Chapter 573: Brother, They Must Be Punished

As soon as Enkrid heard the words “Who the hell are you?”, he flattened the man with a single strike. A rather violent way to introduce oneself.

Still, wasn’t it better than slicing someone’s throat right away? Enkrid thought so. As long as he didn’t kill the man, it meant he was showing restraint.

And if it turned out to be a misunderstanding? Then he’d apologize. Simple as that.

That’s why he didn’t kill him. That alone, in his view, was an act of mercy.

But—

Hm?

He was honestly a bit surprised.

Wham!

The man he’d just driven into the ground swung his warhammer from the ground.

Still conscious?

Enkrid released his grip on the man’s face and stepped back.

He sprang upright with a sharp motion, and the hammer swung right past the space he had just been in—hurled by the very man he had floored.

“You insane bastard!”

The man, now furious, roared from the ground. His face was flushed, steam puffing from his nose as he panted in rage.

“Do you even know who I am?!”

He shouted again.

Enkrid calmly wiped the sweat from his brow, walked over to the child with the broken leg, and spoke.

“A kidnapper?”

Everyone stood frozen, dumbfounded. Too stunned to speak.

Alma, who had been watching Enkrid with wide eyes, suddenly shot up to his feet.

Enkrid watched him rise and realized how he had withstood the blow.

A faint radiance emanated from the man’s entire body.

That glow had absorbed and diffused the force. Where Will expressed itself in many forms depending on the individual, divine power was a single, focused ability.

It simply made the body absurdly tough.

Still, the back of his head was bleeding.

***

Shilma blinked. Did she just hear him right?

Kidnapper?

Could they really be misunderstood that way? No, of course not.

That didn’t make any sense. Could he not see their priestly robes?

So why “kidnapper”?

Then again, if that’s what it looked like to him—what could she say? If he insisted, there was nothing they could do.

Shilma sighed, watching the scene unfold.

“Excuse me, you—”

But the words caught in her throat.

The man who had come charging in had taken down Paladin Alma in an instant. Without even drawing a weapon.

She could see the swords at his waist—three of them. Throwing knives, too, strapped across his chest.

Clearly, unarmed combat wasn’t even his specialty.

And yet he’d overpowered Alma ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) barehanded.

Shilma couldn’t gauge a knight’s skill herself, but her instincts told her this man was dangerous.

Dangerous enough to toy with Alma.

Someone like that couldn’t recognize a priest’s robes?

That was a pathetic excuse. But could she challenge him on it? What if he just kept insisting?

Saying someone would be punished by God for lying only worked on the deeply naïve.

If divine punishment truly worked that way, how could corrupt clergy even exist?

“How dare you—!”

Alma bellowed again, cutting off her thoughts.

The sensation of blood trickling from the back of his skull only deepened his fury.

“You dare interfere in the Church’s affairs?!”

he screamed.

“Do you really think I’d believe that? Just because you dress like clergy? Filthy kidnappers.”

Enkrid responded without pause. He didn’t even take a breath between Alma’s shout and his own reply. The way he said “filthy kidnappers,” savoring every syllable—Shilma found herself oddly impressed.

It was like he was declaring, “I’ve decided what you are. From now on, you’re just that.”

That attitude, those words—what did they mean?

He’s not backing down.

This wasn’t something they had prepared for.

Tracking and capturing the Saintess—that was one thing. But someone standing in their way?

Interfering with a Church operation? The Holy Nation’s temples and monasteries extended influence across the continent. Even if the King of Naurillia himself were present, he wouldn't dare pull this.

At least, that’s what Shilma believed.

Not everyone followed the rules, of course.

If Crang were here, he’d do whatever he pleased.

Alma was angry, yes—but even he saw he couldn’t simply crush this opponent.

The difference in strength was too obvious. He saw the man before him as someone on a knight’s level—or higher.

Shilma took a step forward.

This wasn’t a moment to resolve with violence.

“My name is Shilma, Priestess of Plenty and Bounty. Do you require proof of my station?”

“You bastards really came prepared, huh. I’m not buying it.”

The man with blue eyes examined the girl’s broken leg, wiped the sweat from his neck, and scratched his nose as he spoke. Completely at ease.

“You son of a—!”

Alma exploded again, but didn’t charge. Shilma kept her eyes fixed on the man in front of them. What he said and how he acted didn’t line up—and that was provoking her more than anything.

He clearly had no intention of listening to a single word they said.

“Why are you doing this?”

