Taming the Evil Saintess

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“Ian the Priest, the room is in chaos!”

“I know.”

Even with Ulrich’s urgent report, Ian continued to watch the situation with his usual smirk.

It had been quite some time since the Hero entered the audience chamber.

The priests were just as clueless about what was happening inside. However, the sporadic sounds of metal clanging and loud booms indicated that things were far from peaceful.

“Do you not understand? The Hero is doing something to the Chief!”

“Didn’t we confiscate all weapons?”

“Still…!”

“Priest Ulrich, there’s no need to panic. Time will sort this out.”

Ulrich was displeased with such a relaxed attitude.

Wasn’t the situation urgent? High Priest Ian had always been this way. He was solely focused on hunting the Possessors and wasn’t particularly cooperative when it came to maintaining equally important doctrines. Hadn’t he even hidden the fact that the Hero was a Possessor from the Chief?

Even if he wanted to respect that intent, there was a limit now.

“I must go in.”

As Ulrich picked up the Holy Sword confiscated from the Hero and tried to enter the Chief’s room, Ian subtly warned him.

“Priest Ulrich, if you take one more step, it will be an excommunication.”

“…”

Excommunication.

In some ways, it was the most terrifying word for the priests of the Church.

But faith is about belief.

“Excommunication is for the Chief and God to decide, not for Ian the Priest to dictate.”

With those words, Ulrich reached for the doorknob, but—

“…Huh?”

All that was visible was a cleanly severed arm just below the wrist.

Blood began to fountain once he realized what had happened.

Screaming in excruciating pain, he crumpled to the ground. Soon after, he felt a cold hand on his nape while the sound of heavy boots approached.

“Priest Ulrich, didn’t I tell you? Silence is a virtue of God. Sometimes, ignorance is a good thing.”

“…Ugh, ugh!”

“Curiosity tends to kill the cat—or rather, the Possessor.”

Ulrich slowly turned his head to find geometric red patterns shimmering.

Evidence of the Demon King’s Army. The shape of Sacrilege.

“…Mark.”

“Seems the leash isn’t long enough. But… you noticed too late.”

Ian smiled broadly, closing his eyes.

“Ulrich, Priest. Excommunication.”

That was his last memory.

*

“Stop! I give up! I give up!”

Contrary to initial expectations, our otherworldly revolutionary lord, Aida, was utterly talentless as a combatant.

Having grabbed the Branch of the World Tree as a makeshift weapon and swung it a few times like a warm-up, she soon lost all will to fight and fell flat on the ground.

For me, who had been planning to jab the Branch into her plump, pudgy stomach, it was just a bit surprising.

“What’s up with you?”

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to provoke the Hero, Aida.”

With that, she stopped her casual speech and kept banging her forehead on the floor, causing me to sigh in frustration.

At first, I thought it was a trap, but there was no mana flowing from her body at all. Of course, neither was there from a Demon.

Still, I had no intention of letting my guard down after barely escaping the self-destruct attack from Dark Mage Richard just a year ago.

I maintained my vigilance, holding the Branch of the World Tree in front of her face as I spoke.

“You, what’s your name… no, I’ll just call you Iosif.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Iosif, show me your Mark now. If you’re messing around… you know what happens, right?”

However, when I commanded him, Iosif shook his head wildly.

“I-I don’t have a Mark!”

“What did you say?”

Frowning, I scrutinized his face.

He didn’t seem to be lying.

But.

“Strip.”

Just to be sure.

Following my command, he started to take off the shabby garment he was wearing. I was so incredulous that I ended up ripping all the buttons off in frustration.

“Where did you get this pathetic rags?”

“It’s, um, handmade.”

“Right. I’m the fool for asking.”

Feeling exasperated, I continued inspecting Iosif’s body, which was now only clad in his underwear.

The sensation of touching a man’s body wasn’t very pleasant.

And just as he had said, there was no Mark on Iosif’s body.

“Are you really a Possessor?”

“I-I am! I just… didn’t receive a Mark…”

He knelt down like a guilty student, and the image reminded me of seeing a Russian soldier captured in the pre-possession social media was hardly just my imagination.

I sighed and said, “Spill everything. Clearly.”

“T-that is…”

Iosif’s story was complicated but straightforward.

After becoming a Possessor, he escaped from the Demon King’s Castle. However, even having settled in the Ice Palace, he could not escape their monsters.

In the end, he reluctantly joined a new religious force called the Purification Church and took the lead in hunting down other escaped Possessors.

“You killed fellow countrymen?”

“…I-I had no choice! If I didn’t, I’d have been killed!”

Iosif cried out in protest, but I merely frowned.

With the knowledge I had from the game, Iosif was already aware of the continent’s situation and what was happening in the Ice Palace. Thus, becoming a new prophet in this barren land must have been easier than pie.

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. So why bring up the Soviets?”

“…I just liked them…”

“…”

“…”

I almost hit him, but restrained myself.

If I misjudged my strength, I might break his jaw.

“Haa…”

I massaged my throbbing forehead and adjusted my grip on the Branch of the World Tree.

The outside was still quiet.

They must not be able to hear the ruckus from inside.

Or perhaps they were aware but chose to ignore it.

If there was a reason for that…

“Then you’re saying you’re with the Demon King’s Army, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“And there’s someone who forced you, a runaway, to hunt down Possessors.”

This was just a reasonable suspicion.

