# EP36. The Holy War.
Belacria's military banners stretched across the horizon. On the opposite side of the vast plain, the camps of Albinia and Equitania stood in opposition.
The distance between the two camps was precariously just beyond maximum artillery range. Too far for infantry to advance, but close enough to respond immediately if cavalry charged.
Anyone with good eyesight could identify the enemy's banners from this distance. By recognizing noble insignias, scouts could estimate the enemy's strength, so they periodically spied on the enemy camp's deployment and returned with reports.
The situation was like a powder keg. A single cannon shot would transform this place into a massive colosseum. One where blood, steel, and gunpowder would be the only means of communication.
The concentration of each nation's maximum forces meant that the outcome of the holy war would be decided in this single battle. The commanders had been working tirelessly every night since establishing their camps, preparing for the perfect battle.
In the tension, taut as a stretched thread that could snap at any moment...
*Clop, clop, clop.*
A group of riders carrying white flags crossed the hills of the plain.
"Envoys from Belacria!!"
When the scout rushed in and opened the command tent, everyone gathered at headquarters felt the same thought.
Here it comes.
The Saintess quickly looked to Ivan's eyes. Ivan nodded briefly.
'Is it a declaration of war?'
'Probably.'
At the same time, Ivan briefly considered their situation.
In large-scale battles like this, the number and quality of superhuman forces determined victory. Belacria's 1st Corps was among the most prosperous forces in the Six Southern Nations. Moreover, its numbers had swelled with survivors from the defeated 2nd Corps.
Meanwhile, on their side, Equitania had only half a corps, and Albinia had suffered losses in a battle just weeks ago. Even in an equal confrontation, victory wasn't certain.
In such a front, even if they won, casualties would be significant.
Lost in thought, Ivan was interrupted as the tent opened and the scout rushed in again.
"The—the Papal See! The seal of Ovidis has arrived with them! It's an envoy from the Papal See!"
Everyone stood up at the scout's words. The Pope appearing directly on the battlefield meant he intended to mediate the conflict. There was no other reason for the Pope to be at the front lines of a holy war.
The Albinian nobles who had been anxiously biting their nails brightened with hope. Meanwhile, Ivan and the Saintess looked at each other simultaneously.
'Amazing. Things are truly unfolding according to plan.'
The Saintess gazed at Ivan with quiet admiration. Ivan merely nodded slightly without responding and rose from his seat.
With an axe concealed in his garment, he stood beside the Saintess like a guardian and began walking toward the plain where the envoys were waiting.
Knights from Equitania and Albinia rode their horses. Mounted forces matching the number of their counterparts crossed the plain.
Under the midday sun, at the center of the plain between the two armies, a small tent had been erected. Knights holding the banners of Belacria and the Papal See could be seen.
*Clop, clop, clop.*
As they slowly approached on horseback, the opposing mounted forces spread out widely. It was a formation that could respond if needed, but showed no intention to attack.
*Whistle.*
The knight at the front whistled, and their own knights spread out in the same formation. The Saintess, Ivan, and the Grand Duke of Albinia crossed through the middle toward the tent.
Inside the tent were a knight accompanied by an attendant and an elderly priest. Ivan lightly touched the Saintess's shoulder, and she shook her head briefly.
It meant the Pope wasn't present. Ivan relaxed his grip on the axe in his garment and continued walking.
"Welcome, heroes of Albinia."
From the start, this denied Equitania's participation in the war. It was quite a political statement for a knight to make.
"Greetings. I am Ludovico del Fiori, Duke of Delrosa, legitimate representative of His Majesty Domenico della Visale, the Sun of Albinia."
"I am Diego de la Serna, Count of Casare, who has inherited the duties of Belacria's 1st Corps."
The two nobles exchanged nods. They sat down opposite each other. At the Belacrian count's gesture, an attendant approached and handed the duke a silver cup.
A cup covered with crushed ice was placed before the duke. The duke ignored the cup and looked at the count.
Traditionally, offering water during war was a gesture of goodwill. A sign that one wouldn't kill the other even if victorious.
"Are you here to declare war? If you have something to say, say it quickly. We have completed all possible preparations."
"Typical of an Albinian to be so impatient."
The count smiled slightly and tapped the table.
"Our nation is also ready for war at any time. But we regret the blood that will flow on this beautiful land."
"You're wasting my time. I've heard enough."
"If you leave now, won't you have truly wasted your time?"
As the duke started to rise, the Belacrian count smiled and said:
"Withdraw your army."
"You seem unqualified for negotiations. I can see your country's level."
"Even if I lack negotiation skills, I have full authority. Sit down. This is your last chance."
The count tapped the table and scrutinized the duke, the Saintess, and Ivan from beneath his helmet.
"Continue the holy war. We'll forget past transgressions. We won't demand compensation for the blood our country has shed."
