A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Flint, a wide plate, and the combination of black powder sounds like today’s most vulgar joke, akin to cartridges and smokeless powder.

However, both the one facing the muzzle and the one aiming it were utterly serious.

A long time ago, there was a massacre.

A witch hunt.

The greatest slaughter perpetrated by the church alongside the cult.

Countless witch hunts were carried out over hundreds of years, resulting in a number of victims beyond counting.

The inquisitors of the holy see were frantically trying to locate witches scattered across the lands. Thus, in modern times, witch hunts are remembered by people as a horrific massacre committed by religion. Even the theologians of the cult accepted it as such.

However, according to recent research in the field of history, ironically, the most zealous class during the witch hunts was neither priests nor inquisitors, but the common people.

To settle personal grudges.

To eliminate rivals.

Because they disliked someone.

To quell the unrest of unstable peasant classes.

Because they coveted wealthy estates too much.

Except for the early witch hunts, those conducted after the mid-stage were generally a huge business and entertainment carried out by the masses and local ruling classes.

Bizarrely, these became legal contract killings and robberies done in the name of the peaceful Heavenly God.

The musket of Catastrophe was a byproduct of that era.

A weapon of vengeance held by a man enraged by the death of his beloved, a eulogy for her spirit wrongfully accused as a witch, and a grand firework display to celebrate the last festival of her life.

It was the brush that painted the world in red with the blood of as many as 400 victims.

It was held in the hand of a saint, aiming at angels.

—

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

—

An outdated musket, so ancient it’s hard to call it old-fashioned.

A weapon entirely different from a flashy revolver or a horizontal double-barrel shotgun.

“Do you know how to handle that?”

Veronica, aiming the musket, responded.

“A little.”

Her pearly white teeth bit into the paper wrap. She pulled the flint and filled the plate with powder.

As the smokeless powder poured out, it smothered the paper and ammunition.

The hands loading the musket moved smoothly. The saint, having finished loading, raised the musket and aimed at the target.

At the end of where the muzzle pointed was an angel wielding twin swords.

“…How dare you.”

The trembling voice of Nathaniel echoed in my head.

In the midst of a tumultuous swirl of emotions changing between rage and shock, a passionate voice erupted from the angel.

“Are you daring to aim that cursed abomination at me, one who claims to be a priest?”

“It seems you can recognize it after all.”

That worn-out musket was not merely an artifact of a bygone era. It was a curse born from the madness of the age that had created countless victims in the name of God.

A weapon steeped in the grudge of a marksman who had allied with the devil to avenge his lover wrongfully accused as a witch.

“The gun that took 389 lives. The shattered soul of the great devil Catastrophe and the soul of the assassin dreaming of revenge are contained within this gun.”

“Catastrophe! The devil of hunting! Why is it that a weapon left behind by that accursed wretch is in your hands?”

The saint, holding the cursed musket, let out a laugh.

“Well, it was stored in the vault of the Holy See. Naturally, it came to my possession.”

The vault of the Holy See. A place known for its long history and utmost secrecy.

It is also where the relics collected by the cult over thousands of years, along with all sorts of cursed items, are kept. Those items infused with evil spirits or filled with deep grudges.

The Holy See buried every unclean thing that exists in the world alongside the most sacred objects, ensuring they never come out into the world.

And one of those heinous items was now in Veronica’s hands.

I looked at her with incredulity.

“How is it in your possession?”

Then Veronica nonchalantly said,

“Well, I snuck it out!”

“…What?”

“A vampire showed up, so they told me to grab some relics, and when I entered the vault, this was just sitting there! It was supposed to be kept securely since it smashed some pope’s head back in the day. A thing that old ain’t just gonna sprout legs and run away. Given it had been stuffed full of all kinds of junk for centuries, the management of the vault is in shambles.”

So, to summarize.

The vault was on the brink of overflowing with newly acquired items, leading to its mismanagement. Seizing the opportunity, she had smuggled out the cursed weapon while avoiding supervision. Am I hearing this right? Why on earth did she decide to pull that out, this crazy girl? Has she truly lost her mind?

Momentarily shocked, I glared at her, but this girl who even treats the Pope like an old man didn’t care.

“Ha! No one can stop me! That’s the limit of church law!”

“This is becoming unbearable… How dare a self-proclaimed servant of God touch the servant of a devil!”

Nathaniel unleashed a rage I had never seen before.

“I’ll cut you down right now!”

The angel, spewing a tangled mess of emotional frustrations, swung his sword at the saint. And then, a massive hammer blocked the path between the angel and the saint.

