"Dad! Can I go hunting with you today!"

"Hm? Why now of all days. You could have gone hunting with Francis yesterday, why didn't you go then? And besides, you need rest..."

"I just want to see how awesome you are, dad! After all, you're the strongest in the village!" The young boy spoke enthusiastically to the man that towered over him, "And as long as I'm with you I'll be fine."

The rough-looking, middle-aged man and the young, twelve-year-old boy talked to each other with a sense of familiarity, without any barriers. This was the interaction between a father and son.

"You're giving me too much credit, Feld! I'm but a simple hunter, nothing more, nothing less."

"No way! You have two divine protections you know, and they're both pretty rare ones as well! That's really amazing!"

"I guess so…"

The two walked side by side across a crudely made dirt pathway that made its way through a bundle of market stalls and wooden buildings. The young boy, Feld, looked up at his father as there was a huge height difference between the two – his father reached up till at least two hundred centimetres tall, whereas Feld reached about one hundred and eighty centimetres.

Feld, although short compared to his father, was quite tall for his age so it seemed that he would inherit his father's tall stature in the future. That was if he lived long enough.

The boy suddenly devolved into a coughing fit and slumped over as he struggled to stay upright. Blood could be seen on the ground right below where he had been coughing. He was evidently sick.

His father hurriedly rushed closer to his side and held him up. He was rubbing his back, trying to relieve his son and worriedly spoke to him.

"Hey, Feld! You're really not okay, are you! P-Please, if we leave the village, I can get a job as a knight or something and I could pay for your treatment. If we leave now, w-we might be able to-"

"It's okay, dad. Besides, without you, the strongest fighter in the village, everyone else would be done for…" The young boy weakly let out a small voice to reassure his worried father.

"P-Please, I'll do anything in the world for you, so lets just-"

"The only thing I'd like for you to do is to take me with you today. I don't have the time to waste, after all, I'd rather spend the time I have left with you…"

How could a child be so mature about such a situation? He acknowledged that his death was near yet made such a mature sounding statement. It was the son that was comforting the father instead of the other way around.

The father, who was known as Alard the almighty within the village he lived in, was a frail and fragile man. He was not frail and fragile physically, but instead, mentally. Of course, his son knew this.

When Feld was only four years old his mother had suddenly died of a strange disease. There was no warning, no apparent symptoms that signified she would die over the span of years. No, one day she developed a cough filled with blood and had died two weeks afterwards.

No matter what Alard did; no matter how many ma-beasts he slaughtered, rare herbs he gathered, or talented village doctors contacted, nothing had worked to cure his wife. And in the end, she ultimately died a pitiful death in the arms of her weeping husband and without fully experiencing life to the fullest.

And now… the very son he had had to look after on his own for eight years and nurture with all the love within his heart in honour of his wife, had the very same disease she did. And yet again nothing worked.

He had tried to leave the village with his son, even though it would have detrimental effects since he would no longer be mercilessly slaughtering ma-beasts that wandered from the sand dunes that were near their village. Their village had grown over-dependent on Alard's extreme strength and could no longer defend themselves anymore.

Alard had a brother, Francis, who he mentioned earlier. He was quite powerful but was still nothing compared to Alard.

But, his son forced him to stay there. With words that cut into him like a sharp blade, he had been held in place by the very person he was trying to save with all of his might.

'Dad, if you leave, wouldn't mom be sad? Because if you leave, all of the bad monsters will attack everyone right?' Those words pierced his heart and forced him to listen to his son's request.

In truth, he hated his responsibility, he hated his power. If he wasn't so tied down with the responsibility of protecting his village, he could freely leave with his son. If he didn't have his power in the first place, he wouldn't even have that responsibility.

Divine protections… it was something that he hated from the bottom of his heart. He felt that there was nothing divine about it at all. It was complete bullshit.

The 'divine protection of the war god' and the 'divine protection of swiftness.' In truth, Alard was a nearly impossibly existence. Who would've known that such an existence would be born in a poor village not even on the maps? His strength was enough to rival the royal guards, no, it actually far surpassed that since he had trained his divine protections from a young age and they had evolved to suit him further.

If he went against most of the royal guards at once, he actually had a surprisingly high chance at beating them. That was how powerful he was. Of course, there were individuals like him in the royal guards therefore he could only beat 'most' and not all of them at once.

It was a mystery as to why such absurd strength resided in a fragile minded, middle-aged father who was struggling to keep himself together for the sake of his child.

But even so, what exactly did this absurd strength do?

At first, he believed that his strength was the best thing that had ever happened to himself and his village in such a self-conceited and egotistical way.

But then that idea came crashing down when he stood at his wife's blood-covered bed from all of the coughing she had been doing. Her complexion was ghostly white; her eyes were sunken and almost hollow. She looked as if she was already dead. Her once bright blonde hair had lost its previous lustre and had become a sickly yellowish colour – a poor imitation of what it once was.

When he stood there he thought to himself, what could he really do in this situation? He had done everything he could. He had worked so hard; he poured his blood, sweat and tears into finding a way to get his wife to recover, but nothing worked.

