Chapter 193 - Damn Reincarnation

Spring of Light

“You conscienceless bastard. Who the hell are you calling a devil?”

Eugene spat out the words and raised the tip of the Holy Sword. He had seen the source of the Spring of Light. He did not know whether Sergio knew the truth about that spring, but the ritual itself was anything but normal.

How young had Kristina been when she first underwent that ritual? When had she stopped crying during it? Eugene recalled the little girl crying, covered in blood.

They had slashed a girl barely past ten with a knife. They had taught her to conduct herself as a saint, as though erasing her original personality. And just now, without a second thought, Sergio had turned his own subordinate, Atarax, into a divine-power bomb and made him explode.

Sergio no longer answered Eugene’s accusations. Like those who had just died, he had decided that Eugene was a devil. What else could that creature possibly be called?

He could not let that devil toy with the Holy Sword any longer. It was regrettable, but... he had to take the Holy Sword back, even if that meant killing him. If he could subdue him so that he could no longer resist, he might somehow bring him into the faith of Light... but honestly, Sergio was not confident he could subdue the devil before him.

So he had to kill him.

BOOOM!

A cross of light surged up behind Sergio. Standing before that radiant halo, he extended both fists.

It was an utterly commonplace boxing stance. Yet a single glance was enough to see that his mastery was anything but ordinary. In particular, the halo at his back was far brighter and more intense than the Sword of Judgment the holy knights and inquisitors had formed by pooling their divine power.

Eugene focused on the stigmata dripping blood. Even in his past life, Anise had been the only cleric capable of wielding so much divine power alone. The divine power Sergio was displaying now could not compare with hers, but Eugene could clearly sense that he was in a different class from other clerics.

To counter the halo, Eugene activated the Ring Flame Formula. His cores spun more fiercely, amplifying his mana. Flames blazed up.

Applying the Dragonic family’s Empty Sword to an Aura Shield placed an enormous strain on him. However skilled he was at manipulating mana, it was best to concentrate such precise manipulation and layering into a single sword.

That was why his flames split into two kinds: the pale blue flames amplified by the Ring Flame Formula, and the blue-black flames produced by layering those flames with Empty Sword, through which black spots spread.

The raw output of the Ring Flame Formula still fell short of his peak three hundred years ago. But with two layers of Empty Sword and the emergence of black spots, his sword force reached the power of his prime. Most fine swords could not withstand that absurdly violent mana.

The Holy Sword, however, was far beyond a merely fine sword. Its shape was unnecessarily extravagant, but the blade itself would never break under Eugene’s mana. Keeping the spreading black spots in mind, he raised its tip.

Two layers.

Would that be enough?

‘Let’s find out.’

Eugene leaned forward. Sergio’s fist thrust forward as well.

The distance between them vanished. As though time had been forcibly cut apart and spliced together, they collided without any movement connecting the two moments. Even sound could not keep up with that outrageous acceleration.

Sergio’s fist, wrapped in red cloth, was crushed. The terrifyingly dense flames did not even allow blood to spray. Eugene held an unequivocal advantage in power. Yet his advancing sword failed to sever Sergio’s arm completely as he had intended.

An uncanny resistance stopped the blade from advancing farther. Blood dripped from the stigmata, and the intense halo connected to Sergio’s body. That enormous light pushed the Holy Sword back.

And pushing it back was not all it did. Eugene watched the wound heal as though time were being rewound. The cut that had reached halfway up Sergio’s forearm closed in an instant, restoring his fist.

There was nothing surprising about it. This was the power of the stigmata engraved on his right arm. Those bleeding stigmata made Eugene’s blood boil hotter and hotter. The image of Anise baring her bleeding back with a drink beside her flickered through his mind.

Sergio tilted sideways. His red-cloth-wrapped fist swept close to the ground before surging upward. Light followed a fraction behind it.

That light carried the full power of the Holy Cross Barrier. Mere contact with it scattered mana. Normally, maintaining sword force in the face of that light would have been impossible, leaving no way to fight.

But Eugene could control his mana even while facing that light. However intense Sergio’s light might be, it was not stronger than the Moonlight Sword’s. Eugene had honed his control of mana against the Moonlight Sword; light like this could never scatter it.

Instead, the stronger the light grew, the more fiercely his mana—his flames—blazed. Agaroth’s Ring was resisting that light of its own accord.

KABOOM!