“Stop it, Nathaniel. Are you going to harm a human right in front of me?”

It was Ramiel.

Gripping the end of the hammer, the knight pushed back against the incoming sword, intimidatingly staring at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel, responding sharply to the one who had restrained him, retorted,

“Are you going to just watch this foal’s sins?”

Upon that reproachful question, Ramiel briefly glanced at Veronica, then turned his head back to Nathaniel.

“It is unpleasant for me to gaze upon that cursed object. I understand your urge to rid her of it instantly. However, we cannot hold her accountable for the sin of sacrilege.”

“You acted so righteous before, yet now you hesitate again, Ramiel. Do you have the audacity to speak of justice?”

“You may call me coward. But do not dare harbor thoughts of judgment. That is not permitted to you or to me.”

“Ramiel. You’ve always been that way. Just like when Rotaryo committed mass murder in the name of God—”

In an instant, thunder shook the chamber, cutting off Nathaniel’s words.

Swish—! A chilling sound sliced through the air. An unexpected assault flew forth from the darkness, as a silver line shone amidst the chaos, intercepting the attack.

The jarring noise of metal clashing erupted as steel met steel. Nathaniel’s gaze wavered toward the saint. Smoke billowed from the muzzle of the musket as Veronica grinned wickedly.

Then, thunk, a round iron ball lodged itself in Nathaniel’s abdomen.

“Ugh…!”

“Nathaniel!”

Lamiel, who had been pushing Nathaniel’s sword away with his hammer, was momentarily stunned. As Nathaniel clutched his stomach in disbelief, he managed to utter,

“How… I should have knocked it away….”

“If a projectile could be so easily blocked, it wouldn’t have been locked away in the vault.”

Veronica, having already settled her aim, added in a mocking tone.

“It’s quite something, indeed. Just as expected from a demon! I trusted it!”

It was clear she spoke out of spite.

But, is she really the saint I know? Ignoring even the older men who could be her father, running around, now she’s even taking and using items sealed away by the Holy See. She is even doing so before an angel.

Is this really the Veronica I know? Perhaps I am unaware of how much deeper the devil’s possession has wormed into her.

Despite my grave concerns, the saint shooting at the angel was, indeed, the Veronica I knew. A sad reality. The future of the cult. Is it alright to remain like this?

“…This, this filthy wench…!”

In a fit of rage, Nathaniel began to swing his twin swords mercilessly. However, like the angel before him, Veronica weaved between the pillars, evading the attacks deftly.

All the while, the angel’s wrath remained cast upon me.

“Reload for me, please!”

“Wh, what?!”

Veronica, having thrown the cursed musket over to me, dashed behind a pillar. Then the angel began swinging his sword at me as he pursued the fleeing Veronica.

An involuntary expletive escaped from my gut.

“Damn it!”

As Veronica leaped over the debris, she looked at me, winking.

“If you don’t want to die, run, Colonel!”

“Hey, you crazy girl—!”

—

The reason Nathaniel was so angry was strikingly simple.

A weapon exists that contains the soul of a demon.

Specifically, the fact that it was produced right before his eyes was the source of his rage, but had he not shown it, he wouldn’t even have known it existed, so it’s basically a catch-22.

Anyway,

The object that riled up the angel was Catastrophe’s signature gun. Veronica had brought it along, and now it was in my hands.

Naturally, it was a given that Nathaniel’s anger would also turn towards me.

“Damn it, you bastard!”

As I sprinted desperately to dodge a blow from behind, I cried out helplessly.

“Why are you taking it out on me, you feathery pigeon! I just received a weapon!”

“Shut up!”

“I swear it’s true!”

In technical terms, this is called “throwing.”

It was a tactic sometimes employed by drug dealers. And the mere possession of drugs is often followed by suspicion and distrust from those around, culminating in a focused assault from law enforcement.

In other words, Veronica had executed the throw. What? The cursed weapon—towards me.

Now I’m fleeing from an enraged angel like a Mexican drug dealer chased by the DEA.

I thought perhaps the iron fortifying blessed ammo borrowed from the Order of the Holy Knights might work, so I shot, but disappointingly, this newly encountered angel was quite nimble, unlike the fat angel from before. His movements were incredibly agile, as if he had maxed out his agility stat, easily evading my shots.

After wasting most of my ammunition in the air, I found myself rolling about, musket tucked under my side.

While inhaling the dust kicked up by the years of accumulated grime and the aftermath of battle.

“Why does this always happen to me?!”