Was this… was this all he was good for. Even though his wife was less than an arms reach away from him, he couldn't do a single thing.

When he was younger he had a certain thing he told himself and others over and over to motivate himself-

'as long as they're in arms reach, I promise that no one in this village will suffer again.'

He could only laugh at the irony. Now that his wife was literally in his arms reach, he could do nothing but watch her suffer as her life was slowly snuffed out.

Without his divine protections, he was useless. He was only called a heroic individual because of his combat prowess. Without his divine protections, he'd just be some random villager with no name to himself.

This was who he was. A good for nothing human being who can't even save those within his reach; somebody who has to really on the 'divine' to achieve things. Even simple things like hunting boars used his divine protections.

But in truth, he didn't really care about that, what he truly cared about was the fact that he could do nothing but watch his loved ones die one by one as he remained.

He often dreamed and wished that he had a different divine protection.

"...ad."

Maybe one that had high healing power. Just one would do.

"...ad!"

If he had such a divine protection, he could have saved her. He could save his son. Even if he would still be the same pitiful man relying on things such as the 'divine,' he wouldn't mind. He would be content with that.

"Dad!"

"ah…" Alard suddenly came out of his endless loop of thoughts.

He looked down at his son and saw that he was standing up again. He was momentarily relieved but then remembered that his condition would only worsen as time goes on, and this was just a false delusion of hope.

He was in dread once again… but then he felt his sons arms wrap around him.

Why was Feld hugging him? He usually wouldn't since he was fearful of somehow spreading the disease even though they have proven it isn't infectious. He would only do something like this if he was confident somebody needed it.

"..." Alard realized… he was crying. He cursed himself for being so weak and pitiful, being comforted by his sick and half-dead son.

'How can I be so… weak. I should be the one comforting him.'

Hardening his resolve, Alard moved his shirt ragged up to wipe his tears and fixed his face with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you… Feld. I'm alright now, so don't you think it's about time to set out?" If the least he could do was be with his son and reassure him, then that's what he would do.

"yay~! Thanks, dad!"

Even though his reassuring smile was there, he still knew that this was but a glimmer of happiness that would soon be stomped out by the cruelness of the world.

Alard was in a room conversing with the local village doctor. It was the night before Alard would go out hunting with Feld and before their exchange on the crudely made dirt pathway.

What the two were talking about was the condition of Alard's son, Feld.

"As you already know… this disease isn't like anything I've ever seen before."

"Yeah… Have you figured anything else about it?" Alard had been searching for ways to cure the disease ever since his son came down with it since he knew getting herbs or medicine was no good. He consulted local doctors and gave them samples of Feld's blood and lung tissue that he had coughed out. It seemed he was getting the results.

"Well, from what I've tried so far… it's impossible to cure."

"impossible!?"

"yes… even I don't know the reason why but even the most skilled of water mages wouldn't be able to do a thing."

Alard was in disbelief. So, were all of his efforts until now worthless?

"However, it seems that it may, in fact, be due to genetics, and not at all some sort of disease he was infected with from any other source."

"What do you mean?"

"You already know it's not infective since you've been in contact with him countless times and haven't been infected. It's also the same with all of the other children in the village. And he has the exact same disease his mother had even though it shouldn't be infective. It could be a coincidence but I doubt it"

So… Feld was doomed from the start. Alard thought this and slumped down into a chair; no hope could be found in his eyes.

"How… how long does he have left," Alard asked the doctor in front of him with a small voice.

"Well… since he is but a child, he has even less time than your wife did. I would say… maybe two or three more days."

When hearing the life expectancy, many would end up confused. He looked fine until he started coughing, right? Well, Alard and this doctor had discussed this and it turned out the nature of the 'disease' was quite disturbing.

What its effect actually was, was that it would quite literally decompose and break down the body from the inside out, but still, somehow keep the host alive and feeling well enough to walk and talk leisurely. Feld didn't simply have weak lungs, they were quite literally degraded and shredded beyond compare, only taking in the minimal amount of oxygen. As they figured out more, this disease started to sound less and less like a disease and more like a curse. Maybe it was a curse, but they simply couldn't tell.

And in the end, the disease would rapidly spread out from the lungs and begin affecting the whole body, destroying it from the inside out.

Maybe Alard's wife had been cursed or changed in some way that she would pass on such a horrible disease to her children. Nobody really knew much about her past, as she wasn't actually born in the village like Alard, and even he knew only the minimal details. He never decided to push for an answer since she always looked in anguish when the topic came up.

Maybe he should have pushed? Maybe if he did they wouldn't be in this situation right now? He was a coward, even back then. She was his wife for crying out loud… he should have asked her.

Yet again, he went back to blaming himself.

"… I should get going now. Thanks, doc… for everything you've done until now."

"No, I'm sorry I couldn't do any more to help… best of luck to you, Alard-san"

Alard made his way out of the chair he was in and lumbered over to the doorway, slowly opening it and walking through without turning back.

Alard and his son, Feld, were currently in a thicket of trees not too far off from their village.

What the two were doing right now was hunting. It was decided that Alard would go out and find a boar or any small creature he could find really, and Feld would be taught the basics of skinning and preparing the meat.

