The Alger Fortress was one of the key fortresses along the border that defended the Clyde Empire from the Kingdom of Jugend. Any standard direct siege on it would require over five tis the attacking force compared to usual.
Decades ago, even Jugend had tried taking Alger several tis, wasting countless barrels of gunpowder before retreating empty-handed. That was then, of course.
“This will be sufficient. I truly appreciate your personal attendance at this eting, my lord.”
“The honor is mine, Your Eminence.”
The Margrave of Alger clasped Irexana’s hand, bowed once, and left the chamber with an unchanged expression. He wanted to shout in frustration, but Irexana was now, without question, his superior. If he were to scream, he’d have to do it in private, smashing furniture in his own chambers.
Sensing his barely contained resentnt, Irexana gave a faint, wry smile and muttered to himself, “Well now... looks like I might’ve dealt him the final blow without aning to.”
A few days after Leon’s party had left Alger, the Jugend army led by Irexana arrived at the fortress. What they saw atop the walls was a white flag.
At first, they suspected a ruse. However, when the Margrave himself erged through the gates, bearing official letters of surrender, no doubt remained. Alger had fallen. It might not have been completely impregnable, but as a fortress capable of holding Jugend off for months, its surrender without resistance was staggering.
“I didn’t think ‘he’ would’ve arranged this far ahead,” Irexana muttered.
Geoff, a knight of the Holy Iron Inquisitors waiting outside the chamber, widened his eyes.
“Your Eminence, by ‘he,’ you an... Surely not...!”
“Well, I think you already know who.”
To mbers of the Holy Church, the Hero himself was a living symbol of the Goddess’s power and grace.
Back during the Kaleider incident, Geoff had realized it too late. However, ever since learning Leon’s true identity, he had beco one of the Hero’s most devoted followers.
Letting Geoff bask in reverence, Irexana murmured quietly, “Still, I didn’t think the Evil Order’s influence had reached so deeply into the Empire. If they were trying to topple a strategic fortress like Alger, the Emperor himself might already be their puppet.”
“If that’s the case, shouldn’t the entire Empire be declared heretical?” Geoff asked.
“You can’t drive a sword through the body just because the head has rotted. If we brand the Empire as heretics, the continent will drown in blood and death. That would be exactly what the Evil Order wants.”
Anyone who could see the bigger picture would understand that there was only one simple goal in the minds of the Evil Order: total war.
To collapse border strongholds from within. To unleash the sa ritual that had nearly activated within Alger Castle.
“The Curse of Berserk, huh? Old-fashioned, but effective,” Irexana muttered.
It had been a narrow escape. Had Leon not intervened, the Jugend army would have lost control—even beyond Irexana’s command—and charged into Imperial territory. None of Alger’s civilians would have survived.
Even if the army of Jugend had done so, the Holy Church couldn’t punish Jugend for it afterward. It would’ve been a perfect trap. Irexana furrowed his brow, seized by a strange sense of déjà vu.
These thods... I’ve seen them before. Driving the enemy into a corner, forcing them into an inescapable pit...
Then it hit him. With a sharp gasp, he kicked back his chair and stood. Geoff, startled, reached for his sword, but there was no threat in sight.
It didn’t matter. Irexana’s mind was racing.
So it was him! Nearly fifty years without a trace—and he’s been hiding in the Clyde Empire all this ti!
Mors, the Bishop of Chaos. One of the Nine Hell, the highest echelons of the Evil Order, his identity and history veiled in total secrecy.
His combat power wasn’t remarkable. He was on par with a typical bishop, weaker than the infamous Bishops of Destruction or Despair. Yet the Holy Church listed Mors as one of its top elimination targets.
If he’s truly involved, the Empire is finished.
The impression Irexana had gotten of Mors the one ti he’d faced was pure evil. He was a being born only to spread wickedness in the world, to defile light and virtue.
Even the Chaos faction, mad and violent as it was, had bowed before his depravity. It was entirely possible that the Mad Emperor Nex had been under his control from the very beginning.
“We’ll have to warn the Hero. That’s not soone you can face unprepared,” Irexana muttered, then turned to Geoff. “Sir Geoff. Can you send word toward Calelum, the Imperial Capital? The sooner, the better.”
“Your Eminence. Under normal circumstances, perhaps. But right now, it would be difficult. With warti lockdowns in place, every border crossing is under strict inspection. If the Holy Iron Inquisitors act openly, it’ll only draw suspicion.”
“So even the Inquisitors can’t move freely, then... I see.”
He paused, then snapped his fingers.
“Actually, there’s soone perfect for this. She shouldn’t have crossed the border just yet. Deliver my ssage to her imdiately.”
“To whom, and where should it be sent?”
Irexana’s reply was clear.
“Cardinal Adela, at the Barony of Bilton in the Kingdom of Ferma.”
***
Because it controlled every road leading into the Imperial Capital, the Marquisate of Portroi was known by the nickna “the Gateway City.”
It could be considered the final stronghold protecting Calelum, but geographically, it wasn’t particularly well-suited for defense, and its stationed troops were nothing extraordinary. The Imperial Capital’s own forces were so overwhelming that it hardly needed to rely on the Marquisate at all.
Leon’s group stood overlooking Portroi, awestruck by its sheer size.
“Incredible...”
“Right? How do they even manage all that?”
They’d heard of the Empire’s vastness before, but even from the mountains, the expanse of land stretching to the horizon was beyond imagination. If all that land were farmland, it could probably sustain an entire mid-sized kingdom.
“With an area that big, sneaking in might actually be easier,” Karen remarked, scanning the city.