I shouted in frustration, but no one answered. Ramiel was straining to hold back Nathaniel, and Akande had engaged the angel in battle behind the knight.

By the way, Veronica fought back with a revolver.

To be fair, the fact that I was still breathing was mainly thanks to her drawing the angel’s attention.

“I’d have time to shoot if you were reloading this instead! Why am I the one doing this, huh?! Are you trying to medicate me and then just take the medicine back?!”

“Oh, come on, Colonel! You’re not even doing anything!”

Her cowardly retort rendered me speechless.

Anyway.

I had to distract the angel by any means necessary. Since the troubling origin lies with the cursed weapon, it was crucial to take care of that first.

Fortuitously or unfortunately, I might have had luck on my side after I thought I could follow the old ex-Mujahideen veteran who boasted of having sniped some Soviet soldiers back in Afghanistan—he seemed to know how to handle the musket.

Having brought back game with the gun used to hunt wild animals, I offered it as a meal once.

But right now the critical matter was not this—

“Take it quickly!”

While moving from cover to cover and continuing my reloading, I grabbed hold of the musket’s stock and lifted it high.

Veronica darted in like a ghost before promptly snatching it from me.

“Thanks!”

The moment she received the loaded musket, she turned the pillar into cover, leaning against the sturdy sand-colored bricks, taking deep breaths.

Exchanging glances with Veronica, I slightly moved my lips, and she intuitively pressed the stock against her shoulder.

Breath halted.

The sights aligned.

Illuminated by the flashes amidst the darkness, the blades danced in the air wildly, the glowing tattoos and the swung hammer kicking up dust.

-Creak.

– ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ !!

The projectile launched with fierce velocity, slicing through the air.

Nathaniel reacted the moment the flames sparked from the muzzle.

The angel’s figure, which was blocking blows using his sword from Ramiel, momentarily flickered. Suddenly, from a pillar not far away, smoke plumed up, and Nathaniel appeared from the shadows.

The moment Nathaniel returned, the straight-flying projectile suddenly veered. It was like a bullet that curved as if pulled by an unseen force, an effect akin to something from the movies.

“What the hell is that?!”

I gasped in astonishment, eyes wide, and Veronica raised her voice.

“It’s a blessed bullet, duh!”

“Nuh-uh. What kind of bullet bends like that?”

“Like I said, it’s a blessed bullet! How could a normal bullet curve? Is it magically adjusted by my ancestors or something?”

The pursuit battle between the angel and the blessed bullet unfolded. Nathaniel sprinted across the bridges connecting the pillars as the bullet pierced through, hot on its heels.

Boom! One by one, the pillars were pierced like sausages skewered. The speed of the bullet hardly diminished as it passed through the brick.

As Nathaniel deftly evaded while dodging said attacks, the blessed bullet, bursting with holy power, flew passed dangerously close to Nathaniel.

“Geez. That grazed him. I think we’ll have to shoot again since it counted—but how unfortunate, if only it had gone a little more to the side, it could have hit the heart.”

“…You are a saint, right?”

“Is there a more perfect saint in this world? Besides my little sister, of course.”

At this point, I wondered if the Heavenly God had picked the wrong saint. Perhaps it would be wise to report Veronica to the Inquisition right now.

Just then, a sharp object flew past Veronica’s head, the wind pressure lifting her hair, and a line forming on her smooth cheek as blood started to trickle down her chin.

Darting behind cover with Veronica, I heard a loud thunk! something embed itself into the ground. A dagger.

It was Nathaniel’s work as he fell, having broken the bridge below. The throw from more than 60 meters was a feat beyond human capability.

As Nathaniel landed, he drew three daggers from his cloak.

The three daggers fanned out like a folding fan, cutting through the dust clouds. A huge shadow sliced through the air and aimed at the back of Ramiel’s head.

The hammer descended.

-Thwack!

Just before the hammer collided with his skull, Nathaniel rolled on the ground, narrowly escaping.

The ground became contorted in a quake-like manner. Ramiel, gripping the handle of the hammer tightly, began clearing the distorted bricks with his feet while lifting the embedded hammer.

At that moment, a cloud of smoke surged toward the knight like a wisp. The powerful hammer sliced through the air.

A projectile, with its trajectory now altered, continued straight towards Ramiel, but with the force of decaying objects. At that moment, the smoke shot towards the knight.

The moment it connected, the atmosphere thickened as it began to erode the objects that touched it.

“Decay is part of the cycle.”

Despite the passage of time, the objects that maintained their glory and grace turned to dust in an instant.

