Living Diligently is Truly Exhausting

Lancel knew full well that no matter how many times he died and came back to life from now on, he could never live as diligently as he had in the third loop.

They said even effort had a fixed total amount—and perhaps he'd burned through all of it back in the days when he was called the Knight of Dawn. No matter how hard he tried now—and barring some extraordinary circumstances—he probably couldn't reach that level of strength again. In the end, all he'd gained were petty tricks and shortcuts.

How could he achieve maximum power with minimal effort? How could he produce maximum effect with minimal mana?

Right now, Lancel was the person on this continent who had mastered the most efficient mana usage.

"Sacred... uh... Saint Mary's... blessing..."

"Why so lacking in confidence?"

Lancel nagged at the stammering Marygold for the umpteenth time that day alone.

"...I don't really know what a blessing to make someone stronger even is..."

She looked on the verge of tears.

"Believe in yourself. And believe in me. You’ve got real talent."

In truth, Lancel hadn’t expected Marygold to suddenly awaken white magic and wield holy power. He just wanted her to look the part. And in that sense, her blindness was—though it sounded awful—a bit fortunate. He had to fool Marygold herself first and foremost.

"In the name of the Saint."

As Marygold solemnly recited the prayer, awed reactions rippled through the surroundings.

"D-Did something really happen?"

"Light! It's glowing!"

Reactions from Baron Ivil Shen and Hestie. And they were genuine. He hadn’t even instructed them to ham it up beforehand.

Lancel Dante’s sword was truly emitting a faint glow. This was the secret behind his title as the Knight of Dawn. It was maybe one percent of the brightness from back then, but light was light. The blade illuminated the darkness with just the right holy aura.

"Huh? What?"

Marygold, oblivious to what she'd done, glanced around in confusion.

"See? It works, Mary. I feel power surging thanks to you. Take a look. Oh, right—you can't."

It wasn't a lie. People really did feel a bit more energized when cheered on, didn't they? Like how smelling ammonia at the gym let you lift more weight. Something like that. Yeah, exactly that.

"D-Did I... really do that? Do I really have... holy power now?"

Marygold, on the other hand, seemed utterly moved.

She felt a profound sense of relief and joy: Finally, I've accomplished something!

"Told you—you've got talent."

From that day on, Marygold latched onto it like an obsession, reciting prayers for Lancel and the estate staff whenever she got the chance.

"I'll share my power with you all! Just believe in me!"

Naturally, no one saw visible effects like Lancel's. But for some reason, the estate servants and Baron Ivil Shen started raving as if holy power was actually working on them.

"It's the real deal. I swear I feel strength surging through me. Guess I should swing by a Saint Church sometime. I always thought earning an extra coin beat praying to gods, but who knew."

"My shoulders feel a bit less sore too. Maybe Mary’s more amazing than we thought, young master."

Lancel chalked it up to some placebo effect and let it slide.

"Mary, you ready?"

"Yes, holy one!"

And so, the day of the magic beast hunt arrived.

...

When the magic beast's eyes flashed in the forest's darkness, it was incredibly hard not to freeze up.

—Grrrrowl...

A wolf swollen several times over with viscous mana. Black bristles rising along its spine rippled as one with the forest shadows, and venomous drool bubbled from its vicious fangs.

Its body was massive enough to swallow an adult whole. No ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wonder the pilgrim knights, who had arrived so cockily, were now breaking into cold sweats.

"A magic beast...!"

"Form up ranks!"

"Get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the people over here, quick!"

The pilgrim procession fell into chaos. As everyone panicked...

"Lancel Dante, you are stronger now. Bring me the enemy's head."

Bam! One knight shot through the pilgrims' ranks. He closed the distance to the beast in a single breath.

"In the name of the Saint."

His sword erupted in radiance. Light piercing the forest gloom.

—Kraaaang!

Sensing the threat, the beast bared its teeth and leaped. A dazzling line sliced across its body almost simultaneously.

Shlick. Leaving only the grisly sound of flesh parting, something soared into the air. It arced down before the pilgrims.

Thud!

"...!"

Only then did they realize it was the beast's head. The wolf that had snarled so ferociously moments ago now lay stiff, tumbling through the mud. Its headless body staggered off somewhere before collapsing.

The man carefully sheathed his sword, not a drop of blood on it.

"Saint Mary, today we have purified yet another evil."

