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Chapter 204
Chapter 204
A warrior mastering both Sacred Arts and Combat Techniques did not simply gain the strength of 1+1.
Sacred Power itself was a force of Mystique, manifesting through faith, devotion, and steadfast prayer to the divine. Unlike Combat Techniques, which put strain on the body, Sacred Arts were, in a sense, power without cost.
A tremendous strength granted purely by believing in the gods.
Thus, a knight who wielded Sacred Arts was not just a knight—they were a warrior who could use magic.
In ancient times, knights like these were often referred to as Magic Swordsmen.
Of course, calling them that in this era would make the Holy Knights furious, but the name itself spoke volumes about their power.
Indeed, they were warriors who could stand toe-to-toe even with Galahad’s Knights, the strongest order in the kingdom.
…At least, they were supposed to be.
Crunch!
“Gaaaah!”
Thud!
“Guhh—!”
Each time the three-meter-long whip—or rather, a human body—was swung, the Holy Knights’ spines bent at unnatural angles, their bodies sent tumbling across the ground.
Some were lucky enough to merely fall, while others crashed into the dirt with their skulls split open, their blood seeping into the earth.
They were learning a lesson they never wanted to know.
That a human body was far sturdier than they had ever imagined.
That it could be wielded as a weapon.
And that, at this moment, they were utterly powerless.
It wasn’t that the Holy Knights were weak.
It was just that—
‘M-My body is… so heavy…!’
‘Why is my Sacred Power… No, why does my body feel this sluggish!?’
They couldn’t exert their usual strength.
It was like trying to move underwater—an unbearable pressure weighed them down, rendering their bodies unresponsive.
It felt as though massive iron weights had been shackled to their wrists and ankles.
Even their Sacred Arts, which should have flowed effortlessly, felt nearly impossible to cast.
And then—
“—The Sacred Arts you use… I hear you need a prayer chant before you can activate them, don’t you?”
The enemy… actually explained why they were struggling.
A humiliating kindness, if there ever was one.
“The reason Inquisitors and Holy Knights move in groups is so their comrades can buy them time to recite their prayers. If they can’t pray, they can’t use their power. I heard that the best way to fight a Sacred Arts user is to simply not let them pray.”
Whoooosh!
“I had my doubts at first, but turns out it was true.”
Equivalent Exchange.
There was no such thing as power without cost.
No strength existed without some kind of price.
Even Sacred Arts were no exception—if the requirements weren’t met, the power simply wouldn’t activate.
“Y-You…! What the hell are you doing to us?!”
The Holy Knights howled in frustration.
They could accept that the enemy knew about Sacred Arts.
But how was he suppressing them like this?
Their confusion spiraled into panic.
However—
“Hm… looks like there are still about forty of you left. Damn, you lunatics really came in bulk, huh?”
Ihan ignored their questions entirely.
He simply continued swinging his whip—or rather, the unconscious body of Victor Volv—as the knights were sent crashing into the dirt, one after another.
Splatter!
Blood sprayed across the ground.
‘Huh. I really can’t see them.’
If there was one thing to correct in the Holy Knights’ assumptions—
It was that Ihan truly couldn’t see or hear them.
Whatever Sacred Art they were using, it erased their presence completely.
No sight, no sound, no scent—nothing.
Ordinary people, unless they had trained in Sacred or Arcane magic, wouldn’t even be able to perceive them.
So what did Ihan do?
‘Ah, over here?’
He simply swung at where they felt like they would be.
And by sheer luck—
Crunch!
—he had a 90% hit rate.
‘That’s the nineteenth one.’
His fists and feet connected with a familiar, satisfying impact—like reeling in a fish that had taken the bait.
Of course, even luck had its limits.
Which was why Ihan decided to cheat.
“—Roar!”
Lion’s Roar.
A powerful war cry, laced with his spirit, rippled through the forest.
Unlike his usual ear-splitting battle shouts, this was a more subtle application of the technique—spreading his presence over the entire area.
‘That spear-wielding bastard actually gave me a good idea.’
He had seen a spearman control an entire battlefield by spreading his killing intent.
Ihan didn’t have that kind of overwhelming bloodlust, but what he did have was honed, matured spirit.
By scattering his spirit throughout the forest, he could sense the enemies hidden within.
It also served another purpose—
Disrupting their concentration.
If they couldn’t focus, they couldn’t pray.
And if they couldn’t pray, they couldn’t use Sacred Arts.
‘It even works like echolocation.’
The lingering echoes of his Lion’s Roar bounced through the forest, subtly revealing his enemies’ positions and numbers.
If anyone had been watching, they might have asked—how the hell can a human detect soundwaves like that?
And Ihan would have simply replied—
“It just works.”
Thud!
With zero hesitation, he lashed out.
Now that he had fully grasped their movements, he no longer needed the human whip.
He used his fists instead.
His mastery of echolocation had grown to the point where tracking their movements was effortless.
His punches flew forward like a boxer shadowboxing in the dark.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Never stopping, stepping forward, his fists moving faster and faster.
Crack!
A left hook shattered a knight’s shield and slammed into his face.
Crunch!
Another one thought he had blocked, but his shield only crumpled before an uppercut crushed his jaw.
Boom!
A body blow, delivered with precise control, pierced through a knight’s armor and sent his insides reeling.
If the armor hadn’t been there, his guts would have ruptured on the spot.
One after another—
Every attack landed cleanly.
Each swing left behind blood, shattered bones, and the sound of ruptured flesh.
Swords and spears were broken.
Shields crumpled under sheer force.
