The Ever-Giving Cronen
What in the hell has that bastard done?!
Swallowing curses with every breath, Gregory ran for his life.
Ever since the day the demonic beasts invaded the city, Cronen had seemed utterly unhinged. Even when Gregory cornered him to demand what his grand scheme actually was, the priest refused to offer a single straight answer. To make matters worse, Empress Cleo had sent a chilling summons demanding to know how they intended to resolve this mess, having clearly caught wind of the southern chaos.
Yet even when Gregory brought up Cronen’s dirty secrets—the very leverage the Empress had provided—Cronen merely brushed it off with a hollow smirk: "Ah, that? In the end, it won't matter in the least."
How could it not matter? Had the old lunatic completely lost his mind? Had he eaten something poisoned? Gregory was utterly dumbfounded.
That was why, on the day of the Offering Festival, Gregory chose self-preservation over assisting Cronen. He kept a deliberate distance from the temple, ready to slip away the moment things went south.
He despised Titania, certainly. He loathed the Castrein household and that peacock Phlux just as fiercely for humiliating him in front of everyone. But still…
Every now and then, a phantom chill seized the back of his neck.
"Wow. It seems Her Imperial Highness is surrounded by nothing but trash."
That voice.
Instinct warned him with sickening certainty.
He really could die.
Had that been the only threat, fear of the Empress’s retribution might have driven him to hatch another plot once they returned to the capital. But then the horde of demonic beasts had stormed the city.
Above all else, Gregory cherished his own life. With such an unprecedented catastrophe unfolding, even the Empress could hardly hold him solely accountable for failing to eliminate the princess. Under the convenient pretext of securing the perimeter, he had led his soldiers well away from the temple grounds.
From afar, he watched the entire ceremony unfold, witnessing the blinding flashes of miraculous light.
And yet…
"My, this little mouse is nimbler than I expected."
Why was this person hunting him down?
"A stray mouse that can't even handle a single task properly… The Master said I could dispose of you as I please. If you don't want to be thrown out like your friend, you'd better scurry faster."
Trembling violently, Gregory scanned his surroundings. Everything was dead silent.
His soldiers lay scattered across the ground like crumpled straw dolls, defeated without putting up the slightest fight. It was a chilling sight. There was no one to intervene; everyone in the city was fixated on the temple.
Though her eyes held the tender hue of spring blossoms, the gaze she fixed upon Gregory was terrifyingly sharp—cold as a honed blade. With delicate, slender fingers, the girl clamped down on his throat without the slightest effort. As he choked and gasped, she tipped a foul draught into his gaping mouth. It tasted chilled and rancid, yet the moment it slipped down his gullet, it ignited like liquid fire.
"Our young lady has decided to form a direct connection with your true master… our 'prime customer.'"
Gregory’s eyes bulged in terror. With a graceful flick of her wrist, the girl began feeding something to his collapsed soldiers. A cloying, sickly sweet aroma drifted through the air, reminiscent of fruit ripened to the verge of rot.
"You should consider it… an honor."
Like puppets strung to invisible wires, the fallen soldiers slowly rose to their feet—soldier ants falling into flawless formation before their queen.
"Citizens, you are safe!"
High Priest Ilian was entirely in his element.
Draped in his finest supreme ceremonial vestments—which he usually kept boxed away out of sheer reluctance to wear them out—he clutched a magic crystal engraved with voice-amplifying enchantments and paraded through the city aboard an open-topped carriage.
"Yes! The Offering Festival has concluded without incident, and the hideous corruption that drew the beasts into our fair city has been thoroughly purified! All of this is thanks to your steadfast devotion, dear citizens!"
Knowing that the quicker order was restored and the citizens soothed, the sooner he could return home and collect his bonus, the High Priest campaigned tirelessly around the clock like a seasoned politician.
The lavish vestments, intricately embroidered with ancient script in pure gold thread, were notoriously expensive to clean. It was comical to recall how he had grumbled only days ago, complaining that such grandeur was meant for audiences with the Holy Emperor or grand religious rituals, not trivial field assignments.
"Have faith! Yes, my brother, Priest Cronen, fought with every fiber of his being! But the peril was so immense that his strength simply gave out! Beloved citizens, do not cast blame upon a brother who did his utmost—direct your grievances at me for arriving so late! The fault lies with my own shortcomings!"