Flames and fist collided once more. Again, it was Sergio who was driven back. Nothing had changed from before. Healing his wounds once more, Sergio raised both arms.

The towering cross of light pierced the night sky. Light burst from high above, illuminating the heavens. A chorus sang a single, sustained “Ah” across the bright sky.

Eugene retreated a few steps and glared upward. Three angels were descending to the ground with their wings spread wide. They were the angels Anise had summoned in his past life.

Angels could not be reasoned with. They descended into this world at a believer’s call and performed miracles through the faith offered to them. Three hundred years ago, Anise would summon angels like these to survey the entire battlefield and work miracles wherever they were needed.

But Sergio did not use the angels that way. Leaving the three descended angels behind him, he charged at Eugene.

The angels joined their hands in prayer. The light that had pierced the sky converged on Sergio. Divine magic of the highest order bestowed its protection upon him—blessings meant for combat. His speed became incomparably greater than before.

His attacks grew heavier, too. Eugene moved his sword in time, but could not push him back as he had earlier. Instead, Eugene’s arm was knocked upward. Rather than resist the recoil, he followed its momentum.

That connected the path of his blade. Trailing afterimages, the Holy Sword slipped through Sergio’s defenses.

KABOOM! BOOM!

Exploding flames engulfed Sergio’s body.

His body visibly shattered. Yet rapid regeneration began even as it scattered. Despite surrounding himself with this many blessings... he was losing in simple close combat? Sergio could scarcely believe it.

Close combat had been his specialty since his days as an inquisitor. Even holy knights who specialized in battle had been no match for him. He had never neglected his training, even after leaving the bureau of inquisition and becoming a cardinal. He was a martial artist as well as a cleric.

He had cultivated his strength through all that effort. On top of it, he had layered himself in the highest-level blessings the angels could bestow. In terms of physical capabilities alone, Sergio surpassed Eugene. And yet... he was losing. What could he possibly be lacking?

‘... We see things differently...’

He knew. That made it all the harder to accept.

They were looking at different things. Where Sergio saw only a few moves ahead, Eugene saw dozens. He controlled his movements with chilling precision, using them to determine what attacks Sergio could make and counter them.

“... Haaah...”

Sergio let out a long sigh. Collecting himself after his body regenerated, he lowered his rolled-up sleeve to conceal the stigmata. Eugene did not attack him again either. He stopped where he stood, gripping the Holy Sword.

“... Go back.”

Splashing footsteps approached.

The temple had been reduced to ruins by the fierce battle. From within it, Kristina came staggering toward them. Her face was hazy, as though she were not fully awake, and the light in her eyes was faint.

“... What... in the world...?”

She looked drugged. Struggling to move her unresponsive tongue, Kristina haltingly asked her question. She could not quite understand what was happening before her.

How much time had passed?

She did not know that either. The sky... was dark, the sun had yet to rise, but her surroundings were bright. Overcome by dizzying vertigo, Kristina swayed and braced herself against a wall.

“... What are you... doing...?”

Kristina saw the three angels with their wings spread, and Sergio’s back. Her adoptive father, whom she respected but kept at a fearful distance, was bleeding. Atarax and Giovanni, who had officiated at the ritual alongside him, were nowhere to be seen. The temple was so badly wrecked that it could scarcely be called a temple anymore.

What had happened here?

It was not difficult to understand. Breathing hard, Kristina looked ahead.

She saw Eugene holding the Holy Sword. He was watching her with a blunt, unsmiling gaze. Their eyes met across the space between them. Once again, she felt as though her heart were being licked. Kristina recoiled a step and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Go back.”

Sergio repeated the words. His face twisted as he turned toward Kristina.

“What in the world are you doing...! The ritual is not finished. Candidate for sainthood, how many times have I told you how important this ritual is to you? Why have you left the spring...!”

Every word Sergio uttered became a dagger piercing Kristina. It had been a long time since she had seen her adoptive father so furious.

The last time had been...

Twelve years ago, when Kristina was eleven. When she had received the Descent of Light, become a candidate for sainthood, and come to this temple for the first time.

With a benevolent smile, her adoptive father had placed a dagger in young Kristina’s hand. He had told her to cut herself and enter the spring. Kristina had not understood. She had thought he was making a cruel joke.

It was no joke. When Kristina could not slit her wrist, her adoptive father had stared at her without a word. He had not struck her. He had merely joined his hands in silent prayer. His eyes then had been sharper and colder than the dagger in Kristina’s hand.

