The arrival of the Cardinals changed the entire course of the battlefield.
Those who had been brainwashed and ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ blessed with their divine power rampaged with overwhelming might.
The Demon King’s army, which had been barely holding the enemy back to buy time, collapsed helplessly under the Cardinals’ advance.
The Dream Walkers began a large-scale retreat, and the Pursuers chased them relentlessly.
“Do not let them escape! Capture every last one!”
“If they resist—kill them!”
Hearing the murderous shouts from behind, the Dream Walkers gasped for breath as they ran.
“Damn it! Have these brats no respect for their elders?!”
“Less talking, more running!”
“I’ll have you know I used to fly back in my day!”
“Ha! Even in this mess, you geezers still have energy to flap your gums!”
Though they tried to joke, the distance between them and the pursuers was closing fast.
They couldn’t afford to be captured—but they also couldn’t fight back.
Their numbers were far too few.
Even if they resisted, they’d be crushed in moments.
Then, suddenly, the blare of a horn echoed—and a ship appeared in the sky.
Unlike the modern iron warships, this one was a majestic wooden battleship—the last of its kind.
The moment it appeared, three rows of gunports opened in unison.
“Fire the main battery!”
The cannons roared, firing blue magic shells toward the ground.
Like a meteor shower falling from a starry sky, the blue shells swept across the earth.
Explosions tore the ground apart, sending up clouds of dust and debris.
The pursuers faltered, forced to stop in their tracks.
In that instant, the Golden Monarch dropped its anchors to the ground and swiftly descended to rescue the Dream Walkers.
“Old men! Get aboard, now!”
“Ah, I’ve never been happier to see you!”
Once the Dream Walkers had all boarded, the Monarch raised its anchors and soared back into the sky.
“Don’t let them escape!”
“Intercept them!”
The enemy mages, unwilling to give up, hurled spells toward the ship.
A flying vessel that size was practically a giant target in the open sky.
But just before the spells could strike, they splashed harmlessly against a barrier that shimmered around the hull.
The Golden Monarch flew by the power of Caroline’s magic, but in her absence, it drew from the vast mana and magic stones stored within the ship itself.
The same stored power fueled both the massive artillery and its defensive barrier.
The ship truly was a gigantic artifact in the shape of a vessel.
Once they reached a safe altitude, the Monarch Mercenary Corps turned the prow away from the battlefield.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
“Our part here is done. Our next objective is to get as far from this warzone as possible.”
“You’d just abandon your allies?”
“We’d only slow them down if we stayed.”
The Monarch Mercenaries didn’t like it either—but they had no choice.
Not only was the enemy overwhelming, but they remembered the order given by the captain they all revered.
—Hold out as long as you can. When it gets too dangerous, retreat. Protect the ship and your lives.
The mercenaries had no intention of disobeying Caroline’s command.
They were crude men who rarely listened to anyone—but they could never betray the one person who had taken them in and genuinely cared for them.
“What in the world is happening down there...”
A few mercenaries murmured as they looked down at the scene below.
The glowing fortress.
The tidal waves at the coast.
The strange bursts of holy power erupting across the battlefield.
And the most terrifying part—this was only the beginning.
* * *
“Tch.”
Lutus clicked his tongue, standing in the center of a massive gray dome.
“I knew they were scheming something, but I didn’t think they’d go so far as to plant spies right under our noses.”
He already knew that the Bretus Theocracy had been brainwashing people.
Most national leaders were under their control, and among the soldiers, knights, and mages participating in this war, quite a few were as well.
It meant that anyone—someone who had fought beside you for years—might secretly be a puppet.
That was why Lutus had conjured this enormous gray dome: to block all external vision and wait within.
Grrrr...
The fusion cryptid before him bared its fangs, emitting a low growl.
Lutus sighed, shaking his head.
“What a rude reaction. I even went out of my way to keep you alive by hiding us in here, and you bare your teeth?”
If Lutus had wanted to kill it, he could have done so easily.
But instead, he had used the Jet Stream to create this dome, concealing them under the pretense of continuing their fierce battle.
Realizing that, the cryptid relaxed slightly.
“Oh, smarter than you look. If you weren’t a cryptid, I’d almost keep you as a pet.”
Grrr!
“Ah, you understood that? I’m joking. You’ve got good looks, that’s all I meant.”
Even with a beast so terrifying that most knights would freeze in terror, Lutus stayed calm and unbothered.
If he wished, he could have torn the cryptid apart into a thousand pieces or twisted its body into a knot.
He hadn’t—because he wasn’t sure how the war would unfold. It was insurance.
“So the hidden Cardinals finally decided to step out, huh? High priests and the rest of their lapdogs too—must mean they’re getting desperate.”
Lutus looked toward the radiant light spilling from the fortress of Galaharad beyond the barrier of wind.
No one outside could see in, but he—its creator—could see everything outside.
He pondered.
He could keep waiting and observing—or intervene now.
Now that the Holy Nation had revealed its hand, he had every reason to act.
At that moment, part of the dome split open, and a small group walked in.
Yes—walked.
They had forced their way through the tempest barrier formed by his Gladius Art.
Knights, paladins, priests, and mages—fewer than ten in total, but every one of them strong.
“People are fighting in here, and you just barge in without knocking?”
Lutus’s question was met not with an answer—but another question.
