Kwagwagwang!
A deafening explosion split the air.
Thick clouds of dust rose in waves, spreading like smoke that was soon torn apart by the power bursting from within.
The wind blew.
No—this was a storm.
It was impossible to believe that such destruction came from two weapons clashing against each other.
On one side stood a towering wolf knight over five meters tall, and on the other, a human cloaked in radiant gold.
Awoooo!!
Hans, the wolf knight, let out a long howl.
The priests, paladins, and mages who heard it froze in place.
“Ugh!”
“Khugh!”
The techniques they had prepared for support failed to form properly and scattered into nothingness.
It was the strange power of the Beast of Jévaudan.
A force wave that interfered with the enemy’s spell or skill before it could even activate.
But Tarian was unaffected.
He was a Paladin Commander—hailed as the strongest paladin of his era.
He had never fought the continent’s greatest swordsman, Lutus, but it was widely said he would not lose even to him.
To someone like Tarian, Hans’s howl was nothing more than irritating noise.
“You’re a noisy one.”
As Tarian swung his sword, a massive golden arc carved through the air.
Under the black clouds, blinding light flashed.
Hans raised his cursed greatsword and blocked Tarian’s strike.
The howl had not been meant to deal damage anyway.
He had used it to disrupt the nearby support.
Avoiding the horizontal sweep of the golden blade, Hans kicked off the ground, performing a backward tumble before leaping high into the air.
The pack of black wolves behind him split cleanly in [N O V E L I G H T] half and vanished.
Seeing Hans in the air, Tarian prepared to charge in the moment he landed.
But—
Tap! Hans stepped on the empty air and leapt once more.
“He’s flying?”
Even Tarian hadn’t expected that.
Stepping on the air?
Grrrr!
The power Hans wielded wasn’t only that of the Beast of Jévaudan.
He also carried the strength of the wolf spirit that served as guardian of the Ulburk family.
The Wind Step—an ability to move with and become one with the wind—was still usable even in this monstrous state.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Hans began moving, kicking at the air multiple times in rapid succession.
‘This is...’
Tarian’s eyes narrowed.
He had always been fast despite his size, but now that he could move freely in midair, he was even more troublesome.
The air itself was his foothold—an unbelievable sight.
Now Tarian had to guard not only front, back, and sides, but also above.
Crack!
As soon as Tarian showed a brief opening, Hans dropped from the air, swinging his cursed greatsword straight down.
Tarian conjured a massive golden shield with divine power, angling it in front of him.
The greatsword sliced away a chunk of the shield but didn’t pierce through entirely, embedding itself in the ground.
The soil where the blade struck began to rot and blacken under the curse.
At that instant, Tarian, who was about to swing his golden sword, had to retreat.
Hans’s cloak flared, and from within, darkness lunged toward him.
No—it wasn’t darkness.
‘Wolves?’
What had seemed like shadows were black wolves.
They burst from his cloak, baring sharp fangs and lunging for Tarian’s vitals.
Of course—they were the manifestation of the Beast of Jévaudan.
The apex of all cryptids, capable of endlessly reproducing lesser monsters.
“How dare you!”
Tarian released divine power throughout his body, blasting the wolves away.
The violent golden flames turned them into ash.
‘Trying to draw my focus away, then retreat while I’m distracted, huh?’
Tarian already calculated Hans’s intent and prepared his next move.
But Hans acted one step faster.
His elongated legs—reverse-jointed like a wolf’s—were strapped with black greaves.
A single kick from that heavily armored giant carried terrifying power.
Tarian gave up on attacking and immediately switched to defense.
Tzzzzing!
A golden cross appeared beside him, blocking Hans’s kick.
Crash!
But the formation of the cross had been a fraction too late; its strength wasn’t enough.
Hans’s kick shattered it like glass and struck Tarian’s side cleanly.
Tarian’s body flew sideways, yet Hans didn’t pursue.
Tarian stabilized himself in midair and landed lightly, glaring back at Hans.
His ribs must have been broken, his organs shaken, yet he looked perfectly fine.
Grrrrr.
Hans growled warily and tightened his grip on his sword.
Seeing this, Tarian became certain.
“You can tell what I’m going to do.”
It wasn’t that Hans could see the future or read minds.
He simply anticipated Tarian’s next move and acted a step ahead.
“Judging by your movements, you don’t seem very experienced in battle.”
Just as Hans analyzed Tarian, Tarian analyzed Hans.
The creature was a novice at fighting—
Or more precisely, he lacked calculation and tactical reasoning.
He wore armor, stood upright, and held a weapon—
Yet his movements were clumsy, like someone handling a sword for the first time.
Like a beast that had only just turned into a man and stepped onto the battlefield.
But what compensated for all of that was his movement—
An instinct sharp enough to be called a sixth sense.
Hans’s fighting style was crude, but that made it primal and dangerous.
Whenever Tarian tried to create an opening to set up a trap, Hans instinctively saw through it and evaded.
“He’s not without reason, though.”
He used his wolf pack for attrition warfare, he wielded a sword—
There was definitely intelligence there.
And yet his method of fighting remained that of a wild beast.
If he had been the calculating type, this would have been far less troublesome.
“To think I’d struggle this much with a servant before even facing the Demon King. I never intended to underestimate you, but it seems I’ll have to start taking this seriously.”
Tarian released his divine power.
This time, he focused it not through his whole body, but on his shoulders—golden energy erupted from his shoulder blades.
That golden divinity soon formed into wings.
A radiant halo appeared behind his head.
