Chapter 73
The mages of the Tower were afraid.
They were all seasoned battle mages who had faced countless skirmishes—but even so, none of them had ever witnessed such a relentless massacre.
“The Princess is here!!”
[Kill her! Kill her, and show Dulanier that Mammon still lives!...]
Each time Iomene unleashed her divine light, neither Abomination nor dark mage was left standing.
Their bodies were consumed by pure, concentrated holy power, and their corrupted souls were so scorched that all they could do was writhe on the ground, choking out pitiful gasps.
And once Iomene had swept the field clean with her divine magic—
“Move aside.”
—it was Erfa’s turn.
Her four arms moved in a blur, casting complex, multi-layered spells in rapid succession.
With a single flick of her wand, an Abomination blessed by Mammon was disassembled into nothing. Explosives were dismantled mid-detonation and clattered uselessly to the ground. Firearms overheated and exploded on the spot. And the flood of dark spells hurled her way? Instantly countered with surgical precision.
Once Erfa had carved through the frontline, the remaining cleanup was left to the other battle mages and Quattuor troops.
“Please! Spare me! Have mercy—Aaaagh!!”
“There is no mercy for you, vile heretic.”
Most of the time, it was the Quattuor escorting Iomene who handled it.
Childlike voices. Women weeping in desperation. Shapeshifted cultists begged in agonizing tones for forgiveness—but even if their appearances made one’s heart waver for a moment—
The Quattuor did not hesitate. Without an ounce of mercy, they cut down every last follower of Mammon, no matter what shape they took.
So the massacre continued—one-sided and unrelenting—as they pressed forward.
“Lady Saint!!”
A familiar voice rang out amid the chaos of divine miracles raining down upon the enemy.
Turning her head, Iomene saw Al Madai and the other Quattuor soldiers rushing forward, drenched in blood.
“Ah! I have taught you well indeed! You are fighting most magnificently! I am truly impressed!!”
At Al Madai’s extravagant praise, Iomene let out an exasperated sigh and shot him a glare.
This was always the problem with Al Madai and the Quattuor.
Where other knights and priests of the White Order showed her the utmost reverence as the Saint, these soldiers... had a tendency to treat her like a child.
Not that it was entirely unwarranted.
To warriors who’d spent their whole lives on the battlefield, what must a newly ordained Saint of only three months—who hadn’t even fully memorized the Codex Prolilium—look like?
Stubborn and infuriating they might be, but if there was one thing Iomene did respect about them, it was their purity of purpose.
Clumsy and rigid during times of peace, perhaps.
But in times of crisis, they were the most reliable of shields.
As their name promised—unbreakable.
“No casualties, I hope?”
“None, Lady Saint. If there were, that would be a disgrace!”
“Pull the wounded back. The rest of you—form up and protect us. You’re out of ammo, and you must be exhausted.”
“Understood.”
The Quattuor formed a tight ring around the mages.
Now with reinforced strength and renewed momentum, the expeditionary force pushed forward—unyielding.
And there was no force that could stop them.
“Mammon, give us your power!! Protect u—!”
A dark mage, desperately summoning the dead from below to resist, was quickly engulfed in a blinding combination—Iomene’s divine light, Erfa’s attack magic, and a brutal hammer strike from the Quattuor—and was spectacularly annihilated.
Finally, the expedition reached Mammon’s stronghold.
As expected, the enemy’s numbers were staggering.
Thousands of Abominations, dozens of dark mages, and hordes of cultists had drawn a desperate defensive line in the massive underground chamber.
“The enemy! Fire!!”
The moment the expedition appeared, heavy machine gun fire and a barrage of explosives rained down.
“Hold them!! Just two more minutes!! Hold for two minutes!!”
The dark mages, squeezing the last of their dwindling grudges, threw every spell and curse they could muster at the expedition.
But no matter how fiercely they fought—
They could not stop the advance.
“We’ll handle the defense!!”
The Tower mages drew their wands and stepped forward, shielding the group from incoming dark magic.
“Raise your shields! Brothers!!”
The machine guns and explosives were intercepted by the Quattuor, who stood at the front lines.
With massive shields, heavy plate armor, and layers of divine protection, they deflected the hail of bullets and explosions with relative ease.
And in that moment—
“Lady Iomene!!”
“Already prepared!!”