“Captain Lutus Wodott. Why haven’t you slain that monster yet?”
The speaker was Maximilian, a Master from the Kingdom of Durmang.
A middle-aged man with a sharply styled beard, his eyes were strangely unfocused.
“This thing’s tougher than it looks. I was having a bit of trouble.”
“Someone of your caliber can’t handle a mere beast?”
The fusion cryptid growled at that, but Maximilian didn’t even glance at it.
And he wasn’t alone.
The others were all high-ranking figures: master knights from other nations, senior archmages of the Mage Tower, an archbishop of Lumenis, even deputy paladins.
“I suppose I’m getting old. My skills aren’t what they used to be.”
“So it seems.”
“Then why,” Lutus said, “are all of you looking at me like that? Keep staring like that, and I might do something regrettable.”
“We’re simply here to help you slay that monster.”
“Funny—then why are your sword points aimed at me?”
He twirled the Jet Stream lazily in his hand.
“I was planning to stay quiet and watch how things turned out, but you’ve gone and given me an excuse to act. Not sure if I should thank you or feel offended.”
“Lutus Wodott,” Maximilian—no, the being controlling his body—spoke coldly.
“You think we wouldn’t notice your little trick to stall for time?”
The divine power seeping from the man’s body was proof enough.
No ordinary knight, no matter how skilled, could radiate holy energy like that.
A Cardinal had seized control of Maximilian’s mind.
If one was here, the others must have moved as well.
A Cardinal—second only to the Pope.
They were equal in rank to the Priestesses and nearly as powerful.
There were seven Cardinals in all.
One had perished at the hands of the Demon King Heathcliff—but six remained.
And now, they had fully entered the war.
“I knew this might happen,” Lutus muttered, “but you acted faster than I expected. Is it because of what’s happening in that fortress? You’re that nervous about it?”
“Think whatever you want.”
“Then I will. To be honest, this whole war has been bothering me. I never wanted any part of it.”
“Are you mocking the Holy War?”
“Mocking?”
Lutus laughed.
“Sure. Let’s call it that.”
“Then, Lutus Wodott, I declare you a heretic and sentence you to death.”
The confidence in Maximilian’s tone was boundless—and perhaps justified.
A master knight, a high mage, an archbishop, deputy paladins—ten of the strongest.
No wonder he was so sure.
“So this was your plan all along—to capture me?”
Just sending such a group after him instead of deploying them to the battlefield said it all.
“They either want to kill me—or use that brainwashing trick of yours to turn me. How amusing. My final years are turning out to be quite entertaining.”
Lutus grinned, baring his teeth.
The muscles of his face bulged and twisted.
“And it really pisses me off.”
A metallic shriek rang out.
The terrifying fusion cryptid whimpered and instinctively backed away.
The killing intent pouring from Lutus made the very air shimmer.
Just by letting his emotions show, he made the atmosphere drop several degrees.
The cryptid, feeling that pressure, crouched like a frightened puppy.
“You gathered only this much to capture me?”
A violent current swirled around his sword, the Jet Stream.
“You should’ve brought at least three times this number if you wanted even a chance.”
* * *
“Huff... huff...”
Cardinal Aldre Lily staggered forward, panting.
She had fled—yes, fled—all the way to the inner fortress.
A Cardinal, running for her life like a hunted animal.
She glanced back down the empty hallway—no presence, no sound.
“I... I finally escaped.”
She shivered.
There was no sign of Joseph Powell or Sehar Garnia.
They had been formidable Cardinals—but against him?
They were likely dead.
Because their opponent was the Great Demon Suruna.
A demon... that powerful?
When he had first appeared, she had actually been glad.
Three Cardinals together—against one arrogant demon who had shown himself? Victory had seemed certain.
They’d come fully prepared, armed with artifacts, sacred arts, and relics.
No matter how dangerous, no demon could stand against that.
At least, that was what she’d thought.
It had taken only five minutes for that belief to collapse.
They’re all dead, aren’t they...
Thanks only to her quick thinking, Aldre had survived.
Fortunately, Suruna hadn’t pursued her—whether because he couldn’t or simply didn’t care, she didn’t know. But she was alive, and that was enough.
I can’t retreat now. I have to stop the Demon King... somehow.
She steeled herself.
She had reached the inner fortress—why not slay the Demon King Heathcliff himself?
It was absurd, of course.
If three Cardinals had fallen to Suruna, how could she possibly defeat someone who might be even stronger?
But she still had one last hope.
I saved this relic for exactly this.
She pulled a small rosary from her robes.
With this, I can kill the Demon King.
All that remained was to find him.
Then—footsteps echoed from the hall ahead.
Someone’s coming?
Not from behind, but from deeper within.
Could it be one of the Demon King’s servants still lingering?
When she saw who it was, her eyes widened.
“The Demon King...”
Black hair. Blue eyes.
A man of exquisite, sculpted beauty stood before her, watching calmly.
Heathcliff von Bretus.
The Demon King himself, appearing of his own will.
“I sent others to deal with it, yet a single worm slipped through all the way here.”
He regarded her with cold disdain.
A worm—he had called a Cardinal a worm.
Aldre bit her lip in shock and fury.
Then Heathcliff murmured, almost lazily—
“Shall I dispose of it myself?”
