Chapter 255. The Mad Warrior (1)
The Fifth Diocese, nestled right beside Archbishop Mitas's Third Diocese, was under the care of Archbishop David. And at that very moment, David was breaking into a cold sweat thanks to some unexpected guests.
"U-Uh... I assure you, I'm not a heretic," Archbishop David stuttered, trying to defend himself. "No matter how much you try to frame me—"
"Frame you?" Caron Leston, who had called himself a Warrior, raised an eyebrow and interrupted. "That's an interesting way to put it. Are you ignoring the word of a Warrior? That's a bit hurtful, don't you think? What do you say, Grand Saintess?"
Caron had stormed into the church without warning, boldly taking a seat and causing a scene in broad daylight. But the real problem wasn't that he had barged in—it was that he hadn't come alone. With him was none other than the Grand Saintess Seria, a figure currently regarded as highly dangerous by the Holy Kingdom.
She revealed six wings, David thought.
Seria had been chosen as the Grand Saintess. That meant she was a great prophet, the very same one that would appear whenever the Holy Kingdom faced peril. The very fact of her emergence signaled that a great crisis was looming.
No one knew why the Light had chosen Seria. But to question the Light's decision was unthinkable. The wings were proof—divine evidence that she had been chosen by God. And as servants of that God, the clergy had no choice but to accept it with humility.
"This wine tastes divine... Perhaps it's because I'm drinking at church?" Caron mused, swirling his glass with satisfaction.
And yet, this brazen fool before him was putting David's faith to the test. Drinking alcohol in a sacred church—David wondered where this man's manners had gone.
Still, David had already given his permission. He couldn't exactly retract it now, so he simply furrowed his brow and said nothing.
With a quiet sigh, he eventually asked in a low voice, "Why have you come here? If the Grand Saintess has chosen you as the Warrior, His Holiness the Pope will surely appoint you formally."
David had no desire to involve himself in the power struggles tearing through the Holy Kingdom. In just a little while, he would begin his sabbatical. His modest hope was simply to avoid any turmoil and enjoy a quiet, uneventful leave.
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Caron offered a small smile and responded gently, "You, of all people, should know why. I'm here to bring you over to our side, Archbishop David."
"To bring me over?" David repeated. "I'm just a humble servant of the Light. I don't take sides."
It was a textbook-like answer, that he wouldn't take a side, and that he would fulfill his priestly duties with neutrality.
As expected , Caron thought.
He'd been told already—Archbishop Mitas had described David as a boring man. Now that Caron was meeting him in person, he finally understood what that meant.
These types of people stuck rigidly to the rules and fundamentals. They had lived that way their entire lives, and wouldn't change easily. The kind who stepped back rather than being swept into a storm. Excellent administrators in times of peace—but dangerously passive in chaos.
In this case... Caron pondered.
There was only one solution. What such people needed was a shock—a decisive moment to break their old-fashioned ways.
"I'm not asking you to take sides," Caron said as his tongue began to move with practiced ease. "I'm asking you to listen to your conscience."
"...What do you mean by that?" David asked quietly.
"Those who claim to follow God's will are gathering troops to invade other nations," Caron said, his voice firm. "You say your God is merciful. But if you must convert others by killing those who refuse... Is that truly the God you serve?"
He questioned the very foundation of the Holy Kingdom itself—a nation bound together by nothing but faith. It was outwardly sacred, but inwardly corrupt. It wasn't all that different from other kingdoms or empires. Nobles were simply priests in different robes, and territories had been replaced by dioceses.
Caron made David wonder whether this really was the ideal world believers had hoped for.
"Eliminating rivals to seize power, waging wars to expand influence... Tell me, how is the Holy Kingdom any different from any other?" Caron continued.
He didn't deny that the Holy Kingdom could indeed be blessed. The immense divine power radiating from Seria was proof enough. Relying on that power wasn't optional; it was necessary to defeat the demons.
"For now, I'll leave things here, satisfied that we understand each other's positions," Caron said, then tucked the wine bottle back into his pouch of dimensional space and stood up slowly.
"I'm not trying to force a black-and-white view of the world, but in times like these, there's no room for gray. You'll either join us—or die branded as a heretic. I'm more lenient than those fanatics. If that moment comes... You'll realize just how polite my offer was. That'll be all for today," he added.