His voice is ridiculously loud…
Having resolved this crisis just as I had back at the Imperial Palace—a feat that earned me the privilege of cleaning up the aftermath in exchange for beating the corrupt priests black and blue—I stood beside the High Priest, mechanically waving to the crowds. Eventually, I lowered my aching arm and casually rested my hand on the hilt of the sword I could now wear openly with pride.
Ahem. I've been practicing this. Fast connection, please. Fast connection… In my mind, I visualized drawing a waiting ticket at a busy government office.
Contractor 'Titania' confirmed.
Yes! Hello there, mysterious divine system voice that is definitely not the Emoticon Sword!
Gloriana's Insignia: Direct Contact Confirmed
Podaga's Fragment: Transfer Confirmed
Power of Stribog available for activation.
I whispered under my breath, quiet as an ant's sigh:
"Activate."
Approved.
Whoosh. A delicate gust of wind tickled my fingertips.
Ever since the Offering Festival concluded, I had been thoroughly experimenting with the abilities at my disposal. Once I completed the Master Succession Ceremony and became the blade's true wielder, I would theoretically command virtually every elemental attribute with ease, much like the original Power of Light. For now, however, aided only by Gloriana's Insignia and Podaga's core fragment, I was limited to two distinct forces:
Hors, the light that incinerated the demonic beasts.
Stribog, the wind that had turned the corrupt priests' poisoned wine right back on them.
Frankly, I hadn't figured out a way to use the Power of Light without drawing massive attention, but wind was an entirely different story. The possibilities were endless! And best of all…
Barrier! Acoustic dampening, please! Noise cancellation, activate!
I could manifest a localized cushion of air.
Perhaps it was just my imagination, but shaping the power into a microscopic, invisible sound barrier felt far trickier than conjuring a roaring gale to blow people away. With the air cushions perfectly nestled around my ears, the deafening roars faded into blissful quiet. Relieved, I beamed brightly and resumed waving my hand.
Phew. I thought my eardrums were going to burst.
Watching the tearful townspeople call out praises—"High Priest Ilian!" and "Thank the heavens, is our city truly safe?"—my mind drifted back to the immediate aftermath of the festival.
After vomiting that black ichor, Cronen had been reduced to a vegetative wreck. And he wasn't the only one; the priests who had conspired with him met the exact same fate. While Cronen had been the sole host directly implanted with the demonic seed, the others had eagerly indulged his honeyed promises, bathing themselves in Chernobog's vile energy all the same.
Though I had beaten the corruption out of them, the spiritual backlash took a devastating toll. They were left hollow, devoid of vitality or will, barely reacting to anything around them.
Well, that was their own doing.
Even so, the public could hardly rest easy after watching the very clergy who had promised them salvation end up battered into catatonic husks by a teenage princess. Suspicion was inevitable: Just when did they contract that demonic taint? If it happened during the festival, can we truly be safe?
It was a perfectly natural doubt.
So, we played our hidden trump card.
With an expression of righteous indignation, Phlux had stepped forward to deliver the revelation:
"Priest Cronen has engaged in rampant, systematic embezzlement throughout every Offering Festival he ever oversaw!"
During the fire, Cronen had entrusted a sturdy chest to the boy delivering his precious candles, intending to retrieve it once the ceremony concluded. What the corrupt priest hadn't known was that the errand boy had been in our pocket from the start.
Cronen had a longstanding habit of commissioning custom scented candles from an exclusive boutique under the guise of festival expenses. Phlux, already well aware of this quirk, had outright purchased the entire establishment beforehand to lay a trap. When panic struck during the blaze, it was child's play to manipulate Cronen into thinking his illicit secrets would be far safer tucked away in an unassuming local shop that wouldn't dare pry.
The result? A comprehensive ledger detailing decades of Cronen’s corrupt dealings fell straight into our laps.
I was genuinely grateful! Digging up that paper trail ourselves would have been an absolute nightmare, yet he handed it over on a silver platter just because a few sparks flew! The ever-giving Cronen! Stripped down to his very roots, ruined beyond all recovery!
"Behold the records of his greed!" Phlux had shouted, brandishing the papers before the gathering. "Because of his vile, grasping heart, Priest Cronen failed to approach this sacred festival with true devotion—leaving him defenseless against demonic possession!"
And just like that, the entire city was completely convinced.