Chapter 72
The followers of Mammon who had fled to the underground mine were on the brink of madness.
Because of the pillar of light that engulfed the entire city, their corrupted souls and Mammon’s dark energy were exposed on their very skin, making it impossible to hide who they truly were.
To make matters worse, the situation had erupted so suddenly, they had no time to prepare—no planning, no coordination.
As a result, most of the lower-tier followers, who hadn’t even properly received Mammon’s blessings, were outfitted with pathetically inadequate gear.
Handguns.
At best, a few bursts from a submachine gun could scratch the armor of the Quattuor troops—before they themselves were torn apart by cannons disguised as pistols.
“Burn them. Cleanly. All of them.”
And just like that, they were turned to ash in the flames of the Igniter Squad.
Of course, the followers of Mammon weren’t complete fools.
“Machine gun!! Bring the heavy machine gun!!”
They had long used the mine’s tunnels as a stronghold and had armed it for emergencies with an array of weapons and defenses.
Heavy machine guns installed at chokepoints.
Unleashing hell with flamethrowers.
Throwing explosives to collapse the tunnels.
Their resistance was desperate—truly, painfully desperate.
The problem was…
“That’s a machine gun!! A machine gun!! Why isn’t it doing anything?!”
The armor worn by the Quattuor soldiers was crafted from magical metals so tough that even heavy machine guns couldn’t pierce it.
To make matters worse, they were wrapped in divine blessings from head to toe—miracles for defense—allowing them to march forward unfazed, even while bullets rained down on them.
“Cook them! Roast them!! Roast them alive!!”
“You think we’d fear fire when we wield the miracle of flame itself?”
The flamethrowers spewing fire into the narrow tunnels were sucked into the hands of the advancing Quattuor—only to be redirected and hurled back at the attackers.
“……Priest. They’re… they’re clearing boulders with their bare hands.”
Even when they detonated explosives to block the tunnels, the Quattuor would simply toss aside the massive chunks of stone with impossible strength, reopening paths that were supposed to be sealed.
Every defensive tactic was rendered meaningless.
Their attacks didn’t work—no matter how much they poured in.
Meanwhile, every strike from the Quattuor was sheer devastation.
The greatswords and warhammers they swung were so massive, so heavy, that an ordinary person wouldn’t even be able to lift them, let alone wield them. A mere graze from those weapons crushed bodies into chunks of meat.
Their bullets not only tore through body armor and flesh, but also effortlessly pierced steel and stone cover, turning the enemies hiding behind into shreds.
And that wasn’t even the worst part.
Even the Abominations—those followers who had received significant blessings from Mammon and transcended human flesh to gain monstrous, powerful bodies—were exploding on impact from a single pistol shot.
One such Abomination had ripped a thick steel door from the tunnel and charged forward, using it as a makeshift shield—only for a bullet to pierce through the steel and detonate his body in a crimson blast.
Seeing that, the rest of Mammon’s followers lost all will to fight.
“How… how are we supposed to stop something like that?”
After wave upon wave of retreat, the followers were eventually pushed to what they had once considered their innermost stronghold. With their backs against the wall, two clashing opinions emerged among them.
“We have to run now! We must escape with the grudges we’ve gathered!”
“They haven’t discovered the secret tunnel yet! If even a few of us survive, we can still plan our next move!”
There were those who argued for escape—but there was fierce opposition.
“Do you not realize? The Chosen One Mammon spent decades preparing is still asleep here!”
“If we abandon the Chosen One and flee, Mammon will curse us, drag us into hell, and burn us for eternity!”
The debate escalated.
“Then what do you propose?! That we sit here and wait to die against those monsters charging in?!”
“There’s no way to fight those Dulanier bastards! Mammon’s powers are fading, and that goddamn light pillar is suppressing all our black magic and rituals!”
In the midst of the chaos, one dark mage slammed his hand on the table, silencing the room.
“Then let’s awaken the Chosen One.”
Everyone froze.
“Are you insane?”
“They’re not complete yet!!”
“If they find out we woke them in an unfinished state, we’ll all die by their hand!”
“We’re going to die either way!!”
With that one sentence, all opposition was crushed.
“If we wake them just enough to move and escape with us, it doesn’t count as abandoning them. Mammon won’t hold it against us. Besides—finished or not—they were chosen directly by Mammon. They’ll be strong enough to rip through those Dulanier bastards and buy us time to flee.”
No one spoke after that, but everyone silently agreed.
Given the current situation, that ridiculous idea was the only real solution they had.
“We’ll need to focus all the grudges we’ve gathered and pour them into awakening the Chosen One. Quickly—we don’t have much time.”
The dark mage, clutching his trembling hand, whispered in a voice that wavered with fear.
“Please… please let this work. I need at least ten minutes to awaken them. I’ll handle the ritual—everyone else, buy us that time. Ten minutes. Just hold them back for ten minutes. Use whatever means necessary—just. Ten. Minutes.”
The odds of dying by the hands of an incomplete Chosen One…
And the odds of dying trying to hold back the incoming Quattuor troops…
Unfortunately, for Mammon’s followers, those odds were about the same.
“Damn it. How the hell did it come to this…”
At someone’s tearful whisper, every one of Mammon’s followers clenched their fists tightly.
The words rang true.
How… how had it come to this?
***
As the Quattuor forces drew closer to the underground stronghold of Mammon’s followers, their advance began to slow.
It wasn’t just the physical and divine energy they’d expended getting here—the real issue was that the scattered remnants of Mammon’s cult had now all converged in one place, intensifying their resistance far beyond what anyone had expected.
“Hold the line!!”
[For Mammon!!]
The number of dark mages and Abominations had grown so large it became a genuine threat.