While trampling over that dust, Nathaniel strode forth.

“Stop wasting time with futile resistance. No being can defy the cycle.”

That was the essence of power.

Though distinct from the knight’s, powers like that cannot be explained with magic or divinity.

However, Ramiel charging forward with the hammer was futile. The smoke that seeped from Nathaniel’s cloak spread everywhere, corroding the ground beneath.

Moments later.

The corroded bricks beneath them began to plummet. Boom! The collapse was unavoidable as we quickly retreated. Thus was born a valley—a gigantic divide between Nathaniel and us.

With a single gesture, the angel reduced the area to ruins. He gazed over at Ramiel, and with a tone of mockery, said:

“You too, Ramiel.”

“…Hmm.”

The knight lowered his hammer and knit his brows, showing the tension in his words. His voice remained calm despite his troubled demeanor.

With nearly a whisper, Ramiel quietly spoke so that only we could hear.

“…Nathaniel is the one presiding over the cycle. Be cautious not to get ensnared in her power; you will decay and turn to dust in the blink of an eye.”

Glancing at Ramiel, I softly asked,

“How can we, then, catch him?”

“It is possible, but it will not be easy.”

At least, the implication was somewhat hopeful.

I hoped he would reveal the method quickly.

Just then, the knight turned his back to us and began to make his request.

“Draw Nathaniel near to me.”

“And then, I’ll personally finish it off.”

—

To lure Nathaniel close to Ramiel.

The plan sounded good, but the question remained—how would we execute it?

“It seems challenging to suggest a bait for the angel. Even if we manage to lure him, I feel he will flee immediately.”

“……”

“Does anyone have a good idea?”

The saint posed the question, but no one answered. It was truly a dismal situation. Any semblance of a plan was extremely difficult to find.

In the end, I was the only one who could produce anything resembling a plan. Although, to call it a ‘plan’ was a stretch in itself.

Veronica frowned slightly at my explanation, as if to question whether this was really the best course of action.

“Are you suggesting that? Right now?”

“There’s no other way.”

“I don’t think that kind of attack will work….”

“But we have to try.”

“…Alright. Let’s go with the Colonel’s plan for now.”

And shortly after.

The assault began.

—

It began with a sudden attack, without warning, amidst the charged silence.

“I’m going in!”

Behaving like a wild beast, Akande, muscles rippling, dashed forward as black tattoos glinted in the light.

Boom, boom, boom! He took precisely three steps and leapt across the rift, overcoming a dark valley that could lead to death.

The moment the tattoos on his calves and heels fizzled out, the ink on his hand flared, charging his fist with might.

He blocked off grabbing hands aimed his way, parried punches directed at his jaw, evaded raised elbows digging into his torso, and as fists meshed, Akande burst into a ferocious grin.

“…!”

Akande’s jovial demeanor faltered. A prickling sensation crawled up his neck. Detecting danger, he kicked the ground, retreating back, but—

Sure enough, ominous smoke roiling like a cloud gathered beneath his feet.

Nathaniel, chasing the retreating Akande, attempted to unleash his power. No, he tried to.

Had it not been for the bone-chilling thunder that shook the arena once more.

The source of that thunder was all too obvious.

“Take this!”

Veronica, with a musket held in one hand, pulled the trigger. A thunderous blast erupted.

Sensing the malevolent aura, Nathaniel tilted his twin swords diagonally.

A sound akin to nails on a chalkboard screeched, and a bullet filled with suppressed grudges lodged deep into his leg.

“Ugh. It evaded the blessed bullet.”

Dodging the trajectory of the bullet with upwards maneuvers, Nathaniel quickly drew out a dagger. The dagger pierced through the dark like a blade sullied by a dark magic, racing toward the saint.

In response, the saint discarded the musket, vaulting onto the debris.

The clash between angel and angel left countless scars on the chamber. Shattered pillars, distorted ground, walls crumbling down.

A small mound formed from the piled ruins. As Veronica leaped from that mound, a pure white glimmer began to coalesce.

A saint.

The miracle that allowed the Holy See to recognize a young girl as a saint and the unrivaled weapon for sealing demons back into hell.

As Veronica soared into the air, she tightened her grip on her revolver, reaching toward the shimmering light.

However,

-Shick!

“…Huh?”

An object sped past her face, so quick it was hard to keep sight of it, scattering the gathered light. Like petals of a flower, the shimmering light began to disperse.

Next came a thud! of something embedding itself, drawing Veronica’s gaze to the disturbance. Nestled between pillars, the object was none other than a dagger.

