Outside the castle.
With the blazing red, city-class barrier as the line, inside and out felt like two different worlds.
Inside the barrier, the soldiers defending the castle—and the Shadow Knights who'd rushed in to reinforce them—clutched their weapons, staring at everything beyond with a mix of fear and numbness. Some green recruits who'd never seen anything like this were so sickened they dropped to the ground and retched.
No one mocked them.
Even the Shadow Knights—specialists in ruthless cleanups, the kind who'd slice an earthworm down the middle and shake an egg until the yolk broke—were shaken by the inhuman tableau outside.
Humans used magic to carve paths through a cold, savage world. Beasts used magic to claw their way through survival.
But magic itself had no warmth.
Only the people who shaped Arcana did.
And here, in this moment—cold, numb, twisted, driven only by the urge to overflow—this was the real face of magic. The real Weave.
And its ugliest side was unfolding right in front of them.
Anything Mordiana threw into the shadow plane had only two possible fates: either it was shredded into fragments by rifts and chaos, or it was corroded by leaking, invasive magic and became a Mana Spirit—twisted the same way the shadow plane was twisted.
The instant a creature fully fused with magic, it lost its original name, its thoughts, even its flesh. It gained only a single, uniform label:
Mana Spirit.
When that rabid, formless mana—mindless, invasive, swelling into every crack—burrowed into their brains, no matter how strong the creature had once been, madness was the only ending.
It hurts… it hurts… it hurts so much!
With a thought like that, there was no room left for anything else. Venting with every ounce of strength—just to dull the pain—became the only purpose of a Mana Spirit's existence.
After slamming into the city-class barrier several times with little effect, the Mana Spirits grew even more frenzied. They'd realized that red screen was something special.
And then came a scene many soldiers would never forget for the rest of their lives.
A two-headed lion, its flesh scorched by flame, suddenly began tearing at its other head. A massive ape with lightning flickering in its eyes ripped off its own snake-headed tail—only for the severed tail to spit venom like a bolt straight into the ape's eyes. A gigantic boar pinned some unidentifiable creature beneath it and began humping it with manic desperation.
Beyond the barrier, the imperial garden path—once spring-bright, green and gentle—had long been destroyed. Countless shadow-corrupted Mana Spirits rolled and writhed across the ruins.
Killing each other. Mating in frenzy.
Doing anything—anything—to ease pain that went all the way into the bone.
"God…"
Even soldiers who didn't believe in gods felt their convictions tremble. It was like staring into true hell.
"Don't stare. More are coming!"
A girl's clear, cold shout snapped them awake. The soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons again.
Even though the Empress had raised the city-class barrier in time, a sizeable number of Mana Spirits had still broken into the castle. The elite Shadow Knights had to draw them in, herd them together, then lead them to the soldiers' defensive line to be dealt with in one sweep.
A task with a high chance of death—and yet no one complained.
Not when Your Highness Novie had joined the fight herself. Who had the right to whine?
The girl in light armor was sprinting along the castle's outer wall now, long strides eating distance. She vaulted and rolled over pre-set obstacles with effortless grace, like a swift shadow dancing through a storm.
Her pursuers, however, were anything but pretty.
At least a dozen rabid Mana Spirits thundered after her, roaring—grotesque monsters thrown into sharp contrast against the slim figure ahead. They had no reason, no restraint. If there was an obstacle, they smashed it. If a companion fell, they trampled it into mush.
A wolf-shaped Mana Spirit seemed to notice the defensive line prepared ahead. Malice flickered in its eyes. The giant wolf snapped its jaws open—
And a bolt of lightning shot out, spearing toward a dazed soldier.
"Idiot—focus!"
Novie shouted the warning, but it was too late. The lightning was too fast; no ordinary soldier could dodge it.
At the critical instant, a powerful hand thrust out from the side. The Empress's elite soldier was flung backward like a chick, armor and all. The lightning slammed into the castle wall with a thunderous crack.
"May Mother bless you, child. Thank the Earth Mother God—are you hurt?"
The rescued soldier stared at the man who'd saved him: a broad-backed old priest with white hair and beard. He was so shocked he couldn't even speak—only nodded.
The old man had already rolled up the hem and sleeves of his priestly robe. He was barefoot, his corded muscles looking harder than the stone wall itself—yet his eyes overflowed with compassion.
"Good. Thank Mother for sparing another life. Now—I must go save those poor children."
The old priest looked toward the advancing Mana Spirit legion.
