Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

56 – Moon Against Moon

Common wisdom holds the individual martial prowess of priests in low regard.

They are people who can reinforce their bodies with divine power and instantly heal any wound.

If you look at it from a certain angle, you could say that they are superhumans.

Naive people who don’t know much about priests often have such imaginings.

Most of them join the path of priesthood, but quickly give up, become apostates, or become paladins.

The harsh evaluation of priests has a simple reason, if you know about it.

The power that priests use is a power borrowed from the existence of God.

No matter how much power you borrow from a great being.

If it is stronger than a human who has trained for a lifetime, then there is no reason to train, right?

Besides, the power of the gods is a blessing, not destruction.

Depending on the name of the god they believe in, they bestow grace befitting it.

Starting from the ability to heal wounds,

to the ability to fertilize the land or create sanctuaries, the variety is considerable.

Of course, restrictions also exist.

If the power received from a god is used in a way deemed unjust by the god,

a rejection will occur in the believer’s body, and the ability will be lost permanently.

This was a phenomenon that occurred commonly to believers of all gods.

Therefore, violence is forbidden to most priests,

and it is the reason why the personal martial prowess of a priest is considered weak.

However, such stories do not apply to believers of the Pope’s caliber.

His Divine Power possessed a quantity and quality on a completely different dimension from ordinary believers,

and his skill in managing them was also exceptional.

His trait also shines in this field.

The Pope’s trait, 『The Saint Walking a Thorny Path』

All of his mana can be replaced with Divine Power, and can also be operated separately,

but as it continues, the pain or burden added to the body’s interior increases.

Of course, in terms of sustainability, it is considerably not good, but his mana capacity was quite high,

and the pain was bearable as long as he didn’t use Divine Power excessively.

So, how is it now?

The Pope had consumed a considerable amount of Divine Power with the attack a moment ago.

And he certainly thought he had finished it with that attack.

But they were still unscathed.

And he didn’t know how, but they had stolen his Divine Power.

As if that wasn’t enough, they were using his faith to reproduce his techniques,

which only added to the Pope’s increasingly burdensome situation.

Once again, he blocks a large black arm coming towards him.

Then, he unleashes Divine Power in the direction from which the attack came again.

A golden hammer, the size of an adult man’s thigh, flew quickly,

but Herkal, who had already stepped forward, simply held his palm forward.

As if there were a transparent wall, it couldn’t even touch the old man’s wrinkled palm,

the golden hammer stopped in mid-air and fell.

From above, a large arm was trying to crush him,

and Antonio, who had been hiding behind the old man, quickly jumped out and charged forward.

“Your Holiness, I’m sorry.”

“Silence, I have nothing to say to a apostate.”

A sword and fist, completely unsuitable for priests, resonated with each other.

The blade, wrapped in black energy just like Grid’s, and

the Pope’s wrinkled hand, shimmering like gold but wrapped in transparent light, clashed countless times.

The man who was well-regarded by most believers and even heard talk of becoming the next bishop, and

The old man, revered by all under the mantle of Pope.

Ordinarily, the Pope would have been overwhelmingly dominant, but he had already expended a considerable amount of his divine power.

Furthermore, fighting Antonio while simultaneously keeping two others in check meant he couldn’t fight as easily as he might have liked.

And watching this spectacle with interest was one individual.

“Hmm… no better reaction than that?

I would have thought he’d at least ask the reason for the betrayal…”

The man who introduced himself as Grid sat leisurely on a chair of black material, the origin of which was unknown, his hand on his chin, observing the scene with amusement.

Of course, he didn’t forget to restrain the Pope’s third arm.

“Antonio, how long will it be before you reach it…

Frankly, it’s getting a little much for me to protect even you now…”

Compared to Grid, Hercal was struggling alongside Antonio.

Every time his scarred hands flitted back and forth,

the Pope’s divine power would rebound with a *thud*.

Simply deflecting the Pope’s divine power was impressive enough, but he didn’t stop there.

Fixing his gaze on the incoming divine power, he glanced at Antonio.

Of course, Antonio was desperately trying to evade, but his opponent was the Pope.

A highly skilled old beast of prey.

Deliberately guiding the attacks to make them seem avoidable, drawing him in for the next assault.

Hercal had been constantly supporting Antonio, knowing that losing such valuable combat strength would be a waste, but even he was starting to reach his limit.

The Pope’s concentration never wavered.

He was clearly continuously healing his own mental strength as well.

In contrast, they had no real means of healing.

In a situation where a moment’s lapse in concentration could be fatal,

his, Hercal’s, concentration, being quite old, couldn’t last much longer.

Finally, divine power slipped past his hand, rapidly approaching his face.

He closed his eyes on instinct, but for some reason, he felt no pain.

“Hmm, I suppose I don’t covet this kind of power after all.”

“M-Mister Grid?”

“If we drag this out any longer, reinforcements are likely to arrive.

I’ll take care of the rest.”

“B-But we can handle it!”

Perhaps intending to prove their worth, Antonio bravely objected,

but he soon sat down heavily, facing Grid’s ferocious gaze.

