Chapter 127: Collision (4)
31st, 6 PM, Saint Dominico Cathedral.
Archbishop Dominico let out a stifled sigh, his impatience plainly visible.
“…This is driving insane.”
He had given orders not to report until the victory announcent was ready.
Even so, not a single ssage for over ten hours?
His gaze remained fixed on the evening newspapers spread across his desk.
They contained nothing but near-rumor-level reports based on witness accounts from near the scene—but he understood it better than anyone.
What they wanted wasn’t the truth. It was gossip.
Just a bit of chatter to spice up their dull, exhausting daily lives—that was enough.
No matter who won, it had nothing to do with them—those were the kind of people they were.
Though it was the state religion, Dellowell was, in reality, treated almost like a separate ordinance from the Orthodox Church.
Most citizens of the Empire probably didn’t even consider this a matter of the Orthodox Church.
Of course, there were so who did—but their numbers were small. The Empire was overflowing with people who were believers in na only.
So in the end, only the result mattered.
No matter how much criticism they received, no matter how much disgrace piled up—as long as they won, that was all that mattered.
Then even those who protested and complained would fall silent as if nothing had happened.
Because history is written by the victors.
‘Then why the hell is there no report yet?!’
At most, he had expected it to take eight hours.
The enemy were rely researchers from a weak Magic Tower with no experience in war.
They might be good at writing books, publishing papers, and attending academic exchanges—but in combat, they would be useless.
On the other hand, his side consisted of veterans among veterans who had participated in countless Holy Wars. In both experience and combat power, there should have been no comparison.
That was only logical.
So why was there still no answer?
Had the enemy anticipated the ambush and hidden their main force in advance?
No—that would have warranted a report long ago.
“…What the hell are they doing?”
Unable to endure it any longer, Dominico placed his hand over the orb—
At that very mont, light suddenly filled the dark orb.
At last, the long-awaited report from Dellowell.
“This is Peregrine! My apologies for the delay, Archbishop!”
Dominico almost barked at him for the delay but instead let out a sigh.
“…Fine, just report. What happened?”
“Ah—yes! The enemy has retreated inside the main tower and begun a defensive stand, but we expect to crush them soon! So of them have already surrendered and declared themselves prisoners!”
“So, it’s proceeding as planned?”
“Yes! There’s no need to worry!”
As expected.
This is your limit, you arrogant children of Mastema.
No matter how much you struggle, you’re no match for us.
Without even verifying the truth, Dominico burst into hearty laughter.
Then, seemingly satisfied, he credited his subordinate.
“Well done, Director of the Inquisition. This victory owes much to you. I’ll consider recomnding a ceremony for a dal of honor to the Imperial Court.”
“I-I am honored!”
“It should take another five or six hours, at most. If necessary, we can even cancel the main force’s deploynt. It wouldn’t look good to gang up on the weak.”
“Ah—ah, of course! You are absolutely right!”
“Then finish things up and report again. Good work, Director.”
“Yes! Thank you!”
As the flow of mana was cut off, the orb’s light faded.
“…….”
Inside Flavia Cathedral, Heinrich Peregrine covered his face with both hands and let out a string of sighs.
“…Damn it.”
Who could have predicted things would turn out like this?
I never expected those bastards to hold out this well.
As he continued muttering to himself, a voice he didn’t recognize asked:
“Why did you report a falsehood?”
“…What?”
Betty Scarletwood, Executor of Earth.
“The enemy has neither retreated nor surrendered. On the contrary, we are the ones faltering due to greater-than-expected losses.”
Standing with her hands neatly clasped, she pressed him again.
“If the Archbishop learns of this, you won’t escape punishnt either, Director.”
At her gaze—brimming not only with certainty but also arrogance—Heinrich scoffed.
“Ha, these Executors really are arrogant, the lot of you….”
Leaning back against a pew, he replied brazenly.
“So what, if I told the truth, would anything change? Huh?”
“…….”
“You think he’d praise for being honest or sothing?”
“…Then what do you intend to do? You didn’t make a false report without a plan, did you?”
This ti, Heinrich fell silent.
Betty turned her gaze outside the cathedral and continued.
“If you know your enemy and yourself, you’ll win every battle. If the enemy’s strength exceeds our expectations, then the best course is to adjust accordingly.”
Her eyes glead with battle intent and killing intent.
“Deploy the main force imdiately. I will personally end those demons’ lives.”
“I was going to do that even if you didn’t say it! Why are you acting so confident about sothing obvious?!”
“Oh, were you?”
“Arrogant brat who doesn’t even know her place…!”
“Ah, my apologies. It seems I failed to fully appreciate your foresight, Director.”
The Executor bowed her head slightly, smiling calmly.
“Then I’ll take that as confirmation and excuse myself. There’s much to prepare.”
Step, step.
As she left—
Heinrich abruptly stood and kicked the podium.
