Wasn’t This a Night Game

There is None Such Thing

The mages of the Magic Tower were afraid.

Though they were all skilled battle mages with numerous engagements under their belts, even they had never witnessed such a brutal slaughter.

“It’s the Princess!”

[Kill! Kill them and show Dulaneer that Mammon lives!….]

When the blazing holy power came crashing down, not an abomination or black mage was left standing.

Their bodies were consumed in the noxious concentration of holy energy, their corrupted souls themselves wounded, leaving them to merely choke and sputter on the floor.

Once Iomene’s divine magic had swept through the chamber…

“Move.”

It was Erpa’s turn.

Her four hands moved with blinding speed, unleashing a barrage of complex, layered spells.

A single flick of her wand reduced a Mammon-blessed abomination to dust; bombs were disassembled before they could detonate and fell to the ground inert; firearms spontaneously combusted; and the torrent of dark magic aimed at her was met with perfectly timed counter-spells.

After she’d carved a path at the vanguard, the remaining cleanup was left to the other battle mages and the Ketratu’s troops.

“Spare me! Have mercy, I beg you… aaagh!”

“There is no mercy for you, vile heretic.”

Most were dispatched by the Ketratu, who remained at Iomene’s side as guards.

One might have flinched at the sight of them shifting forms – into children, into women – their voices filled with heartrending pleas.

But the Ketratu ground the followers, begging as children and women, without a moment’s hesitation.

How long did they advance, and advance again, filming a one-sided massacre?

“Saintess!”

Iomene recognized the voice as it reached her ears over the cacophony of offensive miracles she was unleashing.

Turning her head, she saw Al Madai and other Ketratu soldiers, bloodied and bruised, rushing toward her.

“Ah! I truly have taught you well! You are fighting so magnificently! I am impressed!!”

Iomene sighed deeply at Al Madai’s effusive praise, glaring at him.

That was the problem with Al Madai and the Ketratu.

While other paladins and priests of the White Order treated her with proper reverence as the Saintess, these men subtly treated her like a child.

Though, perhaps, it was understandable.

To those who had fought on the battlefield for their entire lives, how *would* they view a Saintess with three months’ experience who still hadn’t fully memorized the Codex Prolilium?

Stubborn, mule-headed fools though they were, there was one aspect of them that Iomene truly admired: their purity of heart.

They were close-minded and inflexible in their daily lives, but in these extreme circumstances, they were more reliable than anyone.

They were, after all, shields that would not break, just as their name implied.

“No deaths, are there?”

“None. It would be a disgrace if there were!”

“Get the wounded to the rear. The rest of you, protect us. You must be low on ammunition and tired.”

“Understood.”

The Ketratuses encircled the mages.

Reinforced further, the expedition surged forward, indomitable. Nothing could stand in their way.

“Mammon! Grant us strength! Protect u–!”

With a final, glorious demise – a black mage, desperately summoning the corrupted from the earth below, was obliterated by Iomene’s divine shower, Erpa’s arcane assault, and the hammer-blows of the Ketratuses. Finally.

The expedition stood before Mammon’s stronghold.

True to its nature, the enemy’s scale defied imagination.

Within the vast, subterranean space, thousands of abominations and at least dozens of black mages, along with their followers, erected a desperate line of defense.

“Enemies! Open fire!”

The moment the expedition appeared, a hail of heavy machine-gun fire and explosions erupted.

“Hold the line! Two minutes! Just two minutes more!”

The black mages, scraping together what little ill will remained, unleashed every spell and incantation they could muster toward the expedition.

But no matter what they did…

They could not halt the advance.

“Defense is our responsibility!”

The mages of the Magic Tower immediately drew their wands, stepping forward to deflect the incoming dark magic.

“Raise your shields! Brothers!”

The Ketratuses stepped to the fore, shielding against the heavy machine guns and explosions.

With their weighty shields, immensely thick armor, and a panoply of protective miracles, they easily withstood the barrage.

And in that time…

“Iomene!”

“I was ready!”

Iomene’s miracles and Erpa’s offensive magics rained down upon the enemy lines.

The Dullanair stigma on Iomene’s hand glowed with maximum intensity, and soon, she spread a shower of brilliant light throughout the stronghold.

Not as bright as the pillars of holy light on the surface, but devastating enough to the black mages and abominations.