There could be a high-ranking Demon King’s Army member behind it, or perhaps another Possessor was orchestrating things.

So I glared at Iosif with the most threatening expression I could muster.

“You’ve got a puppet master, don’t you?”

“…Y-yes. But if I were to disclose that, I…”

“You’d die. But you know, don’t you? If you don’t tell me now, you’ll die faster by my hand.”

“…Ugh.”

“You must have heard the stories. How many Possessors I’ve hunted down.”

As I brought the Branch of the World Tree to Iosif’s neck, his Adam’s apple bobbed awkwardly.

“…I-I’ll tell you! It’s someone you know as well!”

“So, who is it?”

At my words, Iosif squeezed his eyes shut, then spat it out.

“High Priest Ian!”

“…”

“That man is a Possessor in league with the Demon King’s Army!”

At his words, I lowered the Branch of the World Tree.

Now that I thought about it, it was strange that I hadn’t realized it until now.

Reflecting on it, Ian held unnaturally high authority among the priests of the Purification Church.

It was odd for a High Priest to have the list of Possessors to hunt, represented by Maleficarum, let alone suggesting cooperation with a Hero.

“Is he really a Possessor?”

“Yes. He even has a Mark…”

I thought of Ophelia, who would now be alone in the reception room.

The Branch of the World Tree, her primary weapon, was currently in my hands.

In other words.

“…Ophelia is in danger.”

I quickly knocked Iosif out and turned around.

*

The first three years in this world as a Possessor were filled with pain, resentment, and injustice.

The following year was spent in silence.

And for the last five years, Possessor Ian embraced a new life.

“What a shame, he was a useful friend.”

Ian chuckled bitterly as he looked at the cold corpse of Priest Ulrich with its head severed.

The Mark throbbed, causing him pain, but that was a sensation he regarded as nothing less than a blessing.

“Well then…”

Ian slowly glanced at the audience chamber where the Hero had gone.

By ordinary reasoning, one should enter the room, protect the Chief, and condemn the Hero, but…

“Well, it seems the Church is on its last legs anyway.”

The Purification Church had served its purpose with the arrival of the Hero.

The Hero, as a means to stabilize public order, required no sacrifices, unlike the Church. With just his authority, the Hero had already gained a notorious reputation across the continent.

The Tsar of the Ice Palace would no longer overlook the Church’s misdeeds.

Most importantly.

“All the Possessors have been hunted down.”

The Purification Church’s founding goal of pursuing and exterminating runaway Possessors was practically complete.

There were talks that the Hero Elias had crossed the Erosion Zone with the Resistance Army, but it was hardly something to worry about.

“Let’s head back.”

The five-year dispatch mission was coming to an end.

It was about time for Ian to return as a member of the Demon King’s Army, not as High Priest Ian.

Tightly binding the Maleficarum around his waist, Ian left the Cathedral and headed for the stairs leading to the second floor.

Before returning to the Demon King’s Castle, there was one last thing to do.

Saint Ophelia Meredein.

Her importance to the Demon King’s fixation was something everyone in the Demon King’s Army was aware of.

Some might even label it as obsession; the Demon King showed immense interest in the Saint’s every move.

And currently, the Saint was alone, separated from the Hero.

In other words, she was unprotected.

“A splendid opportunity to achieve merit.”

If he delivered the Saint to the Demon King, would he not be promoted to a high-ranking position in return for his service?

The mere thought sent a thrill through Ian, causing the corners of his mouth to rise involuntarily.

Now, without hiding his Mark, Ian grinned grotesquely and burst open the door to the reception room.

Simultaneously.

Kwa-kwak!

A black dagger shot through the gap in the door, aimed right at Ian’s forehead.

He only had to lean back to narrowly evade it.

“Tch.”

“Did you notice?”

“How could I not see it with you reeking of mana?”

The Saint wore a rotten smile, turning the dagger around in her hand.

With a sigh, Ian extended his hand.

“It’s useless. Don’t resist, just come quietly with me.”

“Hell no.”

Of course, even Ian had to feel slightly taken aback by the Saint’s harsh language.

The Ophelia he knew from the game was never like this.

But that was all just a trivial distortion.

Ian smiled wickedly as he reached for the Mark.

“The Demon King is waiting for you.”

“Tell that Demon King to shove it.”

“Haha. What an interesting girl you are.”

Just how far could her petty pride take her? Ian became curious.

A sadistic urge bubbled within him.

Placing his hand on the Maleficarum, preparing to unleash a dark magic that had never been seen before, Ian suddenly…

“…”

Through instinct, he sensed that something was going terribly wrong.

He hurriedly retreated.

In the next moment, an enormous shockwave rattled his body.

Kwa-kwak!

Sunlight was overshadowed by a massive silhouette crashing through the now-ripped ceiling of the Cathedral.

“…What the hell?”

Ian looked up blankly, halting his thoughts.

It was so unbelievable that he doubted whether the scene he was witnessing was real.

He murmured.

“A dragon?”

A pitch-black dragon, baring its fangs, was growling at Ian.

Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them, the creature looming before him was undoubtedly a dragon—the mightiest breed, the Black Dragon.

“…”

A situation overwhelming with panic.

But it didn’t end there.

The Saint, Ophelia, stared at the dragon, blinked a few times, and then said.

“Could it be… Blackie?”

In response, the dragon slightly tilted its head as if to affirm.