Shilma asked again, unable to grasp his reasoning. Sure, it was about the Saintess, but it was just one girl.

The fact that she and Alma were even dispatched for this was already absurd. None of this would’ve happened if the Saintess hadn’t shown such troublesome talent for escape.

Yes, just one girl.

This wasn’t something worth interfering in.

“Steelwall Knight!”

Suddenly, Bert shouted. He had been deep in thought since earlier—and finally something clicked. He was connected to several information guilds, after all.

Black hair. Blue eyes.

Even among men, this one was good-looking. But more than that—he was completely insane, had just taken down a paladin, and displayed impossible strength.

One name came to mind.

At Bert’s cry, Shilma furrowed her brow.

What? What is this?

Steelwall Knight? Of course she’d heard of him. Who hadn’t, by now? His name had spread all across the continent.

But why would he be here?

Was he sent by the king? But why? What for?

Why interfere in a Church matter?

It made no sense. None.

And yet here he was, throwing himself at them—and even bringing someone like that along?

“I just happened to pass by and spotted signs of kidnapping. As a knight of Naurillia, I couldn’t ignore it. So surrender quietly and hand over the child.”

Enkrid spoke with total calm.

The way he emphasized “just happened to” was infuriating.

“Why?” Shilma asked again.

At the same time, Alma—finally connecting the dots—muttered:

“You crazy bastard. You really are a madman.”

Alma still believed Enkrid wouldn’t kill him.

If he had meant to, he would’ve sliced his throat in that first exchange.

So Enkrid must be holding back for fear of the Church.

Which meant Alma could afford to act a little smug.

“Brother!”

While the verbal clash continued, another shout rang out.

A massive man, nearly giant-like, and a tiny fairy-like companion had arrived.

They’d followed after Enkrid’s reckless charge.

Audin moved beside Enkrid and surveyed the scene.

No one needed to explain anything—it was obvious.

“Kidnappers,” Enkrid said.

Shinar caught on instantly.

“Kidnappers disguised as clergy?”

“That’s right.”

“I see. Unforgivable. To impersonate a child of God...”

They spoke like they were performing a play together.

Bert, meanwhile, recognized one of them.

“Audin Plumray?”

They weren’t close, but they’d spoken a few times. Audin’s striking appearance and famous nickname made him impossible to forget.

Wasn’t he said to be a child of the God of War who fell in love with a mortal?

Bert recognized his face—and realized the crisis he was now in.

If Audin was here, they couldn’t possibly be the kidnappers.

Which meant—he and the others had just exposed their own falsehood.

Shilma, Alma, the two disciples, and Bert all turned to Audin.

If he said even one word in agreement, it was over.

Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on him.

Finally, Audin spoke.

“...Who is that? These kidnappers are using vile tricks. Brother, they must be punished.”

He almost called him “Brother” out of habit, but caught himself—and looked away from Bert.

Bert stared, dumbfounded, mouth slightly agape. His jaw seemed to forget how to work.

He’s going to pretend he doesn’t know me? With a face and body like that?

“Ahem.”

Audin cleared his throat awkwardly and knelt beside the fallen child to tend to her.

Seiki had been watching all of this unfold, but couldn’t quite make sense of it.

Who were these people?

Why were they protecting her?

They couldn’t have been sent by her grandfather.

He had spent nearly his entire life in the mountains. He had no friends. Like most Highlanders.

And even if he knew she was in danger... would he actually come? She wasn’t sure.

All her life, Seiki had been told to take care of herself.

So when a massive figure knelt before her, its bulk casting a long shadow that enveloped her entire body in the dimming light—Seiki didn’t feel fear.

The silhouette loomed large, blocking out the sun. But despite its threatening appearance, it didn’t feel threatening at all.

Strangely, she felt... safe.

But that didn’t mean she should trust him. Of course not.

She raised the dagger in her reversed grip, blade glinting before her face.

Even in the shadow, the dagger gleamed with a cold, metallic brilliance—reflecting the state of her mind.

Should I trust you?

The dagger said otherwise.

Audin’s eyes lowered, the corners drooping with sorrow. There was nothing sadder in this world than the expression he wore.

Why was the Church doing this?

Why demand such a sacrifice from a child like this?

Even if the Saintess or Saint could save others through their powers—was that truly right?

How had the Church rotted so deeply?

“...I’m sorry.”

Audin’s voice broke through. And for the first time, Seiki saw a face so steeped in guilt and grief.

It didn’t fit the moment. Or perhaps—maybe it fit too well.