An eleven-year-old girl could not defy that gaze. She was afraid to imagine what she might lose if she disobeyed.

Kristina had not wanted to return to the convent. She had believed that being taken in by the renowned Cardinal Rogeris was a sign of God’s care. She had believed that her striking resemblance to Lady Anise the Faithful, and receiving the Descent of Light to become the only saint of this era, were God’s grace as well.

Her adoptive father had told her that the ritual in the spring meant taking divine grace into her body. Cutting herself with the dagger meant offering her imperfect flesh to the Light. The blood pouring from her wounds would mingle with the spring, and holy blood would flow into her body to cultivate her qualities as a saint.

She had not thought his words were lies. In fact, each successive ritual had multiplied Kristina’s divine power.

But it was only natural for an eleven-year-old girl to be terrified of cutting her own body with a dagger. Not once, but over and over. She cut, and cut, and kept cutting. However many times she slit her wrist, she never grew accustomed to the pain. Despite shedding so much blood, her mind did not grow hazy; instead, it became clearer and clearer.

So she cried. She cried that it hurt, that she did not want to do it. Pleading, she tried to escape the spring. With the hands he always joined in prayer, her adoptive father roughly shoved Kristina down into the spring. Opening the mouth that always recited prayers, he warned her in a cold voice.

[“Go back.”]

Just as he did now.

“Candidate for sainthood. You are an apostle chosen by the Light. You are the second coming of Lady Anise the Faithful from three hundred years ago. Only you can succeed Lady Anise and become a true saint.”

“...”

“During this ritual... many problems have arisen. But that does not mean we may stop it. There is still every opportunity to begin again. So go back. Go, immerse yourself in the spring, and cut your own body.”

Sergio’s low voice made Kristina’s heart tremble. The faith her adoptive father had engraved into her for thirteen years confined her thoughts. She felt a fate and terror she could never defy.

“The Hero Eugene Lionheart has fallen. The Light chose him as the Hero, but that devil has refused to become the Hero of his own accord. Thus, he must be executed. I will shoulder that duty, so please, candidate for sainthood, fulfill the duty of a saint.”

Kristina opened and closed her lips several times. The curse that had weighed upon her for thirteen years was heavier than the words she longed to utter from deep within her heart.

“Kristina Rogeris.”

Eugene spoke.

Sergio’s face twisted. Kristina slowly lifted her head.

“Don’t go.”

This time, he said it clearly.

“Just stay right there.”

Kristina’s eyes wavered. Eugene deliberately raised the Holy Sword to his side for her to see.

“Hero, saint—what the hell does any of that matter? You know me. And I know you. That’s enough.”

“... You dare... deny even the saint...!”

Sergio roared in fury. But Eugene did not look at him.

“You don’t want to go.”

“Shut up!”

“Are you worried about what comes afterward?”

Eugene moved the Holy Sword to point at Sergio.

“There’s no need to worry. If you want me to, I’ll kill that fucking bastard for you.”

“...”

“Actually, it doesn’t matter whether you want me to. Even if you tell me not to kill him, I’m going to kill that bastard.”

Kristina did not doubt those words. That was the kind of person the Eugene Lionheart she knew was. Someone she could never think of as a Hero. Despite wielding the Holy Sword freely, he had no faith in the Light. And yet the light Eugene had unleashed from the Holy Sword had been radiant and warm.

Her adoptive father, who had risen to cardinal through unwavering faith—had never shown Kristina such light. His light was always cold. Whenever he officiated at services in the cathedral, he spoke of the Light’s grace and love. He said the same to Kristina.

But Kristina had never felt the Light’s grace or love from him. She did not know what it meant to be a family. Her adoptive father did not regard Kristina as his daughter. He regarded her as someone who must, naturally, become a saint.

Likewise, Kristina did not regard him as her father. To her, her only family had always been someone to fear and keep at a respectful distance. The resistance she had attempted as she grew out of girlhood had always been feeble and trivial, nothing more than crude self-satisfaction.

In the end, Kristina could not defy her adoptive father on her own. She had never been given a reason to do so. For thirteen years, the prayers and the destiny of a saint had repeated like a curse.

‘... Ah...’

Kristina realized that she now stood at a crossroads. Without thinking, she brought her hands together before her chest. Whenever things were painful and unbearable... she had always prayed like this. She pictured the Light, said to shine down upon everyone and watch over them from somewhere high in the heavens.

