The Grim Reaper and The Saint

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.

However, the blade hurled by the lady in front of him ensnared the angel, immobilizing it.

That was the Divine Armament 'The Nail of Helena,' embedded with fragments of the very nails that crucified the man you call the 'Savior.' If you must crucify an angel, what more fitting tool could there be?

The nails that were used to crucify the man they call the Savior.

The enduring relic explained the remarkable phenomenon that unfolded in front of Anya. As his consciousness began to fade, he reflected on the experience.

Who exactly was the person he was fighting?

Realizing his defeat, Anya collapsed to the ground, his knees buckling under him. As he fell, the crucified angel on the wall began to fade away like a mist.

As the previous attack missed its mark high above, a whirlwind stirred, dislodging the hood that concealed the woman's identity, exposing her face. Anya was surprised to see that she was much younger than he had anticipated.

Her features were as intricate as those of an antique doll; her beauty seemed almost inhuman.

She appeared to be in her early to mid-teens and could be described as a young girl.

Silver strands of hair concealed beneath the hood fluttered in the wind, bathing in the moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the alleyway.

The contrast of the blood-soaked street and her shimmering silver hair was breathtakingly beautiful. As she nonchalantly brushed the blood from her cheek, her snow-white complexion seemed even more luminous.

However, Anya recognized her—not by sight, but by sound.

It's you . . . You're the Grim Reaper . . .

As his consciousness waned, Anya stammered her name.

In hushed tones, the priests shared tales about the rumored silver-haired Mystic Hunter, a fearsome imperial hound who had already slain many of his compatriots despite her young age.

With a mix of awe and disdain, they referred to her as the Grim Reaper.

The Grim Reaper, huh . . . ? Yes, a fitting moniker indeed.

The girl known as the Grim Reaper muttered softly, gazing indifferently at the lifeless Anya. She crouched down to check his pulse, confirming his death, and pulled out a device from her pocket to make a call. Without a trace of respect or mourning for her fallen opponent, she turned on her heel and left the alley.

The year was 1930 of the Holy Era. Tanks trampled infantry, and fighters ruled the skies in an era of blood and gunpowder.

Behind the dazzling advancement of technology, unseen forces skirmished on the battlefields.

Mystics: Guardian angels dwelled within them, performing feats beyond human comprehension.

Mages: The masters of arcane arts, manipulating supernatural phenomena.

Though their skills varied, both were shadowy forces wielding extraordinary powers, surpassing mankind’s greatest weapons.

These two clandestine groups had quietly shaped history.

And now, in Europe, two nations at the heart of ongoing conflicts continue to smolder with war.

The Theocracy of Vaticanus, with the Church of Agnes as its state religion, commanded Mystics and Saints.

The military superpower of the Grossreich Empire, boasted elite troops of Mages.

These nations had been locked in a prolonged standoff, their unseen wars becoming a quagmire.

Even today, Mystics and Mages secretly clashed, the latest skirmish just a glimpse of their ongoing strife. It was an era marked by iron, fire, magic, and angels converging.

In such a cruel world, the girl known as the Grim Reaper continued to fulfill the role imposed on her.

I kill Mystics. It's revenge, the only tribute I can offer her.

The girl muttered to herself as a sliver of moonlight peeked through the clouds.

Her pristine silver hair and pale skin, stained with fresh blood, presented a sight befitting the name Grim Reaper.

1

In the capital of the Grossreich Empire, Germania, known as the glorious Third Empire, a girl strode through the corridors of the Imperial Guard headquarters.

Her skin, flawless as untouched snow, and her eyes, the color of lapis lazuli, hinted at a graceful beauty.

Her silver hair, as fine as silk threads, swayed with each step, catching the sunlight streaming through the windows and sparkling.

With her delicate figure barely reaching 5 feet 2 inches, she could easily be mistaken for a schoolgirl.

Yet, the black military uniform she wore seemed to be at odds with her youthful appearance.

