The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations
The One Who Will Kill You (7)
Paaaaaaaah...
From the splitting darkness, the Adversary gazed at Julien.
'...How strange.'
In that brief moment, Julien had grown noticeably stronger.
One could say he had half-stepped into the realm of wielding the Power of Will.
Though still incomparable to himself, the fact that Julien had risen in the realm was significant.
But why did the process feel so awkward?
It was as if the world had forcibly made him stronger.
'...Is it because of me?'
The stronger he became, the stronger the Saintess became. And the stronger the Saintess became, the stronger he also became.
It was a fate and curse the two were born into—an eternal opposition—and the price of power.
The Adversary had come here to sever that fate. He truly believed he could kill the Saintess.
But somehow, Julien had gotten in the way.
That wasn't the only strange thing.
'...I should have been able to kill them all.'
The Great Chieftain of the Elves, the King of the Dwarves, the Holy Empire's Transcendents, and the Julien Mercenary Corps who had gathered here—
If he had killed them all, the war would have shifted heavily in the Salvation Church's favor.
Then, suddenly, a dragon had barged in—completely unexpected, at the worst possible moment.
Even that might've been tolerable. But they went further, breaking through the Curtain of Darkness and unleashing the Saintess's miracle.
'...What is this?'
They had overcome the crisis with remarkable skill. That much, he could admit.
But could such an outcome really be achieved by skill alone?
The dragon's sudden intrusion, the unfathomable depth of Astion and the Julien Mercenary Corps' strength—
And the support of the Great Chieftain of the Elves and the King of the Dwarves.
It was as if everything had been prepared for this battle.
'...Coincidence.'
He had merely made choices that fit the situation. So had they.
The strength of the Julien Mercenary Corps was the fruit of their own efforts—not something granted by chance.
Even this battle hadn't been anticipated. Surely it was the same for them.
Everything had simply aligned by coincidence to produce this result.
Anyone would think so. That was the natural conclusion.
And yet...
Why?
No matter what he did...
No matter what trick he tried...
Why did he feel such certainty that he would never have been able to kill the Saintess here?
Why did it feel like he'd been swept up in some massive, cosmic force beyond even the gods' foresight?
As if this outcome had been determined from the start.
'...What is this?'
What could possibly have led to this result?
No matter how much the Adversary thought about it, he couldn't find the answer. So he looked back into the past.
'...Where did it go wrong?'
From the moment he first met the Julien Mercenary Corps?
From the moment he tried to kill the Saintess?
Or from the moment he chose to settle the score here?
'...No.'
All of that was just ripples—none had the strength to shift the great flow.
No matter how far back he traced his steps, he couldn't find the cause of his failure. No theory gave him certainty.
And yet the reason had to exist somewhere!
Paaaaahk!
The fractured darkness rippled and gathered into one again.
Though Julien had slashed with all his strength, he had ultimately failed to inflict a fatal wound on the Adversary.
KWAANG!
The Adversary reached out a hand, and Julien was flung backward.
Looking at Julien, he spoke.
"...It seems our battle will go on for a very long time."
That wasn't just an impression—it was an undeniable premonition.
The moment he realized that, the Adversary felt the massive chains of fate binding him.
And those chains weren't on him alone.
They bound the Saintess. And now, even Julien before his eyes.
As if from the beginning of time, they were shackled by an inescapable fate.
'Ah... I see. I was never free.'
The Adversary smiled within the darkness.
He didn't know where this fate would end—
But he knew that one day, those chains of fate would break.
And when that day came...
He would reclaim true freedom, and be released from destiny.
PAAAAAHK!
The Adversary's body turned into darkness and soared high into the sky.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
The dragon's roar, filled with rage, shook the earth.
Endless flames and countless spells tore through the sky in pursuit of the Adversary.
Ilaniel drew her Elven Serenade and fired at him. Other Transcendents and mages launched long-range attacks at the Adversary.
KWAANG! KWAANG! KWAANG!
The Adversary took them all head-on.
With every blow he took, the darkness shook violently. His energy was steadily diminishing.
Yet the Adversary focused only on his slow departure.
"My fate does not yet permit death..."
He knew he would not die here.
And, shockingly, things unfolded just as he had expected.
"You bastard!"
The dragon growled and spread his wings, trying to chase him.
The Adversary was now far weaker than when they first fought. He had been struck by Divine Power and countless attacks.
They couldn't let this chance slip away. But the dragon could no longer pursue him.
"Grrrrgh..."
BOOM!
With a pained groan, the dragon crashed back down to the earth.
Darkness left behind by the Adversary still remained inside. It rampaged wildly, continuing to consume the dragon's body.
In the end, the dragon had to give up the chase and pour all his strength into suppressing the darkness.
The same was true for the other Transcendents. They had barely escaped death themselves.
None of them had the strength to chase after the Adversary. None even dared to try.
One by one, they collapsed to the ground. For now, more important than chasing him down—
Was the fact that they had survived this darkness.
A silence briefly settled over the battlefield.