Elahan, however, shook her head firmly in disagreent and pointed toward the distant watchtowers standing tall above the plains.
“No, Karen. The power radiating from that watchtower covers the entire marquisate. I can’t tell whether it’s ant for defense or offense, but the mont we cross the walls, we’ll be caught.”
“What?!”
Both Karen and Leon stared toward the tower, but neither could see anything definite. A mont later, Karen realized why.
“It’s magic!” she exclaid.
And she was right. What was spread over the marquisate was power that was neither Aura nor Holy Law.
If exolaw drew strength from other dinsions, then magic was the art of studying the natural laws of this world and twisting them. It wasn’t dangerous enough to violate causality, but because it didn’t follow the natural laws of the world, it was incompatible with holy power.
That was why Leon and Karen, both Aura users, didn’t sense anything off, while Elahan recognized it instantly.
Ah, if I focus the Stigma of the Observer, I can see it too, Leon thought.
It wasn’t as vivid as the sickly light of exolaw, but faint outlines and flows began to form in his vision.
“A spell that covers an entire city?” Leon murmured. “Even for a barrier, that’s way too large in scale.”
“Yeah. A mage below the sixth tier couldn’t possibly manage that,” Elahan replied.
That left only one possibility. The Marquisate of Portroi housed a Master-level mage—a Grand Mage who had reached the seventh tier or higher.
Given that the Empire possessed at least half a dozen Master-class forces, it wasn’t that surprising. The question was why such a mage was stationed at a gateway city rather than a key military post.
“Could we go underground, maybe?” Karen asked.
“They’ve likely accounted for tricks like that,” Elahan answered.
“Right... A mage who can’t even think of that wouldn’t be a Grand Mage in the first place.”
The three of them began discussing their options.
“What about a straightforward approach?” Leon suggested. “We have fake identities already. We could disguise ourselves as rcenaries or adventurers and enter through the main gate.”
“Even cover identities aren’t foolproof,” Elahan said. “In a city like this, one wrong word would expose us, and getting caught would an an imdiate fight. Too risky.”
“What if we hide in a wagon?”
“I checked earlier,” Karen said, shaking her head. “Every single cart was being scanned with detection artifacts.”
Unfortunately, unlike Karen, neither Leon nor Elahan possessed stealth skills advanced enough to fool artifact-based detection.
They even considered using Karen’s shadow leaping technique to slip through, but the mont she expanded Pitch-Black Dance near the barrier, the surrounding mana waves distorted. If she’d taken one more step, they would’ve been discovered.
“Looks like we don’t have much of a choice,” muttered Leon, exhaling and quelling his impatience. “We still have soone to et anyway. Waiting here for a bit might be our best option. If an opening shows up, we can move then.”
Neither of them objected. Both nodded in agreent.
They weren’t exhausted, but the long march had taken its toll.
“Are we camping out? That actually sounds quite nice. It’s been a while,” Elahan said cheerfully.
“Yeah, so rest wouldn’t hurt,” Karen added.
Setting up camp didn’t take long. None of them needed a fire for warmth or night vision, so all they needed was a clear spot to sit and lie down.
It was still early dusk, too soon to sleep, so the three naturally fell into conversation. The topic quickly turned to the cardinal they were ant to et.
“That cardinal’s title was ‘Rampage,’ right?” Karen asked, intrigued. “What does that an?”
“It ans she’ll charge no matter what’s in her way’” Elahan explained. “Within the Church, she’s known as soone who has never once retreated from a fight.”
“Never backed down or ran away?”
“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure,” Elahan admitted. “I’ve only t Cardinal Adela once, during an annual council with the forr Saint.”
Her mory of that day was faint, but she recalled the woman’s perpetually weary expression, her slim fra, and the oversized gauntlets that didn’t seem to fit her at all.
“Oh, one more thing. She’s a gno,” Elahan said.
Leon and Karen both blinked in surprise.
“A gno? As in, that tiny, rare race smaller than dwarves?”
“Yes.”
Gnos were one of the smallest and rarest of the intelligent races. It was even said that the earth-elental spirits called Gnos were nad after them, not by coincidence. They weren’t as strong or sturdy as dwarves, but they were highly sensitive to vibrations, fleeing the mont soone approached.
“If I rember correctly,” Elahan continued, “Cardinal Adela was less than a ter tall. Her face was so youthful that most people would mistake her for a child.”
“And yet she’s a cardinal? That ans she’s strong, right?”
“Of course. Among the ten cardinals, she’s ranked fourth in power.”
That made both Leon and Karen exchange puzzled looks.
“Cardinal Irexana was third, wasn’t he?”
“So she’s just below him?”
“I didn’t think gnos were a strong race,” Karen muttered.
“Maybe she’s just an exception.”
They hadn’t t her yet, but she was already fascinating. Soone who looked like a child, yet rivaled Irexana in strength, didn’t feel real. How did such a tiny person even fight?
As they speculated about Adela for a while, Elahan suddenly recalled sothing important.
“Oh. Also, in front of Cardinal Adela, never say words like ‘small’ or ‘cute.’”
“Why not...?” Karen asked.
“She’s actually quite old, but because of her stature, she’s always treated like a child. Because of that, the mont soone calls her anything remotely infantilizing, she throws a punch. Last ti, Cardinal Dominic teased her, and the entire Church headquarters almost collapsed.”
Adela the Rampage. Her title, Rampage, wasn’t taphorical. It ca from the phrase headlong charge—a very literal description, and a not-so-secret joke among the cardinals themselves.
Cutiepatootie Adela the Gno Gno hehe
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