The seed had been planted, and that was enough.
With a faint smile on his lips, Caron turned to his group and said, "Let's head back and get some rest. Grand Saintess, we've got some important things to discuss, so you'd better come along."
And with that, Caron left the church, his group following behind.
Outside, the sky had turned overcast, as if a storm was about to break. Leon glanced up at the clouds and asked casually, "What's on your mind?"
Caron looked up too, following Leon's gaze.
"The weather's perfect," Caron said. "For rats in the dark to start moving."
"...Don't tell me," Leon muttered.
"I've made sure the rumor about the Warrior's appearance has spread loud and clear. So they'll act soon enough. They won't want internal division with war on the horizon," Caron said.
The missing Saintess Seria had returned as the Grand Saintess—and the chosen Warrior now stood beside her.
The impact of that rumor was seismic. Just as Caron had hoped, the people of the Holy Kingdom were in an uproar. When he'd first set foot in the Fifth Diocese, countless citizens had come out to welcome them.
To the ruling faction, it was like having a fire lit under their feet. With public opinion shifting rapidly, they couldn't afford to sit idle.
"Damn, just imagining that bastard's face twisting in frustration already puts me in a good mood," Caron said.
An old nemesis from the Southern Great Forest—Saint Elijah. That sly fanatic wouldn't sit still. He would act, one way or another.
"We made the first move," Caron said. "Now we wait."
The bait had been cast. He didn't know exactly what would bite—but he had no doubt it'd be a big one.
"Until then, everyone, get some rest. It won't be long," Caron advised.
And just as he predicted, his plan unfolded with perfect precision.
That night, inquisitors arrived at the Fifth Diocese. Their stated reason for visiting was to ensure the safety of the Grand Saintess and the Warrior.
***
Caron and his group, who had been resting peacefully in their quarters, had no choice but to return to the chapel when summoned by Archbishop David.
It was a night when the moon hid behind thick clouds, cloaking the world in darkness.
Rubbing his eyes groggily, Caron stepped into the chapel, a sleepy grumble escaping his lips, "I was having a good dream. Why did you wake me up all of a sudden?"
As he walked in, countless stares pierced through him like needles. Knights in pure white armor and priests in black robes had already gathered inside, clearly waiting for him and his group.
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"Stare any harder and you might wear out my face," Caron joked casually, strolling farther into the chapel. His group followed carefully behind him, more cautious in their movements.
There were more than thirty people gathered in the chapel. And among them, four of the knights present were 7-Star elites. 7-Star powerhouses weren't just found lying around on the streets. In terms of the Imperial Knights, that'd be at least equivalent to the rank of vice-commander.
They've been hiding some serious firepower, Caron thought.
Even the Ducal Family of Leston's intelligence network should have caught wind of warriors this powerful. And yet, these were all unfamiliar faces. The fact that there were four of them here suggested they could have even more hidden assets.
"Owner, that one with the silver mask... He has Perverse Mana, or something like it. And... He's about to reach 8-Star," Guillotine informed Caron.
Does that mean they can produce someone with skills at the peak of 7-Star level? Caron mused.
Though paladins lacked the brute force of regular knights, they were still a force to be reckoned with. Even this single contingent could wipe out a few mediocre military units without breaking a sweat.
But Caron wasn't the least bit fazed. In fact, he said with a relaxed tone, "You all seem quite interested in me. So many of you showed up in the dead of night."
Caron's gaze swept slowly across the room. Each one present was clearly handpicked—not some random assortment. They were elite forces, sent with precision.
"To someone just walking in, it might look like a war's about to break out. This is kind of unsettling, considering you're all supposed to be servants of God," Caron said.
Whatever orders these people had been given, hostility practically dripped from their expressions. They didn't even bother to hide it.
"Mind if I sit?" Caron asked, flopping sideways onto a long bench with a lazy grin. "I'm a bit tired."
At that moment, a man wearing a silver mask said in a cold, formal voice, "I am Bakal, commander of Special Unit One under the Inquisition of the Vatican. It is an honor to meet you, Caron Leston."
