I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple-Chapter 176

None of the three believed a word of Perist's nonsense. Evan knew the church members were deceitful, Charon's temper refused to accept the enemy's words at face value, and Seren relied solely on instinct.

Of course, Perist gave no indication that she cared whether they believed her. She sipped her tea with calm, graceful movements.

Seren found the way she lifted her pinky while drinking especially irritating.

The moment Perist set the teacup down, the battle erupted without warning. With a sharp metallic clatter, the walls on both sides flipped open, unleashing hundreds of dolls.

The three hero disciples didn't panic. They instantly spread out and jumped into action.

Perist watched the battle with keen interest.Even after seeing the enemy appear suddenly, they did not cluster together. Instead, they scattered. It twas proof they did not know each other well enough to coordinate.

That left them with one option: fight separately, from positions where they wouldn't get in each other's way. It was the best choice under the circumstances, though hardly ideal. There was a vast difference between facing enemies alone and holding the line together.

Perist's eyes captured all three battlefields at the same time.

Charon fought with an array of weapons, his perception razor-sharp. Even while surrounded by dolls, he glanced toward her from time to time—a clear sign of his wide field of view.

Evan was faithful to the basics. Hero disciples were originally like this, but he already showed signs of budding talent. His swordsmanship and movements remained simple yet remarkably solid. Martial artists like him often became the most balanced and unshakable once fully matured.

Seren had various blessings and seemed to have even signed a contract with a divine beast. She handled the notoriously difficult rapier with ease, occasionally weaving in ice attacks.

In addition, all three have trump cards. Perist smiled quietly. The opponents were fascinating. Though not fully grown, this made the battle all the more satisfying. They would likely evolve a step or two even on this battlefield.

She preferred her steak slightly undercooked and savored the sharp tang of unripe fruit. She delighted in unexpected contrasts of flavor and texture. Once fully ripened, something grew dull. Beyond its peak, all that remained was decay.

Suddenly, Perist hummed and tapped the air with her fingers, as if playing an invisible piano.

In the blood-red light, the gesture made her look like a lunatic, but a regal aura clung to every movement.

Then, faintly at first, the notes of a piano echoed across the battlefield. From that moment on, the dolls' disorder disappeared, and their erratic movements melted into perfect harmony.

Of the three, Charon was the first to notice the change. As he watched the lunatic dancing beneath the moonlight, he thought, It is the same no matter how many times I look at it. The princess is physically weak.

In other words, Charon could kill Perist if two conditions were met: a distance no greater than three steps and a single moment of opportunity.

Charon's eyes darkened. He sensed he was the only one here capable of fulfilling that role. The other two didn't seem like they had ever killed anyone before.

There is still a long way to go. f three steps proved too far, five would do. Even from there, if he threw his sword, the blade would have no trouble piercing Perist's throat. In fact, he was closing the distance one measured step at a time.

That careless lunatic, banging on invisible keys, didn't notice Charon's quiet but steady advance. She would be caught completely off guard.

Did Brother Luan die? Charon didn't even bother sneering at the thought. Luan's brutal beating hadn't been enough to bring him down. It wasn't pain that made him call this person Brother. In truth, he had never met anyone more tolerant of pain than himself.

"You aren't a disciple. You're a substitute,"

"You've learned many things incorrectly."

"Is it really fun to live as a puppet?"

Ever since Charon was born, his father had dominated his thoughts and decisions. He had joined the training camp because his father had commanded it. After that, he immediately ordered Charon to return.

However, now Charon stood at the academy, defying his father's direct command for the first time in his life. Instead of fear, a surge of exhilaration filled him. He felt as if he were walking through the sky.

He hadn't realized how rewarding it was to think and decide for himself. Only now did he understand what had truly angered him about Luan's words. It wasn't that they insulted his father—it was that they had hit too close to home.

He could've ignored me back then.

Luan could have pretended not to see through him, but he chose not to. He even took the trouble to correct Charon personally. Luan's violence was brutal, but looking back, Charon suspected it wasn't meant solely for the body. It shattered the chains around his mind. For that, he felt genuine gratitude.

He couldn't have died, you stupid woman, he thought. She was born with status and a pretty face, but her intellect is questionable.

As the ever-cynical Charon took another step, Seren was silently admiring Perist's tactics. Has she studied military tactics?

She commanded her doll soldiers with unnerving precision. Granted, directing mindless toy soldiers was far easier than leading actual troops. Even so, the skill on display was remarkable.

The dolls' formations are starting to get annoying. They pressed hard with well-structured attacks, but that was not all. Perist had placed individual dolls to break formation and strike from unexpected angles.

If all of this was her doing, it posed a serious problem. She didn't control them as a single unit but as separate pieces.