Since Feld's body was weak and he was only twelve years old, he couldn't hunt animals as effectively as his father and he also lacked the experience.

So, the two set out into the forest in search of something, but not too far as Alard was still concerned about his son.

Not too long afterwards, Alard had found a boar-like creature and had used a bow to swiftly and silently penetrate through its skull with an iron-tipped arrow that travelled so fast the human eye could not register it.

Since Alard had the 'divine protection of the war god' he could master any weapon that was within his hand, be it a bow, short sword, axe or even a chained sickle. No matter what, as long as it was designed with the intent to kill, Alard could use it perfectly with unrivalled efficiency.

Even the flimsy bow made in the village that seemed like it would snap from a slight tug to the bowstring could be made into a deadly weapon that fired arrows faster than high calibre bullets as long as it was Alard who was wielding it.

Feld looked on at the sight of the rapidly fired arrow in astonishment. He wasn't disturbed by the body of the boar – he was preparing to learn how to skin it anyway – instead, he seemed unusually ecstatic after seeing such a display from his father. It did not make him disgusted at how good his father was at killing, in fact, it made him proud.

After flashing a large grin to his son, Alard walked over to where the large boar was and picked it up by its two hind legs with one hand.

The boar was about the size of Feld, who was nearly one hundred and eighty centimetres tall and weighed nearly two hundred and fifty kilograms due to its densely packed muscle and fat. Thus, this feat of strength was quite impressive as Alard managed to lift it with a single hand without much trouble.

"Woah! When could you lift something like that with one hand!" Feld said, astonished at his father's arm strength.

"What do you mean? I've been able to do something this simple since I was fifteen, you know."

"…you really are amazing."

After Alard had said that, his son looked even more amazed. It wasn't as if he had never seen his father do something like this, but he didn't often go out hunting with him like this and had forgotten the absurdity of his strength.

He remembered how his father had helped lift logs that were going to be used for construction and he looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat. By logs, they were more like entire trees that had yet to be cut into pieces. It was simply absurd as to how he pulled off this feat. It couldn't have been a divine protection since he only had two and neither increased his strength, so it must simply be his pure, natural strength. After all, people in this world were usually much stronger than the people on earth.

Alard made his way over to a clearing in the forest in preparation for the lesson of skinning and perhaps also draining the blood of the boar that he was about to teach Feld. It may have been easier to do it in the village but he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Feld and it would decrease the overall weight of the boar, even though that wasn't a problem for Alard.

This was only to teach him the basics and he would soon go out to get more after Feld was done. Since the village already had food preserved, they didn't need to gather much but Alard felt they might as well get a few days worth.

As he stood idly in the small clearing, his son spoke up in an uncertain yet worried voice which put Alard on guard.

"Hey… dad. Isn't that direction where the village is… why is there smoke coming from it?" Feld pointed up at the sky where large, pitch-black plumes of smoke raised into the cloudless sky.

Catching sight of this, Alard knew that this wasn't a simple small fire set up by the other villagers. He could tell from the colour and how much of it there was: the village was burning.

Realising that, he broke into a cold sweat as he thought of what to do. It was obvious what he would. He would run straight there.

"Feld, hold on!" After he said that, Alard scooped his son up into his arms and sped off at a speed even faster than the speed of sound thanks to the 'divine protection of swiftness' and expertly manoeuvred through the thick forest towards the village.

Alard knew what was most likely going on. Somebody was attacking the village for whatever ambiguous reason. However, the reason didn't matter right now.

He thought of leaving his son near the outer edges of the forest to keep him away from the attackers but realised that was a bad idea since Feld had no way to protect himself and if he was found by the attackers Alard would not be able to reach him in time. He thought of maybe sending him down to Mirula, which was to the south, would be better, but he may very well be eaten by ma-beasts on the way there and there was little chance of there coincidentally being a knight detachment that close to their village.

So with no other option in sight, he begrudgingly took Feld to the village with him.

As much as he hated to say it, he was powerful, and the safest place Feld could probably be right now was beside his father, Alard.

So the two made their way to the village at the fastest possible speed a human could travel. They had arrived quickly, of course, and Alard immediately felt dread upon arriving.

The first thing he noticed when he got there was the overbearing scent of charred and molten flesh hanging within the air. He could have naively protested that it was simply the smell of cooked meat. However, what he smelled was not the pleasant scent of beef or pork; it was the putrid and pungent scent of burnt 'human' flesh that could often be smelt after an attack from bandits or the witch cult.

When Alard drew nearer to the entrance of the village he pulled out his iron short sword that was held onto his waist as he recognized a figure that was approaching them. The figure approaching them was a person clad in a dark black robe with red markings decorating the hooded part. He recognized the person from stories he had heard from his father…

'A witch cultist…!'

Usually, the witch-cult wouldn't bother with such a remote village in the first place. Nonetheless, they were here and had begun their slaughter.

The reason they wouldn't usually attack a village like this was because such an insignificant place wasn't even on the maps. Of course, people were still aware of it, especially the knights that patrolled around the sand dunes. But that was one of the main reasons why they wouldn't attack a place such as this.