Even knowing this wasn't the time for small talk, the soldier's lips still trembled as he asked, "Those things… can they be saved?"
The old priest smiled, serene.
"Of course, child. The Earth Mother God is not a god who abandons those who cry for help. Only… compared to saving you, the method must be a little different."
As he spoke, his muscles bulged all at once.
Then the soldier saw the absurdly huge firearm that had been resting by the priest's feet get hoisted in one hand—
And when the old priest pulled the trigger, the weapon began to spin and heat.
"Mother—save these poor children!"
He lowered the barrel and strode forward. Bullets wrapped in blazing holy light poured out—
DADADADADADA!!
Brass slugs shattered corrupted shells. Purifying divine power canceled out the magic twisted by the Shadow Realm, ending their ceaseless pain…
And their lives.
The soldiers holding the line went slack-jawed.
The Mana Spirit legion—fearless, unbreakable—howled as its assault was checked for the first time without requiring a single step into bayonet range.
"Damn it, Anel! Why'd you rush in so early? We haven't even negotiated the price with these rich nobles yet!"
The Holy Light priest Eris gnashed his teeth.
"What did you say?"
A girl's icy voice made Eris flinch hard. He snapped his head around and found Novie had already returned behind the fortifications, wiping sweat from her temple with a towel.
Eris immediately clasped his hands and rubbed them in a fawning motion.
"Ahahaha, Your Highness Novie—what I meant was, saving lives is indeed the gods' duty, but… as servants of the gods, we still have to eat!"
Novie's gaze turned even colder—
But a warm, gentle voice rose behind her.
"Haha. Naturally. Zijinghua will not mistreat any friend who extends a hand. Especially when your order has always shared deep ties with Zijinghua."
"Brother?"
Novie whipped around, delighted, and found Linen standing behind her—somehow having arrived without her noticing.
"Well done," Linen said, nodding. He ruffled her hair and smiled softly. "You've worked hard, Novie."
"I-it wasn't much… I just did what you told me to…"
The girl who'd looked like a battle goddess a moment ago immediately turned shy enough to faint. The soldiers nearby stared, dumbstruck.
"Damn. Is that really the Captain of the Holy Sword? She can make that face at some pretty-boy? Am I the one getting magic in my brain?"
Some Shadow Knights who'd seen Linen before snapped back at once.
"Shut up. Do you even know who that is? That's His Highness Linen! Your Highness Novie's brother—and the empire's Third Prince!"
Oh. His Highness Linen.
Then it's fine.
The soldiers immediately shut their mouths.
Their chatter, however, reached Eris's ears. His eyes spun, and he put on an even more ingratiating smile—only to hear Linen sigh with helpless amusement.
"But I did tell you to be a little nicer to the three priests, didn't I?"
"Mm… b-but they started it…"
"Don't make excuses."
Linen tapped Novie on the forehead.
With the priests and soldiers, Novie had been all cold intimidation. With Linen, she lowered her head, cheeks puffing into a wronged little bun.
Linen was about to say more when Eris and the others hurriedly waved their hands.
"N-no, Your Highness Linen, please don't scold Your Highness Novie! We asked her to treat us roughly!"
"Yeah, yeah!"
The Moon priest Moden nodded rapidly, his face full of sycophancy.
"Being looked down on like trash by a cute girl is the best! We're grateful to Your Highness Novie!"
"All right. If that's the case, I won't pursue it."
Linen smiled and patted Novie's head again, then faced them properly.
"You two… no, three. Apologies for only appearing now. I'm the one who truly invited you—Linen Norton."
Moden was about to speak when a shout came from the side. The Holy Light priest Anel—tears welling—bellowed,
"By the Holy Light! No wonder the god's revelation told me a noble benefactor would arrive today—so it was foretelling His Highness Linen! The empire and the order shall be bound in unity forever—but, um…"
That old bastard.
Moden cursed inwardly at losing the initiative.
"But?" Linen asked, sincerely puzzled.
Eris was already cursing inwardly too. Was this prince genuinely dense, or was he playing stupid? It was right there on the table—how did he not get it? Somehow he felt even harder to deal with than Novie.
"Well… well," Eris gritted his teeth. Thinking of the church roof that still leaked, he threw away his pride.
"Punishing demons and saving lives is the order's unshirkable duty in serving the gods, but— but could we trouble Your Highness to let the order bathe, just a little, in your radiance? Like—like donating a couple of imperial gold coins, or…"
"So that's what you desire, Father. What a pity," Linen said, looking regretful.