"Well, at least the archbishop here treats me like a Warrior. I take it your people don't share the sentiment?" Caron replied. His mocking tone was unmistakable.
Bakal, however, kept his voice even. "According to sacred law, a Warrior's authority becomes valid only upon receiving official appointment from His Holiness the Pope. Until then, we cannot acknowledge your claim."
"You're stricter than you look. You're making it seem like I'm impersonating a Warrior. But, in case you forgot, the Grand Saintess herself picked me," Caron stated.
At those words, Bakal turned his head to look behind Caron. There stood Seria, her fists clenched at her sides.
"Saintess Seria is under suspicion of associating with heretics. The Vatican demands she respond to these charges," Bakal declared.
"Even after she's gained six wings?" Caron asked incredulously.
"We cannot entirely rule out the possibility of heretical sorcery," Bakal said.
"Hah. At least you're making this interesting. I think I get where you're coming from," Caron said.
His polite manner vanished completely. He stood slowly and said, "So basically, you refuse to acknowledge us."
"That is not our stance," Bakal replied. "We are merely allowing you the opportunity to clear up these misunderstandings while considering all possible outcomes."
"That sounds a bit too threatening for something so diplomatic. What if we refuse?" Caron asked.
"If you do not cooperate, you will be treated as heretics impersonating a Warrior and Grand Saintess to infiltrate the Holy Kingdom. The Vatican will bring you to trial," Bakal answered.
Caron didn't need to ask what the likely outcome of that trial would be—execution was a given.
"Let me guess, the charges would be something like blasphemy? I've heard that the Holy Kingdom's specialty is public burnings. If we're lucky, we might even get to witness one," Caron said.
Sling.
Caron unsheathed Guillotine. The eerie blade gleamed under the chapel's lights, radiating a deadly aura that spread through the room like wildfire.
It was a sudden move, but Leon and Leo immediately followed, drawing their own swords.
"Try and take us if you think you can," Caron said.
The inquisitors moved just as swiftly, as if they had been waiting for this moment. They each drew their weapons—maces, swords, even gauntlets.
A suffocating tension filled the chapel.
Caron inhaled deeply, as if savoring the air, and spoke again. "Archbishop David, are you seeing this? You're really going to just stand there and watch?"
Guillotine, infused with Azure Mana, let out a deep, resonant hum.
Whoosh.
"Watching silently isn't neutrality, it's complicity. These people are denying the very wings given by God. I may not be a theologian, but even I know denying divine proof defies common sense," Caron added. There was weight in his voice now.
Bakal pointed his sword at him and said, "So, you finally show your true face. The demon always imitates the form of God."
"Oh? Is that so?" Caron replied.
"We are ready to embrace martyrdom. For the glory of the divine Light, we shall punish you right here and now," Bakal said.
Shhh.
A power completely different from holy power—one that resembled dark mana instead—spread throughout the chapel. At the same time, the inquisitors' eyes turned blood-red. It was a technique that resembled the mana rampage often used by knights.
"If you kill us here, then so be it. The world will see your true, vile nature, and countless voices will rise in outrage against you," Bakal said. Though he spoke calmly, his words dripped with menace.
Caron, however, responded with a single, fluid motion.
Slice.
The tip of Guillotine didn't aim for the inquisitors. Instead, the dark blue blade sliced across Seria's shoulder. Her pristine white robe was instantly drenched in blood.
Caron beamed brightly and declared, "Masked assailants posing as inquisitors attacked the Grand Saintess and the Warrior. In defense, Caron Leston took up his sword and valiantly protected her from the heretics. That's the story that'll spread across the Holy Kingdom by morning."
Propaganda and fabrication were the kind of scheme that was Caron's specialty.
"You know, I once faked an injury to scam the emperor himself. Those kinds of tricks work surprisingly well," he added.
"Your corpses and the Saintess's wound will make excellent evidence. That's how you spread propaganda. Did you learn something today?" he asked in a mocking tone.
Caron stretched as if he was enjoying a refreshing morning breeze, then turned his blade toward the inquisitors. He said, "Now then. Face the sword of a Warrior, you wicked demons."
The madness glowing in Caron's eyes began to shake the very walls of the chapel.
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