Chapter 128
"There's a question I've always wanted to figure out."
"Stop spouting grand theories and stop with the big rituals. I suspect you're abusing the powers that God has given you."
"Haha, as expected, this is unreasonable."
"I now have a written consent document from the person who defended my reputation, so how can I be so arrogant when I have the upper hand?"
"That may be true, but you've never been reasonable from the beginning... cough cough." The high priest coughed up blood, slumped in the corner, and stared at the spear held to his head.
A complete mess; that's the most apt description of the place.
In the vast underground space, all that could be seen was destruction. Everything that could be discerned had been destroyed; only two people could be barely identified. One stood, holding a long spear pointed at the middle-aged man lying on the ground. The spear pierced his head, and blood slowly flowed down.
That was the swordsmith. She stood there, her body pierced through the abdomen by a cross, yet she didn't tremble at all. Her hand holding the gun was so steady, but anyone could see how much blood had flowed from that cross.
Broken weapons were everywhere. The weapons that were originally carried on the back were now just half a spear in hand and a cracked longsword held in the hand.
"Speaking of which, it's a really interesting fighting style. Are you an ascetic? Do you rely on these external things to make up for the lack of damage skills? It's very effective. I've never seen such a strange fighting style before. I was quite surprised."
“I have never seen a summoned creature that has accumulated twelve years of holy magic power and materialized into a physical form. I haven’t been injured for almost a hundred years, and this is the first time in my life that the High Priest has given me a fatal wound.” As the swordsmith spoke, blood flowed from the corners of his eyes and mouth. “As a form of retaliation, I think this is too lenient.”
The so-called retaliation consisted of things left to the side; the high priest's arms were cut off and discarded, while a long metal spike pierced his chest and fell to the ground.
Blood was on the ground, where two beings blessed by the gods and transformed into monsters fought to the death. Their arms were severed, their necks pierced, their bellies destroyed, and their bones broken.
For them, survival isn't a major issue. Judging from the scene, the knife maker's wounds were more severe; if the cross had remained there for more than thirty-six hours, he would have died.
Ultimately, however, these are still two monsters. If one of them hadn't given up, the final result would have been that even if only the torso remained, it would still crawl like a centipede to bite off the other's throat.
Such monsters killing each other together—those who don't know better would never guess that these are the so-called believers of God.
Those in the church can no longer be called human beings. When they are chosen and blessed by God, they can no longer be considered simple creatures.
They are both monsters, no different from demons. To others, regardless of who is in the right, these two are monsters. If a mercenary saw them, he might think that the things he had been killing for so long were nothing more than simple creatures in a terrifying disguise.
The real monsters are here, monsters endowed with power by the gods.
"So what exactly did you do?" the swordsmith said to the high priest. "I've never seen anyone like you before. You brought me to the basement after seeing me bring the paper in, and you wanted to fight without saying a word."
“Who knows?” The high priest paused and said, “This is your job. Next, investigate what bad things I have done, lock me in the dungeon, and then put me on trial with a cross.”
"Don't even think about it. Someone like you won't be judged. You know our internal procedures best; you'll be abandoned." The swordsmith paused and said, "You're an outcast in the church. If you're judged as a heretic, you won't be killed."
"After all, death is a reward. In this world, as long as you live, you suffer in hell. To be able to die is truly an unparalleled reward." The high priest's expression showed absolutely no remorse. "Before that, what do you want to do? You are an ascetic, and you are now in an unfamiliar city. This city is short of a manager. Will you become that manager?"
“I am just a weapon maker; other clergy will take over here.”
"Aren't you worried that my men will be the next ones to arrive?" The high priest smiled helplessly. "Do you really think this city is still under the control of the church?"
“It may sound arrogant, but you will never be truly free.” The swordsmith looked at him with pity. “The people here now have the Defender of Honor. As long as she is here, nothing you do will matter. It’s absolute suppression. If you want to deal with that guy, you’ll need a powerful backer.”
"Is that so? Then I have a general idea of how formidable that young lady is." The high priest's expression remained unchanged, still smiling, showing no fear.
This guy seems to really enjoy laughing. From the beginning until now, his only facial expression has been a smile.
The knifemaker absolutely hated that expression, because it always reminded her of a certain unscrupulous merchant.
He lay on the wall as if he had been freed, his eyes closed.
However, he still didn't reveal anything, but he was temporarily imprisoned simply because he had dealt with the investigators.
"I can't beat you," the swordsmith said softly. "Since just now, you've been holding back some things, haven't you?"
"Really? I thought you would consider yourself invincible."
“I’m well aware of my own strength. My weapons have been used up, and I have fatal wounds. If that thing were released, I’d be dead by now.” The swordsmith looked at the pattern on his neck: “What is that?”
“Investigate it yourself. This is a responsibility entrusted to you by others. If I were to reveal it so easily, wouldn’t it make it seem like you haven’t done anything?” The high priest actually struck a pose like a godfather. “Besides, I am well aware of the church’s rules. You cannot consider this a dangerous thing. In other words, you cannot convict me yet. Because so far, apart from making you feel embarrassed, I have not done anything wrong.”
“This is actually a serious crime. Although I don’t know why you resisted so strongly, I have a reason to investigate the operation of this church. The fact that you used your own power to forcibly stop this matter has already tarnished your reputation as a high-ranking clergyman.” The swordsmith paused and said, “And I am a weak woman.”
