"Retreat."

The command was immediate, and the subordinate priest began gathering his magic at once.

Whoosh!

A surge of murky, polluted magic swelled around him, reminiscent of muddy water. He began to cast a spell, intending to complete his incantation… but—

"Where do you think you're going?"

Slice!

Shhhh…!

The magic was cut off—or rather, "devoured."

"Dare to cast magic in my presence? How laughable."

It was the power of absorption. Not merely consuming mana, but absorbing all life force within range and making it his own. This was the second mystery of Lancelot, known as the "Mystery of Absorption," following its "Mystery of Flame."

Throughout history, these "mysteries" defied logic, bestowed upon those fated to walk the paths of kings and heroes. Miracles, gifts from the gods, were held in awe, and wielding just one of them was often seen as the mark of a chosen one.

And thus, the demon sword was beyond the realm of reason.

The demon sword held a total of five mysteries.

Aside from flame and absorption, there were three other mysteries, each potentially more powerful than the last. It was no wonder ancient scholars claimed the demon sword could bring nations to ruin.

Flare!

Flames roared to life around the priests, threatening to engulf and incinerate them.

Their life force drained, weakening them with every breath. Anyone with even a slight vulnerability would have succumbed instantly in that place.

The demon sword, and by extension, the Duke who wielded its mysteries freely, was indeed a monster. For while the weapon was formidable, it would consume its user if they were even slightly unworthy, as had happened to past wielders, who all met tragic ends.

"Hmm, it seems fleeing won’t be so easy. Time to get serious."

"We’ve already started, hahaha."

A lesser mage would have been terrified in such a situation. After all, the pride and power of a mage come from their magic, and here their magic was sealed. But the priestly mage didn’t show fear; he laughed instead.

He seemed thrilled to test his abilities in this deadly situation.

"[Arise, creature who feeds on death, and bestow despair upon those who stand before me.]"

The priest’s incantation wasn’t an ordinary one.

It sounded less like a spell and more like a request—a "wish."

And as his wish concluded—

Crunch! Crack!

Something horrid broke through the walls of the building.

"A summoning spell?!"

"How could he… with the Lord present…!"

Even if summoning magic was unconventional, the idea of a summoned creature appearing within the domain of the demon sword’s influence was unimaginable.

However, the Duke didn’t waver. He scrutinized the emerging figure, his eyes widening as he realized its true nature.

"Who… who have you made a pact with?"

"Haha, so it seems this power cannot be absorbed by your demon sword? Good. I've learned something valuable."

The priest continued to laugh, even as spiderweb-like burns began spreading across his face, even as he endured excruciating pain. His only satisfaction came from discovering a method to threaten the Duke.

"You…."

For the first time, the Duke recognized them as a true threat.

These weren’t merely power-hungry aristocrats or conspirators aiming to destabilize the kingdom. They were something far more sinister.

They had made a pact with something "infernal."

"They’ve surrendered even their souls for power… utterly mad."

The Duke acknowledged their deep-seated hatred.

Did they resent the kingdom? Or perhaps the world itself? He didn’t know.

'They must be stopped.'

He couldn’t allow such a dangerous existence to roam free.

The Duke decided not to bother understanding their grudges or motivations. Sorting out who was righteous and who was guilty would lead nowhere.

"Forget capturing them. Kill them."

Fwoosh!

At the Duke’s command, the shadows leaped forward without hesitation.

And, in response—

"[Devour them, my ghasts.]"

The summoned ghasts, chimeras crafted from monsters and human "components," clashed with the shadows.

 

By the time the kingdom’s soldiers arrived, they were greeted by a scene of utter devastation. A section of the city had been partially destroyed.

Drip, drip…

"………."

Though miraculously there were no casualties, no one considered it a relief. The sight had left everyone pale with fear.

And for good reason.

"Unfortunately, one escaped. As for the damages, Galahad will bear the cost of all repairs."

Seventeen buildings and an entire grove had been reduced to ashes. That all of this had been wrought by a single duke and fifty knights was astonishing.

Yet, the Duke, who had orchestrated this havoc, still looked unsatisfied.

"Are there any casualties, Lac?"

"My apologies."

"I asked if there were casualties, so why are you apologizing first?"

"……."

The shadows lowered their heads in shame.

They couldn’t bear to meet the gaze of their master, who cared so much for them.

"A shell, huh? They’re playing quite the game."

"……."

The captured mage’s body was left hollow, his heart still beating, but his eyes vacant of any spark of life.

They had captured the flesh, but the soul was absent.

"Foul creatures."

The Duke murmured quietly, a mixture of anger and sadness in his voice.

For despite his rank, there were still so many mysteries he couldn’t fathom. He wondered—

"If I were to become king, would I understand everything? It's a tempting thought…"

He recalled the arrogant whisper left behind by the young lion.

 

Drip, drip.