Because in that instant, something inside Seiki awakened.

Though she had been born with the divine qualities of a Saintess, she never knew how to use them. The teachings were clear: divine light came when you shared it, when you sympathized, when you gave with a heart of compassion.

But Seiki had never been taught those things.

She’d only learned how to eat, sleep, and survive alone. Like any Highlander.

And now—for the first time in her life—Seiki felt compassion.

What sin had this man committed?

Why was he looking at her with such sorrow?

Why was he so pained?

The massive man continued to look at her with that same mournful gaze.

She felt that empathy bloom. She felt her gift stir.

And yet, true to what she had learned, Seiki pressed the dagger forward.

“If I stab you, I will.”

She was certain that even if the blade pierced his heart, this man wouldn’t move.

She didn’t know why. She just knew.

Those two monks at the monastery had their reasons—they were trying to right a wrong. She had used their guilt.

That had been a calculated move.

But this was different.

Seiki pushed the dagger gently toward his chest, aiming at his heart.

The blade slid into the leather of his robes, and still—he only smiled, pained and remorseful.

She could feel the resistance of hide, the pressure of stabbing through flesh. If she kept going, this man would die.

Seiki let go.

Clink. The dagger fell to the ground.

With bare hands, she reached up and touched his cheek.

“What hurts so much that you’re crying?”

In that moment, a burst of light flared from her hand, wrapping around Audin’s face.

Silent and sudden, the light spread—like a spark leaping from dry grass to wildfire—consuming everything around them.

The light burst from Seiki’s entire body.

It spread meaninglessly at first, then gathered to a point—rising upward, forming a pillar that pierced the sky.

It wasn’t just one.

More columns followed—shifting, multiplying, forming a circle of twelve around her as the central axis.

Seiki felt her broken leg heal in an instant.

She also felt something immense flow into her—and then drain out.

Her strength vanished. Her vision darkened. Her body collapsed.

Just before she lost consciousness, she heard someone scream.

It was Shilma, the head priestess of the monastery.

“A Pillar of Divinity!”

***

Shilma’s eyes flew wide.

Never in her entire life as a priestess had she seen a divine pillar of such density and magnitude.

That pillar—it was pure, unadulterated divinity.

How could so much divine power reside in a single human body?

And yet—it had.

It didn’t just reach the sky—it pierced it. And not just one—seven more followed.

“Get your hands off the Saintess!”

Shilma shouted, eyes burning with revelation.

This wasn’t just any Saintess. This was no mere divine vessel.

This child was a true gift from God. A sacred child.

They could no longer risk her dying here.

Even knowing how reckless this might be, Shilma believed with all her heart that God Himself had spoken through that child.

Told her what must be done.

She had to act.

“Paladin Alma, hear me! We must rescue that child at all costs!”

Shilma’s whole body burned with fervor. She trembled with awe—believing God had just shown her His will.

And that will now became her burden.

Whatever it takes!

She repeated it in her mind like a mantra, her blood surging, her eyes red with fervent madness.

Of course—this wasn’t what a tracker sent to capture a runaway should be doing.

But to one already consumed by blind faith, it made perfect sense.

Shilma didn’t believe she was persecuting or enslaving a child.

She was simply acting as God’s representative—doing what must be done.

Then—

“Must it really be this way?”

Audin had gently laid the girl down and stood up.

His voice was soft—but his eyes were heavy with sorrow. Shilma couldn’t see it.

“She was born to be a Saintess!”

Shilma’s tone grew sharp—full of certainty.

Her eyes, now bloodshot, seemed moments from bursting.

Fanaticism.

This was the part of the Church Audin had always turned away from.

Those who walked the wrong path, convinced it was divine.

Those who used their faith as justification to torment others.

“It’s not too late. Step aside now. Will you become an enemy of the Church?”

Shilma warned him again.

Yes—even now, this could be resolved peacefully.

The Church’s power was vast.

And all of this was over just one child.

Surely, they could be reasoned with. Normally, that would be the case.

But Enkrid was not normal.

“If we kill everyone here and leave, who would know?”

He said it flatly. Calmly. Casually.

Audin found the offer... extremely tempting.

Even as an apostle of the God of War, he didn’t kill without cause.

Especially not fellow clergy.

But now his pointed ears, like a fairy’s, twitched.

Enkrid’s words were like a devil’s whisper.

Forbidden. And yet... so sweet.

The phantom of Pildin—the Holy Child—seemed to frown at him from somewhere beyond, disappointed.