To make matters worse, the enemy had no qualms about suicide attacks—charging in with explosives strapped to their bodies—causing their losses to skyrocket with every passing moment.
And the followers’ twisted tactics didn’t stop there.
“Mister, please! Please help me!”
A four-year-old child, limping and crying with tears in his eyes, hobbled forward.
With a bomb strapped to his back.
“Please! I’m not one of them! I—I was brainwashed! I woke up and found myself here! My child is waiting for me! Please, I just want to see my baby! Have mercy!!”
A beautiful woman sobbed and begged, claiming she’d been abducted and brainwashed.
Hidden at her waist was a cursed dagger, ready to strike the moment anyone offered her even a sliver of compassion.
“Brother! I’ve injured my leg—help me walk!”
Some even pretended to be fellow Quattuor soldiers to lure them in with lies.
“Turn on each other!”
The dark mages unleashed illusions and hallucinations, scrambling their senses and turning the battlefield into chaos.
Booby traps were installed at every chokepoint, and fanatical cultists rushed in without regard for their own lives. Ammunition was slowly running dry.
And yet—nothing could stop them.
“Show no mercy!!”
Whether a crying child was begging for help—
Whether a woman claimed to miss her child and to have been brainwashed—
Whether someone looking exactly like a Quattuor brother cried out for aid—
They moved without hesitation. They verified with divine miracles and then buried bullets and blades into the targets.
“Doubt everything!”
They located and disarmed traps using their miracles before proceeding.
“If you’re out of bullets, pick up a rock and throw it! Kill them with miracles and fire! Spare no one!”
Even a heavy stone lying on the ground became a deadly ranged weapon when thrown by a Quattuor soldier.
One such rock punched a hole straight through an Abomination. Lower-tier cultists had their skulls shattered open, bursting like overripe fruit.
A white flame, created from a mix of gasoline and elixir ignited by divine power, still burned evil to ash without fail.
But even the Quattuor had limits.
“We’re out of ammo.”
Their standard rounds were 20mm caliber—blessed with sacred power and tipped with tungsten penetrators. Devastating ammunition that could blow monsters apart with a single shot. But because of their sheer size and power, each soldier could only carry so many.
“We’ve got wounded, Commander. Brother Romaro can’t go on.”
“Call for the medics!”
More and more soldiers were being left behind. And with dwindling firepower, their advance slowed further—a vicious cycle.
Yet they never lost their resolve.
“Recite the Codex Prolilium! Summon your divine power! Brothers! If we fall here, humanity will perish! Die fighting, even in death!”
They kept throwing rocks. Kept swinging their swords and hammers. Kept fighting with savage determination.
And at the front of it all was Grandmaster Al Madai, carving a path forward more fiercely than anyone.
“Look! The concentration of grudges is thickening! Their stronghold is near!! Advance, and burn them all to the ground!!...”
Swinging his greatsword and shield, Al Madai charged forward without hesitation—until he was forced to stop.
“Dulanier...”
They had been waiting.
Dozens of Abominations and dark mages stood fully prepared.
These Abominations were different. Over three meters tall, with dozens of glowing eyes, they stared down the paladins. The dark mages radiated malevolence and seethed with barely contained wrath.
“Come, dogs of Dulanier!! We’ll tear you apart!!”
[We’ll devour you!!]
Black magic and curses erupted into the air, and the Abominations howled in screams that sounded like torn souls.
This would be costly.
They might lose lives.
But Al Madai and the Quattuor did not falter.
“Let’s go, brothers! Charge—toward the most glorious of deaths!!”
Instead, they roared with fury and surged forward with renewed fervor.
Seeing them charge, the dark mages and Abominations felt a flicker of hope.
“Those idiots are charging as expected! Bring it out! Show those Dulanier bastards how it feels to—urk!!...ghkkk!!!”
Suddenly.
All the dark mages screamed in agony and convulsed.
“M-my mana... it’s backfiring…!”
Blood spewed from their mouths as they collapsed.
The spells they had summoned scattered like dust, and some clutched their heads, trembling in madness.
The Abominations, startled, turned to look—and then their bodies began to tear apart.
[Something’s attacking us!!...]
[W-where?! Where is it?! I can’t see it!!]
[M-my strength... it’s fading! Mammon, what is this—?!]
Whatever was attacking them was invisible. They flailed helplessly, confused and terrified—before they, too, collapsed in shrieking death.
Without a single counterattack, the Abominations and dark mages were slaughtered in an instant.
The Quattuor halted in shock, staring dumbfounded at the massacre.
Then—
[Are you paladins of the White Order? We are not your enemies.]
A flat, mechanical voice echoed from the air.
Instinctively uneasy, Al Madai turned toward the source of the voice. He could feel it—faint traces of presence just beyond the air.
He slowly held out his sword, its blade burning with divine fire.
The flame vanished. His holy power snuffed out.
Al Madai let out a soft laugh.
“An anti-magic field. No wonder the dark mages and Abominations died so easily.”
[Please do not come any closer. Entering this field will suppress your holy power as well.]
“Didn’t plan to. Assassins of the Black Fortress.”
[Your Saintess is currently descending via Shaft 4, escorted by the Tower’s battle mages. You’re almost at the enemy base. Your condition appears dire. We recommend linking up and fighting together.]
“The Saintess herself? Then I must go. What of you?”
[We’ll continue forward to assassinate the enemy’s dark mages and priests. We’ll stay clear of your operations—no need to worry.]
Al Madai smirked.
“Assassins, I owe you one. I won’t forget this. For Dulanier!!”
From the unseen air, the faint presence answered back.
[For the Emperor.]
Then, just like that, the presence vanished entirely.
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