“Gack!”

“Ugh!”

The dark mages’ spells and incantations were forcefully cancelled mid-cast.

The Abominations’ skin began to burn, as if suffering from third-degree burns, resulting in agonizing screams echoing from all directions.

And in that moment.

“My turn, then.”

Erpa’s hands and wand moved in a blur.

The lower two hands weaved a sigil, amplifying the spell, while the upper two hands wielded the wand, unleashing the magic.

The magic, amplified to an insane degree thanks to the research into the Three Primary Colors, materialized into a lightning storm.

And then.

“Th-This is insane! What power!……..”

A wide-area lightning storm, large enough to engulf the entire enemy ranks, began to rage.

Mamon’s followers, struck by the blue lightning, didn’t even have time to scream before dissolving into ash.

The barrels of heavy machine guns melted and warped, the bullets inside the chambers detonating from the extreme heat.

All sorts of bombs, never even thrown, exploded where they stood, causing immense damage.

Abominations?

Even they, their bodies enhanced by Mamon’s blessings, couldn’t escape the same fate as the regular followers, reduced to mere cinders.

The dark mages were the only ones who barely survived.

“Ugh… aaargh!! This, this power! What kind of power is this!!”

The magic displayed a different level of might, forcing them to expend most of their stored resentment just to defend themselves once.

The Khetratous and the mages of the Magic Tower.

And Iomene looked at Erpa with unconcealed admiration.

“Al-Madai, perhaps we should seriously consider including mages in the Khetratous ranks.”

“That would violate the Codex Prorillium, Saintess. When we return, you will need to intensively memorize that section.”

“…….”

“However, it would be very useful if the Magic Tower occasionally provided support. I agree with that point.”

Al-Madai spoke those words, then surveyed the battlefield once.

Now, excluding a handful of dark mages, there were no enemies left.

All turned into well-done barbe-… no.

Reduced to ashes, leaving no more opponents to fight.

“Those damned, evil dark mages are all that’s left. You just wait. You hideous vermin. I’m coming to tear you apart!!”

The faces of the black mages turned grim as Al Madai roared, raising his greatsword and shield.

So little remained of their vengeful energy.

And then there was Iomene.

That blasted Saintess of Dullanear, fit only to be torn limb from limb, was showering the battlefield with light, further weakening their already diminished magic tenfold.

There seemed no way to win this impossible fight.

Though the situation was utterly hopeless, the black mages refused to yield.

They focused every last sliver of their vengeful energy, weaving a formidable defensive spell.

“One minute. Just one more minute and the Chosen of Mamon will fight for us! Do not lose heart!”

Hearing those words, Al Madai was about to charge forward, enraged. But then—

“Stop. Al Madai.”

“My Lady Saintess? But!”

“They’re nothing but mages now.”

“……..?”

“Shouldn’t we let their natural predators hunt them?”

“……Ah!”

Al Madai chuckled, stepping back.

The black mages tilted their heads, bewildered by the expedition’s sudden halt in their assault, but then—

“The, the defensive magic is collapsing!”

“What is this! I can’t cast anything!!”

“aaargh! aaargh! The magic is backfiring! It’s shattering!!”

“Where is it!! Where is it!!”

“Something’s attacking me!!”

The black mages were about to learn with their very bodies the reason for the expedition’s withdrawal.

Their defensive magic began to fail abruptly.

Spells that had been flowing smoothly now ceased working without rhyme or reason.

And something unseen began to prick and stab at their bodies.

A black mage, screaming in agony from the backfiring magic, had his head severed; another, howling for them to stay away, suddenly had a hole punched through his heart.

Black mages were dying in droves, yet the real problem was that their assailant remained invisible.

The faces of the remaining black mages turned ashen.

“The Black Fortress!!”

“An Anti-Magic Field!”

“Damn it all!! Soulless b*stards!!”

“Drop your wands!! Draw your pistols!! Fighting with magic is impossible!”

A bizarre scene unfolded as the dark mages discarded their wands and fumbled for their pistols, but the situation remained unchanged.

How were they supposed to shoot anything if they didn’t even know where the enemy *was*?

And then, there was this.

“Don’t come closer!! Don’t! …Why isn’t this firing?!”

[When gripping a pistol with a grip safety like that, it will not fire.]