"I really didn't see that coming. I never saw a weak woman who could withstand three blows from an axe heavier than me without even breaking a sweat." He looked grinning, his severed hand beginning to regrow.
However, it was cut off again before it could grow, because the swordsmith was still holding a sword in his other hand.
"Please don't make such simple provocations and offenses; I'm absolutely furious."
“As far as provocation and offense go, as long as it makes the other party angry, it has already achieved its purpose.” The high priest said, slowly closing his eyes: “Good, I need to rest.”
The knife maker sighed as he watched him fall asleep, and then slowly backed away to stand in the middle of the basement.
A hole was cut out there, and you can see outside from there.
The outside light shone through this and onto her body, and the blood on her body was evaporating rapidly, as if it were not blood but some kind of strange liquid.
And, all the wounds on his body began to heal at a speed visible to the naked eye.
This shouldn't be the wound healing speed of a normal species. But since they're all monsters, let's not compare them to normal things.
"I give up," the swordsmith said as he disappeared from the spot. "Please don't move, it will only cause more chaos."
The high priest did not answer; he simply sat there.
He was indeed tired and needed some time to rest.
His wounds also began to heal; in just a few seconds while that guy was gone, most of his two severed arms had already recovered.
Furthermore, he slowly stood up, and in just about a minute, his clothes were back to look brand new.
However, clothes can be changed quickly, and soon he was once again regarded as the high priest by the people here. As the representative of the church, he was known to everyone here.
The swordsmiths, on the other hand, have now gone to the inn, not to the room the city lord had prepared for them, but to Ark's room.
Because she still needs to deal with the cross on her body, there is a node she left behind that can teleport her, and this thing cannot be shown in front of the public.
Everything is categorized before being made public by the church to the general public. This is because there are some things the church simply doesn't want ordinary people to know.
For example, if this battle were to get out, it would most likely be rumored that she fought with the manager of this place in order to seize power. This is a place corrupted by sorcerers and mercenaries who believe that strength is the most direct manifestation of one's ability.
Of course, it can't be said to be wrong, but it can be said that this idea is full of limitations. Absolute limitations.
Furthermore, if rumors spread that she showed no reaction to such a wound, it would put me in a difficult position. For example, that people in the church are all monsters who can ignore pain.
This kind of thing is really infuriating. After all, everyone experiences pain, but you just get used to it and it doesn't hurt as much anymore.
"That's a shocking injury," someone said behind her. "Does she need treatment?"
"I'm really counting on you," the swordsmith said, picking up a bundle of blankets. This was her only cover; her armor had been destroyed, and now her female body was exposed.
Although the person behind them was a priest, a holy figure in the church, they still couldn't be completely exposed. This wasn't because anyone was embarrassed, but simply because of church regulations. These two were just following the rules.
That was Karl. Because his presence was an eyesore to Ark, he and Ghost Duke returned to the hotel first.
He sensed the fluctuations of holy magic in the room, specifically designed for his perception. The swordsmith was calling him here.
A priest is, after all, a healing profession. Although Karl is a fearless warrior when he puts on full armor, he is still a priest at heart.
As a priest, healing is still his sacred duty.
"What is this?" Karl touched the cross with his hand, his expression somewhat conflicted.
“This is something with doctrine,” the knifesmith muttered. “Do you know how a church can purify the hearts of most people?”
"I believe God only chooses the clean."
“Haha, that’s a good answer.” The knifesmith paused and said, “That’s because you haven’t been in contact with the Central Church, because we are human. From the beginning, God did not make humans perfect. We can get angry, hate, be jealous, and feel offended.”
“Therefore, the pure ones are chosen,” Karl said. “Among them, there will still be clean ones.”
“Stubborn fellow, my point is simple: you can listen to me before expressing your opinion.” The knifesmith was a little annoyed, but not angry: “See this cross?”
"Um."
“This is the mistake we made,” the knifesmith said. “And a church can have a manifestation of sin. This place is this cross, which was amassed by the high priest here over twelve years, and was solidified with a great deal of holy power.”
"so?"
“This is a weapon used to kill clergy. If I pull it out, my wounds will not heal and will cause my whole body to be infected.” The swordsmith paused. “This kind of injury is not unhealable, but it is absolutely unhealable here.”
Carl didn't say much; he could tell that this wound was quite different from what was expected.
“So I might need to go back,” the knifesmith said. “It hurts a lot to have this thing stuck in my body, but if I want to live, I’ll have to leave it in there for a while longer.”
"How did you get such a serious injury?" Carlton asked after a pause.
He now placed his hand on her shoulder to restore her holy power, the only thing a high-ranking priest needs to replenish.
The high priest was the same; even though all his wounds had been healed and he had changed into new clothes.
But now, his holy power is exhausted. The depletion of this power signifies the exhaustion of a high-ranking priest. Although he still possesses enhanced physical attributes, it no longer grants him miraculous strength.
"It's a long story." The knifesmith paused. "Just kidding. I can only tell you briefly. After all, it happened so suddenly that I didn't even have time to react."
She looked out the window at the church, thinking about what had happened just minutes before.
There were so many strange things, she thought, and her head started to ache.
After all, normal people wouldn't prepare a dedicated fighting area under their church.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com