"But don't worry. After this, I'll make a donation to the church in my own name—enough to satisfy you."
"By the Holy Light!" Eris teared up. "So that's why my lord granted divine revelation—because a holy one was about to grace my side!"
But he'd also caught one phrase.
"Your Highness… why 'pity'?"
"Like this." Linen sighed, looking profoundly earnest.
"At the banquet just now, the Head of House Bor very generously donated a large reserve territory to the empire. I was planning to take a portion of it and donate it to the order as a thank-you gift for your visit. But if you insist on converting it into cash, there's nothing to be done. Don't worry—whatever you prefer!"
"Head… Head of House Bor's reserve territory?!"
Eris nearly popped his eyes out.
He'd studied plenty on how to preach to Zijinghua's upper class. How could he not know the Eight Great Houses?
And the Eight Great Houses' reserve lands—those were prime urban districts. Compared to the barren edge-region where he currently lived, it might as well have been another country.
A church in the city. Preaching in the city.
By the Holy Light—Eris wouldn't even dare dream that dream.
If calling Linen a "holy one" earlier had just been empty hype, now the word "holy" no longer felt big enough. In his eyes, Linen was a living angel sent down by Holy Light itself.
"N-no, Your Highness Linen, forgive my presumption! It was my fault to stain the Holy Light with vulgar money. We will devote ourselves wholly to the empire! As for the reserve territory… please, we'll take it."
Eris put on a face of righteous integrity.
"Thank you, Father." Linen nodded.
"And by the way, I was just struggling with how to distribute land among the three great churches. But thanks to Father Anel's guidance, I've got an idea now."
Anel?
Moden and Eris exchanged looks. Since when had that big dumb Earth Mother bruiser managed to latch onto Linen?
"Then Your Highness's plan is…?" Eris asked, syrupy.
Linen raised two fingers. After a glance at Anel—still brutalizing Mana Spirits—he raised a third.
Eris brightened in sudden understanding.
"I see! You mean to divide the land evenly into three portions. That's a fine method."
"No." Linen shook his head with a faint smile.
"What I mean is: Father Anel's performance has already earned him thirty percent of the reserve territory."
Eris & Moden: ?
Just as Linen was about to raise a fourth finger, the two priests finally panicked.
"Wait—wait, Your Highness! Leave it to us! These Mana Spirits—leave them to us!"
"Holy Light—do you see that evil?!"
Under Linen's friendly "encouragement," the two priests finally ignited with fighting spirit. They threw themselves into battle with fervor no less than Anel's.
This had started as a job they'd been forced into. A little performance would've been enough.
But now, every burst they fired was their glittering future—and wide swathes of bustling city land.
Uncivilized masses—pious, in need of salvation—future believers!
The other two heavy machine guns, already warmed up, roared to life. Dense holy rounds wove into a net of purification. In moments, they not only checked the Mana Spirits' assault—they pushed it back. Soldiers and Shadow Knights who'd been fighting a second earlier stopped mid-motion, staring at three musclebound priests bellowing scripture while spraying fire.
"This thing's way more useful than Holy Light!"
Someone cheered loudly.
Watching the battlefield flip in an instant, even Novie was stunned.
As the frontline commander who'd witnessed the siege firsthand and carried out Linen's defenses from the first second, no one understood better than she did how crushing the pressure was.
Those monsters were nearly impervious, fearless, and some even wielded basic elemental magic. Following Linen's instructions and holding them back with everyone's combined effort had already been the limit—never mind reversing the tide.
And what shocked her most was this:
Even while carrying those heavy weapons forward, the three priests' streams of fire never paused.
Because what they held weren't ordinary guns. They were weapons modified and specially crafted for a magical world by Linen and Master Holly.
When loaded with bullets, the machine guns fired normal rounds. But without physical ammo—or when equipped with Mana Stones—they fired magic rounds infused with elemental power: far stronger than ordinary bullets, at the cost of massive consumption.
Even Novie would tire after about thirty seconds of continuous fire.
The orders that served gods didn't cultivate Arcana. They wielded divine arts and miracle spells unique to believers.
But divine power wasn't infinite either.
A normal priest—roughly equivalent to a First-Ring or Second-Ring Arcana Mage—might cast one or two healing spells and then need a full day of prayer to recover.
And yet these three "priests"—who didn't look like priests at all—seemed to possess endless divine grace. Their holy-light fire never faltered.
"Heh. Surprised?" Linen chuckled at Novie's expression.