They would achieve nothing from doing such, and plus they would alert the elite knights patrolling the area of their location. They would achieve nothing and would even receive losses in some situations. Even the crazed witch cult wasn't insane enough to pull something like that.

Yet, they were here.

The figure approached the two with increasing speed, and then all of a sudden threw a strange, pointed knife towards Feld's eyeball. It was such a swift and precise motion it was almost unnoticeable and even pinpointed accurately directly onto Feld's pupil.

However, the person standing next to him was Alard, not some average weak hunter.

With a motion even swifter and more precise than the mysterious hooded figure's, Alard's wrist instantly snapped and struck the knife from the air before it could even come close to Feld. He seemed as if he simply swatted a fly, that was how easy it was.

But the figure seemed to have more knives and pulled out another one.

Of course, that was the case. If one were to throw their weapon away they would no longer have a way to attack or defend so they must have had spares on them.

But they must have had a lot as the hooded figure threw yet another knife at the two accept this time aiming for Alard's neck.

Such an attack was simple for him to block, but as he motioned his arm towards it and deflected it, the cultist threw yet another one towards Feld.

Well, even petty tricks like these didn't work as Alard simply moved his arm quicker than the eye could see and blocked the other knife as well. However, before the knife dropped to the ground, he caught it with his spare hand as he didn't want to keep this going for long and could potentially use it.

The cultist came to the conclusion that a long-ranged attack wouldn't work on the two so they pulled out yet another knife but instead came charging forward at an incredibly fast speed towards the duo.

Alard had to defend his son, so he couldn't charge forward along with the cultist, so instead, he threw the knife he had caught towards the skull of the sprinting figure. The throw was much swifter, more accurate and deadlier than the cultist's throws.

They tried to block it with the knife in their hand but to no avail, as the flying blade shot past the figure's held up blade as it was too fast to be deflected and broke straight through the skull of the cultist and came back out from the other end, embedding into the side of a building further away.

Blood had splattered all over the floor and brain matter had mixed with the dirt, but Alard paid no mind as he continued onwards. He had to do something before he defeated the attackers; he had to find the second strongest fighter in the village and trust him with Feld: his brother Francis.

Francis was extremely powerful. He was the same as Alard in some regards where he could defeat multiple powerful foes on his own. However, their power was fundamentally different.

Alard was an extremely powerful physical fighter, whereas Francis was an extremely powerful magic fighter.

His brother, Francis, had a relatively large mana pool and could use four elements with extreme ease and skill; fire, earth, wind and water were the elements he could use. The only elements he couldn't use were yin magic and yang magic.

Anyway, there was no dispute whether his brother was powerful enough to defend Feld.

And just on time, a gigantic pillar of fire shot through the sky, incinerating several cultists in one blast. That was a mid-tier Goa spell. Alard presumed it was most likely Ul Goa.

Such a spell was simple for Francis to cast and it took him almost no effort. He could even cast it without chanting but only barely – that was where he met his limits. He had to use chants for every spell with a higher tier; he even struggled to not chant certain spells that conformed with the water and wind attribute for some unknown reason.

Considering all of that, it was no coincidence that he was second only to Alard. The power gap between Francis and Alard was incredibly large, but nobody even came close to the two so the only position he could take was second.

Alard began to run towards the direction that the spiralling pillar of flame emerged from and readied his blade to potentially support him.

However, his support was not needed.

Charred corpses lay strewn across the floor. Their features were unrecognisable and the colour of their body was a charcoal black colour. The Ul Goa spell that Francis had cast had utterly decimated at least ten cultists, all in one attack.

Francis appeared to be guarding carriages that were packed full of people. The villagers – mainly women and children – were about to escape in the aforementioned carriages but it seems they were attacked before they left.

As soon as the villagers caught sight of both Francis and Alard outside of the carriages, relief instantly showed on their faces. They were still in danger, but if these two powerhouses were protecting them they would be fine, right?

"Oi Alard, ya bastard! Where th' hell were ya." Despite being a mage, Francis was a large bulky man who stood only a little shorter than Alard. He had a short and unkempt beard and messy brown hair that was singed with soot.

In all honesty, if you asked somebody who they'd assume the swordsman would be out of the two brothers, most would assume Francis. He was much more fierce-looking and had the air of a violent and hot-blooded person surrounding him. Whereas Alard was much more of a laid back and chilled person, his atmosphere was soft and not oppressive at all.

"I told you I went hunting remember! Anyway, what's the situation!"

"These damn witch cultists jus' came outa nowhere! They started killin' everyone on sight! I'm tryin' to hold em back the best I can but it ain't working too well." Although all of the cultists in the area were long since burnt to death, many more would soon arrive. Francis knew this since he had done the same thing as he just did countless times.

Don't get the wrong idea as well; his defence is not impenetrable. In fact, a few carriages had actually been reached and had been set on fire. The people inside had to scurry out as quickly as possible, but many weren't as lucky.

And now Alard was here. The strongest fighter. Maybe they could make it out of this.

