The End of the Boring Holy War
The End of the Boring Holy War
The scene was utter pandemonium. A vision of hell itself, with corpses piled high, their bodies reduced to rags by the very blades they had driven into one another.
Yet in this place, a single man alone had defied death and lived.
Sultan Osman III.
A being born into a human body who had touched the truth of the world. Only this quasi-transcendent powerhouse, who had reached beyond the realm the world defines as Sword Master, had survived that hell, and now he sat alone upon an empty throne that only he was permitted to occupy.
"...To what do I owe the pleasure, false Saintess?"
With an utterly arrogant bearing, he stared down at Canaria where she stood at the foot of the steps.
The Sultan emanated a threatening aura.
"So you truly are one who has touched the truth, in your own way."
It was a threat that would have made an ordinary person faint. But the being before him was not one to bow to such a display of power. Instead, she stood there in sublime mockery, utterly unyielding.
"And is that why you behave with such insolence?"
Canaria scoffed at the emperor's king.
"How arrogant. You hold your head so high."
"Regrettably, I am a being who cannot bow."
The Sultan replied with a shrug.
The divine power of the Saintess was not absolute. The trials of the Saints recorded in scripture were proof of that. Against beings who possessed their own unshakeable inner worlds — against a king — those parlor tricks of divine authority did not work.
A king listened to no one's words but his own, so the Saintess's Commanding Voice could not reach him. And a king's actions were the very definition of his world's order, so attacking a Saintess did not constitute a sin.
Of course, the king could not kill the Saintess either. God-slaying was a deed that could only be accomplished by one who had been granted permission, so even the king could not kill a Saintess, the reincarnation of god.
But a king was also a being that even a Saintess could not rule. Theirs was a relationship of mutual incompatibility, like oil and water, leaving them merely irked by one another's existence.
"In that case, I shall correct that insolent habit of yours."
However, that was strictly the relationship between a Saintess and a king.
Sensing the abnormality in that relationship from her tone in an instant, Sultan Osman III reacted. He swiftly rose from his throne and moved away.
'...Did I, the Sultan, just flee?'
His body had reacted before his mind could register the threat his instincts felt. Naturally, it was a blow to his pride. Yet the Sultan's focus narrowed sharply on that prior reaction. He was a man who deeply trusted himself, the type who could never ignore the red alert his instincts screamed at him.
'...I dismiss the notion that she is an ordinary being.'
The entity before him was bizarre. She was beginning to appear as something that denied all existing common sense.
"What a shame. If you had been just a little more arrogant, I could have killed you right here and returned to my beloved Rosaria's side."
At the same moment, the throne where he had been sitting shattered. Presently, it began to rot away, crumbling into dust that scattered on the air.
Cursed ashes settled on the Sultan's shoulder.
Indeed, his intuition had not been wrong. As she said, had he remained seated on that throne, he would have met the same end as it had.
The Sultan swallowed dryly and opened his mouth.
"...That is not the divine power of a Saintess."
He adjusted his grip on his sword with genuine intent. Though he could not remember why, the feeling of déjà vu — the certainty that he knew what the being before him was — would not leave him.
'Likely, a being connected to the memory that was erased from the world.'
He was the Sultan, a king who had touched the truth. Because of that, he was a being relatively unaffected by the strange phenomenon that had occurred before.
Since that time, he alone within the Empire had been vaguely aware that somewhere in this world, things had become warped. He simply could not reach the content of what it was. But he could perceive the fact that some revision of reality had taken place.
He had always harbored those doubts. Who, and for what reason, had revised the common sense of this world?
And now, he had realized that the entity before him was the cause that had deliberately triggered that alteration.
"As expected, divine power doesn't work well on singularities like you. Even though I exerted quite a bit of effort. Strongly enough to have erased the memories of several kings, at that."
The emergence of such variables was, in a sense, only natural. If the divine power of the Saintess were invincible, this world would have been subjugated under the Holy Kingdom's banner long ago.
"Seeing that it did not reach me... was your effort simply lacking?"
As he spoke, the Sultan adjusted his stance and drew his sword.
Most beings revered the Saintess because it was impossible to even reach her. Even the mere thought of harming the Saintess before them would bring the main god's divine punishment crashing down upon their heads. And even for a king who had constructed his own inner world, it was impossible for an attack to physically reach the reincarnation of god.
But the Sultan had a hidden trump card.
That was why he could now dare to entertain the arrogant thought of opposing the false Saintess before him.