Seren couldn't even fathom how someone's brain would need to function to manage something like that—how wide a perspective it would take to see such a battlefield clearly.

Of course, this might be possible since there are only three of us. Seren could feel the brilliance of the tactics, but something else stood out. There was a seasoned quality in Perist's strategy, as if she were a battle-hardened general who had fought in countless wars.

Seren pondered the reason but found no clear answer. Still, she knew one thing for sure. I must subdue the princess.

The thought made her chest tighten for a moment, and that feeling amused her. Surely, I haven't started to really consider her a friend, right?

With a cold smile, Seren thrust her rapier forward.

Nearby, Evan swung his sword, then paused. Am I the one in the most danger?

He only had to glance around for the answer. The dolls surrounding him had diminished in both number and strength. This meant his enemies regarded him as the least threatening among the three.

The realization stung Hero Disciple Evan with humiliation, but Young Dark Pope Evan saw opportunity.

Which voice should he heed?

Evan considered this carefully and leaned toward the latter. Pride mattered to humans, but now was not the time to prioritize it.

There is only one thing that matters.

When the moment arrived, Hero Disciple Evan would hesitate and miss the chance. Young Dark Pope Evan would not. In fact, he need not wait at all. If he unleashed the miasma within him now, he could kill or subdue Perist.

His Memories of Evil confirmed it. No matter her status as a member of the imperial family or her role in the demon king's descent, she remained a follower. She wasn't his equal. Not when he had been born to serve as the vessel of the Young Dark Pope.

And beyond that, her miasma didn't feel especially strong. She clearly controlled the dolls, yet her standing within the church was lower than expected.

Could the imperial bloodline be interfering somehow? Evan didn't know. He'd never heard of an imperial family member joining the church before.

The problem is that Charon and Seren will discover my identity if I use miasma. That was the reason he couldn't shake his hesitation. Even if he killed Perist, it would mean nothing if they found out he belonged to the church.

Evan was caught between two identities. He wasn't ready to give up being a hero disciple, but he couldn't discard his church member identity either.

He admitted that some kind of camaraderie was forming between him, Charon, and Seren. Even so, if someone asked whether he truly trusted them, he wouldn't be able to answer with a simple yes.

That was the truth. He would have hesitated to use his miasma even if Charis, his best friend, had been there. Which only made the whole thing feel more absurd. The only person he truly trusted was Luan.

Is this really right? he wondered. To think the only one I can trust is from the Badniker bloodline, where the strongest demon hunter serves as the head of the family.

Then again, Luan had stayed silent after discovering Evan's identity as the Young Dark Pope.

What should I do? For the first time since awakening as the Young Dark Pope, Evan felt genuinely lost.

In the meantime, Young Dark Pope Evan kept whispering inside him, Think simply. Kill Perist, kill Charon, and kill Seren. No witnesses. Perfect crime. Sounds good, doesn't it?

Shut up, Evan told himself.

***

Why would my blessing activate out of nowhere? Confusion swirled in my heart, but I forced myself to take a closer look at my surroundings.

Something is off. I had only experienced the power of this blessing once before, yet somehow, I was certain this moment was different. Even the mysterious voice had stopped abruptly. Darkness stretched all around me, broken only by a strange mist drifting silently through the air. The only clear sound was a bell ringing.

I knew that sound well. It came from the bell hanging at the end of the iron fan Senior Sister Tian held.

Among the martial artists I had met, Senior Sister Tian had the faintest trace of humanity. At times, even when I looked directly at her, she seemed less like a person and more like a calm, still lake.

Once, when I told her how unsettling that was, she responded with a quiet laugh and tied a bell to the end of her iron fan. She meant to be considerate, but it reminded me of a cat wearing a bell on its collar.

Still, in this pitch-black place, the bell served as a marker. I moved slowly toward its clear, ringing sound.

Soon, I reached a place even stranger than before. A signpost stood alone in the darkness.

Tch. These damn signs never lead to anything good. The sign pointed in both directions with arrows. Does this mean a fork in the road?

The bell's sound came from the left. When I glanced that way, fog gathered and clumsily shaped itself into Spirit Mountain. A blurry figure stood on the rocky peak. It was clear this was the bell's owner.

I moved toward it without thinking but stopped abruptly. If the left was Spirit Mountain, then what lay to the right?

There, the mist took form as well. On the water's surface, vague shapes appeared. Familiar faces emerged—the hero disciples caught in the middle of a fight.

Are already fighting Perist? To be honest, the situation was far from promising. They seemed to have a chance of winning, but it was a narrow one.

"Ah." Suddenly, I understood. I had not regressed yet. More precisely, I stood on the edge of regression.

Going left meant heading straight to Spirit Mountain and traveling back in time. Going right meant returning to my original time.

Faced with this sudden choice, I fell silent.