"Haa… haa…!"

Panting heavily, the man clutched his severed arm.

During his escape, he’d been struck by a knight named Lac, resulting in his arm being torn off. Though he’d managed to staunch the bleeding, he wasn’t sure how long he could last.

It wasn’t just the knight’s strike; the flames of the demon sword continued to burn within him. If the fire reached his heart, he would surely die.

'They are indeed formidable. Even without the three superhumans, those two are monstrous.'

He pressed forward, despite the agony, thanks to his subordinates’ sacrifices. He wouldn’t let the concept of "giving up" enter his mind.

And so, he pressed on.

"-This is the end of the line. Time to leave the stage, Andrea Laurent."

In an unfortunate twist of fate, the high-ranking priest—Andrea Laurent—glared at the man with bloodshot eyes.

"……."

"Forty years ago, there were those who sought to build an army of warriors in defiance of the kingdom. The late king, recognizing the ambition of the temple, brought it down, though some survivors lingered in its shadow… who would have thought that they would once again scheme to overthrow the kingdom?"

Not only did the man know his name, but he also knew his affiliation and hidden history.

How could he possess such information?

"Did you think the Duke was the only one hunting you? Did you think your dirty little plague of ‘faith’ could spread across the north without our notice? Did you think the north would be an easy target…?"

Rumble!

The earth trembled as if a massive beast were roaring.

Only then did Andrea Laurent realize that the agents they’d planted in the north had finally broken under torture.

"…So much for faithless agents."

"Their faith wasn’t weak. It took over five hundred days of torture to get the information. The brainwashing was intense, I’ll give you that."

The man shuddered.

The north had suffered severe damage because of a few lowly pests. Although it wasn’t publicly visible, they had been rotting from the inside out.

Their doctrines, their ideology, and their brainwashing methods were insidious.

And so, he had come personally, the moment he had the information, to uproot them.

"Surrender. Tell us the location of your [Blood Cross Order]. Surrender willingly, and I’ll grant you a merciful death."

"…You know our ‘name’ as well. Impressive."

Andrea Laurent realized he’d been exposed.

He smirked grimly, as if there was still something he found amusing.

Then, suddenly—

"…The world is full of weak and sorrowful lambs, and with our blood, we shall cleanse all tragedy and suffering. Even if I am damned to hell for eternity, we shall purify the world with our pain—"

Holding an inverted cross, he recited an eerie prayer, one that would never appear in any scripture.

"Damn cultists."

Magnus Julius de Lionel shook his head with disdain.

He’d heard their creed countless times, and each time he was filled with revulsion. But knowing the true meaning behind it, he understood the danger it posed. If their ideology spread among the citizens, the rule of law—and the kingdom itself—would collapse.

It had to be stopped.

Before it spread any further.

"Maximus."

"Shouldn’t we capture him?"

"It’s meaningless."

"Understood."

A massive knight, the Northern Warrior Maximus, stepped forward. It was too confined for the Black King to unleash his full power. Maximus would handle this.

"Your rank in the Blood Cross Order is said to be Centurion. Show me your strength."

Though he knew his opponent was a criminal, Maximus offered him a fair duel, to allow him to die with honor.

But—

"-[Thirteenth Angel], descend upon the heretics and purify them with blood."

Drip…

Blood began streaming from Andrea Laurent’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, as he invoked a horrifying prayer. His flesh began to melt, and his body twisted into a monstrous form, a grotesque sacrifice to summon an unholy power.

Andrea Laurent's body disintegrated as his blood consumed his own flesh and bones, transforming him into a terrifying creature. In that moment, he relinquished his humanity to gain power that could rival an entire battalion of elite knights.

Yet…

"Foolish beyond measure!"

Maximus could only shake his head in contempt. By embracing such monstrous power, Andrea had forsaken his last chance to die as a man. Instead, he had chosen to abandon his soul, becoming a mindless abomination.

Drip, drip…

Maximus could hardly contain his anger. How could someone abandon their humanity, choosing to die as a pitiful monster rather than as a warrior?

"If you despised the world so much, you should have fought harder as a man."

Instead of resorting to this.

Drip…

"……."

BOOM!

Maximus shed his usual jovial demeanor, his expression darkened, and he took up his colossal battle-axe, the Moon Axe, in both hands.

Whoosh!

The massive weapon, even larger than most battle-axes, felt light as a feather in Maximus's grip. He swung it as though it were a mere cudgel, advancing towards the blood-soaked creature that Andrea Laurent had become.

"Prepare yourself!"

With all his might, Maximus brought down a powerful blow, channeling the full force of his warrior’s spirit.

Long after a certain blood-soaked knight had fallen asleep, exhausted from battle, the sounds of fierce combat continued to echo through the night.

It’s said that the night was exceptionally long and filled with the sounds of distant explosions.

For hours, well into the early morning.