“…An order from the Cardinal.”

The Commander looked up from the ledgers spread across his desk. “You are asking me to defy a direct command from His Holiness and arrest the baron?”

“His Holiness is meeting with the Cardinal this very moment!” Philip’s voice cracked with false urgency, the lie spilling from him as easily as breath. “Can you not see this is all happening with his blessing?”

The truth was, the Pope would never have consented to Louis Berg’s arrest. The two were allies of convenience, and in the intricate power struggle of the Holy Kingdom, the baron was the Pope’s only spear.

But it was also true that the Commander had no way to confirm it. Not while the Cardinal had the Pope isolated.

“If you doubt me, then see for yourself,” Philip challenged, his gaze unwavering.

The Commander’s expression was stone.

After a moment of heavy silence, he summoned a knight from the hall. “Go to the papal chambers. Request an audience with His Holiness.”

“Yes, Commander.”

As the knight departed, a knot of anxiety tightened in Philip’s stomach, but he forced his features into a mask of righteous conviction.

He had to bring the Commander into this. There was no other way.

The baron’s own strength was a fearsome unknown, but the knights sworn to him were the stuff of grim legend.

Philip couldn’t afford to gamble, not when the stakes were this high. The Commander’s support was essential.

The silence in the office stretched, thick and suffocating.

Finally, the knight returned, his expression grim. “Commander, the papal guards turned me away. His Holiness is in a private meeting with the Cardinal. I was told he cannot be disturbed.”

Just as I planned. Philip suppressed a triumphant smirk and pressed his advantage. “Commander, we are out of time! The Cardinal senses the stench of heresy on that man. We must act now!”

The Commander remained impassive.

“Commander!” Philip pressed sharply.

At last, the Commander rose from his seat, his presence filling the room.

He spoke, his voice low. “We will move when a reply comes from His Holiness.”

It was the one response Philip had dreaded. His fists clenched, and his jaw tightened until it ached.

“Is that your final decision, Commander?”

“It is.”

“This is a matter of utmost urgency!”

“And there is a chain of command,” the Commander countered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Philip’s eyes blazed with fury. “You will regret this.”

The Commander offered no reply, simply turning his attention back to his work. 

With one last glare, Philip spun on his heel and stormed from the office.

Damn them all, he cursed, his stride quickening. If this was how it would be, he would seize the heretic with his own men.

It was for the Goddess and the Holy Kingdom. He would gladly walk the path of a martyr, even if it meant being stained by the world’s filth.

* * *

“Baron Louis, His Holiness summons you.”

I was resting in my quarters when a knight appeared at my door.

I recognized the man; he was one of the Pope’s personal guards.

“His Holiness?”

“Yes. He says the matter is urgent.”

Hmm.

I studied the knight’s face. His expression was a careful mask of duty, but a flicker of urgency in his eyes gave him away.

They were making their move.

So, it finally begins.

I rose from my chair. “Let’s go.”

As I stood, making no move to arm myself, Lancelot was instantly on his feet.

“Are you going alone?” he asked.

“What, should I bring an entourage?”

“It could be dangerous,” Lancelot whispered, his gaze darting to the waiting knight. He looked genuinely worried.

He should be more worried for himself.

I gestured for the anxious knight—who looked for all the world like a lost puppy—to stand down. “Do you really think they’d be foolish enough to try something inside the Holy Kingdom’s walls?”

“They are desperate enough,” he insisted.

“Don’t worry. I’m not so fragile that a few Templars could break me. However…” 

My gaze shifted to Lea.

She had hardly slept, pouring all her energy into nursing the Duke. Even for a Grand Master, one who had transcended human limits, days of such strain would take their toll.

If a fight broke out now, she would be vulnerable.

As if reading my thoughts, Lancelot gave a firm nod. “Don’t worry. We’ll protect Lady Lea.”

For a man who could be so oblivious, he sometimes understood me perfectly.

I couldn’t help a faint smirk. “Then I’m counting on you.”

With that, I left the quarters and followed the knight toward the grand cathedral. 

As we neared the main square, he glanced around furtively before nodding once, as if to himself.

“Now!”

At his cry, dozens of knights erupted from the surrounding alleys and archways.