"Francis! Take Feld and put him in one of the carriages and focus on supporting me with your magic! We'll fuck shit up just like old times!" Alard's tone of speech became harsher as he got fired up for the battle ahead.

"Did you even need t' ask, brother! Let's slaughter th' bastards!"

And as they made that proclamation, a new group of at least twenty cultists came out from the corner of a building. They prepared to all throw their strangely shaped knives in unison to overwhelm the two warriors, but Alard wouldn't let them.

Immediately sprinting towards them faster than the eye could see, Alard used his 'divine protection of swiftness' to get right in their face.

Before they could react, he swung his blade upwards in an arc and severed the upper torso of two of the cultists in one swing. The ones next to the two began to charge at him and bring their knives down on him. He could have easily dogged but that would be wasted effort and he had support anyway.

That support was Francis.

Two long spikes of dirt rose from the ground below and impaled the two cultists; on the insides of their bodies, it began to shift and grow spike-like structures across itself to cause maximum damage. A spell of this level didn't require Francis to chant so the cultists didn't expect what had happened.

They shifted their gaze across the two brothers, and them to themselves. After that interaction, five of them positioned themselves to surround Alard and five of them moved up to intercept Francis.

The five moving to Francis moved extremely fast to catch him before he cast any more magic, whereas the ones around Alard moved slower in order to keep his attention. The remaining cultists stood on standby with their knives at the ready.

"Tricky bastards aren't ya," Francis said in response to the recent development. "but that won't work." Francis let out a chuckle as he readied himself to spew a torrent of magic at his foes. Alard knew what he was about to do, he had done it before in front of him after all.

It may have been overkill, but Francis wanted to finish this as soon as possible.

What he was about to do could be considered an attack with ultimate killing prowess. He could have let Alard kill the cultists, but the two were always competing and Francis couldn't afford to let the other cultists close.

"Al Caedes"

As his chant echoed throughout the surroundings, a vast amount of magic power coalesced into one point above the battlefield. I was high up in the sky; its purpose seemed to be to bombard an enemy from above in an AOE attack.

At first, it appeared to take the appearance of the Al Dona spell, powerful earth magic that makes use of a devastating explosion of sediment and shrapnel. However, within it shifted all four of the main attributes: fire, water, wind and earth.

Obviously seeing such a display from above, more cultists came to the scene. Many might have thought this had worsened the situation, but no matter what happened this situation would not worsen for the two brothers. The reason was that they were fighting together as a team. Not as enemies or rivals like they usually are, but as an unparalleled team. They were no longer competing as they both had a common goal: To protect everyone.

There were now at least fifty cultists now, they all rushed for Alard and Francis in a desperate bout to halt the imminent destruction that was forming in the sky above their heads. But it was too late.

The air rapidly decreased in temperature, most probably due to fire magic. This was only the beginning, however.

Then ice spikes made from water magic instead of fire magic rained down en masse. A large number of them pierced the cultists below as they seemingly locked onto them like homing missiles, but some still managed to evade – that was what the next part was meant to deal with.

Sediment and shrapnel were let out from the Al Dona looking spell, but instead of being just that, it was also covered in flames. It was being propelled forward at an insane speed by wind magic and would be incredibly hard to dodge, but not impossible. But it still wasn't done.

The reason the air had cooled down to a terrifying degree was another part of this spell that would cause an insurmountable amount of death. He had once figured out the use of such a technique when he was fighting an entire hoard of gultylowes at once.

He discovered that when extremely cold air is rapidly heated up, it would create a powerful shock wave at worst depending on if he did it correctly, and at best a decently sized explosion. And that was why the sediment from the spell was on fire.

Some of the cultists tried to make shields of water magic with Huma, well, the ones with a water attribute that is. Even still, this would not protect them.

Suddenly the flaming spears of dirt lit up an incredible amount as the flames that were on them grew to an even greater size.

And that was a wrap.

A shock wave that would be dangerous for all to hear blew across the battlefield and blew out all of the cultists' eardrums, that was an understatement actually. Most of them died. The power of the spell was simply too much.

Alard had moved to where the carriages were as soon as he saw his brother use this spell since he knew its effects. Francis had put up a shield of magic using water magic. It was a relatively high tier spell that he used to shield everyone so it instantly drained the rest of his mana; he slumped down in exhaustion.

Many would be wondering if Alard was actually more powerful than Francis from this amazing display, but the truth remained that Alard was more powerful. His full strength was a rare sight that only Francis had ever experienced and he could vouch that Alard was stronger than him.

There were about fifty to sixty cultists in the area, there were so many that one would have assumed two archbishops had teamed up to take this lone village. They had nearly all died, however; about eleven to the ice spikes, seventeen to the sediment and shrapnel and about thirty-four from the explosion. It truly was a slaughter. Well, the spell was named 'Caedes,' the Latin word for slaughter.

They had seemingly won. The battle was over. No more cultists were coming, it appeared. Was it finally over?

Alard lost all tension in his body and slumped down just like his brother but slightly ahead. He stared at the sky; the sun was slowly descending below the horizon and the sky was dimming, turning the sky into a relaxing orange hue.

"holy shit… I never knew you had it in you, Francis."