One punch.
One kill.
Before long, the number of knights rushing at him dwindled.
Ihan finally paused, shaking the blood off his fists.
“This is the power of boxing, you medieval bastards.”
…Well, to be fair, it wasn’t boxing.
It was just his instinctual combat style.
But if it works, it works.
And then—
“How long do you plan to just stand there watching?”
-……
“Yeah, I’m talking to you. You, with the giant shield.”
-!?
“You’re the strongest one here, aren’t you? What, are you just gonna wait until everyone else drops first?”
The unseen opponent stirred.
Even without seeing his face, Ihan could feel the tension rising.
He was hesitating—his allies clearly trying to hold him back.
‘So… that guy’s the caster of the invisibility Sacred Art, huh?’
From his lack of movement, Ihan could make two reasonable guesses:
One—this knight was responsible for the Sacred Art concealing their presence.
Two—he was someone important.
In that case…
“Thanks for making it so damn obvious.”
Ihan nudged a fallen warhammer with his foot, lifting it into the air.
Then, with the form of a football kicker—
He swung.
[Solar Lance.]
It might not pierce the sun.
But a castle wall?
That’d be easy.
***
“—Everyone, retreat immediately!”
Erhin screamed the order as he raised his massive shield.
A terrifying force bore down on him, and without hesitation, he activated a Sacred Art.
[Grand Sacred Art—Indomitable Fortress.]
A technique said to have withstood even the onslaught of a Grand Demon in ages past.
Normally, this was a Grand Sacred Art—one that required at least ten knights to manifest. But right now, there was no time to seek aid from his comrades.
The only reason he had managed to complete his prayer chant at all was because the others had bought him precious seconds with their lives.
“Ghhhrrrgghhh!!”
Erhin de Lohengrin.
A man considered one of the kingdom’s most promising talents.
Nicknamed the White Swan of Lohengrin, he was always composed, always dignified.
But right now, there was no composure. No dignity.
Right now, he was suffocating.
The side effects of casting a Grand Sacred Art alone were one thing—but the sheer force pressing down on him was crushing his very body.
His eyes were bloodshot.
His gums bled.
His clenched teeth cracked.
His skin tore apart.
For a moment—less than half a second—he blacked out.
But even then, even as his consciousness flickered, he held onto one thought.
‘I will block this. No matter what. I will never be breached.’
Sacred Arts were the power of faith.
The stronger one’s faith—the stronger one’s belief—the greater the Sacred Art’s power.
So Erhin refused to doubt.
He believed with absolute certainty.
That he was an unbreakable fortress.
That he would stand, impregnable, before any attack.
That he would never, ever be—
“—Oh? So that’s what you look like.”
“…?”
“Damn. You’ve got that ‘makes-women-cry’ kind of face. Sucks for you, though. You lost both arms.”
“….”
“Hey, can you regrow those with Sacred Arts? No, really, I’m genuinely curious.”
“Ghhh…!”
Erhin could not answer.
He could only stare.
At his shattered, discarded shield.
At the empty spaces where his arms should have been.
Only then did he finally, fully process—
“AaaaAAAAAGGGHHH—!”
—the searing, mind-breaking pain.
The proud wings of the White Swan—
No.
His very faith—
Had been shattered.
The Indomitable Fortress had failed to stop the Solar Lance.
***
Or rather, barely five minutes had passed since the battle ended.
Yet by the time they arrived—
“…Haaah… Haaah… Haaah…”
It was already over.
“Oh? You guys are here?”
Derrick and Roen.
The two young men could barely respond to their master’s casual greeting.
Instead, they surveyed the battlefield in stunned silence.
Rustle…
Bodies littered the ground.
Some were twisted at unnatural angles.
Others lay in pools of their own blood, their armor shattered.
Some had been bent completely in half, barely clinging to life.
These weren’t common thugs.
They were Holy Knights—revered warriors whose name carried weight even in the kingdom.
And yet, they had been reduced to this.
“…Fifty Holy Knights…”
“……”
To be precise, fifty-two.
Seventy percent of the Holy Order’s elite force had been mobilized.
Their defeat was not just a loss.
It was annihilation.
But what was truly beyond comprehension—
Was that one man had done this.
It wasn’t as if the Holy Knights were weak.
So how…?
“Without their Sacred Arts, they’re about as strong as those White Cat bastards. Honestly, kinda disappointing.”
“You mean… the Sacred Arts?”
“Yeah. I dunno if they just suck without it or if they’ve gotten so reliant on it that they’ve neglected everything else.”
Hell, even those spoiled noble brats might be stronger.
It was an honest review from their instructor.
But to the two young men, his tone was absurdly casual—as if he were reviewing a meal at a restaurant.
And then—
Something even more absurd happened.
“…But Sacred Arts can’t be blocked like that. How did you…?”
“Oh, just like this.”
Whoosh!
He casually demonstrated—
“……”
“See? Just like tha—huh? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“…Because this is insane. How is that even—”
“—D-Dragon Fear…!”
“?”
“Of course…! You—you’re the White Lion of Pendragon! You must have the Dragon’s Blood! That’s why the Sacred Arts didn’t—Damn it! We should have been more careful…!”
“???”
Erhin, armless and babbling through the pain.
Derrick and Roen exchanged glances.
…Was he out of his damn mind?
What the hell was he even talking about?
And then—
“Damn nobles. Always obsessed with bloodlines.”
“…Why are you looking at me?”
“You’re a noble too, aren’t you?”
“……Once again.”
Please. Stop with the noble hate.
…It’s terrifying.