The Divine Punch
How long had I been fighting in this monster subjugation? I hadn't been counting, but I must have taken down dozens of Baffalos. Close to a hundred, probably. I'd been knocking them out one by one, blocking their flanking routes. Even though their kin who charged ahead had all been crippled or killed, whether out of loyalty to their leader or sheer stupidity, these creatures only changed direction left or right before charging straight again. Just as our method was simple but effective, so was theirs: overwhelming numbers and momentum. If they broke through even once, the Baffalos would win. Their weakness and limit was that once their numbers dwindled, it was over. In this clash of spear and shield, victory belonged to us. The horde that had easily numbered in the hundreds now had barely a hundred left.
The knights in the rear had stopped casting spells and drawn their weapons instead, advancing up the hill alongside the vanguard. The remaining Baffalos, finally grasping the situation, hesitated instead of charging. They no longer looked at us. Their eyes were fixed on their leader, waiting for new orders.
The leader, two or three times larger than the others, let out a cry. “Muk… Mukooo!” It chose to retreat.
“They're running! Pursue them! Don't let a single one escape! Otherwise they'll come back just like this!”
Kwaang! Cardinal Carlo kicked off the ground hard enough to shake the earth and soared forward, cutting off the Baffalo leader at the front of the fleeing pack.
“Where do you think you're going? You drove all your subordinates to their deaths, and now the leader wants to save his own hide?”
“Muk?!”
Chiiik! Ignoring the burns, Cardinal Carlo grabbed the leader's blazing horns and hoisted it up before hurling it toward us.
“Catch it, you brats!”
“Uwaaak! Are you insane?!”
“That old man pulled the same stunt last year!”
“Dodge!!”
The knights scattered in an instant. But I ran straight toward where the leader was falling.
“Saintess Candidate! Get out of the way!”
What nonsense. Cardinal Carlo told me to catch it, so catch it I would. I planted my feet firmly to keep my balance, drew my fist back, and layered more holy power over the technique I'd named in my mind—Divine Punch.
Kudreuk! Aiming at the Baffalo leader plummeting in a parabolic arc under gravity's pull, I launched my prepared strike straight at its head as it accelerated downward.
Tu-kwaaaang!
The impact of my blow meeting the creature's falling momentum sent a shockwave that whipped my hair into disarray.
“Muk… Mukuu…”
The Baffalo leader twitched on the ground, trying to rise, but after a final death rattle it fell silent. That silence spread across the hill in an instant.
“What… did we just witness…?”
“Is that even possible?”
The knights couldn't hide their shock at what I'd done. Leaderless, the remaining Baffalos could only paw uselessly at the ground, milling about in confusion.
“What are you spacing out for?! Save the admiration for later and finish the job! Do you want to see these bastards' faces again in a few months?!”
At Jacob's shout, the knights snapped out of it and quickly dispatched the rest. Before long, not a single living Baffalo remained. Only hundreds of corpses lay cooling amid the dying embers.
Seeing that the subjugation was truly over, I released my body strengthening… and collapsed. Ah, right. The backlash. At least I didn't cough up blood this time. When I wake up, it'll probably be in bed again. Benedict and Cesca will be dumbfounded when they return. “Why are you still lying down?” they'll ask.
The Saint Front Knights returning to the diocese after the monster subjugation. Normally they would be chattering about finally having a drink or insisting they were going straight to wash up and sleep, but today was different. Their attention was fixed solely on the small Saintess Candidate sleeping soundly in Cardinal Carlo's arms—Levia.
Unable to withstand the others' stares, Jacob stepped forward as their representative and asked Cardinal Carlo, “Did you know about this, old man?”
“You insolent brat. Put on a single armband and you forget all manners. What did you just call me? I'm a cardinal, you know.”
“You said that after three years of training, you'd let us call you whatever we wanted.”
Back then, he'd told them they could call him “hey,” “you,” “this brat,” “that brat,” or “old man” as much as they liked once they survived. Jacob was simply following those instructions. At least he still added “sir.” Of course, there was no such courtesy behind his back.
“This punk?!”
“Just answer the question.”
“Haa… Tch. Yes, I knew.”
However—
“This is the first time I've seen it myself.”
“At first I thought you'd taught her directly, but that wasn't it. Lady Levia said the same.”
“What did the Saintess Candidate say?”
Jacob recalled the earlier events and let out a hearty laugh. “She said she saw you do it and copied you. Figured if you could do it, so could she.”
“What? Khahaha! As expected, our Saintess Candidate is something else!”
“I don't doubt Lady Levia's words, but you truly never taught her?”
“You brat! How dare you doubt the Saintess Candidate?!”
“I said I believe her! I do! But that technique of wrapping holy power around the fist…”
“Right. That's something only I can do among us.”
“Then don't tell me…”
“Your face is an open book, you fool. It's not what you're thinking, so stop worrying.”
“Then how?”
“How would this old man know? The cardinal who probably does know isn't talking. What I can say for certain is that our Saintess Candidate, fortunately, didn't attempt that 'madness' the way I did.”
“Are you saying it's a talent only Lady Levia possesses?”
“She's blessed. I've never seen anyone so deeply loved by the gods in all of history.”
Cardinal Benedict had known. He had known of Levia's talent and power. Carlo couldn't be sure how Benedict knew, but he could now half-understand why the cardinal had wanted to delay the unsealing as long as possible—and why, once Levia could wield holy power, she would inevitably have to become the Saintess. No matter how much Levia claimed she didn't want to be a candidate, let alone the Saintess, once the world learned of her power, it would never leave her alone. Whether for good or ill.
Perhaps Levia's insistence on quitting the candidacy had been her instincts warning her of that future.
“Holy power flowing through her body instead of mana… It's as if she was born with it from the very beginning. Our Saintess Candidate truly is…”
Watching Levia, who would face countless hardships and glories ahead, Carlo could only pray for one thing.
“Please, just don't die. Grow up healthy.”
The place was a pitch-black space. More precisely, a space where darkness itself seemed to writhe. The only thing that shone here was an altar radiating an ominous aura. And standing upon that altar was a single figure.
Those who worked alongside him or served him called him the “Prophet.”
The Prophet drew a crystal orb from his robes. Before long, the orb began to glow and dim repeatedly. Someone was contacting him.
“Is that the Clown?”
—Yes, Prophet.
“Why is your tone like that?”
—Ahaha! I'm practicing. Someone said my acting was poor, so I'm diligently training my performance skills!
“Enough with the jokes. Report.”
Irritation crept into the Prophet's voice.
—I keep saying, Prophet, you really ought to relax a little. Well, anyway, the operation we've been working on is already in its final stages.
“Don't let your guard down.”
—Ehe~ I really didn't expect that last time. The information was wrong, too! This time I'm confident, so just trust me—the Clown said through the communication orb.
“…The Heresy Inquisitor is someone who can sense our power. You should know that well.”
—Even if he knows, he can't eliminate us. The fact that he's left us alone for nearly ten years is proof!
“He might find a way.”
—Please don't be like that. You know my “method.” I don't wait endlessly without faith like the Designer. I just pick the right timing and—bang!
“I'll trust you.”
—Hah! This Clown will definitely complete the mission…
The Clown ended the communication while once again slipping back into the acting he'd claimed to be practicing.
—I will offer the eleventh Saintess Candidate, Benika Arendia, to the Prophet.