"haha… o' course. I'm stronger than you after all. Ya jus' sat back an' watched me do all th' work."

"Well, I couldn't really do anything else in the face of that devastating attack." The two talked without facing each other and lightly chuckled at their remarks. Feld was still in the carriage but he was safe now at least.

All was calm. Even after that intense battle, they could nothing but lay down.

But that was their most fatal mistake…

"!" Alard could hear his brother let out a loud gasp and a light scream, but then heard nothing. He was confused so he turned around to check on him but then froze in place when he saw Francis…

He was floating? It looked as if he was being picked up by something invisible and that thing had a tight grip on all of his limbs. It also had a hold around his neck.

"F-Francis!" Alard rushed forward as fast he possibly could with his insane speed. He was slightly slower than usual because he was sat down, but that didn't matter!

He didn't know what was going on, but they had just won against the witch-cult for god sake! He couldn't let his brother die like this.

But as he reached him, he heard and saw Francis' neck snap to the side. His neck was broken.

"aaahhhh! N-no way! Francis! Open your eyes! Please!"

He heard no response.

"Brother…!" Francis had no answer. He was dead. He had died from some mysterious force after slaughtering that many people so suddenly. It almost felt like a dream – no, a nightmare. How could he die so easily after achieving so much?

Alard was sick of it, his loved ones dying. His wife, his brother, and soon even his own son… soon he'll have nothing. Only a few moments ago, he and Francis were leisurely chatting, as brothers instead of rivals. But now… he hung from the air as a lifeless corpse.

Alard already knew, but it only became more apparent: his life was oversaturated with despair.

"Ah, how magnificent! Two brothers, brothers who love each other so dearly! Familial love, love for one's relatives! Love, love, love, love, love, love, love! You are overflowing with that very love!"

"W-Who the hell are you, you bastard!" caught in his own rage, he flung forward with killing intent and bared his blade towards the mysterious man.

His blade grew nearer and it appeared that it would most likely slice through the man's chest, but Alard was halted. An invisible force of unknown nature slammed him to the ground with an incredible power that he had never felt before. It felt like he was being gripped and held down by a mass of invisible hands.

This was the man who killed his brother. He could tell. A rage that he had rarely ever felt emerged from him and he thrashed around in order to let out that rage on something – someone, the person in front of him.

"Ah, yes, I haven't introduced myself, have I," As the man spoke he pranced around with exaggerated movements like an idiot. He was clearly insane. "I am a sin archbishop of the witch's cult, representing sloth… Petelgeuse Romanee-conti… desu!"

'A sin archbishop!'

A sin archbishop – one of the leading members of the witch's cult and people who could be considered even more monstrous than the ma-beasts that roamed the lands. That type of being was right in front of him.

Most would be clamouring with fear at the sight of such a person, but Alard was not. All he felt towards this man was rage.

"Fuck off you shitty bastard! Were you the one who killed Francis! Answer me!" Alard cared not for the man's name or identity. He only wished to kill him.

"Ah, your dear 'nii-chan' over there? Ah, it's a shame that I had to desecrate such a beautiful relationship between siblings, but I had to! HE was in the way of the ordeal! The gospel provided to me by HER told me so! Ah, the love of you two was so disrespectfully stamped upon! Love, Love must be restored! If you open your heart and come to love HER then I'm sure you will once again have somebody to repay YOU with their love!"

"I don't give a fuck about all of that, unhand me and let me kill you!" lard completely ignored his ramblings.

"no no no. Doing so would be in direct opposition to the ordeal, even though it is so close! YOU wouldn't dare stand in my way!" He moved expressively and made wide and unpredictable hand gestures as he responded to Alard. It seemed like a strange and foolish act, but the man didn't care. "Ah, I think it's about time we do what we came here for."

Suddenly, a cultist came from the ground and began whispering into the archbishop's ear. He was telling him information about the battle.

"…."

"…they are in the carriages…ah how slothful of them, to hide, cower and run when two brave HEROES protect them with their life."

"…."

"….a knight division is heading our way… it seems we have succeeded in completing the ordeal! Now we must make haste so we can lead them on. You can continue your ever so diligent work."

The man gave an order and then the cultist sunk back into the floor as if it was quicksand. 'What were they doing?'

Alard thought this quietly but then became surprised as he felt the invisible force grab the back of his head and lift it up. Was he going to be killed?

"Watch, this is the result of your actions. Your love had led you nowhere and, in the end, you failed and we succeeded. You truly are… slothful."

'What is he on about…?'

But then he saw what they were doing. He saw cultists surrounding the carriages that the other villages were in and conjuring a fireball in their hands.

"W-Wait! Stop!" Alard screamed out a plea of mercy but to no avail. This was the witches cult. They were cold-hearted and merciless, so such a plea would never reach their ears.

They pushed their hand forward and shot the fireballs outwards at the cluster of carriages, instantly setting them all ablaze. Alard could feel the heat from where he was lying down; it was unbearable. Not the heat, but the emotional pain. Everyone had died. The flame had undoubtedly burnt all of the villagers to a crisp; its scolding heat even felt unbearable from the distance Alard was at.

