice, hard to believe from an adult. A breeze swept past, hooding falling away.
"......!"
Black hair and eyes melting the night sky. A youth not yet shed of boyhood. The man's eyes quivered.
"Ha, haha..."
Awe turned to hollow despair.
"Hahahaha!"
Laughter echoed, half-mad with resignation. Licht, gripping the Ascension Sword buried in the man's shoulder, furrowed his brow.
"We... wiped out by a mere brat. Hahaha!"
"I said no pointless talk. Answer."
"...Answer?"
Crunch!
Licht twisted the hilt half-turn. Blood spurted. The man's face unchanged, he sneered mockingly.
"Kid... no rush. If all we do is God's will, then dying here is too."
His lips curled.
"You'll learn soon enough."
"...Palenia Holy Kingdom. As I thought."
"Ha... too late. Preparations are complete."
As words ended, the man shuddered violently. Eyes bloodshot, body swelling. Licht instinctively withdrew the blade.
"Omnipotent Isteria... guide this lamb's soul."
Crack, crunch.
"Protect him from evil."
Boom!
The body exploded into chunks. Licht's hemispherical mana barrier deflected them.
Plip-plop!
Flesh pattered down. Only dark blood stained the spot—no trace remained.
Self-destruction...
Licht grimaced unconsciously. The chunks and blood sizzled, burning away. The earlier severed corpses had long dissolved.
Erase evidence. No tails left.
Licht scanned silently.
"......"
Despite the battle, El Sion's night stayed serene. Death in the slums was routine; the central lights too distant for the stench to reach.
Drip, drip.
Blood trailed from the elegant golden blade. A shake, then Licht retraced his steps.
***
"Hmm... good, good. Quite the flashy show."
Schult's mage tower, top floor. Late hour, all asleep—but the white-bearded old mage was awake. Mages ignored night and day.
El Sion's Central Library would be packed with them: researching, hunting tomes, scribbling papers.
Schult differed. His desk replayed the day's tournament footage.
"Heh. Shattering a 4th-level mana shield in one go. Brutish, but effective. Sharp ones are already scheming."
Chantless 5th Circle unique magic. Piercing the shield and knocking out the foe in one strike—unmissable. Greedy nobles might probe discreetly.
As Schult rewatched—
"Tomorrow's my disciple's match, then 32-strong the day after? So..."
Fwoosh!
His gaze snapped to a corner. A late-night magic circle activated, a boy materializing atop it.
The old mage spoke, bemused. "What brings you at this hour? Even I can't handle surprise visits..."
Clang!
Licht set a bloodied projectile on the desk—still warm.
Sitting opposite silently, Licht's eyes lit with interest at Schult's gaze. As expected of one of El Sion's two 7th Circle archmages—detecting vanished holy power instantly.
"Where'd this come from? Visiting late means no trifle."
"The mage kidnappings you mentioned."
"Eh?"
"Caught the culprits. Killed them all."
"Culprits? Killed?"
Schult's eyes widened, then he lifted the dart gingerly, inspecting.
"So this is their weapon?"
"......"
"Hm. Holy power-wielding kidnappers. Intriguing..."
He trailed off, eyes darting, murmuring incredulously.
"Wait. Holy power? Mage kidnappings by holy power users. Don't tell me..."
"Any guesses?"
"No, this is..."
He caught on. His face shifted rapidly, lips twitching as if reluctant.
Licht pressed. "Tell me. If you suspect."
"...Not certain."
"Doesn't matter."
"My speculation, then."
Eyes closed tight, Schult spoke haltingly.
"If I'm right, the mastermind is a Palenian Executioner."
Palenia Holy Kingdom's Executioners. Licht nodded to the expected answer—
"More precisely, a former Executioner."
"......?"
Licht's expression turned puzzled.
"Former?"
"Palenia's thirteen Executioners. The Pope's elite direct force, proxies of his will. You know that much?"
Licht nodded faintly. Schult continued.
"Keep this confidential. Top secret."
"Understood."
"As you know, Palenia has thirteen Executioners."
"Don't they?"
"No. Currently, twelve."
Licht frowned. Executioners were hereditary positions. Upon death or excommunication, the Pope reclaimed the symbolic Execution Sword and appointed a successor. Vacancies were brief, never prolonged.
"One seat empty? Absurd. From what I know..."
"Publicly, yes. A new one replaced the excommunicated."
Schult tapped the desk.
"Wrong. Twelve true ones. The 'new' is a puppet, facade only."
Emphatically:
"Because the excommunicated former Executioner vanished with the last 13th Execution Sword. And if I'm right, he's behind this."