A wave of miracles from Iomene and a storm of offensive spells from Erfa crashed into the enemy lines.
The Holy Sigil of Dulanier etched on Iomene’s hand flared to its brightest, casting a brilliant halo of light across the entire stronghold.
It wasn’t as powerful as the pillar of light above ground, but it was still more than enough to devastate the Abominations and dark mages.
“Gahk!!”
“Ughhh!”
Their spells and curses faltered, cut off mid-chant by the blinding light.
The Abominations began to burn, as if seared by divine fire. Agonized screams echoed through the vast chamber.
And in the midst of that chaos—
“My turn.”
Erfa raised her hands and wand, ready to unleash destruction once again.
The lower set of Erfa’s hands formed intricate seals to amplify her casting, while the upper pair swept her wand in a precise arc.
Thanks to her research into tri-chromatic magic, the spell’s destructive power surged—and soon, it took the form of a colossal lightning storm.
And then—
“W-What the hell?! What kind of power is this?!”
A blinding storm of lightning erupted, blanketing the enemy formation.
Followers of Mammon struck by the blue lightning vanished—reduced to ash before they could even scream.
The barrels of machine guns melted and warped. Rounds in the chambers exploded from the searing heat.
Explosives that hadn’t even been thrown yet detonated on the spot, unleashing catastrophic damage.
Abominations?
Even those strengthened by Mammon’s blessing were no different. They, too, were reduced to fine ash like their lesser brethren.
Only a handful of dark mages survived—but just barely.
“Gggh... Aaaargh!! This power—what kind of sorcery is this?!”
Just one defensive cast drained almost all of their spiritual energy. The spell’s power was in a league of its own.
The Quattuor, the Tower’s mages, even Iomene—they all looked at Erfa in stunned admiration.
“Sir Al Madai. Shouldn’t we seriously consider adding mages as an official Ketra’t’huz class?”
“That would be a direct violation of the Codex Prolilium, Lady Saint. You’ll need to commit that section to memory when we return.”
“...”
“However, I admit—if the Tower continues to send support like this, it would be… highly beneficial.”
After saying that, Al Madai surveyed the battlefield.
Aside from a few dark mages, there were no enemies left.
All of them had been—well, not roasted. Vaporized.
There were simply no opponents left to fight.
“Only those damnable dark mages remain. Wait there, you filthy wretches. I’m coming to tear you apart!”
Raising his greatsword and shield, Al Madai roared as the dark mages’ faces twisted in despair.
They had almost no spiritual energy left.
And with Iomene spreading that divine light like some holy wildfire, the already weakened potency of their magic had dropped even further.
There was no path to victory now. Nothing but death awaited them.
It was a hopeless situation—but the dark mages didn’t give up.
They gathered the last remnants of their spiritual power and erected a massive defensive spell.
“One minute! We only have to hold for one more minute! The Chosen One of Mammon will rise and fight for us! Do not lose heart!!”
Just as Al Madai growled with rage and prepared to charge—
“Hold, Al Madai.”
“Yes, Lady Saint? But—!”
“Only mages are left now.”
“...?”
“Shouldn’t we let their natural predators do the hunting?”
“...Ah!”
With a quiet laugh, Al Madai stepped back.
The dark mages blinked in confusion, wondering why the expedition had suddenly halted their advance.
And then—
“T-The barrier is collapsing!!”
“What is this?! My magic—it’s not working!!”
“Aaaaagh!! My spells are unraveling!! They’re unraveling!!”
“Where?! Where is it?!”
“Something is attacking me!!”
The dark mages quickly discovered the reason for the silence.
Their defensive spells began to fail. Spells that had been stable just moments ago abruptly ceased to function.
And then—they began to die.
One dark mage, howling in agony from magical backlash, had his head severed.
Another, screaming for them not to come any closer, suddenly had a hole burst through his chest.
They were being cut down in droves.
The worst part?
The enemy couldn’t be seen.
Panic spread across the remaining dark mages.
“The Black Fortress!!”
“It’s an anti-magic field!!”
“D-Damn it!! The soulless ones!!”
“Drop your wands!! Draw your pistols!! We can’t use magic!!”
And so, in a truly pitiful scene, the dark mages dropped their wands and fumbled for pistols, firing blindly into the empty air.
