Chapter 707: The War Sisterhood

A goddess priestess clad in a brand-new, regulation nun’s habit stood on the open ground before the formation. The cold wind of late autumn swept across the plaza, lifting her pale golden hair and the black-lace-trimmed hem of her skirt. She focused intently on the distant target, ears tuned to the commands from her superiors.

“Ready—”

At the order, the nun demonstrating the weapon raised her magitech “staff.” With a clean, precise motion, she leveled it at her side, one hand gripping the middle shaft, the other holding the front guard wrapped in scripture cloth. A low, pleasant hum emanated from the mechanisms at both ends of the staff, and a faint, holy white light began to ripple through the gaps in the runes and machinery.

“Fire!”

Her slender fingers squeezed the trigger. The priestess’s body trembled slightly as a burst of white light erupted from the staff’s muzzle—a searing beam of sacred energy that shot toward the distant enchanted purple steel pillar serving as the target, exploding in a blaze of light.

After a flawless shot, she followed orders to extinguish the glow in the focusing crystal, set the “Gospel Angel” staff upright beside her, and turned to rejoin the ranks.

“This weapon was developed by the Magitech Research Institute and Design Bureau, tailored specifically to the needs of female clergy,” Leight explained to Veronica with a nod. “Though it looks like a fully metal staff, it’s actually much lighter than it appears thanks to low-level weight-reduction runes inside. Its attack method is essentially the same as the White Knights’ holy light impact cannon, but it’s been redesigned from dual barrels to a single shot, cutting the weight in half. The staff form was chosen with close-quarters combat in mind—you were right before, Veronica, that goddess priests aren’t suited to swinging the White Knights’ mechanized warhammers. A protective staff is a more fitting weapon…”

“I… actually think you might have misunderstood… no, it’s nothing,” Veronica said, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue she hadn’t experienced in centuries. She swallowed her words halfway through the explanation and even felt the urge to sigh. “High Pontiff, it seems these nuns have undergone close-combat training?”

“They have—though only basic training, but it’s quite effective,” Leight replied. “Princess Rebecca and Lady Hetty provided some guidance…”

“They provided guidance?” Veronica blinked, puzzled. “Why would they be involved in that?”

“The Cecil family has always valued martial prowess and has many rapid training techniques. Especially Lady Hetty, who is quite skilled in staff defense techniques,” Leight explained. “Of course, they only trained a few instructors; the rest of the training is carried out by those instructors.”

Veronica thought it best not to pry further but still couldn’t hold back her questions. “Then what about their gauntlets? Why do the nuns need gauntlets?”

“More lightweight and flexible melee weapons, which improve their survival chances in close encounters. Hand-to-hand combat has always been a strength of Protestant clergy, regardless of gender. Also, the gauntlets aren’t just weapons—they contain a single dose of the ‘Redemption’ elixir, which can save lives on the battlefield.”

“…Sounds like gear custom-made for war,” Veronica said, forcing a smile. “But… isn’t this a bit over the top?”

Leight’s expression immediately turned serious. He looked Veronica in the eyes and said earnestly, “We live in an unsafe era. Priests must be prepared to go to war.”

He paused briefly, shaking his head slightly. “I know that for many years, the Church of the Holy Light has enjoyed wealth and power. The mighty ecclesiastical knights and convenient divine magic made the clergy forget how the missionaries of the dark ages endured…

“The earliest missionaries trekked through wilderness, facing beasts, hardship, and death. They had no refined divine magic, no knights to protect them, no noble patrons to aid their cause. It was under these harsh conditions that they honed themselves, using imperfect holy light to protect every soul they met, spreading the original ideals of light, redemption, and sanctuary…

“We are fortunate today. We no longer have to wear tattered gear to pioneer the wilds, nor face hunger and beasts at every turn. But as His Majesty once said, ‘Those who do not plan for the distant future will have troubles at hand.’ In the long years ahead, across this vast world, dangers will always await us. And since we have chosen the ‘Holy Light,’ we must fulfill the responsibilities it demands.”

Watching the solemn and sincere High Pontiff, Veronica felt a strange emotion. As a heretic, she found it somewhat ironic that a “young” ordinary man was teaching her a lesson today. Yet when she saw the faint holy light shimmering around Leight, she smiled.

He had earned that right—by breaking the mental steel seal with his own will alone, he had achieved a status equal to any heretic.

Realizing he had slipped into a professional preaching tone, Leight quickly changed the subject before the awkwardness deepened. “Of course, not all clergy are assigned to the White Knight battalions or the War Sisterhood. We still have civilian priests, and even these combat-trained nuns perform normal church duties when not in battle—welcoming believers, hearing confessions, comforting the wounded. White Knights have similar daily tasks but focus more on physical labor.

“Additionally, whether combat nuns or White Knights, they must study the holy light scriptures and learn various new knowledge. This is both their right and their duty. They cannot neglect the path of the Holy Light due to worldly affairs, nor become reactionary conservatives who reject advanced knowledge by focusing only on scripture.

“The entire Southern Church does not tolerate mediocrity.”

“Not just the Southern Church,” Veronica smiled. “The North is undergoing similar reforms, and legally, there is no longer a distinction between the Southern and Northern Churches—we have only one Protestant Church of the Holy Light now.”