She liked mornings when the sunlight was warm. She preferred the sunlight falling through the window of an empty room to the pillar of light in Trechia Cathedral, before which she had prayed every day since childhood. She found more comfort in the light of a little candle illuminating a dark room than in the spring glowing with dissolved divine power.

“... Sir Eugene.”

It was the same now.

The angels standing behind Sergio. The light descending from the sky. The cross. That radiant halo.

The flames surrounding Eugene seemed brighter than all of them. She felt warmth from those white and blue flames. Instead of joining her hands in prayer, Kristina clutched her chest. Then, panting, she forced out her voice.

“... Would you... truly be all right... with me not being a saint?”

“Kristina!”

Sergio shouted and turned toward her. His violent anger prevented him from uttering the words “candidate for sainthood.”

“How dare you, how dare you! Are you denying your very nature?”

His anger became murderous intent. That chilling bloodlust made Kristina tremble even harder. Yet she forced her eyes open and looked ahead. It was not that she was refusing to avert her eyes from Sergio’s murderous intent.

It was because Eugene was beyond him. On the verge of tears, Kristina looked at Eugene’s face.

“... Sir Eugene.”

Kristina spoke again. Sergio took a long stride toward her.

“... Will you...”

The surname Rogeris had been added to her name, Kristina, and she had received the Descent of Light to become a candidate for sainthood.

From that moment on, Kristina’s life had been marked by pain and despair. She could not understand why she had to endure such suffering to become a saint. Why did a saint, called an apostle of the Light, have to cut her own body in this grotesque ritual? Why was she not allowed to weep in pain, flee, or scream?

Why did she have to be locked in the confessional every day to recite scripture?

Why did she resemble Lady Anise, and why had she been chosen as a candidate for sainthood?

Why could she not tell a merciful God of her pain and despair?

Why did she have to smile prettily instead of showing her hatred?

Why did the Light not illuminate the darkness hanging over her?

“... Even if you aren’t the Hero... will you... save me?”

She did not want to doubt God’s existence. She felt that if she doubted even that, she would no longer be able to hold herself together. She had thought God’s failure to care for her was... a trial she must endure to become a saint. Thinking that way was the best Kristina could do.

For now, there was only pain and despair, but someday...

That was what she had thought. Despair and pain always existed in the world. The Light undoubtedly illuminated the world, but could not save everyone. But, but. After death, she could go to heaven. However terrible her life might be, if she lived righteously and served God, she would surely go to heaven.

She had read stories of the Hero.

The adventures of Vermouth the Great. From that famous fairy-tale book to the stories of the Hero mentioned in the scripture of Light, she had devoured them all. The Hero was the Incarnation of Light. He illuminated the world’s darkness in the Light’s stead. He helped and saved those mired in despair, and saved the world...

Kristina had loved those stories. She had believed that the Light had not yet shone upon her because the Hero, the Incarnation of Light, had not been born in this era.

When she had received the revelation of the Hero, Kristina had not been able to feel pure joy. Despite all her prayers, the Light had never once shone upon her, only to suddenly reveal that the Hero had been born.

[“If we fell to our deaths like this, would we go to heaven?”]

Kristina knew that the ritual to become a “saint” was horrific.

She knew that having to repeat these acts to become a saint was abnormal.

“Even if... I’m not a saint, will you save me?”

Everything frightened her.

She was afraid of the Hero—of Eugene—learning about the ritual at the Spring of Light.

She was in so much pain. She was always filled with despair. Returning to Trechia, being in this spring, the destiny forcing sainthood upon her, and the gaze of her adoptive father standing before her now—all of it frightened her. Her entire life, lived to become a saint, had been shrouded in darkness.

She was afraid that the Hero, who was supposed to illuminate the darkness in the Light’s stead and save people, would not save her.

“It’s not the Hero.”

Eugene spoke.

At that moment, Sergio lunged at Kristina. Unable to contain his fury, he reached for her throat. He intended to seize her by the neck and throw her into the Spring of Light.

“It’s Eugene Lionheart.”

Flames pierced the light.

Kristina’s blond hair streamed backward. Bringing a mighty wind with him, Eugene stood before Kristina and blocked Sergio’s path. The hand Sergio had extended was stopped by the Holy Sword.

“And it’s Kristina Rogeris, not a saint.”

Eugene did not look back.

“I came here to save you.”

Looking at Eugene’s back as he stood between her and the light, Kristina wept.