But of course, it changed nothing.
You have to see the enemy to shoot it.
And then—
“Don’t come any closer!! No—wait, why won’t this fire?!”
[You’re not gripping the safety properly. That kind of pistol won’t fire unless the grip is pressed.]
Their aim and form were so horrendous that even the soulless assassins correcting them couldn’t help but comment.
Within less than twenty seconds, it was over.
The dark mages had their heads cleaved or their hearts pierced—and lay sprawled across the ground in bloody silence.
It was over. A hollow, anticlimactic end.
But not entirely without consequence.
“Kh... Khahaha... You were too late... all of you...!”
One dying dark mage, a hole through his heart, coughed blood as his vision blurred—his eyes drifting to the massive coffin at the center of the stronghold.
The Chosen One of Mammon.
Just barely—in the nick of time—the ritual had been completed.
Of course, the body was likely grotesquely incomplete, and the awakening had been far too rushed for the mind to be stable.
But still... the Chosen One was the Chosen One.
“The Chosen One will kill everyone here!! Taste their wrath, you worms!!”
Even with death hanging over him, the dark mage’s voice boomed with seething hatred.
[Damn it!]
[Move! Stop the Chosen One!]
“Move!! We have to stop it before it fully awakens!!”
The soulless assassins and the expeditionary force moved quickly at the command—but they were too late.
The coffin lid exploded off, and the being inside slowly rose.
The last surviving dark mage shed tears of joy at the sight.
“Oohhh!! O Chosen One! Chosen of Mammon!! Rain down your fury! Show the world the rebirth of Greed!!”
“Assassins—fall back! Mages too! Only the Quattuor and I will handle this! Do not get hit by its black magic or curses!”
At Iomene’s command, the assassins and mages quickly withdrew.
She and the Quattuor charged forward toward the Chosen One.
“Fear not death, brothers! The Saint is with us!!”
“For Dulanier!!!”
The paladins roared with solemn fury.
“It’s the end! The end of all things! Behold as the Chosen of Greed destroys the world!!”
A dying dark mage laughed in scornful triumph.
“You think we’ll let the city Amael protected fall to ruin?!”
Iomene charged, summoning even more divine energy.
The moment was tense—blazing, breathless.
And then, when the Chosen One stepped from the shattered coffin—
The entire battlefield fell silent.
“Nnngh... kghhh...”
A frail man limped forward.
He had no eyes. One arm was missing. His legs were twisted, malformed.
“Hu... hungry. Hurts... uuuuugh. Father. WHY!!”
Like a whining child, the Chosen One wailed and screamed, his mental state clearly broken.
“Why did you take it?! My power—why did you take it from me, Father?!”
He stumbled forward on his twisted legs and collapsed face-first into the dirt.
No one spoke.
Not the last remaining dark mage.
Not the Quattuor.
Not Iomene.
Not the Tower’s mages.
They simply stared.
“Hungwy... hungwy... uuuuhhh...”
The Chosen One squirmed and writhed on the ground like a lost child.
The surviving dark mage, who had been watching silently, finally muttered with hollow emptiness:
“Mammon... had already taken back the power and run, hadn’t he?”
The pillar of light. The sudden collapse of Mammon’s authority.
It was clear now: the demon lord had suffered critical damage to his divinity and, in a panic, revoked the power he’d given the Chosen One, abandoning his followers—abandoning everything—to flee back to hell.
In other words…
Everything the cult had fought and died for?
All of it had been for nothing.
“Mammon... you motherless, son-of-a-bitch bastard...”
With his dying breath, the dark mage cursed the demon lord he had worshipped all his life.
Those were his final words.
He died laughing—a breathless, bitter chuckle on his lips—as his eyes slowly dimmed forever.
Would the Chosen One bring ruin to the world?
No.
That never happened.
“Hungwy... I... I’m—AAAAGGHHH!!”
The mentally broken Chosen One wailed again, but before he could do anything, Iomene stepped forward and effortlessly incinerated him with divine light.
His twisted body twitched a moment—then crumbled into ash.
Just like that.
The battle, so full of terror and anticipation, ended in a laughably anticlimactic instant.
And then, Iomene paused, expression stiff.
A second later, her face lit up.
“Erfa. I just received a report from Almeine.”
“A report? About what...?”
“The Saint has awakened.”
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