Chapter Fifteen: The Sanctuary of the Hidden Order

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Is the Church really this powerful?

That makes sense.

It has only been a few hundred years since the Son of God walked among mortals. If any holy relics truly exist, they are probably all in the Church’s possession by now.

“Let me think. What other holy relics does the Church have?”

“The Golden Ark of the Covenant, the Shroud of Turin, the Holy Grail, the Holy Foreskin, the True Cross, the Spear of Longinus, the Holy Nails, the Crown of Thorns, the Holy Face Cloth, the Holy Robe, sacred bones, holy icons, the sacred scarab…”

(Yes, the foreskin you’re thinking of.)

“Damn!”

“That’s a little extreme.”

That Monastic Order Templar bore the mark of the Blood of the Holy Grail. The last person Duncan had seen with a similar mark was the demon hunter George.

“Is the Spear of Longinus still around?”

“And the Holy Grail.”

Countless thoughts flashed through Duncan’s mind. Without question, these members of the Inquisition were the most dangerous group of enemies he had encountered so far.

The Inquisition had been founded in secret in the year 394.

In this world, it had arisen far earlier than the religious tribunals of actual history. That was the year the sacred fire of Olympus went out, the ancient Olympic Games were banned, and the doors of the Pantheon were sealed shut. Monotheism entered its golden age and began its persecution of polytheist heretics.

At that time, however, the Inquisition did not target ordinary people. Its sole purpose was to gradually eradicate the remnants of those who served the old pantheon.

From priests and witches to spirits and fairies, all fell within the Inquisition’s jurisdiction.

Across the entire Italian Peninsula and the lands of Greece, the mythological spirits and creatures that had once flourished centuries earlier had vanished. That was why, in Pannonia, the last surviving forest nymph had been forced to seek help from the Crow Queen, Triss. As one of the creatures of ancient Greek mythology, she too had been placed on the Inquisition’s list.

The Crow Queen, Triss, was highly alert. Seeing Duncan’s grave expression, she asked in a low voice, “What happened?”

Duncan did not know how to explain it. All he could say was, “I feel danger approaching.”

To his surprise, Triss believed him.

In her eyes, Duncan was a warrior of extraordinary spiritual sensitivity. People like him often possessed an exceptionally sharp instinct for danger.

The group had only just stepped out of the inn when Ania and the others came riding toward them.

Witches seemed to possess a special bond with one another. Triss immediately looked toward them, while Ania raised her head and spotted Triss among the crowd in an instant.

But soon afterward, Triss’s expression changed.

“The Monastic Order!” she said tensely.

Part of the Inquisition was composed of monks from the Monastic Order. The monastic system had originated in Egypt and was founded upon ascetic devotion. Many of its adherents were fanatics in their faith.

Legend held that there were two Holy Grails.

One had disappeared without a trace. The other was said to be in the hands of the Monastic Order. But whether either claim was true, and which Grail was the genuine one, was something no outsider could know.

“Move!”

Duncan seized Triss and swung onto a horse. Across the way, Ania and the others had just passed through the market when they too realized that something was wrong. Under the protection of their mounted guards, the two-star blank witch quickly turned her horse and followed.

Two-star blank.

Her strength was probably insufficient for this fight. She might not even be able to defeat that one-star silver-gray monk.

After all, anyone bearing a silver-gray star marker was an elite unit.

Triss glanced back at Ania and said in a deep voice, “You’re being followed!”

“They’re from the Inquisition.”

On the horse opposite them sat a woman beneath a hooded cloak. She had a beautiful, alluring face, long wine-red hair, and appeared to be around thirty. Her sharply defined features and high, straight nose made her resemble a noblewoman from an ancient Greek sculpture. Her full lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes held a trace of panic.

“I… I didn’t know…”

“I was extremely careful on my way here!”

From her appearance, she was clearly terrified of the Inquisition. After the death of Julian the Apostate, the last imperial ruler to support the old pantheon, the polytheist nobles of her generation had long since been scared witless. Anyone without sufficiently deep family ties had already abandoned the old gods and converted to monotheism.

Ania had even considered abandoning everything and fleeing overseas, because she knew that sooner or later her name would appear on the tribunal’s list.

Her ancestors had been among Julian the Apostate’s closest confidants.

Duncan interrupted the two witches. “We can talk later. Move!”

If they stayed any longer, they would only become more vulnerable.

Triss was clearly far calmer. She gripped an ancient ritual stone and seemed to be whispering some kind of chant. Ania, the two-star blank, was pale and terrified. She looked less like a powerful witch than a Roman noblewoman who had been frightened out of her wits.

“Causal deduction shows no trace of this witch’s existence. Did she die here?”

She was, after all, one of the founders of the Witches’ Coven. Her strength might be lacking, but her status was undeniably distinguished.

Duncan glanced back.

The Inquisition’s forces had already caught up with them. But this was still a town, and the pursuers seemed to have reservations about unleashing their full power. That gave Duncan and the others a chance to escape.