It was a look that threatened to pull him into an endless abyss if he continued to meet it.

For a moment, Antonio felt the sensation of a blade at his throat.

In that instant, he thought he heard the faint grinding of Grid’s saw-like teeth,

but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by a smiling look.

“It’s alright, simply watching will be helping me.”

“I… I understand…”

“Who said you could?”

The Pope’s fist arced down again towards Antonio, who was still slumped on the floor.

For a moment, the Pope, who had thought he’d excluded Herkal, was forced to recoil slightly at Grid’s sudden intervention.

He hadn’t fully grasped the extent of Grid’s abilities.

But a chance to reduce their numbers was before him, and

he wasn’t foolish enough to let it slip.

A fist capable of piercing a man’s skull hurtled towards Antonio.

“Caution is paramount, Antonio.”

“T…Thank you.”

But once more, it was blocked.

By a dark aura that erupted from right in front of him.

The same aura Grid had used to conjure a chair.

The two energies collided, visibly repelling each other.

And with each contact, his divine power was gradually being stripped away.

It wasn’t long before the aggressive fist wreathed in divine power became the fist of an ordinary old man, and as it did, the dark aura also began to fade.

“Well, Your Holiness, perhaps we could all catch our breath for─”

“Humph!”

“Gah…!”

“….”

Grid’s suggestion was meant to stall the attack, but the Pope instead lashed out with his fist, and

at the receiving end was Antonio, sprawled on the ground clutching his nose.

He shook his fist a few times, as if wiping away blood, before enveloping himself in divine power once more.

“Don’t talk nonsense. I have no intention of negotiating, having come this far.”

“…So it seems.”

“Nor will I let you leave here alive…!”

“That determination of yours… I find myself a little envious.”

As soon as the words were spoken, black and gold clashed head-on.

Streaks of black and gold light flared and then vanished.

A deafening boom echoed as the two lines met.

The Pope advanced, channeling divine power directly from his hands, while

Grid evaded the attacks, unleashing dark energy from every direction.

The two superhuman’s assault continued without end.

Herkal, who was watching passively, and Antonio, clutching his nose,

could not dare to interfere in the battle.

It was a fight on a plane beyond their reach.

The swirling air alone sent small stones around them flying, and

anything touched by the attacks was utterly annihilated.

The attack wasn’t entirely futile.

The Pontiff was already exhausted, body and soul, and

even Grid was growing weary of the Pontiff’s relentless assault.

Blood splattered, and small gasps escaped them both, yet strangely, no wounds were visible.

The Pontiff healed them immediately, and Grid covered his own with a dark miasma.

Before they knew it, the battle had devolved into a war of attrition.

And in such a scenario, the one least likely to endure was, predictably, clear.

“Huff… huff… ha…”

“…Haha, finally spent, it seems.”

“Bull…shit… *cough*…!”

“Frankly, had you drawn it out any longer, I would have lost.

I admit it, Pontiff, you are a formidable man.”

“….”

“Which is why I must kill you now.

Honestly, you pose far too great a threat to us.”

He wanted to retaliate, but he didn’t have the strength to twitch a finger.

The Pontiff’s internal nerves were already experiencing agony, as if cauterized

one by one with a white-hot iron, with meticulous cruelty, and

perhaps due to the excessive use of divine power, blood flowed ceaselessly from his nose.

The muscles of his aged body screamed in protest, and

the bones in his joints felt as though they would shatter at any moment.

Yet, he did not flee.

Flight was a word forbidden to one who had lived a lifetime of unwavering integrity.

Especially when his opponent was an enemy of the Order.

His heart seemed to have already resigned itself to death, steadfast and unwavering,

and his expression was serene, as if he were a saint who had understood all things, a faint smile gracing his lips.

It was a sight so beautiful that anyone asked to point out a saint would have chosen him.

Naturally, that overwhelming emotion brought not only Hercal and Antonio, who were silently watching the fight,

but even Grid, a sense of elation.

Greed (貪慾).

His greatest desire, the very instinct of humanity.

It was being stirred within him now, by this Pontiff.

‘…He truly makes one covet.

To wear such an expression when faced with certain death…!’

He desired to possess him.

He wanted to embalm him, preserving that very expression.

If it were difficult to preserve his entire body, he wanted to sever only his head,

take it, and keep it safe. The desire consumed him.

And the moment that thought completed itself, a black spear hurtled toward the Pontiff.

Aimed precisely at the base of his throat.

The tip of the ebony spear, nearing the very Pope.

‘…I pray for a final grace, and Your mercy, upon those who remain on this earth.’

So he thought, the Pope, his eyes unwavering until the end.

Grid, witnessing that sight, only widened his smile.

And those expressions of his shifted, instantly, by the gust of wind that passed the Pope by.

The spear veers away.

Like flowing water.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Like moonlight reflecting on a flowing river.

Moonlit Nine Swords, Fourth Form.

River Moon Flow.

Before he knew it, the spear had swept past his right and embedded itself in the wall.

And in place of the ebony spearhead,

A dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark man stood, confident.