He was concerned for the villagers, however, his concern for them paled in comparison to a specific person that was also in one of those carriages.

'Feld!'

His son was in one of those carriages – the very same carriages that were just set alight.

Tears leaked from Alard's eyes; he bared his teeth like a beast and began to thrash around within the grip of the sin archbishop. Right now, he was overcome with not just grief and sadness, but also rage that could be felt by those around Alard.

Some cultists staggered backwards as they witnessed the ferocity of Alard. They were being cautious as they knew he was powerful.

However, another cultist approached the sin archbishop, completely fearless. He wasn't alone, however, as they were holding a young boy by the arm and dragging him towards the sin archbishop, Petelgeuse.

"Dad!" Feld cried out towards his father. Somehow he had survived the fire and was now in front of him. He was happy yet worried at the same time. Feld was not only in front of him but also the sin archbishop.

Alard couldn't talk as he felt his ribs would break if he breathed too harshly due to the vice grip of Petelgeuse, but he beamed a soft and reassuring smile to his son – which was not reassuring in this situation in the slightest. He had tried, yet he also couldn't help but realise how hopeless the situation was and his smile began to crack and falter.

Feld looked at his anxious father, and then at his uncle's corpse.

"W-What happened to uncle Francis!?" Feld seemed extremely shaken at the sight of his uncle's twisted corpse. He shuddered; obvious signs of bruising could be seen on Francis' neck and it could be seen that it was crudely snapped.

Alard despaired as his son uttered those words. He thought that the man in front of him would surely do something if he knew Feld was his son. And he was right.

"Ah, a father and son! Such a pure relationship is taking place right before my eyes! A child who had been brought into this world, and a father who brought him into it! However, I see no mother. Is she perhaps dead? Ah, how tragic! YOU are so unfortunate! For your love to be cut short, I can't help but weep! But, how DILIGENT of you! To care for this child on your own, such is the opposite of SLOTH! Ah, my brain trembles~" The sight of the insane man was truly unnerving. He bit down on his fingers as he kept making expressive movements that kept one on edge.

"Now… now, now, now. What shall we do with you, BOY?" The ghastly archbishop came closer to Feld as he leaned down slightly and inched closer to his face. It was so close that Feld could probably smell his breath, which was most likely not pleasant. "Perhaps you could obtain a gospel… well it's up to HER whether YOU get one or not."

"Get away from him you bastard! If you want to do something to my son, you'll have to get through me first you evil cunt!"

"Magnificent! Truly magnificent! Such DILIGENCE and DEDICATION to protect your loved ones! My brain trembles~! Even though you couldn't save everyone else, you still dedicate your heart to protecting your son! Love, yes, love." The man pulled at his face as he seemed to be full to the brim with delight. "You are so lucky and yet and yet and yet, yet, yet… you can't do anything to save him."

The archbishop finished his sentence in a bone-chilling and ominous voice, setting a flag that something bad was about to happen. And yes, the worst thing happened.

Right in front of his eyes, Feld was lifted into the air as his neck was instantly snapped and turned at a near three hundred and sixty degrees.

"N-N-No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Feld! W-Why! I-"

The man began to laugh. His cackling echoed throughout the entire village and was directed towards Alard's suffering.

"This is all your fault! Your diligence was left without having achieved anything! You tried your best but achieved nothing! Your brother, your son, and perhaps even your own wife… YOU killed them! Your love lead you nowhere and now, with my arm, with my hand, with my fingers… you killed your son." his voice slowly trailed off as he made his way closer to Alard. He twisted his back in a strange way in order to hover his head right over Alard's and dripped a tear that landed on the floor next to him.

"fuck you…"

"HMMM!? What was that!?" The archbishop spoke up in a loud voice to mock Alard and push him to speak louder.

"Fuck you! I'll kill you, you bastard! I swear to god I'll kill you right fucking now!" Alard began to thrash around again trying t break out of the archbishop's grasp.

The man once again began to laugh.

"My, my, my, my brain trembles! Kill me if you really can!"

The archbishops hold began to tighten and crush down into Alard. He felt his bones creaking and his skin and muscle compressing; at this rate, he would surely die. But Alard had a plan. He had only just realised it after the man's grip tightened, but what was gripping him really were hands, not some force that felt like so.

So that meant they must be severable, right? He only wished he thought of this before the Archbishop had killed his son… he was so useless.

He had resolved himself to take his own life after he had slaughtered the archbishop as he was no longer tied to this world. He no longer had anyone to protect. He had failed them all.

He began to enact his roughly thought up plan.

Tightening his grip on the short sword that was still in his hand, he flicked it up towards what felt like a hand squeezing on his wrist, and immediately felt relief as he no longer felt the gripping pressure. It had worked.

Taking advantage of his free hand and the stunned archbishop, he swung his blade even more to completely severe every single hand holding him down. One by one, he became more mobile as he regained hold of his own body.

And there goes the last one. He could now stand up.

Alard immediately shot up out of his position and positioned himself into a stance that showed his readiness and eagerness to take o the archbishop. But before he attacked the man, Alard jammed his foot into the ground below and kicked up a cloud of dust and sediment.