"And the blood our country has shed?"
"We will pay the price."
As the duke sat down, the Saintess flinched. Ivan grasped her shoulder and patted it. He could feel her excited body gradually calming down.
The negotiation continued, like walking on thin ice.
"Being swayed by the heretics' rhetoric deserves condemnation, but evil always burrows into the hearts of the faithful. If you repent, we won't hold it against you."
"That's the price?"
"We'll cede half the heretics' land."
Half of the territory that the crusaders would occupy in the future. In other words, they would cede all of Equitania's vast farmlands bordering Albinia.
When the duke closed his mouth, the count laughed beneath his helmet.
"Hand over that heretic and witch sitting with you. Disarm the heretics' corps stationed in your camp and allow a trial under the Pope's authority. Open your borders and permit the crusaders' advance. Our country will not covet even a single grain of wheat from anywhere in your realm."
The duke, pondering the count's words, turned his head. He looked at the tense eyes of the Saintess and examined Ivan beside her.
He carefully chose his words in the silence. Ivan also quietly rolled the axe handle inside his garment. It wouldn't take more than three seconds to kill everyone here and escape.
After a moment, the Grand Duke of Albinia laughed with a long sigh.
"Will you accept the negotiation?"
"Amusing."
"Amusing?"
"Our countries are in a state of war. We agreed to communicate only through force, not other means. If that's how things have become, isn't it because of those 'bandits' of your 2nd Corps and the numerous war crimes they committed in our territory?"
"..."
"Without apology or compensation for that, you ask us to withdraw our forces? And open our borders? Isn't that amusing? Did our country seem so ridiculous to you?"
As the duke rose from his seat, the Belacrian count smiled bitterly and said:
"Blood will flow."
"It should flow abundantly."
The negotiation was over. All that remained was to prove justice through force. Ivan released the axe handle and turned around, leading the Saintess away.
Behind them, the elderly priest shouted roughly:
"Patricia!!"
The Saintess turned her head. The indignant priest glared at her and said:
"Many righteous people have died because of your heresy! Because of your apostasy, two countries will fall and tens of thousands of people will die drowning in blood! Executed under the name of heresy, their souls will not receive salvation in this world! That is your sin!"
The priest was sobbing. The devout priest sincerely believed the Saintess was a heretic. The Saintess sighed softly and turned around.
"If the Lord punishes the sins of this land, His exalted justice will point to only one person as the sinner. Bishop. Surely the Lord wouldn't indiscriminately punish the souls of innocent people?"
"Heresy...! This is heresy! Under the Lord's law, heretics—!"
"Heretics!!"
The Saintess trembled as she shouted.
"If there are heretics in this world! If there are apostates!! You should look at yourselves!"
"How dare you!!"
"Have all believers in this land disobeyed the Lord's will? Do you truly think so? Has the Lord's great love left this land because of one person's apostasy, merely a maiden's apostasy? If the Lord had some intention in taking away our divine power, shouldn't you first question the one who still possesses divine power?"
The Saintess walked boldly up to the bishop. The knights who tried to block her retreated, overwhelmed by her presence.
The bishop, standing alone, could only look at the Saintess with trembling eyes, unable to raise his hand to push her away.
The Saintess's eyes stared at the bishop. Her green eyes, burning yet heavily subdued.
"If the Pope is truly pure, why doesn't the Lord's power accompany you who follow the Pope's will?"
"..."
"Between apostasy and obedience, we have always been taught to value doubt as a virtue. Bishop Verdi. Just as you doubt me, you should doubt what is commonly called justice."
"I won't be swayed by your heresy, witch..."
"I'm not trying to sway you, Bishop. But isn't blind faith the attitude we should be most wary of?"
The Saintess looked up at the old bishop with a sad face before turning away. Ivan followed her silently.
Until they returned to the camp, the Saintess kept her head down, quietly trembling.
Finally, when the mounted forces had dispersed to their respective tents and they were alone:
"Brother..."
The Saintess clutched Ivan's collar and sobbed.
"Tell me I'm doing well."
"You're doing your best."
"Tell me all those who died by my command will be saved."
"Their deaths will be compensated."
"Tell me the resentment of those who will die will reach only me."
"The righteous do not fear death, so they will not resent you. No one will."
"Hic... sob..."
The Saintess trembled slightly in Ivan's arms.
"I'm... afraid... I fear the souls of all those good people that will fade because of my choice. The weight is... it's too much for me now."
"It's the same for everyone."
Ivan's hand flailed in the air. The Saintess's body pressed against him, trembling hotly. Ivan awkwardly bent his arm and patted her small back.
"It was the same for everyone."
"You too... Brother, even you...?"
"Even Maximillian felt the same."
"He did, didn't he? We all did..."
The sobbing Saintess gradually became calmer. She pulled Ivan's arm and wrapped it around the back of her neck.