Duncan, Triss, Ania, and the three mounted guards broke out of Parisi and entered the wilderness beyond the town.

Once they reached the open country, one of the monks from the Monastic Order made a gesture of prayer. In the next instant, all their warhorses broke into a furious gallop, as though they had been injected with stimulants.

Someone was cheating!

From his god’s-eye view, Duncan watched the enemy horses surge forward as if drugged and immediately sensed danger.

He was the only one who could escape.

Duncan possessed the best horsemanship among them. Even with the enemy cheating, none of their horses could match his speed. The magic of this world was not as powerful as he had initially believed. At least among the people he had encountered so far, even the Crow Queen, Triss, seemed to be restricted by certain laws.

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They could not perform the many miracle-like feats attributed to witches of the mythic age.

Ania’s anxious voice rang out. “I can’t influence their horses.”

She seemed to possess a similar ability, but it had already failed.

Communicating with animals.

Driving them into a frenzy and filling them with aggression.

Triss was still chanting under her breath. She was preparing what appeared to be genuine magic.

She had mentioned earlier that after the sacred fire of Olympus went out, the priests’ supernatural abilities had been drastically weakened. The Romans abandoned their gods, and the gods of the old pantheon abandoned their priests. Ordinary witches today were little different from common people. They possessed a small amount of magic and knew a few tricks resembling sleight of hand.

True magic required the support of a ritual, as well as specialized casting tools. Triss was now gripping a ritual stone and chanting as she rode, preparing a spell. That was why her speed had fallen so far behind the others.

If things continued this way, she would be the first one caught.

“We won’t escape like this!”

Duncan made his decision at once. “Go around the woods ahead and prepare to fight.”

With that, he pulled on the reins and dropped to the rear.

Triss looked deeply into his eyes. Still clutching the ritual stone, she continued to murmur her incantation.

When they had faced the Hun eagle-shooter, Triss had refused to abandon Duncan and flee ahead. Now Duncan would not leave her behind to face the enemy alone.

Severus resolutely raised his shield and followed.

The Druid’s eyes were filled with hatred as he looked toward the Church’s men. Perhaps his ancestors had some old grievance with them. Or perhaps his own faith had been trampled down along with its shrines.

There was no right or wrong in a struggle of faith.

Christians had once been persecuted by Roman priests as well. Now the wheel had turned, and the Inquisition was attempting to wipe out its enemies completely.

History never offered anything truly new.

“You two, go help them.”

Ania turned toward her three mounted guards. The Sarmatian mercenary immediately wheeled his horse around. Such men were famously loyal and courageous soldiers within the Empire, and often entered the private retinues of nobles. The other two quickly followed.

The retired Imperial Guardsman, however, hesitated slightly. His gaze remained fixed on Ania, full of such devotion that he looked like a lovesick lapdog.

“Damn this idiot.”

“At a time like this, he still has romance on his mind?”

“Once this fight is over…”

“We could even leave them some privacy for a little battlefield passion!”

Inside the dimensional space, Duncan nearly cursed aloud.

Ania, however, did not even glance at the Imperial Guardsman. She too began whispering an incantation. Invisible magic swirled around her body as she prepared a spell alongside Triss.

Unexpectedly, the noblewoman who had first been thrown into a panic possessed considerable composure when circumstances demanded it.

“Follow me!”

Duncan did not waste time arguing. With his god’s-eye view active, he knew precisely where the terrain favored their group.

Five riders remained behind to cover the retreat.

Duncan raised the Northern War Bow and aimed at the enemy. Testing his luck, he loosed an arrow at the two-star silver-gray Templar of the Monastic Order.

Clang!

The next moment made Duncan’s eyes widen.

Sparks burst into the air.

The Templar had drawn his sword in an instant and knocked Duncan’s arrow aside.

“Is that thing even human?” Duncan’s expression changed.

In his previous life, he had seen some astonishing videos. Modern archery experts catching arrows with their bare hands and sending them back, or striking an enemy arrow with one of their own. Such footage probably involved staging, but this was the first time he had personally witnessed someone deflect an arrow with a weapon.

That reaction speed was absurd. Was this guy playing Assassin’s Creed?

The pressure he radiated was even more frightening than that of the eagle-shooter. In a sense, he was already one of the supreme warriors among ordinary mortals.

“I can’t beat him in close combat.”

“We can only rely on Triss’s magic!”

After circling around the woods ahead, the five riders gradually slowed. The Sarmatian mercenary drew a short bow, though his mounted archery could only be described as average—the standard level of a horse archer. Of the other two men, one carried a sword, while the other wielded a long saber and shield. Both prepared themselves for battle.

Fortunately, the enemy possessed little ranged firepower. Only the witch hunter carried a crossbow; the others were melee units.

Severus guarded Duncan’s right flank, clearly treating him as the group’s leader.

The battle was about to begin.

The men of the Monastic Order charged directly at Duncan. The witch hunter raised his crossbow and aimed at the two knights. Duncan had just loosed an arrow into one of the monks when a scream rang out nearby.