Canaria merely stared down at him with pity.
"Think whatever you like. I am quite a busy person, you see. I must kill you quickly and return to the Holy Kingdom."
Yawning, Canaria dismissed the Sultan before her.
Her mind was now completely filled with thoughts of Rosaria alone. Canaria's head echoed only with the sound of Rosaria's voice, experiencing happiness as she went out into the village for the first time thanks to that maid, Isabella. There was no room for the image of the Sultan in front of her to enter her mind.
'If you had only asked me, I would have taken you anywhere you wished, whenever you wanted, Rosaria.'
If it weren't for this accursed pilgrimage, wouldn't she be the one at Rosaria's side right now?
The thought made fury boil up inside her.
Of course, she did not resent the maid, Isabella. On the contrary, Isabella was a person to be grateful to, for helping Rosaria so she wouldn't suffer from her desires.
The targets of her resentment were solely the Sultan before her, and the incompetent Commander of the Order of Holy Knights.
Rebuking the Commander for his incompetence could wait. First, she would kill this detestable Sultan. After all, he now knew far too many things he was not supposed to know.
Thinking this, Canaria raised her hand. An ominous, abnormal power, distinctly different from divine authority, coalesced at her fingertips. The Sultan perceived the change. Because of this, he swiftly moved out of Canaria's line of sight.
"For the king of an empire, you are quite the coward."
Canaria mocked and ridiculed him. But the Sultan ignored such rebukes and focused his entire mind solely on the alarm bells his instincts were frantically ringing.
And as expected, his intuition was correct.
The spot where he had been standing crumbled and began to rot away. Soon, everywhere Canaria's gaze shifted began to break down in the same manner.
'Just by entering her line of sight, I am affected.'
Of course, there was no need to grasp its exact nature. The fact was enough: if her gaze reached you, you died. That was all that mattered.
Swiftly grasping the principle, the Sultan began to evade Canaria's gaze.
"You are as quick as a rat."
She shifted her eyes, pursuing the fleeing Sultan. But her opponent was one who had touched the truth. For Canaria, who had not reached a high level of martial enlightenment, it was no easy task to track his movements.
Even so, the scales had not yet tipped.
Because the Sultan could not escape, no matter what.
The moment she entered, she had created a barrier to prevent his flight. By now, the Sultan had likely realized the nature of that barrier. If that were the case, the Sultan had only two options: break the barrier and flee, or accept his imprisonment and fight a desperate, life-or-death resistance.
Just then, a massive roar echoed through the chamber. The Sultan had chosen the first option, and the result was, naturally, failure. For she had laid a trap within the barrier in advance.
And so, what Canaria found at the source of the sound the instant she heard it was the Sultan's severed, rotting arm, lying where it had fallen.
"As I thought, you really are a coward."
Still, his judgment had been swift. Not only had he recognized the curse spreading the moment it touched him, he had also made the quick decision to sacrifice a single arm to save his own life.
But his ending had been poor. He should not have left the arm behind.
Canaria seized the decaying arm and bestowed upon it the authority of regeneration. By its very nature, divine authority was immediate execution. The power blossomed based on the part where the effect was applied. If one used divine authority on a severed arm, the person from whom the arm was severed would conversely be drawn toward that location. Of course, a powerhouse on the Sultan's level would not be forcibly dragged.
However, he could not sever the connection of the authority itself. And so, Canaria could follow the link and trace the Sultan's location.
It was just as she thought this, bestowing the authority and attempting to see the connecting path, that something caught her eye. Before she knew it, an old, rusted blade had pierced through her chest.
It was a surprise attack from the hiding Sultan.
But this was illogical. No matter how much the divine power of a Saintess did not reach a king, for a king — a being of human station — to land an attack on the reincarnation of god was impossible.
However, Canaria recognized this blade for what it was.
Longinus, the only human permitted by the Saint to kill him — it was a fragment of the spear's blade that had slain the Saint.
The only blade in existence that could wound a Saintess. The driving force that had allowed all previous Sultans to continue this long war, generation after generation. The weapon of Saint-slaying had pierced Canaria's heart.
"...How does it feel to pay the price for insulting me, false Saintess?"
The Sultan's fingertips were visibly trembling. It was an emotion of an entirely different shade from fear or terror — radiant, bright joy. He could not hide the rapture blooming from the fact that he, in the history of the Empire, perhaps even all of humanity, had become the being to kill a Saintess since Longinus himself.
