Highly refined physical force distorts space.
No, to be precise, it shakes the air so violently that it creates the illusion of such distortion.
Halia’s attack was just like that. As she swung her hammer with full force, the space seemed to warp, and the Sandworm’s head twisted at an unnatural angle.
The result was gruesome.
Splat!
Blood and flesh scattered, decorating the air.
A Sandworm itself is a massive creature, spanning dozens of meters.
The blood and flesh that once formed its head fell like debris from a collapsing building, creating a horrifying spectacle.
Thud, thud, thud!
With wet, squelching sounds, the space was dyed red.
Halia grinned as she stood under the crimson downpour.
Her appearance resembled a berserker more than a holy warrior.
The overwhelming violence in her blood-red eyes struck fear into the onlookers.
The heretics were shaken.
It was different.
Hearing about her through information and witnessing her in person were two entirely different experiences.
“This much…?”
Their disbelief was evident.
But they were mistaken about one thing.
Her true power could never be conveyed in full through mere information.
Of course not. That was impossible.
“Do you think this is the end? I haven’t even started yet.”
No heretic had ever survived facing Halia.
So how could the genuine impressions of those who had encountered her power ever be shared with the world?
Creak—
Dragging her hammer along the ground, Halia stepped forward.
Her height barely reached an adult man’s chest. Her appearance was far too youthful.
Everything about her created a sense of dissonance—except for Halia, who relished in the situation.
Saint Halia Claudio.
Her name carried a weight unlike that of other saints lost to history.
From the very beginning, she was a holy knight of the Sacred Order.
Back then, she had been regarded as the greatest knight of her generation, a prodigy destined to be knighted at the highest rank.
Then, at the age of 25, she received a divine revelation.
That day changed the course of Halia Claudio’s life entirely.
—”You have been baptized.”
The gods bestowed blessings upon a select few they favored most, beyond just granting revelations.
In the past, such individuals were called “Apostles.” In the present, they were known as “Pilgrims” who had received baptism.
Halia’s baptism was the “Baptism of Eternity”—a blessing that permanently fixed her in a child’s body, suspending aging until the moment of her death.
Her once towering figure of nearly two meters was reduced to that of a frail child.
The immense strength and endurance she had built up compressed within her small frame, making her even more powerful than before.
Baptized and given a revelation, she was meant to receive a divine name as a saint.
However, Halia saw herself as more of a knight than a saint.
So she refused the divine name until she achieved the highest rank of knighthood.
It was only on that day that she finally succeeded in obtaining her knightly title.
“…Strike. No matter what, just hold her down!”
“Ahaha! That’s right! Saying ‘hold her down’ instead of ‘defeat her’ is the proper way to put it!”
She swung her hammer, tearing the ground apart.
Chunks of flesh and earth flew into the air.
Flexing her leg muscles, she used the rising ground as a foothold and soared through the air.
Boom!
Wherever she passed, only shredded flesh remained, filling the sky.
Uncrushed limbs and body parts cluttered the heretics’ vision.
Her destructive and merciless blows had remained unchanged from her younger days to now.
It was a nightmare for the heretics.
Halia Claudio, the Knight of Quartering.
The heretics paid for their complacency with their lives.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Her power was no different from a natural disaster.
The hundreds of heretics and desert beasts were steadily dwindling in number.
Yet, they could not afford to flee in panic.
They, too, had something to rely on.
If they could at least hold her back, even at the cost of their own lives, it would be a victory.
Although they were often overwhelmed by high-rank knights, that did not mean they were mindless cannon fodder.
They were a great evil, designated as a calamity upon the continent, always sowing disaster.
They knew exactly how to catch their enemy off guard.
They knew how to bring down those who claimed to be righteous while being perceived as evil themselves.
This was now a battle within a city.
Though the outer walls had collapsed, there were still civilians present.
Those who hadn’t managed to escape, hiding beneath buildings.
The wounded, lying in the streets, groaning in pain.
Even as Halia tore through the battlefield, she had deliberately avoided harming them.
Justice comes with restrictions.
Halia’s mercy had shown the heretics exactly where to strike.
They immediately turned their hands toward the civilians.
Black divine magic, monstrous fangs, and blades extended in all directions.
All in an attempt to halt Halia’s rampage.
