Chapter 1
Prologue: The Silver Grim Reaper
It was the dead of night. Two shadowy figures dashed through the city, enveloped in darkness.
The first was a man in priest's robes, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with superhuman agility. However, his face showed signs of desperation.
The man fearfully glanced over his shoulder. There, in pursuit, was the second figure.
Shrouded in darkness and merging with the shadows, this silhouette was hot on the heels of the man in priestly garb.
As the man fled in terror, the cloaked individual maintained a steady demeanor.
The icy blue eyes peeking from beneath the hood were devoid of any feeling, resembling glass marbles, fixated intently on the man. It was a timeless chase of predator versus prey.
And now—the figure in the cloak caught up to the man, who was desperately trying to escape.
Deploying Basis Form, Sword of Resonance, Hjorulfrimr!
As the cloaked individual spoke in a monotone voice, a host of knives appeared behind them.
The blades, suspended in midair, appeared to have a will of their own as they launched a surprise assault on the man from behind.
Damn it! What is this?!
The man cursed as he ran across the rooftops, dodging the barrage of knives without looking back. To stop was to be caught; his only choice was to outrun them.
But just as a knife grazed the man's feet, the cloaked figure whispered a few words.
Freeze! Is!
The blade, which should have missed its target and gotten lodged into the roof, suddenly emitted a faint glow, with strange symbols engraved on the surface of the blade lighting up.
In an instant, a chilling wave radiated from the blade, poised to envelop the man's foot as he propelled himself off the rooftop.
Gah?!
The man sprang into action to escape the cold, but his movement threw him off balance and caused him to stumble, sending him plummeting downward.
However, just before he was about to crash into the ground, the man cried out a name.
My guardian angel. Bestow upon me your power. From Foundation to Victory, lead me to Formation Tsadei Yetzirah.
A whirlwind arose as if to cushion the impact, allowing the man to land safely.
Out of breath, he swiftly sought refuge in a back alley.
Hah . . . hhh . . . ha . . .
Instead, he found a dead-end. Pressed against the wall, he checked his surroundings.
As he steadied his breathing and sharpened his senses, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps echoing on the tiles.
It was unfortunate that this was his first visit to the city.
In contrast, the cloaked figure had a thorough grasp of the local landscape.
After a deafening silence, the pursuer stepped forward.
Anya Nedbayev, Mystic of the Holy See. Resistance is futile. There's no escape.
The mysterious figure calmly advised the man named Anya.
Judging by their slight frame and the pitch of their voice, which was more elevated than that of a man, it appeared that the cloaked individual was a woman.
Silence, heretic of the Empire! Forgetting the reverence for God, you are a blasphemer who seeks to dismantle His works!
Anya bared his teeth and raised his voice in anger.
The hatred in his eyes spoke volumes, clearly seeing the person before him as an enemy of the god he worshiped.
Don't be mistaken. That was just a warning. I'm not looking to engage in conversation with you.
What a coincidence, infidel. The feeling is mutual. The grace of God will never reach the likes of you.
After an irreconcilable exchange of words, the two glared at each other in silence.
A confrontation was inevitable, and the only course of action was clear.
My soul praises the Lord! God, who is great in glory and majesty, who makes the winds His messengers and flames of fire His servants . . .
Anya moved first. As he shouted, the area behind him shimmered like a mirage.
A blaze of light burst through the dark night, revealing a being with pure white wings and a faint halo above its head—an angel as described in the scriptures.
Come forth, my guardian angel. Your name is Aishim! Condemn the blasphemer blocking our path!
As soon as the angel Aishim caught sight of the woman in the cloak, a powerful gust of wind resembling a scythe surged forth, followed by flames that danced upon the edge of that wind.
You're too slow.
The cloaked woman's reaction was swift.
She had started sprinting the moment the angel manifested, dodging the combined assault of fire and wind by a hair's breadth.
Despite Aishim's unyielding attacks, the woman remained undeterred by fear; she dashed back and forth through the narrow alley, steadily closing the gap between them.
You little . . .! Aishim, finish this now!
Realizing his opponent had the geographical advantage, Anya unleashed his secret weapon.
Support me by the exalted name from the foundation, Ye, the messenger of flames and ruler of whirlwinds and fires!
As Anya invoked the sacred words, a storm of fire and wind erupted, engulfing the alley.
Anya, about to deliver a fatal blow, was confident of his victory.
Too late.
What?!
Anya's eyes widened in disbelief as a voice unexpectedly emerged from directly in front of him.
Silently, the mysterious woman had moved closer and suddenly plunged a knife into Anya's throat with precision.
Gah . . . !
Mortally wounded, Anya coughed up blood, but with his last bit of strength, he made one last command to Aishim.
Even if he could not survive, this woman was a danger that needed to be eliminated for the sake of the Holy See.
The desire to take the heretic with him fueled the dying man's actions.
Through Mercy, from Victory to Creation, Kaf Berea. Messenger of the Fire Wind, Ishim Zephaniah!
Understanding his master's will, Aishim summoned a whirlwind of fire and air, enveloping Anya in the fierce assault.
. . .
Unfazed, the cloaked woman pulled the knife from Anya's throat.
A torrent of blood spilled out, staining the surroundings while the cloak absorbed the splatter, marking it with a rich shade of crimson.
Hahaha! Die! Savor the punishment of betraying God!
With the howling firestorm at his back, Anya laughed wildly, cursing in agony.
The woman cast a quick look at Anya, who was spraying blood like a broken sprinkler.
Enough. You're becoming a nuisance.
Disgusted, she threw a strangely shaped knife at Aishim.
The slender, almost needle-like weapon was designed more for stabbing than slicing, impaling the angel's right hand and securing it against the wall as if it were a specimen on display.
As a result, the attack veered off into the sky, painting the cityscape white with torrents of wind and flame.
What . . . ?
Dazed and bewildered, Anya was barely able to produce a deflated cry.
To him, angels were supernatural beings, not something mere humans could interfere with.