Whether it was due to lack of proper firearms training or not, the dark mages’ grip and shooting skills were truly pathetic.

So pathetic, in fact, that the soulless ones killing them felt compelled to offer advice. The dark mages, fighting with such utter incompetence, were all lying prone in under twenty seconds, heads severed or hearts pierced.

A hollow end.

But not entirely hollow.

“Ugh… Heh heh. I was a step too late, weren’t I? You lot!!”

One of the dark mages, a hole blasted through his heart, coughed up blood as he stared with fading eyes at the massive coffin at the center of the base.

Mammon’s Chosen.

It had been a near thing, but as a result of his desperate resistance until the very end.

It was finally complete.

Of course, it was certain to have a horribly incomplete body, and awakened in such a rush, its mind was very likely not whole, but even so, the Chosen was the Chosen.

“The Chosen will slaughter everyone here!! Taste his wrath!! You insects!!”

Even on the verge of death, the dark mage’s rage-filled roar was tremendous.

[Damn!]

[Move! We have to stop the Chosen!]

“Move it!! We have to stop the Chosen before it awakens!!”

The soulless ones and the expedition members urgently began to approach, but it was already too late.

The lid of the coffin burst apart, and the entity within slowly rose.

The last surviving dark mage shed tears of emotion at the sight.

“Ooh!! Chosen One!! Mammon’s Chosen!! Unleash your fury!! Show this world the return of greed!!”

“Assassins, fall back!! Mages too!! The Ketratuses and I will handle it! Don’t get hit by that thing’s black magic and curses!!”

Following Iomene’s command, the assassins and mages quickly retreated.

Meanwhile, the Ketratuses and Iomene rushed toward the Chosen.

“Fear not death! Brothers!! The Saintess is with us!!”

“For Dulanear!!!”

Holy Knights charged, their voices ringing with grim resolve.

“The end is nigh!! This is the finale!! Taste the destruction of a Mamon Chosen who thirsts for greed!!”

A lone black mage, mocking them to his last breath.

“I won’t let you destroy the city Amael sought to protect!!”

Iomene, channeling her holy power with even greater force, surged forward.

All those moments, charged with urgency,

fell silent as the Mamon Chosen emerged from the shattered sarcophagus.

“Gnnnhh… keuhh.”

A man, painfully thin, limped forward.

His eyes were gone, one arm was missing, and his legs were twisted, deformed.

“Hungry… hurts… uuugh. Father. Why!!!!”

The Mamon Chosen, perhaps lacking in intellect, whined with childlike petulance.

“Why take my power!!…Father!! Why!!”

The Chosen, mid-stride, collapsed to the ground, his misshapen legs failing him.

No one.

Not even the surviving black mage.

Nor the Ketratuses.

Nor Iomene.

Nor the mages of the mage tower.

Spoke.

“Eeee… Hungry. aaa. Hungry.”

The black mage stared, dazed, at the Mamon Chosen thrashing feebly on the ground, before finally uttering a single, hollow sentence.

“Mamon… he’d already siphoned off the power and fled?”

A pillar of light erupted, and Mamon’s power contracted rapidly.

From that, it was clear that Mamon had suffered a severe blow to his very godhood because of that light.

Thus, in order to preserve his own divinity, he’d hastily retrieved the power he’d granted to his Chosen, abandoning his followers and everything else to hastily retreat back to Hell.

In other words.

All the desperate, harrowing struggles that his followers had waged until now were nothing but utterly meaningless endeavors.

“Mammon. You motherfucking son of a b*tch!…”

The black mage, in the last moment of his life,

utters a curse towards the Demon Lord he had served his entire existence.

And that became his final testament.

So utterly absurd, he could only chuckle in disbelief.

The black mage ceased to breathe, forever.

Mammon Chozen destroying this world?

There would be no such thing.

*

“Eeeh! Hung, so hungry. uuuh… aaah! Aack!!”

Iomene, approaching Mammon Chozen, whose mental state appeared severely diminished, simply incinerated Chozen’s body with her divine power.

Chozen twitched momentarily, but could do nothing before turning to ash and disappearing.

The battle ended with a simplicity that felt almost hollow.

Iomene’s expression, having eliminated Chozen, suddenly froze, then brightened with great speed.

“Erpa. Almene has just received a report.”

“Of what…”

“The Holy One has awakened.”