The Regressed Mercenary's Machinations-Chapter 470: That’s the Limit of Your Kind (2)

Parniel turned to Maurice, her gaze calm yet commanding.

“Who are you?”

Maurice found himself overwhelmed, not only by her towering stature but by the sheer power she had displayed, effortlessly hurling a superhuman through the air.

“I-I am Marquis Maurice McQuarry, commander-in-chief of the Ruthanian Kingdom’s army,” Maurice stammered.

Parniel’s eyes widened slightly at the revelation. The man’s rank was higher than she had anticipated.

Although she was a Saintess, a figure who transcended worldly statuses, she was not without manners. Bowing her head slightly, she spoke with respect.

“This is hardly the place to meet someone of your standing. Allow me to deal with this foul creature first, and then we shall talk.”

“A-as you wish,” Maurice replied, retreating.

Meanwhile, Bicontis, who had been sent flying, rose shakily to his feet. He spat out blood as he roared in anger.

“Damn it! Who are you?”

His body was battered, his arms mangled from the earlier attack. The holy power that had invaded his body had drained his energy just to purge.

A dark, ominous aura began to ripple around him, covering his wounds.

‘What is this? Could she be a reinforcement from the Four Major Orders?’

Bicontis struggled to understand her presence. All the priests of the Kingdom’s army had been slaughtered by the Delphine forces. Those priests were weak in combat, unable even to flee properly.

But this woman was different. She was not only combat-ready but fought at a level akin to a living weapon.

‘Parniel, was it? Could it really be her?’

A chill ran down his spine. The name Parniel, combined with her massive stature and immense strength, brought a single figure to mind.

“The Saintess of War!”

She was the Saintess of the Moriana Order, a sworn enemy of the Salvation Order who had opposed them in the shadows for years.

In times of strife, figures claiming to be saintesses or prophets often appeared, born of people’s desperation and fear. Most were false idols.

But Parniel was no ordinary figure. She was the genuine article, recognized by all the Orders as a true Saintess.

“Ha... hahaha... So, you’ve come here to die willingly,” Bicontis sneered.

The Saintess of War was a thorn in the Salvation Order’s side. Backed by the full might of her Order, she was untouchable in direct confrontation.

Her presence was always surrounded by Holy Knights and priests, making assassination attempts unthinkable.

But now, she was alone. There was no better opportunity to eliminate her.

“I’ve heard tales of your divine strength, but that won’t be enough to defeat me,” Bicontis snarled.

Though weary and injured, Bicontis saw this as his chance to earn unparalleled glory.

With a burst of energy, Bicontis lunged forward, black energy forming wings and claws as he propelled himself at Parniel.

‘Finally, I’ll achieve something monumental!’ he thought, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

The claws, infused with dark energy, tore through the air, aiming for Parniel.

“Die!”

The claws descended with overwhelming force.

Parniel raised an arm, her lips twitching into the barest hint of a smirk. Her arm, bulging with muscle, radiated holy light.

“You foolish woman! Do you think you can block this with your bare hands?”

Bicontis was confident her arm would be severed by the sheer might of his attack.

BOOM!

“What?”

To his shock, Bicontis’s attack failed to pierce her arm. Instead, he felt an intense shock reverberate through his body, as though he had struck an immovable shield.

‘Did she just block a superhuman’s strike... with her body?’

A thin red line appeared on Parniel’s arm, evidence that she had been grazed, but that was all.

“That’s it?” she muttered.

Dumbfounded, Bicontis looked up to see her mace—large enough to eclipse the sun—poised above him.

“W-wait!”

CRASH!

The mace slammed into his face, distorting it and bursting one of his eyes. Bicontis flew backward, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud.

“AAAAARGH!”

The holy power coursing through the attack amplified his agony. The dark energy that protected him struggled to fend off the invasive light but could not fully expel it.

“Damn you... Damn you!” Bicontis writhed in pain, clutching his mangled face.

For the first time, he realized he was outmatched. Despite his injuries and exhaustion, this level of humiliation was beyond comprehension.

“I’ll kill you!” Bicontis roared.

He leapt into the air, spreading his wings wide as he summoned all his remaining power. Dark energy surged around him, distorting the space nearby.

Having expended most of his strength, he began to draw upon his life force to fuel his final attack.

‘Even if I die, I’ll take you down with me!’

Countless tendrils of dark energy erupted from Bicontis, shooting toward Parniel and everyone around her.

