Sir Ross looked down at Anchi, his voice carrying the weight of a judge passing sentence.
"Father Anchi... do you have any inkling of the gravity of your actions?"
Anchi stepped forward, his pace neither hurried nor hesitant, coming to a halt directly before the Paladin.
"I believe that is a question better suited for you, Inquisitor Ross," Anchi replied. His voice wasn't loud, but it resonated through the silent square with undeniable authority.
"Abduction, false accusation, and the attempted execution of a devoted believer of the Spirits. Which of these sins do you think is insufficient to secure your place in the Great Cascade?"
Anchi raised a trembling finger, pointing it directly at Ross's nose.
"Since you still deign to call 'Father,' then I, in my capacity as the Presiding Father of Orlando, shall issue a judgnt." Anchi's tone shifted, becoming solemn and rhythmic, as if he were officiating a high mass. "You, Ross, are a blaspher and a heretic! You are the one in need of purification!"
A collective gasp went through the Templars standing behind Ross. A Tier 3 priest from a backwater border town was declaring an Inquisitor of the Holy Capital a heretic?
For the first ti, Ross's face broke its mask. A flicker of genuine, insulted fury crossed his features.
"You are seeking a very painful death," Ross whispered.
While the two n faced off, Sister Cecilia had already reached the stake. She looked at the heavy ropes binding Danica and let out a sharp curse.
"Since when did they start making hemp this sturdy?"
The next second, she gripped the cords with both hands. Her back arched, her muscles bulging beneath her habit as she channeled her Battle Aura.
SNAP!
The thick ropes were shredded as if they were made of silk. Danica's body went limp, falling into Cecilia's arms. Cecilia braced her, ensuring the girl remained upright.
The remaining townsfolk in the plaza finally snapped out of their stupor. A Priest and a Sister were openly defying an Inquisitor. This wasn't just a squabble—it was a declaration of war against the Church. Panic erupted. People scattered in every direction, leaving the square empty in a matter of seconds.
Soon, only five hooded figures remained in the center of the plaza alongside the rebels.
The eight Templars moved with practiced efficiency. They fanned out, locking into a standard tactical "Seal" formation, surrounding Anchi, Cecilia, Danica, and the five suspicious strangers. They drew their claymores, the steel singing as it blocked every avenue of retreat.
The five hooded figures shared a glance. The one at the head—Scarlett—let out a resigned sigh and yanked back her hood, exposing her elegant black horns. She scratched her cheek with an awkward, embarrassed grin.
"Um... sorry to bother you during your... thing." She gestured toward Danica. "This succubus is a valued employee of our shop. Would you mind handing her over?"
Beside her, Kula nodded frantically, her eyes gleaming with a primal hunger for roasted poultry.
Ross shifted his gaze from Anchi to the newcors: Scarlett, Kula, Mona, Eris, and Chloe.
Five. Plus the one at the stake. Six succubi in total.
Ross's eyes went flat. "The Holy Codex states: Succubi are creatures of the Abyss, spawned from the filth of mortal desire. Their re existence is a desecration of the Great Spirit's creation."
Ross leveled his longsword at Scarlett. "It appears the purification list requires an imdiate update."
"Tch. What a pain," Scarlett muttered. Then, she flashed Ross a sharp, jagged grin. "But don't think [Succubus Dreams] has spent all this ti just eating chicken!"
The mont the words left her lips—Ross's world distorted.
A deafening roar tore through the sky, vibrating the very stone beneath his feet. A gargantuan shadow blotted out the sun. Ross looked up.
A hideous black Dragon had pierced through the cloud layer, its golden vertical pupils locking onto the Inquisitor. As its jaw unhinged, a swirling vortex of Dragon Breath gathered in its throat.
Succubus racial illusion, Ross analyzed instantly. But the illusion was so vivid, the psychological pressure so imnse, that even his Tier 4 instincts forced his muscles to pull taut.
"NOW!"
Anchi clapped his hands together and pulled them apart, a sphere of blinding radiance condensing in his palms.
"[Holy Bolt]!"
Without a second of hesitation, he launched the projectile straight for Ross's head. Ross sensed the threat; he ignored the dragon above and swung his blade in a backhand arc, striking the light with surgical precision.
BOOM!
The light detonated. The shockwave forced Ross back half a step, leaving a charred, black mark on the flat of his blade.
"Amusing," Ross murmured.
The battle exploded.
Cecilia moved like a runaway juggernaut, lunging at Ross with a flying kick. Ross sidestepped with effortless grace. Cecilia's foot missed, slamming into the stone pavent and cratering the rock, sending chips flying. Ross didn't even look; he spun with a whip-like roundhouse kick, his boot connecting with Cecilia's bracing arm.
CRACK.
