Internal Conflict (3)
Tern raised his hand, extending his index and middle fingers, and waved them forward three times.
“Advance.”
It was the signal to move forward.
Rustle.
The squad members, having received the signal, cautiously pushed through the underbrush. Tern also stepped forward slowly.
They were a special task force.
A unit composed of only the most exceptional talents from the Holy Knights, tasked with handling special missions.
Armed with top-tier weapons and specialized equipment, they were warriors trained for the most challenging of tasks.
Sss—
Black leather and matte-finished armor brushed silently against the foliage.
Their thin leather suits covered them up to the neck, and masks concealed their faces, preventing even the glow of their sacred tattoos from escaping.
Tern activated the tattoo on the back of his neck. It was a sacred mark that enhanced his vision, allowing him to see in the dark.
“There it is.”
About a hundred paces away, between the trees. Their target was there.
The mercenary they had been pursuing since the afternoon, tasked with escorting a Holy Knight.
He was a warrior with a build suggesting he hailed from the northern frost plains.
Standing nearly two meters tall, his muscles were visible even through his armor. Black hair and equally dark eyes.
Contrary to the information that he wielded a sword and shield, he carried only a sword.
His other equipment included a dagger at his back, a hand axe on his right hip, and a long, flat object wrapped in chains and cloth on his back.
A long, flat object.
“The Holy Sword.”
If the deputy commander was right, that was the sixth Holy Sword, Tortanis.
A treasure of the order that should have been resting in the main hall.
But a few months ago, a Holy Knight named Barrett had taken it with him on a mission to the labyrinth city without permission.
“How on earth did he manage that…?”
Tern couldn’t understand it.
He had heard of Barrett’s name.
A prodigy known for his exceptional skills and admirable character, standing out since his days as a squire.
What could have driven such a person to steal a Holy Sword?
More puzzling was how he had accessed the main hall where the sword was kept.
The hall was a place only accessible with the Grandmaster’s approval.
Even in the Grandmaster’s absence, entry was impossible without the deputy commander’s consent.
”…Hmm.”
A sharp sensation pricked his mind. His thoughts from a moment ago felt strangely blurred.
He shook his head. Unnecessary thoughts had no place during a mission.
What mattered now was the target before him.
“The Holy Sword he carries. It could change the course of this civil war.”
Though it was said to have lost its power in the hands of demons, the Holy Sword was still the order’s greatest treasure.
Considering its political and symbolic significance, it could be a card to overcome their disadvantageous situation.
Clink, clink…
Just then.
The barbarian stirred and drew the Holy Sword.
The chains and cloth fell away, revealing a blade with a soft blue glow.
Tern inhaled sharply at the sight of the sword’s luminescent blade.
“Has it regained its power…?”
Tern halted his advance, so taken aback that he forgot the signal.
The Holy Sword was supposed to have lost its power. How was it glowing?
If the sword had never lost its power, it meant the barbarian had been acknowledged by it.
In that case, they were about to attack a warrior chosen by the divine.
If the sword had truly lost its power, the fact that it was restored in the warrior’s hands was an even greater issue.
It meant he had surpassed mere acknowledgment.
“Ugh!”
His mind grew more tangled. That unpleasant prickling sensation pierced his thoughts again.
“Focus on the mission. Focus…”
The confusion faded, leaving only a clear purpose. Tern opened his eyes wide.
He raised his hand to give the attack signal…
”…What?”
The warrior before him had vanished.
With his enhanced vision, Tern saw only a cloud of dirt where the warrior had stood.
In the heightened senses of the moment, he heard branches snapping in succession.
And then.
“Aaaah!”
A scream echoed from the other side of the forest.
“That’s five.”
Dalen swung the Holy Sword, flicking off the blood.
At his feet lay a corpse in black armor, cleaved in two and growing cold.
He spread his senses to locate the next target and tensed his legs again.
Thud!
The soft earth beneath him exploded as he launched himself forward.
Dalen leaped from ground to tree, tree to tree, accelerating with each bound.
In the darkness where even moonlight was obscured.
His form became a blurred shadow.
To an ordinary person, he was indistinguishable from the swaying shadows of the underbrush.
Even the Holy Knights of the special task force, with their vision enhanced by sacred tattoos, were not much different.
Slash―!
Another one. A severed torso spun through the air.
As Dalen prepared to spring again, he swung his sword. Something shot out of the darkness and collided with his blade.
Clang!
Sparks flew as metal clashed with metal. In that brief flash, the shape of the object was revealed.
“A chain mace?”
It was a chain with a small weight at the end.
Unlike a typical chain mace, the length that emerged from the underbrush was several meters long.
Clink, clink―!
As soon as the attack was blocked, the chain retracted to its origin. Dalen pursued the faint trail through the foliage.
Soon, he spotted the task force member retrieving the chain mace.
“How, how did you…!”
A black mask, startled. Dalen swung his sword down.
At that moment.
A sound of something bursting came from the side.