“Hahaha! Try to survive this!”

The attack was devastating enough that, while Parniel might survive, everyone else would surely perish.

Parniel stared at the incoming attack, her expression unflinching.

“The Cursed Light... the Wail of the Abyss,” she murmured.

This technique, once used by Salvation Order priests in past wars, was feared and infamous.

Parniel began to chant, her voice resolute.

“Behold, I shield this land with divine grace. Let the unholy be banished, and let faith endure eternal.”

A brilliant light radiated from her body, forming a massive dome of holy energy that enveloped the battlefield.

The black tendrils clashed against the dome, causing the ground to quake and deafening explosions to echo.

The overwhelming power of Bicontis’s final attack shook the earth, terrifying those who witnessed it.

Yet, the holy shield held firm. Despite its surface trembling and cracking under the onslaught, it did not shatter.

“What... is this?” Bicontis gasped.

He had poured everything into his attack, even his life force, yet it had been neutralized.

Parniel stepped forward, blood trickling from her lips. Though Bicontis’s attack had shaken her, it had not truly harmed her.

“Is that all?” she asked coldly.

Bicontis, now grounded, was too weak to maintain his wings or claws. He had drained himself completely.

“Damn it!” he cursed, turning to flee.

Parniel gave him no chance. In a flash, she closed the distance and swung her mace.

CRACK!

The impact snapped his spine, bending him unnaturally. Even so, Bicontis clung to life, his stubborn resilience a testament to the Salvation Order’s grotesque conditioning.

Parniel raised her mace high once more, her face filled with righteous fury.

“Your corruption ends here. Let holy light consume you.”

She made the sign of the cross before slamming her mace down.

BOOM!

Bicontis coughed blood, his body now a mangled heap.

Parniel did not stop.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Like crushing an insect, she pounded his broken form into the ground until he was nothing more than a pulverized mass.

When she finally stopped, she exhaled deeply, wiping blood from her lips.

“Goddess, I have sent another sinner to you today.”

Maurice and his ragged troops watched in stunned silence, unable to process what they had just witnessed.

No matter how exhausted the superhuman Bicontis might have been, seeing him so thoroughly crushed was beyond their comprehension. The creature that stood before them was a monster beyond imagination.

This was the strength of one who would later be known as one of the Continent’s Seven Great Powers, though none of them could grasp that now.

But it wasn’t just the Ruthanian troops who were shocked.

“W-who is that?”

The pursuing Delphine forces had also arrived, only to stop short, frozen in terror. They dared not advance further as they stared at the scene before them.

Their expressions were filled with fear. Their greatest weapon, their superhuman priest, had been battered to death in front of them.

Parniel raised her chin imperiously, her gaze cold and commanding.

“I do not wish to shed more blood today. Leave now,” she declared.

Even those aligned with the Salvation Order were not individuals she sought to kill indiscriminately. She believed that most could be beaten into repentance.

It was only the priests of the Salvation Order she wished to eliminate without mercy.

“But if you dare approach, I will personally send every last one of you to the Goddess today.”

“U-ugh...”

The commander of the Delphine pursuers hesitated. His orders were clear: capture Maurice. But the situation had taken a dire turn.

With Parniel glaring at them, the terrified commander finally made his decision. Slowly, he signaled for his forces to retreat.

Once the situation was under control, Parniel approached Maurice.

“I apologize for the delay in introductions. I am Parniel, servant of the Goddess of War.”

“T-thank you,” Maurice stammered, still reeling. “I will be sure to repay this debt when I return to the capital.”

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“That will not be necessary. It is my mission to fight the Salvation Order,” Parniel replied.

“Is that so? That is indeed reassuring news,” Maurice said, though his tone was still uncertain.

He was unsure how to treat this woman, who had arrived out of nowhere and crushed a superhuman with her bare hands. But given that she had slain the enemy priest, it was clear she was no ally of the Salvation Order.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“I hail from the Papal State of Feynos,” Parniel answered.

The Papal State was governed differently from other kingdoms. It housed the headquarters of the Four Great Orders, with each Order’s Archbishop taking turns overseeing the nation.

Although the Papal State lacked strong military power, its religious influence was immense, making it untouchable by any kingdom.

“Feynos is quite far from here,” Maurice said, astonished. “What brings you all the way to Ruthania?”

“I came because I wished to,” Parniel replied simply.

“Pardon?”