"...Pfft."
Canaria looked at him and let out a small, involuntary laugh. Then, she began to laugh like a madwoman. A primal cackle — "Ahahaha!" — echoed through the chamber.
"Truly, you are hopelessly stupid."
Another anomaly occurred. At this point, even a child could have perceived it — everything about Canaria before his eyes began to change.
"You yourself called me a false Saintess with your own mouth, yet you thought I would die because you pierced my heart with a spear meant for killing Saints?"
The authority of Longinus's Saint-Slaying was a power that applied only to Saints. But just now, the Sultan had, by his own admission, called the Canaria before him a false Saintess — and still deluded himself that it would work?
"What a magnificent farce this was."
At that moment, the Sultan realized that his mind was being turned inside out. But his brain could not withstand the dissonance that arose the instant he recognized it. Soon, a lukewarm sensation spread through his head, and blood began to pour from his nose.
"...Tell me. What have you done to me?"
The Sultan wiped the flowing blood and demanded of Canaria as if reprimanding her. Even in his final moments, he did not cast aside his pride and dignity. Though, of course, even that appearance was nothing but laughable.
"I wonder. Is there such a bond of loyalty between us? I am the Saintess, and you are the king of heretics. Even the fact that I am playing with you like this is no different from you enjoying a longevity that you could never experience until your dying day."
Canaria continued to mock the Sultan.
As she spoke, black shadows began to ooze forth around the blade of Longinus. Soon, the shadows migrated to her shoulder blades and began to form the shape of wings.
The Sultan knew what that being was. The existence written on the reverse side of the scripture that Canaria had erased from this world. The Second Saint, the King of Wisdom, Solomon. The King of the seventy-two demons he defined — the Demon King.
The king of ill omens, wearing the crown of curses, had descended before his very eyes.
"Though, of course, the current me is no Saintess."
The shadows began to writhe. At the same time, a small, newly formed hand pulled free the fragment of Longinus embedded in the Demon King's chest. Thereupon, the weapon that had once killed a Saint rusted over, lost its purpose, and crumbled into dust, vanishing.
"This was an unexpected harvest. To think there was still a shard of Longinus's spear left, when I thought I had eliminated it. If I had been the real Saintess... today you would have achieved the heroic feat of being the first to kill a Saint since Longinus himself."
Clap, clap. The Demon King applauded, as if consoling the Sultan standing behind her.
"Thanks to you, I have erased another potential threat to Rosaria today. When I return, should I ask her to pat my head? Thank you. Thanks to you, I can now demand praise from Rosaria."
Canaria smiled, her cheeks flushing.
"And, well, you're not a fool, so you must understand why I showed you this form, don't you?"
The Sultan could not let go of his shattered sword's hilt. He was a being who had touched the truth, yet the moment he beheld the Demon King who existed beyond it, his body had frozen and refused to move.
That didn't mean his thoughts had stopped. Quite the opposite — faced with oncoming death, he had entered a state of super-awakening he had never experienced once in his entire life. And the thought that swelled inside his head was sheer terror at his now-certain death.
His teeth began to chatter. Like a child seeing a ghost, the hegemonic king of the Empire, who had lived without fear, began to crumble under pure, undiluted terror.
"In the paradise I wish to create, there is no need for trash like you."
Canaria straightened up. Spreading her black wings wide, she looked down upon the coward who knelt, trembling in fear, and offered him a greeting.
"Who knows? If you pray and repent from this moment on... perhaps the merciful main god will grant you heaven as well."
Bald-faced mockery. It was a fitting tribute for a defeated king of heretics, whose hair had already turned white from terror.
"Congratulations. From this moment on, you will be recorded in the sacred scriptures of posterity as the human who died the most agonizing death in history."
The writhing black shadows began to envelop the Sultan.
She was cleaning away the trash that had separated her from Rosaria, and who may have posed a threat to her life, for the sake of their future paradise. As a bonus, it was also vengeful retaliation, mixed with spite, to make him feel even a fingernail's worth of the emptiness she herself had felt as he died.
And so, within the darkness, the screams of the man who had been a king began to ring out. The Demon King listened to them as if they were music, beginning to conceal the true form she had revealed after so long.
"At last, I can return to Rosaria."
Canaria mended the hole in her chest and straightened her sullied garments.
That moment marked the end of the Saintess's pilgrimage. And it was the somewhat bland, anticlimactic end of the long and tedious Holy War.