Boom―!
Time seemed to slow. It was a phenomenon created by his senses, far beyond human limits.
In the slowed time, with accelerated senses, he saw lead pellets flying through the air. Damn. A shotgun?
Dalen didn’t retract his descending sword. The speed of the incoming pellets was too fast.
Instead, he added his left hand to the sword’s hilt and took a short breath.
Sss―
A vortex of magic began at his shoulder.
The vortex reached his fingertips just as the Holy Sword cleaved through the task force member’s head and chest.
And then a storm erupted from the sword’s tip.
Crack―!
The sword, swung in a wide arc, created a wall of wind along its path.
The dozens of lead pellets either struck the blade or were caught in the aftermath of the slicing wind, losing their momentum, or, if lucky, tore through Dalen’s armor and skin.
Few managed to pierce his skin. As soon as Dalen blocked the pellets, he hurled his hand axe.
The axe disappeared into the underbrush, followed by a dull thud. No scream followed.
Dalen immediately pushed off the ground.
“I need to finish them before they escape.”
The special task force of the Holy Knights.
A special unit tasked with dangerous missions, trained to handle the strange weapons stored in the order’s armory.
Though they possessed the abilities of Holy Knights, their combat style was closer to that of assassins.
Unlike inquisitors who dealt with cultists, fallen heretics, or demons themselves.
The task force carried out the order’s “unofficial” missions driven by political motives.
As such, if even one of them returned alive, the next attack would be more meticulous and cunning.
Even though the main hall wasn’t far, he couldn’t afford to be complacent.
In his experience, having tried to save this world hundreds of times, complacency here meant death.
“Ugh…”
A Holy Knight, his throat half-slit, fell with a final groan.
After a hunt lasting over ten minutes, only one remained.
And observing the change in formation, he was their commander.
Rustle.
Dalen pushed through the underbrush, approaching with a leisurely stride.
The task force commander, realizing escape was impossible, remained still.
Soon, they were close enough to see each other clearly. Dalen spoke.
“What’s your name?”
“Tern.”
The black mask moved. A tense breath.
“Were you after the Holy Sword?”
“Yes.”
“Did the deputy commander order it?”
”…He’s not someone you can speak of so casually.”
Dalen chuckled. This guy’s more of a cultist than a knight.
He adjusted his grip on the Holy Sword and took a step forward.
At that moment, the task force member extended a rod. The tip of the rod lit up.
BANG―!
A deafening roar shook his eardrums. A blinding white light filled his vision.
Through the dizzying haze, he saw some powder scatter, igniting spontaneously as sparks flew.
Crackle!
Before he could react, the flames from the powder engulfed him. The armor he bought in the city began to burn rapidly.
Dalen closed his disoriented eyes.
And let go of the sword.
Whoosh!
His fists clenched tightly.
Flames danced from his hands, racing across his skin.
Flames engulfed his fists, arms, and shoulders, transforming the half-burnt armor into a blazing suit of fire.
The fire, now encasing his entire body like armor, consumed the flames spewing from the staff, snuffing them out.
Dalen opened his eyes.
The special forces soldier stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Are you… a sorcerer?”
Dalen answered with his fist.
Crack!
His outstretched fist shattered the black mask and crushed the skull beneath it.
The mask, made of layers of metal, leather, and cloth, shattered like glass.
Brain matter and blood oozed out, mingling with the broken pieces of the mask, sticking to his fist.
Dalen shook his hand clean and picked up the holy sword that had fallen to the ground.
Suddenly, he sensed something. His hand blurred.
Whoosh!
A dagger, previously tucked at his back, flew through the air.
It was a spellbreaker, a magical dagger designed to disrupt spells and twist a sorcerer’s power.
But the opponent didn’t let it hit. Surprisingly, they didn’t even dodge.
Swish—
The tip of the flying dagger intertwined smoothly with the pristine blade of a sword. The straight blade guided the dagger as if it were a flowing river.
The spellbreaker, aimed at the opponent’s forehead, lost its momentum in that flow.
It fell softly to the ground, its journey ending in the soft earth.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I apologize.”
Crunch.
The figure sheathed the white sword and picked up the dagger, stepping forward. He held the blade out.
“I heard the deputy commander sent a special forces squad to seize the holy sword. I came as quickly as I could, but it seems I was a bit late.”
The man smiled gently.
His blue eyes were unfocused. Though directed at Dalen, they seemed to gaze into the void.
His left arm, with its fluttering sleeve, contrasted with his right arm, which was muscular and firm.
The light leather armor over his tunic bore the emblem of the Holy Knights.
Dalen accepted the spellbreaker. He tucked the dagger into his belt and extended his hand.
“You arrived just in time. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander.”
“Likewise. Dalen, the one favored by the divine.”
The man raised his eyebrows slightly, his smile growing more cheerful.
The one-armed swordsman who clasped Dalen’s hand was none other than Edgar Reinhardt, the commander of the Holy Knights.