Parniel tilted her head slightly, contemplating how to explain.

“I heard that Ruthania was fighting the Salvation Order most fiercely. Upon hearing that, I felt a strong desire to come here and join the battle. Perhaps the Goddess guided me,” she said with conviction.

“I... see...”

Maurice nodded awkwardly. Priests lived by faith and the word of their deities. Logic had no place in their decisions, and there was no point in questioning it.

“Aha! The old fortune-teller said we would meet a benefactor, and it seems—”

Before he could finish, Hubert elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Parniel’s face had gone cold, her expression now glacial. Mentioning a charlatan fortune-teller in front of a priest of the Four Great Orders was akin to declaring war.

Feeling the weight of her displeasure, Maurice coughed nervously.

“Ahem! Just a jest, merely a jest.”

“It was not amusing. You nearly earned yourself an inquisition,” Parniel said icily.

“Yes, understood...”

Realizing his mistake, Maurice hastily changed the subject.

“If you have nowhere else to stay, please join us. It would be better to fight our common enemy together, would it not?”

“Thank you. I will gladly accept your hospitality for the time being,” Parniel replied with a faint smile.

“Oh, no, it is we who should be thanking you,” Maurice said, his spirits lifting.

With the Salvation Order’s superhumans causing so much trouble in the war, the arrival of a new ally of Parniel’s caliber was a blessing.

“Shall we be on our way?” Maurice suggested.

“Wait,” Parniel said. “I am not alone.”

“Not alone?”

Maurice blinked in confusion. Moments later, a group of people emerged from the direction Parniel had come.

Clad in priestly robes and gleaming white armor, about a hundred individuals—priests and temple knights devoted to Parniel—approached.

The leader of the group shouted angrily as they neared.

“Saintess! Why do you insist on moving recklessly on your own?”

Maurice’s eyes widened as he turned to Parniel.

“A Saintess? You’re truly a Saintess?”

Parniel nodded nonchalantly.

“Yes, I am the Saintess chosen by the Goddess of War.”

“...”

The image of a Saintess that Maurice had in mind was utterly different from the woman standing before him. But considering she was chosen by the Goddess of War, it somehow seemed fitting.

A Saintess was a figure who commanded utmost reverence, their name carrying immense weight.

Bowing deeply, Maurice expressed his gratitude once more.

“We are honored to have your assistance in the fight for Ruthania.”

“It is the Goddess who has guided me here,” Parniel replied graciously.

With their forces bolstered by Parniel and her entourage, Maurice and his troops began their retreat, now with a newfound sense of hope and purpose.

In the Delphine camp, the atmosphere was tense.

“Bicontis the Inquisitor is dead?”

“Yes, my lord,” the messenger confirmed.

“Unbelievable...”

Count Fograne, leader of the Delphine forces, was visibly shocked.

Even after several days of grueling combat, Bicontis was a superhuman. To hear that he had been killed while pursuing stragglers was baffling.

“Who killed him?”

“We do not know, my lord. The perpetrator was described as a massive woman, possibly a battle priest of the Moriana Order,” the messenger explained.

“A battle priest took down a superhuman? Ridiculous! Which Order in this kingdom even has such a priest?” Fograne bellowed.

Had such an individual existed, the information would have surfaced long ago, at least through the Duke’s intelligence network.

Fograne paced angrily. They had not only lost their most powerful weapon but also failed to capture Maurice.

After a moment, he called for his advisors.

“We will rest for two days and then march on the capital. If we crush one or two more noble armies along the way, nothing will stand in our way.”

“But, my lord, the soldiers are exhausted. Two days may not be enough for recovery,” one advisor cautioned.

Fograne shook his head.

“If we wait, more reinforcements for the Kingdom Army may arrive. We’ve already lost the Inquisitor, so we must act quickly to overwhelm them before they regroup.”

The advisors reluctantly agreed. Fograne’s strategy was sound, but what he didn’t know was that a raven circled above, observing everything.

High in the skies, Dark sent a message to Ghislain.

“Master, they’ll be moving soon.”

At the same time, Ghislain spread a map across his saddle and marked their position.

“We’ll intercept them here,” he decided.

With Fograne’s forces weakened and unaware of Fenris's mobility, Ghislain planned to exploit their assumptions and deliver a decisive blow.

“That is the limit of your kind,” Ghislain muttered with a chilling smile, ready to demonstrate the full extent of his power.