With a crash, it toppled over, the loud noise echoing throughout the area.
That evening, exactly at 9 PM.
The main force, gathered at the sa location as the advance party, waited for deploynt with heavy expressions.
As the Director of the Inquisition appeared, thunderous cheers shook the ground.
The two Executors at the flanks—Karen Rosefield and Betty Scarletwood—raised their respective weapons.
“What a deeply rooted evil! Though destined to be destroyed, they still struggle without giving up!”
Heinrich slamd his foot repeatedly against the ground, his face far more enraged than before.
In response, the Believers’ footsteps thundered in unison.
“If they insist on continuing their sins, then so be it! We will no longer stand by! So long as God is with us, no obstacle shall stand against us!”
Waaaah— Waaaaaah—
Then, spreading his arms toward the two Executors, veins bulging, he roared:
“Executor of Earth! Executor of Blood! Lead the Believers into battle! Go—and completely cut down the futile struggle of those demons!”
In response, the two slamd their halberd and greatsword into the ground.
KWA—BOOOOM!
As the roar and dust settled—
They released mana from their entire bodies and declared firmly:
“We depart.”
The true collision had begun.
---
Clatter, clatter.
Riding in a military transport carriage capable of carrying 12 to 20 people, the main force of the Karbenna—Special Task Force alliance advanced.
Estimated arrival ti: between 11 PM and midnight.
Since the Mallet side was still holding out well, it would likely beco quite a battle even after they joined.
“That is… if the Executors don’t go overboard.”
Dale Wedyer stared into the air with a worried expression.
Frederick Lake, sitting across from him, crossed his arms and shook his head.
“Don’t expect it to be easy, Dale. Now that even the students are involved, defeat isn’t an option.”
“I know, I know. I was just saying—stop nitpicking.”
“Not sothing you should say, considering you’re the one who always nitpicks first, hm?”
They exchanged faint chuckles.
“By the way… I was quite surprised, Dale.”
“About what?”
“Your participation.”
“…….”
“I didn’t think soone representing the pro-Bernhardt faction would support this fight.”
As proof—
“There’s not a single other participant here who could be called pro-Bernhardt, is there?”
As the sensitive topic arose, subtle glances began to gather around them.
But unfazed, Dale continued calmly.
“That’s what you an, isn’t it? That Bernhardt would want Karbenna to lose.”
“Isn’t that the case? You lost face at the summit, failed to reach an agreent—and now a third force is trying to enter the power struggle. Why would the first power welco that?”
“On the surface, perhaps.”
It was a puzzling answer.
As Frederick tilted his head, Dale lowered his voice.
“They say blood doesn’t lie.”
“…What are you getting at?”
“Bernhardt, as it stands, is closer to a corporation than a family. What drives them is profit and future value—not outdated emotions or personal relationships.”
“So you’re saying… Bernhardt could cut ties with Dellowell? With the Orthodox Church?”
“If it makes more money.”
“…….”
“Even if she denies it, the Chairwoman is still of Bernhardt blood. She’s already calculating, instinctively, what choice she needs to make.”
“…Hmm.”
“So I have no reason to oppose her forever. Circumstances change, my friend.”
It was a strangely convincing sophistry.
As the two fell silent, the carriage once again beca deathly quiet.
In another carriage, Walter Clark and Eric Belfor were quietly conversing.
“Hmm… that feels like a stretch.”
“I think so too, but at least that’s what was being discussed internally.”
Their topic was the future of the Special Task Force.
“In any case, restructuring the entire defensive line is inevitable. I only heard this late through a contact, but…”
Belfor continued with a troubled expression.
“They say strengthening the forces in Benamaur is unavoidable. Recently, three corps commanders went to the Imperial Court to negotiate.”
“…And what did the Imperial Court say?”
“I don’t know, but what do you think? Of course they refused. Said there’s no room.”
Well, that’s their usual response, so whatever…
“But if Dellowell loses this war, there’s no telling whether the military will continue to tolerate it.”
“…What, are you saying they’d stage a coup?”
“Probably not that far… but they might try changing who they serve.”
“…….”
“Anyway, we need to win first. There’s too much at stake in this battle.”
Walter nodded, then raised a small question.
“…How did Carter even predict all of this?”
Even Belfor had no answer.
“…Who knows.”
If one had to guess, it might be insight gained during his long seclusion.
Or perhaps there was soone behind the scenes pushing him.
But there was no clear evidence for either.
“And he’s not the kind of guy who’d give you a straight answer even if you asked.”
Their conversation drifted to other topics.
After chatting for over an hour, they turned their attention toward the murmuring outside.
In the distance, the destination of their journey ca into view.
“…Hey.”
“…Yeah.”
“That… isn’t that the main tower of Mallet…?”
“The main tower… yeah.”
Walter blinked in disbelief.
Several massive wooden pillars—five or six of them—had pierced straight through the side of the main tower.
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