As the girl walked down the corridor, the soldiers that she passed immediately greeted her with a rigid salute.

Given the uniform she donned, it was an instinctive response, as it identified her as a person of significance to the ordinary troops.

She belonged to the Special Forces of the Guards, which was directly under the command of the emperor.

Sigh . . . No matter how many times I come here, I never get used to it.

The girl muttered softly as she glanced at the soldiers fearfully saluting her.

To them, the Imperial Guard was both a revered and feared entity, akin to a group of formidable demons, especially if they knew the meaning of the crest on her armband.

Reaching the office she was headed for, the girl knocked on the solidly built door.

General Beiregu, Lieutenant Mary Greemnir reporting as requested.

Excellent. Come in.

When the girl known as Mary heard the voice from beyond the door, she opened it and entered the office.

The person seated in front of an imposing oak desk, upon seeing Mary enter, softened her demeanor a bit and greeted her warmly.

Ah, my dear Mary. Sorry for calling you out like this.

If one were to describe the person in front of her, it would be a woman exuding queen-like dignity and beauty.

Her fiery red hair flowed gracefully, and her flawless nose along with her almond-shaped eyes were balanced as if meticulously sculpted. Her beauty was breathtaking, yet the leather eyepatch covering her right eye and the white military attire, reserved for officers, lent an intimidating air to her presence.

The woman crafted a smile with her well-shaped lips, but the devilishly strong light in her eyes was not smiling.

With a mixture of curiosity and ruthlessness in her gaze, Mary sighed softly as she approached the desk.

The emblem on the woman's cap and eyepatch, a serpent biting its own tail, signified the Last Battalion, the pride of the Imperial Army, specifically the 39th Magic Division, otherwise known as the Longinus Dreizehn.

The formidable woman who stood at the pinnacle of the empire's Mages was called Beybaron Beiregu.

It's just . . . I've completed the mission and come to report.

Mary answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

Her tone was no longer formal but conversational, indicating a close connection between the two.

For Mary, Beybaron was not only her superior but also a guardian in the absence of any family.

In a sense, their relationship could be seen as almost familial, though paradoxically, Beybaron did not intend to be a guardian, nor did Mary depend on her, as she was self-sufficient.

Choosing the life of an imperial soldier might be seen as an ironic outcome.

As always, a lackluster response. But never mind that. Let's hear this report of yours.

Lackluster is fine. About last night's mission . . .

Prompted by Beybaron, who shrugged her shoulders in an exasperated manner, Mary began detailing the combat events of the previous night.

Splendid. As expected from our empire's esteemed Mage, wouldn’t you say?

Beybaron listened intently to the report, clapping her hands theatrically at the end.

In the suffocating atmosphere, the solitary noise that rang out was the sound of Beybaron’s applause.

Don't mock me.

Mary responded dryly, to which Beybaron deepened her smile cheerfully.

It wasn't in jest. The Mystics of the Theocracy are causing trouble in every country. When a single person can take down tanks and fighter jets, the enormous military spending seems pointless. It’s only because of these Mystics that a country, which otherwise lacks considerable military power, can deter other dominant forces.

As she listened to Beybaron, Mary reflected on the events of last night.

Beings that are not of this world; incarnations of mystery. In our time, so-called lost Mystics.

Essentially, they were angels, guardian angels, or celestial messengers.

Mary had faced such extraordinary beings and returned from her missions victorious.

Every human possesses the latent ability to rise to a higher spiritual plane. We all have a metaphysical awareness within us. This innate super-sensory perception, which resides deep within our souls, is what they refer to as the divine, and those who embody it are seen as celestial beings.

Beybaron listened closely before responding.

Indeed, but these are the words of our Doctor, you know.

Beybaron said it with a light, dismissive laugh.

In the state religion of the Theocracy, known as Agnes, it was said that every individual was accompanied by a guardian angel from birth. The Mystics had mastered the ability to harness this inherent power at will, calling it 'Angel Arts.' Beybaron continued with a meaningful smile.