The monk wore armor beneath his robe. He merely grunted, and his movements did not slow in the slightest.

A Shadowstrike Assassin.

The one-star silver-gray enemy suddenly urged his horse forward. He gradually caught up with the Sarmatian rider, shifting across the saddle with uncanny agility. As though he had anticipated the shot, he tucked himself beneath the horse’s belly and avoided the rider’s arrow.

Then he closed the distance.

They were barely two or three meters apart. The Sarmatian rider hurriedly drew a one-handed mace, but before he could swing it, the assassin sprang forward. A short blade pierced his throat and knocked his corpse from the saddle. The assassin then clung to the enemy horse’s back like an ape.

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Holy hell, that really is an assassin!

One strike, one kill.

He was so vicious that Duncan trembled. He had never encountered such a ruthless opponent before.

Duncan wheeled his horse around. With the bow as natural to him as his own arm, he instantly took aim at the Shadowstrike Assassin. The bow curved like a full moon, and the arrow tore through the air as a crossed-star reticle locked onto its target.

The assassin wore no armor.

Otherwise, he could never have moved with such speed and flexibility.

—Parting Shot!

Hit!

Blood sprayed.

The Shadowstrike Assassin turned his head slightly, but he no longer had the strength to leap onto another horse. The arrow pierced straight through his throat. With a heavy thud, his corpse fell near the dead Sarmatian rider.

Both sides were visibly shaken.

Duncan and his companions were stunned by the enemy’s strength, while the Inquisitors were equally astonished by Duncan’s archery.

“Go after the two witches!”

The Templar of the Monastic Order drew his sword and charged. As their figures crossed, the mercenary rider’s long saber was knocked aside. The Templar caught the blade with his own sword, forcing the weapon away in the clash. Sparks flew as he closed in, seized his sword with both hands, and, with a wet slash, severed the mercenary’s head.

Blood erupted like a fountain!

This was the first time Duncan had seen someone decapitated with a longsword. Even barbarian berserkers needed a greatsword or a two-handed battle-axe to perform a beheading strike.

The man possessed either extraordinary combat skill or superhuman physical strength.

Perhaps both.

The Templar severed the mercenary’s head and charged toward the retired Imperial Guardsman. In an instant, a severed arm flew through the air. The guardsman’s hand and sword had been cut away together.

His remaining left hand fumbled for a one-handed mace, but he lost his balance and fell from the saddle, landing hard enough to be nearly killed by the fall.

Before he could rise, the Inquisitor drove a short spear through him and killed him on the spot.

The battle suddenly turned disastrously against Duncan’s group.

—Parting Shot!

Duncan blew apart the witch hunter’s head with an arrow, then rushed forward to stop the Inquisitors from pursuing the two witches.

Close combat was overwhelmingly disadvantageous for him.

The Templar had cut down two men as easily as slaughtering chickens. He had hacked apart the Imperial Guardsman like a general cutting down a common soldier. If Duncan faced him directly, the outcome would likely be decided within one or two moves.

Had Duncan not inherited the eagle-shooter’s horsemanship and possessed the finest riding skills among everyone present, he would have been cut down during the first charge.

An arrow split the air.

A warhorse shrieked.

Duncan stopped at nothing to hinder the enemy. He shot the Templar’s horse dead, but before he could nock another arrow, the horse beneath him let out a mournful cry as well.

A javelin came hurtling through the air at a sixty-degree angle!

The Inquisitor had used a short javelin to badly wound Duncan’s horse and bring it down.

Had this man once served in an imperial legion?

To throw a javelin from horseback with such accuracy was something only the Empire’s elite troops could manage. Since the days of ancient Rome, imperial heavy infantry had trained extensively in javelin throwing.

Duncan fell from the saddle and rolled across the ground. He grunted, then quickly rose to his feet.

With his off hand, he hurled a Frankish throwing axe.

Thud!

Blood sprayed. The Inquisitor twisted aside to evade the blow, never realizing that Duncan had been aiming at the horse’s head.

These enemies were too strong. If Duncan failed to kill the rider outright, he had to knock him from the saddle. Otherwise, Duncan himself would be trapped in a cavalry pursuit.

An archer hunted down by cavalry meant the battle was as good as lost.

The warhorse screamed.

Severus broke away from his opponent and charged toward Duncan. Without a word, he swung down from the saddle, took up his shield and hammer, and said in a low voice, “Get on.”

What a brother!

Duncan immediately mounted. He drew the bow and nocked an arrow, the weapon curving like a full moon. The arrow struck the Templar of the Monastic Order in the calf.

The man staggered, and his speed instantly decreased.

The bastard was fully armored—and possessed astonishing physical strength.

Severus roared and charged the Inquisitor with his oak shield raised. He had given his horse to Duncan. If he became surrounded, he would almost certainly die.

But Duncan was the only master archer among them. Only he could hold back these Inquisitors.

—Adrenaline Surge!

Duncan was going all in.

………………

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