“If this is a welcoming party, you’re a little late,” I said, casually taking in their numbers.

It looked like at least half of the capital’s Templars were gathered here. It almost seemed as if they were preparing for a hunt in the Demonic Realm.

“Baron Louis Berg,” the apparent leader announced, his voice strained. “You are under suspicion of heresy. We do not wish to shed blood. Come quietly.”

“Heresy?” I arched an eyebrow. “Me? The bearer of the Stigmata?”

“That was your doing, in collusion with that old deceiver, the Pope!” another knight shouted.

As far as I could sense, his skill was… about on par with Lancelot’s.

I nodded to myself, assessing the threat. One Lancelot, and a score of Roxens. And that was assuming they could wield that divine power of theirs.

Perfect.

The corner of my mouth lifted. I pulled a cigarette from my coat and placed it between my lips.

Had I not just used the Holy Grail itself to ascend to a new plane of existence? My hands itched to test the power of a Grand Master, a level I had once only dreamed of reaching.

I scanned their determined faces. “Try not to die too quickly.”

Then, with a flick of my fingers, Aura manifested around me, forming a swarm of spectral arrows that spun in the air, humming with power. They seemed to bare invisible fangs at the Templars.

“Seize him!”

“For the Goddess!”

The Templars charged.

And a one-sided battle began.

* * *

The last Templar hit the cobblestones with a heavy, armored thud.

“M-monster…” he stammered, scrambling backward on his hands and elbows. 

Around him, his comrades writhed on the ground, their weapons shattered, their bodies broken.

“A monster? How cruel.” I walked slowly toward him.

Despite making a show of threatening them, I couldn’t actually slaughter Templars without making an enemy of the entire Holy Kingdom.

Therefore… I had merely crippled them.

My eyes swept over the fallen men.

Despite wielding divine power, not one of them could heal their wounds. They had exhausted every last drop of it trying to fight me.

The trembling knight before me was no different, his face a grimace of pain he could no longer mend.

I tore my gaze from the knight and studied my own hand.

Incredible… At this level, I might even have a chance against Pepia.

The Aura that veiled it was different now.

The taint of demonic energy was gone, as was its former menacing Aura. It was serene, yet it pulsed with a power so immense it felt tangible.

More than that, the energy itself had changed; it now pulsed with a distinctly divine light.

“Just one question,” I said, reining in the power. “Did Cardinal Key Dupron send you?”

The Templar flinched but then, realizing he was cornered, bit his lip in defiance.

“Speak, and I’ll let you live.”

“Shut up!” he spat, a final surge of courage born from desperation. “Do not speak the Cardinal’s name, you blasphemer! You who dare to mimic the Goddess’s sacred Stigmata!”

This is why fanatics are so tiresome.

I needed him to name the Cardinal. Without his confession, I’d have to wait for Key to make the next move, and I couldn’t very well execute these knights.

The backlash from the faithful would undo everything.

I suppose there’s no other way.

I brushed my bangs from my forehead and met his defiant gaze.

The man had acted out of loyalty to his Goddess. Very well. I would use that loyalty to break him.

“Look at me.”

“Silence! Whatever sorcery you use, you pagan filth, I will never yield—What?” 

His tirade died in his throat. His eyes went wide with shock, his face colored in disbelief as he stared at something he clearly thought impossible.

He had every reason to be stunned.

From the center of my forehead, a single, perfect droplet of blood trickled down. And from that wound, a noble, divine power poured forth like light itself.

The Stigmata. The sacred mark of the Goddess.

From that font of power, a torrent of pure energy surged, flowing and taking shape in the air above me.

“…Impossible,” the Templar whispered, shaking his head, denying the reality before him.

And who could blame him? The form the divine power was taking was something from the age of myth.

A circle of light enshrouding the head.

Three spears of radiance rising above it.

A crown of pure, blinding brilliance.

A Halo.

It was a sacred manifestation, a symbol said to appear only for those the Goddess herself had chosen as her children.

“I will ask again,” I said, my voice perfectly steady as I maintained the sublime flow of power. “Was all of this orchestrated by that man, Key Dupron?”

The knight’s mouth hung open, but no words came.

The realization that he was standing before a true Saint had stolen his voice.

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