The angel, having extinguished the light with his throwing weapon, sneered, delivering a scornful remark.

“What a trivial skill.”

Veronica’s expression reddened with embarrassment, feeling foolish for having had her stellar move interrupted.

“No, this is—”

Tap, tap, tap! The revolver engraved with sacred patterns roared to life.

Constructed to confront the unholy and evil, the special rounds permitted explicitly by the Holy See—the bullets forged from the melted cross and holy relics of the cathedral raced toward the angel. As Nathaniel bent forward, the powerful fire grazed over him.

The angel, after having nimbly evaded a bullet with almost balletic finesse, found himself intercepted by Akande, who delivered a kick to the back of Nathaniel’s head.

Nathaniel’s leg shot out in response to block Akande’s oncoming strike, yet he was forced to withdraw due to another volley of gunfire erupting forth.

The battle between the angel and the saint raged fiercely, vowing to destabilize anyone not on their level.

Veronica and Akande pushed Nathaniel with every ounce of strength, while Ramiel remained quietly observing from across the other side, gripping his hammer tightly.

Suddenly, a figure crawling behind the debris whispered, trailing clouds of dust and dirt.

“…Freaking hell.”

Frederick, covered in dust and crumbled debris, cursed as he ignored the collapsing ground beneath him. Carefully, he stepped upon the gradually deteriorating bricks, mindful of each step, having narrowly crossed a sketchy, broken bridge.

Propping himself against a pile of ruins, Frederick cautiously surveyed the battlefield.

Akande’s tattoos illuminated, and the sound of a raging bull-like roar emitted from his chest, barely managing to sidestep through Nathaniel’s agile movements as bullets blessed with divine power swished through the air.

“Geez, they’re fighting ferociously….”

Frederick grasped the contents of the bag he had brought before furtively closing it. Taking several deep breaths, he then proclaimed,

“Everyone, pay attention!”

Bursting up from the rubble, he shouted at the seemingly half-naked tattooed swine, the deeply flawed saint, and the self-proclaimed angel.

No sooner had he prepared to dive down, he began yelling,

“You best get out of the way. This bomb is going to explode!”

On the surface, it sounded like an absurd boast. After all, explosives are often large and cumbersome.

As Nathaniel deflected daggers while throwing punches at Akande, he asked,

“What a ridiculous story. Where’s the bomb you’re talking about?”

An answer to that question arrived quickly.

Not in words but through actions.

Something ignoble struck Nathaniel’s back with a loud thud! The weight behind the impact suggested it was a hefty object.

As Nathaniel reached back to confirm its identity, he felt an oddly grating texture—a burlap sack.

Pulling the object forcefully checked its contents. A particularly unattractive sack swayed back and forth. Inside, uniquely shaped bricks piled high, connected by a thick iron wire.

Veronica, who had slipped past Nathaniel, glanced back at him with a soft comment on her lips.

In the brief moment where Nathaniel’s eyes caught the movement behind him, two simple yet impactful words fell into his ears.

‘You idiot.’

Suddenly, there was light.

The military explosives packed inside the burlap ripped free as they exploded in a magnificent conflagration.

A gale struck fiercely, sending the angel soaring away helplessly. Casting away Nathaniel behind, Akande and Frederick smashed down onto the ground.

With a bull-like charge, they leapt across the vast valley created below.

His hulking form, moving like a flash of lightning, created a shockwave that rang into Ramiel’s breastplate. However, the knight’s gaze remained locked upwards, ignoring the three men.

Nathaniel rose high into the air, in free fall.

As the angel sailed smoothly through the space he’d created, another angel awaited him below.

“……”

With a clink, the gauntlets snugly locked around the handle.

The hammer drew a complete arc, embodying the full moon.

This crude hammer swung down, shattering Nathaniel’s pectoral armor and driving him backward with sheer force. Rough, monstrous, yet splendid.

Ramiel gathered his strength and brought down the hammer, smashing Nathaniel, who had already suffered the shock from the explosion. No matter how angelic he was, it wouldn’t lessen the impact he’d endure.

Nathaniel faltered as the lights dimmed, his figure skewing in midair.

Crumble, rumble, crumble! Pillars shattered one after the other. It took five and a half impacts before Nathaniel’s body finally ceased its savage flight, pinning against the wall.

“You too have grown weaker than I remember, Nathaniel.”

Observing the scene, Ramiel placed his hammer down with a resonating thud.

“Certainly, I have grown even stronger.”