Everyone gasped for breath, trembling as the realization of their survival failed to truly sink in.
And at last, a great roar erupted from the United Human Army.
"Waaaaaaaah!"
"We... we won!"
"The Adversary has retreated!"
Cheers burst forth like desperate cries.
Everyone embraced each other with joy. Even the Elves and Dwarves, known for their animosity, held one another and shed tears.
It was a sense of liberation, as if they had escaped from hell.
An overwhelming relief that they had clawed their way out of the abyss of death.
At this moment, everyone felt the same.
And the one who had made this victory possible was...
"The Saintess led us!"
"Oh Goddess! Bless our Saintess!"
"The true light is the Saintess and no other!"
The chants showed no sign of ending.
Soldiers, knights, mages—even nobles—all raised their voices as one toward the Saintess.
The commander-in-chief of the Imperial Army, Duke Stauffen, swept back his sweat-drenched hair.
He watched the cheering Imperial forces for a moment, then approached the cardinals at the rear.
Duke Stauffen spoke to Borisco.
"You'll have to admit it now."
"...Th-that is…"
"Everyone saw it—the Pope was the leader of evil. No excuse or fabricated tale can cover that up."
"..."
"In this war against the Demonic Abyss, we needed a focal point. The Pope filled that role. Now that he's gone, the Saintess must become that center."
"..."
The cardinals' eyes wavered. But Duke Stauffen did not stop speaking.
"And the ones granted the honor of guarding the Saintess will be the Julien Mercenary Corps."
"..."
"That's the right way forward. Only then can we win."
With that, Duke Stauffen turned away. He knew precisely what was necessary to win the war.
Borisco and the other cardinals were left speechless.
This was no longer a time when the Church's authority or scheming held sway. If they refused to acknowledge the Saintess now, the people would not stay silent. ＲâɴộꞖÊꞨ
Now that the Pope had been proven a demon, who could dare deny the Saintess's miracle?
"A mere lowly priestess has risen to the seat of Saintess..."
"What in the world is happening...?"
"Truly, these are the end times..."
The cardinals were utterly dazed. To them, everything still felt like a dream.
But the Pope's sins were undeniable. What he had done could not be excused or justified.
In the end, the cardinals and high priests followed behind Duke Stauffen.
Paaaaaah...
The light pouring from the heavens still wrapped around Deneb.
That light spread in all directions, filling the battlefield—once stained in despair—with sacred radiance.
Deneb stood within that light, eyes closed.
From her now radiated an awe and dignity none could dare to approach.
Step, step, step.
With each step Duke Stauffen took toward Deneb, the cheers gradually faded.
The eyes of countless people fixed solely on those footsteps.
Step.
At last, when Duke Stauffen arrived before Deneb, a breathless silence engulfed the battlefield.
Under normal circumstances, Deneb should have bowed her head immediately upon seeing the Duke.
Before a Duke of the Holy Empire, even a cardinal could not raise their head proudly.
But now, everything has changed.
Duke Stauffen slowly knelt before Deneb and bowed his head.
Planting his sword in front of him, he spoke.
"I will follow the path led by the Saintess. Just as her light shines upon the world, so too will our blood and souls be devoted to that light. O Saintess, from this moment on, we are your people and your army."
Then the cardinals and high priests prostrated themselves to the ground and said,
"We accept the Saintess as our light."
That wave soon swept through the entire United Human Army.
From lowly soldiers to noble lords, Elves and Dwarves alike—no one was an exception. All knelt.
A cry that shook the heavens resounded.
"We accept the Saintess as our light!"
Deneb slowly opened her eyes.
Within the divine light, she extended her arm forward.
A gentle voice spread into the ears of all present.
"May the Goddess's blessing... be with you all."
Paaaaah...
A dazzling light exploded outward.
The light descended upon the heads of all who had gathered, wiping away pain and despair, planting the seeds of new hope.
From this day forth, Deneb was unquestionably accepted as humanity's 'Saintess.'
* * *
The Adversary walked for a long time.
Though the path was unknown, the destination was clear.
Because the dark aura veiling the sky—unseen by others—was guiding him.
The thick darkness that had once enveloped him had already vanished.
Yet his appearance remained that of the Pope.
Resplendent robes, brilliant ornaments—symbols of past authority still adorned him.
The only difference now was the color of his hair, which turned black.
After walking in silence for a while, the Adversary suddenly came to a stop.
"Hmph..."
One by one, figures in black robes began to appear around him.
The Adversary recognized them instantly. They were priests of the Salvation Church.
Though they were not deep within the Demonic Abyss, and their numbers weren't great, each held immense power by virtue of being out in the world.
As one, they knelt and prostrated themselves on the ground.
Voices perfectly unified, as though a single entity spoke, echoed across the earth.
"O King of Salvation, who shall open the end and the beginning of the world. We all lie at your feet and pledge ourselves to you."
The Adversary smiled at the sight.
"...At last, I've found where I belong."
In that moment, the shadow beneath his feet deepened.
Now, it was time to act as fate commanded.
The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations