Ch.114Church Training (2)

“I’ve brought this guy as you ordered. Should I leave him here?”

Demian tossed Paul, whom he had been carrying like a bundle, in front of Frider.

Paul rolled on the floor, groaning from the pain of his broken limbs.

“Well done, Demian. You’re better than me.”

Demian shook his head lightly.

“It was nothing. This guy was just a bit slow. And weak too. Anyway, you said you had questions for him? Should we start now?”

Frider turned her head toward the chapel.

About five minutes had passed since the two had rushed in, so word should have spread by now.

There wasn’t much time left.

“We should. Hey, you. Paul, was it?”

“Ugh… it hurts…!”

Frider grabbed Paul by the crown of his head, shoved his face into the piece of meat that had been Jack, then pulled him back up.

Paul’s face was now completely covered in Jack’s blood.

“See your friend? If you don’t want to end up like this, answer properly, understand?”

“J-Jack…?! AAAAARGH!!”

Only now recognizing what the piece of meat was, Paul screamed and wet himself.

Frowning at the unpleasant smell, Frider shoved his head down once more.

Blood splattered, soaking her gloves.

“I asked if you understand! Answer me.”

“Y-yes, heek…!”

“Good. That’s all you need to do.”

Frider smiled coldly.

—-

The interrogation didn’t take long.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Paul.”

Frider kicked Paul’s head. He rolled over limply.

Thanks to his cooperative attitude, she had learned everything she needed to know.

There were twenty-nine men left in the chapel and twenty women in total.

Eight captured travelers and twelve women born here.

Yes, women born here.

These scum were even using women of their own bloodline.

The basement consisted of three rooms, he had said.

They called them the education room, the breeding pen, and the playroom.

Just the names alone suggested their nauseating purposes.

Frider spat roughly and sliced Paul’s throat with a saw.

A reward for his willing cooperation.

With his throat torn open, Paul clutched his neck as blood gushed out, choking and crawling on the floor.

“What do we do now?”

“Twenty-nine… The two who went ahead will cause a commotion about mages or whatever, so they’ll all come rushing out.”

Frider pointed to the main entrance of the chapel.

“For now, block the door so it can’t be opened by just one or two men. Then, when enough enemies have gathered, open the door and charge straight at them. I’ll ambush them from the side.”

Frider’s plan was simple yet rational.

Simple enough that Demian could immediately understand her intention.

If the two of them charged from the front, the men would naturally flee back to the basement.

But with Demian taking the front and Frider attacking from the side and rear?

It wouldn’t be easy for them to return to the basement.

“Make your first attack as shocking as possible. After that, if you can, cut off their legs rather than killing them.”

“Their legs? It’s not difficult, but why?”

“If you kill them, they go quiet. Make them scream. Let them fall into panic and confusion. Besides, we should give the victims a chance for revenge.”

Demian nodded in understanding.

Hurried footsteps approached.

Voices filled with bewilderment echoed outside the chapel.

Demian and Frider looked at each other, drew their weapons, and rushed to their positions.

—-

From outside a side window, Frider peered inside.

The chapel was dark. Cobwebs hung from various places on the walls.

A small lectern stood on a low platform, and the long benches on the floor were so covered in dust they appeared gray.

Beyond the platform, a passage with angular edges gaped open, leading to a back room.

‘The basement must be beyond there.’

A faint crimson light flickered, as if candles were lit inside.

Beyond the light reflected on the wall, black shadows moved busily.

It was them.

One by one, men emerged in succession.

Men carrying spears, swords, and pitchforks. Most were trembling with fear and tension.

Some incongruously had proper weapons and armor, probably stolen from adventurers.

Though having good equipment without skill meant little, it was likely just for their own sense of pride.

Frider waited patiently. Until more than twenty gathered.

The men at the front discovered the burning village and shouted in shock.

They had reason to be surprised. The spreading flames were now engulfing the entire village.

Frider inwardly sighed.

‘Looking at it again, she really did go overboard… Does she ever think about the aftermath?’

Sure, setting fires made it easier to drive the men out like a hunting drive.

But how would they deal with the consequences?

The flames might spread beyond the village to the fields.

Even if they didn’t, if the whole village burned down, where would they put the rescued women?

In this chapel, which was no different from hell for them?

‘Sigh… she probably didn’t think that far.’

From what Frider had seen, Haschal wasn’t unintelligent, and was actually smarter than expected…

But whether due to differences in thinking or something else, she had some strangely thoughtless aspects.

Frider turned her attention back to the chapel.

By now, more than ten men had filed out. Like ants from a collapsed nest.

The man at the front grabbed the chapel’s door handle and pushed.

However, the door didn’t budge at all.

The man tilted his head in confusion and pushed hard again, but the chapel door merely rattled as if blocked by something.

The confused man shook the handle frantically.

It wasn’t bolted. The chapel door was designed to lock from the inside.

Then why?

The word “magic” flashed through the man’s mind.

The scouts they had sent earlier had returned in panic, making a fuss about a mage appearing.

‘Did a real mage show up?’

The man broke into a cold sweat and rammed the door with his shoulder.

Still, it didn’t move an inch. It had to be a mage’s spell.

“What are you doing?! Open the door immediately!”

A middle-aged man stomping impatiently at the back shouted.

“It won’t open! No matter how hard I push!”

Hearing the fear in the man’s voice, the middle-aged man looked around at the young men nearby.

“Everyone, get over here! Open it or break it down!”

About seventeen or eighteen villagers rushed to the door at once.

Demian’s body, blocking the door, began to shake slightly.

While they were delayed trying to open the door, the chapel had filled with people.

Confirming that no more were coming out, Frider took a deep breath and signaled to Demian.

Demian raised his greatsword behind his back.

Many myths agree that lightning is divine punishment sent from heaven to sinners.

Like a thunderbolt, the swung greatsword split everything before it in half.

—-

The men’s breath stopped.

The black arc that shattered the door swept through the people clustered there.

Eight upper bodies spun through the air, rotating.

While their lower halves remained in place.

With outstretched arms and spilling entrails, they briefly resembled a row of windmills.

Blood rained down, soaking the floor.

The boy gripping the bloodied greatsword charged at them.

The two men at the very front tumbled down with their legs severed before they could even react.

“W-what is this guy?!”

The shocked men pointed their weapons.

It was merely an instinctive reaction born of fear, not fighting spirit.

None had the guts to attack after witnessing people being dismembered before their eyes.

Except for one.

“Out of my way, you idiots!”

“Ah…! Lord Erik!”

An exceptionally large man stepped forward. He wielded a greatsword with traces of black iron and wore steel armor.

Not his own property, surely, but donated by some careless adventurer.

He seemed to be their leader, with the presence of at least a knight-in-training.

Yes, merely a knight-in-training level.

Demian charged at the man called Erik without hesitation.

“You little brat!”

Erik brought down his greatsword.

A vertical slash, with the rough force of splitting firewood.

Demian stepped forward forcefully with his left foot and swung his black iron greatsword diagonally.

There was no reason to dodge.

The colliding steel let out a scream like an explosion.

Erik’s arm was forced upward, unable to withstand the impact of the clash.

His half-broken greatsword flew high into the air, lodging into the chapel ceiling.

“Wha…!”

Erik groaned in surprise.

The following black arc slashed across Erik’s body.

– CRACK!

The steel armor crumpled and tore. The black iron greatsword that crushed the armor dug into Erik’s waist.

With his waist more than half severed, Erik convulsed as blood poured from his side.

Demian kicked him away and pulled out his sword. Erik’s body fell limply.

“Grrgh…”

With a weak groan, Erik collapsed.

Instant death, without even a final word.

“L-Lord Erik…!”

The pale-faced men stared blankly at the scene, unable to believe it.

Erik, the village leader who had seemed stronger than anyone to them, had lost his life pathetically after just two attacks.

A single word formed in everyone’s mind.

Knight.

The Empire’s blade.

The enemy of evil who had studied only how to kill for hundreds of years.

“It’s a knight! A real knight!!”

Some men who quickly regained their senses turned around hastily, seemingly trying to escape to the basement.

This was the moment Frider had been waiting for.

– CRASH!

Frider leaped in like a ghost, shattering the chapel’s window.

Shards of glass rained down, piercing the men’s bodies.

They screamed.