"Novie, I think you've misunderstood their strength—and their identity."
Novie nodded slowly.
There was no point pretending in front of Linen.
Her roughness toward the three priests wasn't only because those three were obviously enjoying it—it also came from Zijinghua's natural resistance, as an atheist nation, toward "holy men."
It wasn't just Novie. In the eyes of most capital citizens, these three lazy, unpretentious priests—whose biggest hobbies were chanting and recruiting people—were, at best, ordinary priests. The kind that got pushed out by their own order and tossed into Zijinghua to fend for themselves.
During recruitment, the three had acted shocked at everything and constantly hinted at compensation, unabashed in their hunger for money and upper-class circles. It only made Novie look down on them more.
As if seeing through her thoughts, Linen laughed softly.
"Then tell me, Novie—what do you think a truly good cleric looks like?"
"Someone in a magnificent red robe, holding a gold-inlaid staff, sitting in a church overflowing with holy aura, face serene and desireless—baptizing people with compassionate scripture and blessed holy water?"
Novie nodded before she could stop herself. That was, after all, the image most people had.
"Is that so?" Linen's expression turned openly sardonic.
"Then if they're truly without desire, why do they need red robes, gold staffs, and grand churches to arm themselves? If they don't care for power and worship, why do they demand more people bow to them than to the god they claim to serve?"
Novie froze, unable to answer.
Linen patted her head and gave a small laugh.
"That might be hard to explain like this, so let me put it another way. In the divine-arts hierarchy, only priests and above are permitted to preach. A bishop can lead a city's clergy. An archbishop can command a diocese. And only a cardinal has the authority to sit in a nation's royal capital and direct the clergy of the entire country."
"Don't tell me…" Novie's lips parted, stunned.
"Yes." Linen finally smiled, rare and genuine.
"These three unremarkable gentlemen—the shabby 'useless' priests so pathetic they couldn't even fix a leaking roof—are all cardinal-archbishops in truth. Each one crossed several nations alone, scripture in one hand and a gun in the other, to preach in the Zijinghua Empire."
"…"
Novie could only fall silent. But thinking of what Linen had promised, worry still rose in her.
"But, Brother—helping them preach in the city… isn't that a little…?"
Of course Linen understood.
The surface "deal" he'd made was building churches and distributing land. The real deal was allowing them to preach in the city's busiest districts.
And tonight's performance would absolutely win them attention—perhaps even faith—from many nobles.
In an era of imperial rule, corruption came not only from nobles and sovereigns, but also very easily from religious authority. The purity of three archbishops, and whether they could restrain their subordinates in the future, were two entirely different questions.
Zijinghua was already a nation dragged down and poisoned by a corrupt aristocratic class. From tonight's view, Linen's deal was an obscene profit. From the long view… it was hard to say whether it was a loss or a gain.
Noticing Novie's concern, Linen let out a low laugh.
"You've really improved. You can think that far ahead now."
"But, Novie—you've gotten one thing wrong."
Novie lifted her head, curious. Linen didn't tease it out.
"From the First Emperor onward, not believing in gods—believing instead in the nation and one's own hands—wasn't the result of royal manipulation or noble schemes. It was the people's choice."
"Compared to these three, you think a priest in a holy robe with a gold staff and holy water looks more like a 'true' cleric. But would you believe in their god because of the robe, the staff, and the holy water?"
Novie shook her head firmly.
Of course not. She didn't believe in any god.
And then her cheeks warmed. She stole a shy glance at the clean, handsome profile beside her, sweetness bubbling in her chest as she thought,
If I had to believe in a god at all… it would only be Onii-chan.
…Amen?~
But once she understood what Linen meant, her expression turned strange.
"Then, Brother, doesn't that mean you're…?"
"Yes." Linen grinned. "I only said I'd help them build new churches. Whether they can find believers and whether preaching goes smoothly—that has nothing to do with me."
His grin turned downright impish.
"Still, it's not like they get nothing out of it. I heard where the three priests live is so remote—and the believers so few—that sometimes they can't even hand out the eggs, so they end up eating them themselves. I can't solve their believer problem… but I can solve the other problem, right?"
"Eggs in the city hand out faster~"
Novie fell silent.
In her heart, she was absolutely on Linen's side… but she couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the three cardinals.
She didn't yet know what the statue in the new church would look like.
But she already had a pretty good idea what the devil statue would look like.
Poor three tools.
…Maybe she really should be a little nicer to them from now on.
---
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