“I know, but that’s only legal on paper. The real divisions remain,” Leight said seriously. “We have thoroughly restructured the Church in the South, but similar reforms don’t work in the North. I’ve received many reports from various regions—old-guard priests are constantly obstructing and delaying the reforms, especially in the Western territories. They outwardly obey the new church leadership but continue to sabotage behind the scenes.”

“…Leave that part to me,” Veronica said after a brief pause. “Supporting your Protestant reforms is part of my contract with His Majesty.”

Leight fixed his gaze on Veronica, silent for a moment before speaking. “I’m curious—are you really doing all this just because of your deal with His Majesty?”

“…Often, a ‘deal’ is the most stable form of cooperation.” Veronica looked at Leight with her gentle yet cold eyes, then picked up her ever-present platinum scepter and slowly turned away.

…

Several days later, in the eastern region of the Holy Spirit Plains.

The dry, cold wind bit at their faces, carrying a faint scent of smoke. What was once a lush expanse of fertile land had been reduced to a wasteland of war. The ruined villages and charred forest remnants on either side receded into the distance, repeating the same bleak scenery over and over along the long journey.

Baldwind clumsily rolled up the car window, shutting out the biting air. Beside him came an old, somewhat irreverent voice: “So? Seeing this plain turned to ruins by your people—how does it feel?”

Baldwind turned to see the old druid named Pittman smirking at him. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

This unassuming, scruffy old man was actually a big shot—the Empire’s chief druid and head of alchemical engineering, holding a respected position and power in this vast, young empire. But beneath that shining title, after spending some time with him, Baldwind realized Pittman’s personality was almost obnoxiously abrasive—he seemed to constantly say things that would choke others with frustration. Unlike Princess Rebecca, who had a similar talent but was kind-hearted, this old man did it deliberately…

Baldwind’s biggest problem was that he couldn’t just punch the old man—not because soldiers were watching or out of respect for elders, but because he was absolutely certain that if he so much as touched Pittman, the old man would immediately throw himself to the ground and swindle the last copper coin from his pocket.

Why did Pittman always single him out?

Unable to figure it out, Baldwind shook his head after an awkward silence. “I won’t make excuses—but I wasn’t in Ansu when the plan to open the Holy Spirit Plains was launched. I was sent to the eastern continent to make contact with the Stormborn.”

“Hah, just moving your mischief to another place,” Pittman chuckled. “Stormborn… so you know what those guys are up to? Are they planning to return to the continent?”

“…I don’t know much about them. They’ve focused almost all their efforts on the deep sea. Even the other dark cults—the End of All Things and the Sleeper—find it hard to communicate with them,” Baldwind said frankly. “I stayed a long time on a near-shore island in the eastern continent, but mostly wasted my time. I helped gather supplies, but spent more time treating their mutated limbs affected by the deep sea. It was like being a doctor…”

“Mutated limbs affected by the deep sea?” Pittman raised an eyebrow. “Interesting… tell me more.”

“They’re obsessed with occupying several sea areas controlled by sea monsters, but don’t allow other dark cult members to fight on their front lines. I don’t know exactly what they’ve done or experienced, but some Stormborn sent back have grown fish scales and fins, and always mumble ‘Eva is calling’ at high tide…” Baldwind shook his head. “Honestly, their mutations seem scarier than many dark rituals of the End of All Things. The deep sea hides too many unfathomable things. I don’t know what draws the Stormborn to it, but they’re fixated.”

“…Not bad. Keeping you, a heretic, around does have some unexpected benefits.”

Pittman muttered, then stopped paying attention to Baldwind’s slightly changed expression, turning his gaze to a vehicle ahead.

In the lead magitech car, Gawain finished a routine communication with the Administration Office. After shutting down the onboard maginet terminal, he sighed, “The engineering team sent by Walde has built two additional magi-energy obelisks between Sorin Fortress and the Fertile Woods. The communication issues in the southeastern Holy Spirit Plains and the southern territories are finally partially resolved.”

“Lately, the Panrock Fortress has been sending engineering teams north nonstop—either to rebuild the Kingdom’s main road, construct infrastructure on the Holy Spirit Plains, or assist with organizing the joint reconstruction corps. Some say the Second Legion under Walder’s command is practically turning into a road and bridge construction unit,” Amber muttered, leaning over the back of the seat in front of her. “It’s crazy to think that just two years ago, Panrock Fortress was still a gateway stronghold… feels like a dream.”

As she mumbled, she tilted her head and glanced at Gawain. “But honestly, I’m surprised you decided to come see things for yourself. I didn’t expect that… and I’m impressed you felt safe enough to come out here.”

“The whole point of the regent system and the Council of State is to make sure the empire keeps running smoothly even when I’m away from Cecil City,” Gawain said casually, though his gaze drifted toward Solinfort. “Besides… what’s happening here really concerns me. After all, this is the nest of the End of All Things cult. Nearly every major upheaval and turning point this country has faced in the past two years has been brewed right here. How could I not come see it with my own eyes?”

“Hah, I admire how you can always come up with a whole list of excuses just to sneak away for some downtime,” Amber said, her tone teasing and completely unafraid of getting smacked (not that there were any walls nearby). Just as Gawain reached out to tap her on the head, she suddenly sat up straight, eyes wide as she stared off into the distance.

“Oh my god…” she gasped, her eyes huge. “The report calls that thing a… ‘tree’?”

(End of chapter)