Purification by Blunt Force
They were determined to force it on me, whether by trickery or sheer brute force—either cramming it down my throat or soaking me from head to toe. And it wasn’t just one or two men. However he had managed to brainwash or bribe them, at least half a dozen priests surrounded me, sloshing bowls of crimson liquid in a synchronized deluge. There were far too many of them coming from far too many angles; ordinary dodging wouldn’t keep a single drop off me.
The Power of Horus incinerated demon beasts with divine light, scouring them like a blast of cosmic disinfectant. But what in the world was the Power of Stribog supposed to do?
Well, real combat is the best teacher.
Drawing my sword in a flash, I shouted the command.
“Unleash!”
Fwooooosh—!
A gale erupted.
Spiraling outward with me at its epicenter, the wind coalesced into a shimmering barrier, instantly deflecting every droplet of the foul red liquid hurled my way. The priests, who had lunged forward with full momentum, caught the rebound straight in their faces. Howling in agony, they were knocked backward by the concussive blast of air.
Crash! Thud! Clatter!
“Aaargh!”
“Ugh!”
“Gwaaah!”
They rolled helplessly across the floor like a school of beached fish flopping on dry land. After blasting away those blundering fools—who were currently sputtering for air and flailing their limbs like twigs swept up in a typhoon—I gritted my teeth and strode toward Cronen. Caught in the violent downdraft, the chief priest was also on his knees, gasping for breath.
“Now, what exactly were you trying to pull this time, Priest Cronen?”
“Gasp… Cough! L-Let go of me…! You miserable wench… what kind of foul sorcery did you…!”
“I never pegged you for a third-rate cult leader dumb enough to pull a stunt like this.”
The Cronen I knew would have taken a far subtler approach. If he truly wanted to force that red concoction down my throat, he would have hosted a formal banquet where royal protocol required my attendance.
Slipping a few drops into one of the courses brought to my seat would have been child's play, and I might have swallowed it without ever suspecting a thing. After all, once a banquet begins, declining every single plate placed before you is a diplomatic nightmare.
…Of course, being shameless as I was, the moment something smelled fishy, I probably would have clutched my stomach, cried, ‘Oh no, my tummy aches!’ and sprawled flat on a fainting couch without touching a bite.
Even so, shoving a goblet in my face right before the Offering Festival was absurdly crude. And mobilizing half the priesthood to ambush me in broad daylight? If the plot failed, how on earth did he expect to clean up the fallout?
Outside the chamber, the chanting had ceased, and the dazzling pillar of light had vanished into thin air, signaling that the consecration was complete. Alarmed by the subsequent cacophony of crashing furniture and wailing men, the onlookers burst through the doors.
“Your Highness! Are you alright?!”
“Hey! Hey! Are you okay?!”
The scene greeting them was me, smiling angelically while gripping Cronen firmly by the collar. Behind me lay several priests crumpled like discarded paper bags, soaked in crimson fluid and groaning in heaps. The spectators froze in absolute horror. Frankly, I felt like being horrified right along with them.
Because the fluid happened to be a gory, blood-red hue, the whole chamber looked less like a chapel and more like a horrific crime scene.
I stared down at Cronen, whose eyes were rolling wildly into his head, wondering what to do with him. Just moments ago, he had seemed… relatively lucid, hadn’t he? Why had he suddenly gone completely deranged? Was it because I splashed that red wine in his face?
‘Contractor! That man has a Seed of Chernobog planted inside him! ⊙△⊙)’
‘A seed?’
‘Yes! Once it fully takes root, it devours the host's body and consumes every shred of their sanity! It looks like Chernobog’s contractor planted it personally, which is why it forces him to obey whatever “order” he was given!’
‘Ah. That explains why he couldn’t keep his usual smug composure and resorted to desperate measures…’
‘When you flung that wine back into his face, the seed absorbed it and sprouted like crazy! It completely hijacked what little reason he had left in a matter of seconds!’
‘And if we leave the seed alone?’
‘He’ll die! ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ ) Ah, no, wait—he’ll become a mindless thrall bound to the contractor of Chernobog for the rest of his miserable life! (´-﹏-`；)’
‘Honestly, I wouldn't mind watching him drop dead… but we need him alive to drag out whoever is pulling his strings.’
‘Indeed! It’s much better to reduce him to a state where he wishes he were dead! (๑ӦӦ๑) Ahem, ahem! With your current power, Contractor, you should be able to cleanse a seed of that grade! Give the back of his neck a good, solid beating with me!’
‘Splendid! That is without a doubt the most poetic, beautiful thing you’ve ever said!’
Drawing the Emoticon Sword, its hilt neatly wrapped in cloth, I brought it crashing down onto the nape of Cronen’s neck just as he was babbling incoherently.
Whack!
“Guh-urk…!”
Cronen shrieked and pitched forward onto the stone floor. A collective gasp ripped through the crowd.
“Priest Cronen!”
“Imperial Princess Titania, what in heaven's name are you—?!”
“Everyone, silence!” I bellowed, stepping over him. “Priest Cronen exhausted his body beyond its limits while striving to ensure the success of this sacred Offering Festival! In his weakened state, he has been struck down by an intrusion of demonic energy!”