The sound of bone snapping echoed clearly. Cecilia let out a grunt of pain as she was sent tumbling across the plaza. Ross didn't pursue. His target was clear.
He charged for Anchi. The Priest retreated, his lips moving in a frantic, high-speed chant for his next spell.
Scarlett scread at her sisters, "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! GET IN THE GA!"
Mona, catching the fever of the mont, threw her hands wide. "[A Hundred Chickens Night Parade]!"
Suddenly, hundreds of baby chicks—all wearing miniature helts and tiny suits of plate armor—appeared out of thin air. Chirping with a shrill, warlike intensity, they surged across the square like a fuzzy yellow ocean, swarming the eight Templars.
The knights' formation wavered for a micro-second. One Templar instinctively hacked at the "threat," only for his blade to pass through the illusion, nearly taking his comrade's leg off.
"[The Golden Windfall]!" Kula shouted, her eyes glowing.
A rain of gold coins began to fall from the sky. Despite knowing it was fake, the sheer visual impact of thousands of glinting coins caused several knights to falter in their stride.
"Quick! The Potion!" Scarlett yelled, tossing a small vial to Cecilia as the Sister scrambled up from the dirt. It was the diluted [Erald's Respite] from Iron Fortress.
Cecilia caught it, yanked the cork with her teeth, and downed it in one gulp. She slamd her fractured arm against the stone to force the bone back into alignnt, let out a roar of defiance, and charged back in.
Eris and Chloe began weaving even more illusions. Dozens of phantoms of Anchi and Cecilia erupted from the shadows, lunging at Ross from every angle.
The plaza was a theater of the absurd. The air was filled with chirping chickens, clinking gold, and the cries of phantom warriors.
Anchi stood at the eye of the storm, discharging Holy Arts like a frantic artillery battery. Light bolts, chains of radiance, and blades of energy were hurled without regard for his Mana reserves. He was the only long-range threat—and thus, Ross's primary objective.
Ross ignored the phantoms. He ignored the chirping chickens at his heels. A thin, golden film of Battle Aura coated his skin, acting as a filter that rendered the illusions inert. He cut through the chaos with singular intent.
Cecilia swung a heavy wooden cross like a club at Ross's back. Without turning, Ross raised his left hand, a shield of pure Holy light manifesting instantly.
BANG!
The wood shattered into splinters against the barrier. Ross didn't spare her a glance. He blurred into a white afterimage, appearing directly in front of Anchi.
Too fast!
Anchi's pupils shrank. He barely managed to conjure a basic Shield of Light.
CRACK.
The shield shattered like glass. Ross struck—not with the blade, but with the heavy poml of his sword, slamming it into Anchi's chest.
THUD.
Anchi felt as though he had been hit by a charging krakotz. His body was launched backward, tracing a long parabola through the air before slamming into the stone fifty feet away. He spat a fountain of blood, painting the cobbles red.
Anchi struggled to rise, but the agony in his chest made even a shallow breath a monuntal effort. His Mana was spiraling out of control.
"ANCHI!" Cecilia shrieked. Her eyes were blood-red with fury. She charged at Ross, her fists clenched and her guard abandoned. "YOU BASTARD!"
Ross spared her a cold, dismissive glance before walking toward the fallen Priest, raising his sword high. This ti, the blade ignited with a piercing, holy light.
The eight Templars stepped forward in unison. Having adapted to the succubi's tricks, they efficiently separated the group. Two knights tied down the raging Cecilia. The other six suppressed the five succubi and the wounded Danica.
The circle tightened.
Scarlett watched the dying Anchi, the suicide-charge of Cecilia, and the encroaching wall of steel. Her mind raced at a fever pitch.
What now? We can't fight them. We can't run.
Is this where it ends?
Scarlett gritted her teeth. She looked at the sky and scread with the full strength of her lungs:
"HEY! YOU LAZY PIECE OF TRASH WE HIRED!"
"IF YOU DON'T SHOW UP IN THREE SECONDS, WE'RE FILING FOR A FULL REFUND! AND YOU'RE GETTING A ONE-STAR REVIEW!"
The scream echoed through the square. Ross paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze following Scarlett's eyes toward the rooftops.
The roof of the chapel was empty. There was nothing there but the cold winter wind. Ross allowed a mocking sneer to touch his lips.
"A desperate delusion," he whispered.
He raised his sword once more, preparing to end Father Anchi.
Just then—
A shadow appeared behind Ross without a sound, without a ripple, and without a warning. No one saw how it happened.
From within that shadow, two pale finger bones erged. They reached out and gently—effortlessly—clamped onto Ross's blade just as it began its descent.
Ross's entire body went rigid. He felt as though he wasn't holding a sword, but was trying to lift an unmovable mountain.
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