However—
“I shall begin.”
The heretics had overlooked something—overshadowed by her overwhelming presence, they had forgotten.
Thud!
Throwing spears flew through the air, halting their advance.
These spears, charged with devastating energy, did not simply stop after being thrown.
The heretics who barely managed to evade them felt a chill run down their spines.
By the time they realized the anomaly and turned their heads, it was already too late.
Crunch!
The spears twisted their trajectories and came back, piercing straight through their heads.
Brain matter traced arcs through the air.
At the center of it all, a man with silver-threaded wristbands retrieved his spear, ready to throw again.
The heretics, only now registering his presence, were caught off guard.
But for Diego, this situation was nothing unusual.
It had been decades, after all.
Before Halia became a saint, and when they were still students, the two of them had always been in sync.
Halia was always at the center of attention, and Diego, even before becoming her knight, had always supported her as her second-in-command.
It might have been easy for Diego to feel frustrated with always being second, but he never once felt defeated by this fact.
Instead, the feelings he held for Halia were closer to admiration.
Diego was a believer in the idea that everyone had their own role to play in life, and he trusted this belief wholeheartedly.
The bond they had formed eventually shaped the way Diego would live his life.
The reason he volunteered for the seemingly meaningless position of Halia’s bodyguard was because he wanted to be of help to her.
The skills he had honed were tailored to supporting her, to complementing her weaknesses.
Whoosh—
The silver threads imbued with divine power weaved through the air. The spears, hanging at the ends of the threads, danced like serpents.
In Halia’s blind spots, he intercepted attacks aimed at her and those directed at the civilians.
His overwhelming perception, delicate handling of divine power, and training focused on pinpoint breakthroughs rather than wide-scale destruction all merged into the creation of his signature weapon: silver-threaded spears.
As he continued to strike alongside Halia, a new name began to take root for Diego.
The Knight of the Celestial Path, Diego.
He was a knight with much that remained hidden, far more than what was known by the public.
“Kraaak!!!”
The heretics’ attempts to draw attention were futile.
Those who targeted the civilians were met with even worse fates than those dealt with directly by Halia.
Painful deaths and less painful ones.
Only grim choices lay before them.
Amidst the chaos, Halia turned around and whistled.
The severed heads of corpses rolled across the ground.
“Hmm! This is just the way to finish up!”
“Yes, let’s wrap this up.”
The strongest team in the Order.
That had been the evaluation of the two of them for some time.
The situation was nearing its conclusion with little difficulty.
Diego narrowed his brow.
Then, he sighed.
“…No, there’s more.”
Enemies began flooding in.
It seemed the fight would last a little longer.
Usher, along with Bersia, ran north.
The moment they left the city walls, he realized something.
“This place is the worst.”
“…Yes.”
The journey toward the heart of the sandstorm seemed like it wouldn’t be easy.
This area was chaotic for reasons different from the outer city walls.
“Ugh… Ugh…”
“Cough…!”
The ground had turned black.
A black mist clung to people’s ankles, sucking away their vitality.
Those fleeing from the disturbances near the walls were gasping for breath, collapsing to the ground.
It was not just a witch; ignoring these people was impossible.
“It must be beyond there.”
Bersia spoke.
Her gaze was fixed on the heart of the sandstorm.
Usher nodded.
He felt deep anger toward the witch who had spread death among the dying civilians in all directions, as if she were deliberately trying to hinder them.
“What shall we do?”
To that question, Usher lifted the corners of his mouth in a smile.
“Saint, may I ask for a favor, just this once?”
“A favor?”
Bersia’s expression mirrored Usher’s, and her smile conveyed agreement.
Usher immediately sprang into action.
The witch, despite her nature, had likely chosen the best option she could.
But one thing she hadn’t accounted for…
Whoosh—!
The person now within Bersia’s body was none other than Usher, who, due to the excessiveness of his prayers, had never been able to regulate his output until now.
This chaotic environment, with the dying all around them, was precisely the ideal setting for Usher to unleash his healing prayers.
Kiiying!!!
A halo rose.
Golden divine power took the shape of wings and enveloped Usher.
It was the moment when Usher raised his hand high.
Vroom—!
The entire northern part of the city was bathed in a blinding golden flash.