"When a woman is trembling and crying, you need to comfort her properly."
"What about your vow of chastity?"
"I'm a heretic now. Do I need to keep the three priestly virtues?"
"I suppose not."
Since she wasn't wrong, Ivan quietly nodded.
Beyond the tent, Isabelle, who had been running with a towel moistened with clean water, stopped when she saw the scene.
The towel fell to the ground with a thud, becoming soiled with dust.
"Your Holiness."
Bishop Verdi approached the Pope's tent and knelt. He raised his downcast face to look up at the Pope.
He tried to find the divine radiance full of holy power. He struggled to find the Lord's will and strength within it.
But from that white skin, taut without a single wrinkle, that appearance too vigorous to believe was a man approaching his 70s—
He finally realized that he could not feel the glory and will of the Lord.
"Your Holiness. The meeting has failed."
"I see..."
The Pope murmured quietly in the darkness. For some reason, that low voice that always sounded benevolent seemed sharper than ever today.
The bishop looked up at the Pope with trembling eyes.
The Pope was looking down at him from the darkness.
"...Your Holiness?"
"Bishop Verdi. Doubt has sprouted in your heart."
"I... Your Holiness. I swear by the Lord's great will and celestial glory..."
-The veil has been broken.
"?!"
If he hadn't misheard, that voice had sounded from behind the Pope. It was too deep and profound to be the Pope's voice. It was an androgynous, sharp, beautiful voice that could belong to either a woman or a man.
Like it was resonating directly in his mind, no, in his soul...
The sweet scent of musk began to fill the tent.
"Your Holiness...?"
"No. Demon. This is..."
-Shh.
White fingers appeared around the Pope's shoulders. Despite there being physically no space for someone to stand behind him.
The fingers that appeared like phantoms moved like spiders, climbing up the Pope's shoulders.
The bishop looked up at the Pope with a confused face.
"This is... what is this...?"
-Indeed, a Saintess even on her deathbed. Breaking my veil with just a few words. This is why priests are troublesome.
"Keep your promise!! Demon, you agreed not to interfere with this—"
-No, 'we' do not make promises. Priest. Things have gone wrong, and your plan has collapsed. Didn't you say that if the holy war ended neatly, peace would come by suppressing the discontent of this land? What has happened to that plan now? Everything is flowing in the opposite direction of your words.
"There's still a chance. Still..."
-There is none now, old priest. No matter how this war ends, your humanity will never again fight as one, nor will it be able to. All the seeds you've sown have blossomed into discord. Now I will act directly.
"Our... contract..."
-The Seven Dragon Lords do not make contracts. They only declare.
A purple veil fell over the Pope's eyes. With a choking sound, Bishop Verdi collapsed with a stifled scream.
"Patricia... the, the Saintess was right— kuhuk!!"
The Pope slowly rose and walked over the writhing bishop's body.
"I... wanted... peace for this land... Oh, Lord. Lord... I, I was wrong... My sin..."
-You are all sinners. Just as you always say yourselves. Ah, race born with original sin. How amusing to see you cling to a god who seeks to punish you, begging for salvation. Come into my embrace. True happiness and peace are in these hands.
"De-demon..."
The Pope's voice gradually faded. Soon, the white fingers firmly pressed against both of the Pope's eyes.
-You need only desire. I will fulfill it. You need only offer. I will fill you. I will give you all the comfort and pleasure of this world. What I desire is just one thing—
The prosperity of all of you. That's all.
What a humble ruler I am.
Freedom is an illusion, so offer that phantom. I will fill you with truth in return.
A small mouth that appeared by the Pope's ear whispered sweetly.
The Pope knelt, tears flowing from beneath the eyes covered by those hands.
The Saintess, who had been in Ivan's arms, suddenly raised her head in shock.
Meanwhile, Ivan was staring at the horizon with a rigid face.
The midday sun was being covered by clouds. Purple clouds obscured the sun, distorting the sunlight as if it were passing through stained glass.
"The veil... Lamerix...!"
The Saintess let out a suppressed groan. Ivan detached her and thought.
It means there's no need to hide anymore. The plan has gone awry, so there's no need to look back.
A Dragon Lord who controls monsters is threatening. But what about a Dragon Lord who controls human armies?
What would a Dragon Lord who controls and commands humanity's most powerful army be like?
Ivan rolled the axe handle in his hand and turned around.
"Br-Brother?!"
"To the command post. Full assembly."
"Y-Yes!!"
The Saintess ran off toward the camp. Glancing at her retreating figure, Ivan set out for the camp where his companions would be.
The holy war—that is, war—is not the role of the Hero Party.
The path the Hero Party must take always extends toward the enemy's depth, toward the Dragon Lords.
So, from this moment on, it is the Hero Party's time.
The war is over. Now, it is time for subjugation.