Whether it was demonic energy, demonic invasion, or demonic constipation, I couldn't care less. Any excuse that gave me legal sanction to beat the living daylight out of this scoundrel's neck was fine by me.
You wanted to purify me? How about you have a taste of purification yourself?
Thwack!
“Aaaargh!”
Cronen let out another wretched groan, squirming like an oversized caterpillar.
“By sheer divine mercy!” I continued, projecting my voice with righteous fervor, “Priest Cronen ran himself ragged searching high and low for my lost holy sword, finally returning it to my hands at today’s consecration!”
“Kaaaargh!”
His earsplitting screech provided a lovely rhythmic accompaniment. Splendid. Keep the tempo going.
“And so, using the sacred grace of this very blade, I am now able to heal Priest Cronen!”
“B-But… the priest looks to be in excruciating pain…! A-And the other priests collapsed across the floor…!”
Perhaps that gust of wind had been a touch too violent. Or perhaps the Power of Stribog, much like the Power of Horus, possessed an innate attribute that assailed demonic corruption.
Seeing the priests writhing on the carpet like mosquitoes doused in bug spray, I offered a thoughtful hum. Glancing over my shoulder, I took in the crowd that had surged into the hall.
Lisianthus was staring at me with his eyes wide as saucers, while Raymon wore a rare, genuinely flustered expression. As for Debbie… well, she was casually pulling a cookie from her apron pocket and nibbling on it. Completely unbothered by the utter chaos, I raised my chin and proclaimed with utter conviction:
“As Priest Cronen himself declared, demonic beasts have threatened this grand city! He assured us that a successful Offering Festival would overcome this peril, and he labored tirelessly to make that promise a reality…! Through this consecration, he successfully purged the foul demonic energy accumulated within our lands—yet a fraction of that displaced filth seeped into the exhausted bodies of our devoted priests!”
To reinforce my stirring narrative, I decided a little visual flair was in order.
‘Shine!’
Flash!
Gleam!
Sparkle!
As brilliant, sacred golden light radiated from the blade, the crowd’s tense murmurs swiftly died down. Since the glow mirrored the radiance that had accompanied the earlier ritual, my words carried an overwhelming aura of legitimacy.
If there was one vital lesson I had learned surviving the Imperial Palace, it was this:
If you speak with enough volume and confidence, you’re already halfway there.
And if you seize the narrative first, the battle is practically won.
I couldn't exactly point at them and shout, ‘These men went crazy and tried to jump me!’
Why would holy priests attack an imperial princess? Why would they dare commit treason during a sacred Offering Festival? Skeptics would fling doubts from every corner, and in the worst case, the legitimacy of the barrier ritual itself might be called into question. An outsider like me had no chance of winning a mudslinging match against clergy who had spent half their lives rooted in the southern soil.
Therefore, no matter how brutal the optics appeared, as long as I insisted, ‘These poor men aren't wicked; I'm simply beating them for their own salvation!’ what could anyone possibly say?
Even the Emperor hadn’t dared contest my claim when I announced that a sacred sword was speaking to my mind—which happened to be the absolute truth!
“Therefore, I shall deliver these venerable priests through the grace of this holy blade!”
Honestly, having the barrier fragment bonded to me was the best thing ever. Back when I had to beat Flux into shape, it was exhausting work. Even though it was meant to be medical treatment, swinging the sword over and over had left my arms trembling with fatigue. Now, raw vigor coursed through every fiber of my being.
I could dish out righteous beatdowns all day long without breaking a sweat! What a joy! Thank you, 45th Administrator Podaga. While your parting grumble about being roped into a fraudulent contract still nagged at my conscience, I was putting your gifted strength to exceptional use by thumping wicked villains!
“B-But… Your Highness… does the purification truly require… striking him?!” someone asked weakly from the crowd, wincing as I laid into the back of Cronen’s neck with immense personal enthusiasm.
I turned to them, my expression brimming with solemn sincerity.
“Physical contact with the blade is mandatory. I suppose… I could always run him through with it instead?”
“N-No! By all means, proceed as you see fit, Your Imperial Highness!”
The speaker recoiled in terror, frantically waving their hands. Satisfied, I brought the pommel down on Cronen’s nape with one final, earth-shattering blow.
Crack!
Cronen let out a strangled, death-rattle gasp before curling into a twitching heap. Splendid. Now that he’s handled, it's time to administer a therapeutic physical thrashing—er, holy blade massage—to the rest of the conspirators who tried to soak me in mystery fluid.
Just as I raised my weapon to move on to the next victim, Cronen suddenly heaved.
“Bleaaargh!”
He vomited a thick puddle of black fluid onto the floor. It was a vile, tar-like sludge that bubbled menacingly against the stone. The surrounding knights and nobles recoiled in disgust.
“Heavens above! What is that?!”
“The Princess spoke the truth…”
“Look at that foul black bile. How horrifying!”
Well, isn't that convenient timing?
Delight bubbled up inside my chest. Straightening my posture, I declared in the most solemn, pious voice I could muster:
“It seems the remaining priests are in dire need of my purifying touch as well.”
Needless to say, not a single soul stepped forward to stop me.