A Powerful Martial Artist Reincarnates as a Nun Knight

‘Just what is going on here?’

Regent Eduardo Luigi di Napoli unconsciously furrowed his brow upon seeing the Crown Prince emerge alongside the king. But in the next instant, he smoothed his expression into a faint smile. Though fleeting, it represented a rare moment where the regent, usually impeccable at concealing emotions, momentarily failed maintaining composure – indicative of his inner turmoil.

And he was not alone in that disconcertion. Those quietly obscuring their thoughts fared better comparatively.

‘How can the Crown Prince be accompanying His Majesty? Were they together until just now?’
‘More importantly, isn’t that Church nun-knight beside them? Surely the Church hasn’t sided with the Crown Prince?’
‘That seems an overly broad interpretation. Didn’t you hear? That woman cured His Majesty’s illness.’

Despite the king’s presence, those assembled could not help but whisper restlessly as all manner of speculation swirled. Sideglancing their muted commotion, the regent inwardly scoffed. Of course, such subtle din fell silent once King Vittorio III stepped forward raising his arms.

“You have come well to my palace. In my absence, my loyal vassals guarded their posts. And now you gather to celebrate my recovery. How could I not extend gratitude to my subjects? Your devotion and efforts shall undoubtedly receive due recompense – I vow this as the sovereign of Rotaringhia and master of the Iron Throne established in the capital Ravenna.”

As Vittorio III gently expressed gratitude toward his subjects, the nobles’ taut expressions gradually relaxed, interpreting the king’s cordial rhetoric as a political overture implying amnesty in exchange for cooperation.

The only one still inwardly conflicted was the Seventh Prince Bernardo, glaring green-faced resentment toward the Crown Prince standing beside the king’s entourage.

Looking down from the indoor balcony, King Vittorio III turned to Sophia.
“I leave the rest to you.”
“You can rest assured.”

Vittorio III smiled thinly at Sophia’s response before arching a brow toward the conflicted Crown Prince Eduardo.

“I have words for you separately. Lady Chazelle shall handle matters here – promptly follow me.”
“Y-Yes…I shall, Your Majesty.”

At the king’s beckoning, the Crown Prince Eduardo shook off his daze to dutifully trail behind Vittorio’s retreating figure.

Surreptitiously observing the ever-humble crown prince, a mixture of pity and apology flickered across Vittorio’s gaze. Although manipulated by that worm into certain misdeeds, he had nonetheless unilaterally imperiled his own offspring who staunchly upheld filial duty despite technically standing as the established heir prior.

Truthfully, as both father and monarch, Vittorio felt unworthy of directly facing his firstborn son. Yet an inner compulsion overwhelmed him, prompting his abrupt question:

“Eduardo.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Won’t you call me father instead of formalities?”

Recognizing his unworthiness yet unabashedly broaching the subject, Vittorio inwardly derided his own brazenness while awaiting his son’s response with his customary gruff demeanor rather than warmth.

‘I pride myself on an unmatched thick skin, after all.’

Flustered by his father’s words, the towering Crown Prince Eduardo flinched before closing his eyes and lowering his head – a reaction Vittorio initially mistook for rejection, inwardly resigned. Until a soft murmur reached his ears:

“Yes…Father…”

Vittorio momentarily stiffened before trembling imperceptibly. How much time and anguish condensed within that filial utterance? And how immensely it reverberated within him?
Vittorio realized he ought to respond accordingly.

“My son.”

Forcibly steadying his choked voice, he feigned nonchalance with that terse reply. Yet it proved more than enough for the Crown Prince Eduardo. For a while, father and son silently continued down the corridor without further exchange.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar sacred radiance emanated from the distant entrance they had departed, accompanied by tumultuous commotion and bloodcurdling shrieks.

“Father, what is this…?”
“Hmm, it seems the Church has begun their offensive in earnest.”
A wry smile crept across Vittorio’s lips.

“Damaged vessels must be replaced with new ones, or they can never contain fresh wine. Remember this, my son – the Iron Throne you shall eventually inherit has now taken on a somewhat different form from before.”

+++++

In the wake of the king and crown prince’s departure, the banquet hall’s atmosphere relaxed as the influential guests, assuming no further accountability, leisurely enjoyed the feast while formulating long-term contingencies to the altered circumstances.

However, one individual could not share that reprieve – none other than the Bakers’ Guild Master Giuseppe Gallo. The instant Sophia emerged alongside the king and crown prince onto the terrace, praised the gathered vassals, and the king subsequently withdrew with his son – blaring alarms rang deafeningly within Giuseppe’s mind.

Almost reflexively responding to those blaring mental warnings, he swiftly scanned his surroundings to detect clerics in religious garb materializing one by one throughout the banquet hall.

Upon spotting them, Giuseppe’s actions were straightforward: he hastily sought cover beside the nearest clerical cluster, preferably near Crown Prince loyalists if possible.

Not only anticipating imminent peril and preserving his safety, but seizing that very upheaval as an opportunity to establish connections with the Crown Prince’s faction.

Rationally assessed, such expectations bordered on delusion. Yet that seemingly delusional judgement proved eerily prescient in the very next instant.

Without warning, while the entire banquet hall remained obliviously off-guard, luminous golden and opalescent radiances abruptly erupted from the clerics now encircling the premises.

Pah-aat! Pah-aat! Pah-aaaat! Bursting forth were the Immovable Bright King Technique’s luminous explosions, indiscriminately bathing the hall from one end to the other in searing light.
And the consequences proved utterly chilling:

“Kkkkkkkkkkkiiiieeeeeeeekkkkk…!!!}”
“Kkkiiiiiiaaaaaaakkkk…!!!}”
“Kkkyyyaaaaarrraaaarrrggghhhaaaakkk…!!!}”

Demons concealed across the banquet hall while possessing human guises began thrashing and shrieking as if doused in acid – the ambushing luminous onslaught purifying their existences.

“Uwaah, monsters!”
“Kkkyaaaah, help me!”
“Demons, they’re demons! Demons have appeared in the palace!”

The banquet devolved into pandemonium within moments. Unlike ordinary luminescence, the Immovable Bright King’s refined luminous forces proved lethally radiant against all demons. However, their fluctuating intensities precluded instantly obliterating demons, representing a remaining limitation.

Despite fielding three hundred clerics for sheer overwhelming force, they seemed disinclined to directly rush and swiftly eliminate the demons. Instead, they focused on simply containing and preventing the demons’ escape.

All according to their true objective behind this operation.

“Currently about fifteen demons trapped within the banquet hall. Assign close-combat teams alongside spell-combat teams, one demon per operative pair – that should suffice.”

Surveying the scene dispassionately, Sophia issued terse instructions audible to all clerics who had ambushed the area in pre-arranged squads. This ambush literally served as a practical field test for these newly graduated initiates before their formal deployment – an experiential demonic combat exercise.

An unfortunate circumstance for the demons who happened to be within Sophia’s purview, as well as the nobles politically exploited by King Vittorio III through this very scenario.

Of course, under Sophia’s supervision no wanton loss of life would occur. Yet it went without saying they would utterly lose any remaining leverage to obstruct the king’s agenda moving forward.