In one hand he held a flaming golden sword.
In the other, a holy shield.
Behind him, wings; above him, a sacred halo.
Tarian now looked like a heavenly warrior personally descended by God.
Hans gripped his greatsword tighter.
The curse emanating from the blade thickened, dark smoke shimmering like heat haze.
From within his cloak, countless red eyes opened, and the wolves growled ferociously.
* * *
The Crusader reinforcements were facing difficulties.
The coast wasn’t wide enough to land the entire army at once, so they had no choice but to move in small numbers.
The force could only operate using elite troops.
Reports from those who landed earlier said the Demon King had used some trick, making it better for regular soldiers not to advance at all.
Their effective combat units were limited to mages, priests, knights, and paladins.
Even steam golems, powered suits, and armored vehicles used by regular infantry were useless.
In short, over ninety percent of their army had become dead weight.
Still unwilling to give up, infantrymen tried to establish a beachhead.
But as a green current of wind swept over them from afar, everything changed.
They collapsed where they stood, without even reacting.
Hundreds of soldiers fell onto the sand simultaneously—a surreal sight.
“What in the world...?”
A knight checked one of the fallen men.
They weren’t dead. The rhythmic breathing and faint snoring showed they had simply fallen asleep.
“Asleep?”
Could it be—sleep pollen drifting this far?
Even so, the potency was incredible.
If the knights hadn’t shielded themselves with aura, they too might have fallen into slumber.
At this rate, sending normal troops was impossible.
Only a fraction—barely ten percent—of the elite could continue the landing.
“All infantry down... unbelievable.”
“The path through the skies is sealed, too. We’ll have to walk to the citadel ourselves.”
“The vanguard lost contact. What happened to them?”
Once the holiest land of all, Bretus—
Now, under the Demon King’s grasp, it had become the most terrifying mystery on the continent.
“Hm. Things are unfolding strangely.”
Among the mages who landed on the island, several stood out from the rest of the war magicians.
They were the instructors of Seorn.
At their head was Elisa Willow, dressed far too elegantly for a holy war.
She glanced at the soldiers being carried away on stretchers, swiftly assessing their condition.
‘This is...’
A strong sense of déjà vu came from the soldiers in deep sleep.
Elisa instantly recognized it—they were trapped in Dreamland.
‘The faint traces lingering in the air... This is definitely Dreamwalker magic. Now that I think about it, the Dream School didn’t participate in the crusade. They vanished, leaving their entire building empty.’
That meant the Dream School had sided with the Demon King, Heathcliff.
‘The Dream School Master, Clara Cowen, and the Elder Zantman are dead. Many veteran Dreamwalkers died during the Dreamland incident. Their power must have declined—but even so, dream magic is tricky to deal with.’
Dream magic wasn’t meant to kill through force like elemental spells or pure mana.
It infiltrated the target’s mind, shaking consciousness or plunging it into deep sleep.
Not lethal—but perfect for neutralizing enemies.
It wouldn’t work on knights or mages of equal rank—
But against ordinary soldiers with no magical resistance, it was devastating.
‘They deliberately only put them to sleep. Since our side’s numbers are overwhelming, they’re conserving energy and responding with minimal effort.’
Still, Elisa sensed a deeper motive behind that choice.
‘A blatant attempt to buy time. So the command’s suspicions were right.’
The enemy was trying to stall for time.
That was why command had been so desperate to end this war quickly—
Because giving the Demon King more time could be disastrous.
Elisa understood their urgency, but she also felt something off.
‘It makes sense to worry about what the enemy might do—but are they this desperate because of mere caution?’
The higher-ups seemed almost pressured—like they were being watched—desperate to make this crusade a perfect success.
‘You and I joined this holy war under similar circumstances.’
The moment the Empire’s envoys arrived, the chosen successor to the throne suddenly changed—from Aileen to the second prince, Ivelon—
And Ivelon strongly supported the Holy Sovereign Salesin.
Elisa claimed to avoid politics, but she wasn’t blind to these strange currents.
‘The Theocracy is hiding a power. Likely some kind of mental domination that manipulates others.’
That would explain how they controlled the leaders of other nations.
All of them had one thing in common: they’d met priests and archbishops sent from the Holy Nation.
‘Then the question is—why are we unaffected?’
Elisa thought of Saintess Catherine.
The reason she had suddenly come to Seorn.
The subtle kindness she’d shown her.
‘Interesting. So the Saintess and the Holy Sovereign aren’t walking the same path.’
A crack within Bretus itself.
Elisa’s lips curved into a faint smile.
Whatever result that rift might bring to this crusade—
If used well, it might prevent the worst outcome.
“You think so too, don’t you, Terina?”
Elisa turned to the woman who had landed with her.
Terina Lionhowl.
Leader of the Nightcrawler Knights.
She showed no sign of surprise at Elisa’s words.
Elisa knew that Terina shared her thoughts.
At least from what she could see, Terina was neither brainwashed nor under domination.
“...Elisa. You know this war isn’t just another crusade.”
“I know. And you don’t need to worry about us too much. That would be underestimating us. Seorn instructors teach students—but every one of us is an elite.”
Moreover, they had grown stronger after surviving Nirva’s Dreamland incident.
Far from dragging down the war mages, they might even surpass them.
“Yes. One look at your eyes tells me enough.”
Terina decided to say no more.
For now, their focus had to remain on the battlefield ahead.
Just then, Elisa sensed a surge of mana from afar and raised her eyebrows.
“Oh my.”