He didn't do this to block the archbishop's view – that would be useless – he did it so he could gain sight. Of course, he could already see and his eyes worked perfectly fine, but he was trying to see what couldn't be seen.

He was testing this method to see if he could see the invisible hands. If he could he would gain a major increase in his chances of winning.

He observed the cloud of dust and noticed it. Traces of dirt and dust lingered into the shape of long arms that varied in size with hands on the end. He could see them! The archbishop didn't seem as appeased as him, however.

"Ahhhhh~! You can see them! YOU, YOU, YOU, YOU, somebody who shouldn't be able to can see my 'unseen hands' given to me by HER!" He was obviously enraged; he bit down on his fingers and an even larger amount of hand emerged from him.

Petelgeuse swung his large hands towards Alard in an attempt to kill him for seeing the unseen. However, Alard was now out of the archbishops league of power and could easily crush him like a bug.

Th first unseen hand that approached Alard was swiftly dodged and cut into with the simple short sword within Alard's hand – for a basic iron short sword, its performance was quite surprising.

The next, he jumped over without much effort and kicked down with his foot. Afterwards, he ran along it to close the distance between him and the archbishop. He flung Alard off of the unseen hand, but Alard repositioned himself after landing and dodged yet another one.

It was too easy for Alard, who could move faster than the speed of sound. His attacks were too simple and predictable to ever be able to hit him.

He was now only a few metres away from the man and braced his legs as he was about to leap at him. But before he could, in a desperate act of self-preservation, the archbishop used earth magic to shield himself from Alards blade.

"Ul Dona!"

Large earth walls moved from within the ground to surround and encase the archbishop in a protective layer that would block any and all attacks from any direction. That was if his opponent was a normal person.

Alard climbed to the top of the newly formed dome of earth and positioned his sword in a way that would make contact with it perfectly straight. It would shoot through like a nail through a wooden plank. The reason being that because of his 'divine protection of the war god,' he knew the exact position, placement and force needed to perfectly penetrate anything as long as his weapon could handle it.

And this was just a thin layer of rock; it would be easy to break through.

Alard thrust his sword with as much power as he could muster within his body and broke through. It gave in relatively quickly and the top part of the dome began to crumble inwards and fell on top of the archbishop.

"How, how, how, how can this be! Ah, my brain trembles! Even though I am so close to completing the ordeal… so close to reaching HER love!" The mad man began to ramble in the face of his own defeat. "Yes of course. Fine. Fine! I understand! Let's do this! I'm ready to do this!"

"The time has come to see who is worthy of HER love! HER love! Yes, he-"

"Shut up."

Alard came falling down from on top of the archbishop and calmly, quietly and gently removed the archbishops head from his body with his sword. It was over.

But just then, he saw it within the dust. The movement of unseen hands.

"Why, Why! Something like this should not be enough to stand in-between me and her, and yet and yet and yet, yet, yet, yet, YOU are here!" A strange woman with dishevelled brown hair came from nearby wielding the same unseen hands as Petelgeuse.

'Possession, huh?'

Alard could instantly tell the nature of this woman. She had the same aura, speech pattern, personality and power of that detestable archbishop. That was how Alard came to that conclusion.

He was about to bring his blade to her once again, but he was grabbed by the ankle. He braced himself for his ankle to get crushed into dust but instead, he was… thrown?

He flung through the air at high speeds. This was bad. If he had hit anything at this moment, he could be killed instantly due to the speed he was flung at. At best he might end up with a treatable wound but he would most likely pass out or be too injured to continue the fight. He would be lucky if he hit nothing.

Unfortunately, as his past shows, Alard did not have the best luck. He hit a tree with full force, back first, and snapped the large, thick tree in two. He could end up with a fatal injury or never be able to walk again. But luckily, he could tell that it had not done any major damage, but he still couldn't continue the fight.

But he was in luck.

Before the archbishop could reach him, he observed from a distance as two men clad in armour from head to toe charged at the man with swords in their hands. They were knights of Lugnica. More specifically the ones patrolling the area around the sand dunes.

They came too late. He was the only one left. There was no longer any existence here worth saving.

They already realised the nature of the archbishop's attacks due to the dust that was still lingering and expertly dodged him and moved closer. They didn't dodge as well as Alard since it was only by a hair's breadth, but they still did it nonetheless.

And soon enough, the archbishop fled with the remaining cultists.

Alard had enough of this day. He just wanted to sleep forever, if that was possible. And then, Alard passed out from exhaustion.

However, before he did, he vowed to himself in his mind.

'I will kill him!'

whew, 9k words, and over 5k in one sitting. That's a lot for me lol.

I'm introducing a few characters sooner rather than later, as you can tell by this entire chapter. If people don't like this sort of 'side story' just know that they won' be often and the next chapter will be straight back to everyone's favourite duo, Shaula and Subaru.

Also, if anyone wants to know I'm releasing another chapter to my other fic soon, but not today though… sorry!

Anyway, had the covid vaccine and my arm is aching a ton so this was kinda hard to write lmao. Thanks for reading as always!