Silent awe.

Behind the man who felled the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beast in one strike, a blue cloak fluttered. In that moment, Lancel Dante etched himself into the memories of the pilgrim knights, priests, hunter guides, and nearby villagers.

13.

"In recognition of your merits in subjugating the magic beast, we shall bestow a modest reward upon the Saint Church."

The imperial family sent a flag to the Saint Church—a certification of official denomination.

It was bittersweet for the pilgrims who'd lost the credit, but not devastating. It was just a flag like those even fringe cults like the Old Faith had. No reason for the Pilgrim Church to envy it.

But the Imperial Knight Tournament was different. This one had prize money.

* * *

"All knights, forward!"

Ten knights rode into the vast clearing. Most bore the Pilgrim Church's winged emblem, but one was different: a motif of neatly folded palms within a round laurel wreath. The Saint Church's mark on his cloak.

"Only the single knight who remains mounted until the end advances to the main tournament. Ready!"

Eye signals flashed among the pilgrim knights. This was competition for them too. Only one would remain.

But on one point, they were united: Drop Lancel Dante first!

Their gazes fixed on the man shouldering a wooden lance. Lancel Dante of the Saint Church. He was target number one. Their real rivalry started after he hit the dirt.

"Begin!"

Boom! Ten horses kicked off across the plain. Cheers exploded from the spectators beyond the fences.

"If I lose my bet, knight or not, you're dead!"

"Audley! My life's savings are on you!"

Even those who wouldn't dare meet a knight's eye normally went wild here, clutching wooden plaques with odds scribbled on them.

"Please, if you fall here, we're ruined, Lancel."

Baron Ivil Shen was among them, smacking his lips anxiously at the plaque marked with a huge sum.

Lancel Dante was known as the magic beast slayer, but here he was the biggest underdog. Too young, and amid Pilgrim Church knights, few bet on victory. Maybe Ivil Shen was the only big punter.

"No!"

Baron Ivil Shen paled as nine cavalrymen swarmed Lancel.

* * *

"Get him!"

Cavalrymen flanked Lancel as he charged the clearing. He ignored the glares, spurring his horse to chase one pilgrim knight instead.

"Knock him off! Hurry!"

"Too late."

Lancel's wooden lance hooked the fleeing knight's shoulder blade. Monstrous strength literally yanked him off and flung him.

"Gwaaaah!"

Cavalry thundered past the tumbling man. They desperately pursued Lancel.

He didn't block or counter their attacks—just endlessly hunted new prey.

"Hiiiik!"

Bam! Another fell. Four dropped the same way in quick succession, spreading crisis among the knights. They sensed it in their guts: We're the prey being hunted.

"So slow."

Lancel's quiet voice.

"No... gahhh!"

The fifth flew from his saddle.

"Train harder next time."

The pilgrim knights shivered at Lancel's faint smile. Fear sealed their fate.

Less than ten minutes later, only one remained mounted.

"Winner: Lancel Dante!"

Baron Ivil Shen leaped into the arena, arms high.

"I'm rich! Lancel, you're a god!"

Lancel breezed past the charging baron, heading to Marygold under the tree shade. Amid the roaring cheers, their horse galloped across the clearing with both aboard.

"Is that all the Pilgrim knights have got? Is there no one in the Pilgrim Church who can surpass this Lancel Dante?!"

His taunting voice echoed in the minds of the fallen pilgrim knights long after.

...

...

Months after Lancel stirred up trouble here and there. Just a few months since rumors quietly spread of Marygold bestowing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blessings as a priestess.

The number of Saint statues erected in the Imperial Capital Rodnis had surpassed thirty.

* * *

"Pathetic fools."

Duke Mayril Dunn's face flushed beet red upon hearing the news. Every time the pilgrim knights flopped at the tournament, cracks formed in his own reputation.

—It's a festival for the Pilgrim Church—surely the wrong man can't steal the show, right?

The imperial archbishop's words still lingered. Politely put, it meant: I'm not taking the blame—you are. If it bugs you, you should've won.

Hard to deny. He'd personally assembled the knights for the pilgrims. The pilgrim band. The magic beast subjugation. The knight tournament. All his approvals, all credits snatched from under him.

Having stepped up as responsible party, he had to deliver top results. No choice in a game he'd opened—Pilgrim Church law demanded victory.

"Make sure he drops in the next match. Whatever it takes."