In the Kabbalistic worldview, there are four layers of existence: Atziluth, the Archetypal World ruled by God; Berea, the Creative World governed by the archangels; Yetzirah, the Formative World overseen by angels; and Assiah, the Material World where humans dwell. Humans are born and remain in the Material World.

However, Mystics, through the intercession of their guardian angels, can ascend from the Material World to the highest realm of Atziluth, striving to become the perfect being, or Adam Kadmon. That's Angel Arts. It's like they've never heard the story of Icarus.

As Beybaron spoke eloquently, Mary quietly murmured to herself, her face revealing nothing of her feelings.

The concept of the four layers of the world also applied to the degree of mastery of the Mystics.

The first degree was Archetype; the second, Creation; the third, Formation; and the fourth was known as Activity.

As one ascended in mastery, the angelic powers that could be wielded evolved, revealing more potent energies at higher levels.

The opponent Mary had faced, Anya, belonged to the second degree, Creation.

Just yesterday, Anya had created fire and wind from nothing, demonstrating the Mystics' use of Angle Art to manifest various supernatural phenomena. Their combat abilities were monstrous, capable of destroying tanks and downing fighter jets single-handedly.

Only we, the Mages—and in particular the Imperial Army's 39th Magic Division—can stand against Mystics. Only our nation’s elite are capable of dealing with these angels.

Beybaron spread her arms in a theatrical gesture, but Mary just sighed silently.

Just as Mystics wielded angelic powers to exert extraordinary forces, Mages also used a force called magical power to manipulate supernatural phenomena.

The Empire had long studied and developed numerous spells and Mages to counter the Mystics.

Beybaron headed the Imperial Army's 39th Magic Division, also known as the Longinus Dreizehn. It was a special forces unit specializing in magic and comprising individuals skilled in magic and related knowledge, specifically tasked with countering Mystics within the Imperial Army.

And then there's you, Lieutenant Mary Greemnir. The offspring of the Human-God Project, an agent feared both domestically and internationally, and known as the Grim Reaper. When it comes to missions involving Mystics, there’s no one more suited than you. Truly impressive! I have high expectations for you.

Ignoring Mary's silent protest, Beybaron's smile deepened.

Our Grossreich Empire and the Theocracy of Vaticanus have engaged in military confrontations numerous times throughout history. Though the general public might perceive these as minor skirmishes between neighboring nations, the reality is far more complex.

Beybaron glanced at a map on the wall, her gaze resting briefly on the two nations marked on it, and smiled faintly.

The Theocracy of Vaticanus, a nation with the Agnes Religion as its official faith, had been engaged in prolonged conflict with the militaristic Grossreich Empire. Although the public narrative portrayed a standoff between a military regime and a religious state, the battles persisted hidden from view.

The covert struggles between their Mystics and our Mages, both masters of supernatural principles, have continued without interruption. Even now, the world is never free from warfare. Isn't that a lamentable state of affairs?

Mystics and Mages. One uses Angel Arts, the other sorcery. These beings, far beyond human understanding, have long operated behind the scenes of history. The recent battle was merely a glimpse of this ongoing conflict.

Beybaron asked her question in a theatrical tone, but Mary responded with indifference.

Not interested. If you don't have anything else, I'm leaving.

Hold on, don't be so hasty. Among all the Mages of our empire, none harbor as much hatred for the Mystics as you do. Truly, you are worthy of the title Grim Reaper.

Beybaron picked up a document from her desk, perusing its contents.

Beybaron smiled thinly, to which Mary responded in a matter-of-fact tone.

If you're looking for idle banter, find a Doctor or Professor. I don't have time to waste.

It's been a while since we last met, yet you're quite cold. Very well, let's get into why you are here then.

Suppressing a chuckle at Mary's reaction, Beybaron finally broached the main topic.

Despite the seemingly tense atmosphere, such exchanges were routine for the pair.

I summoned you to discuss nothing other than your next mission.

Beybaron widened her smile and laid another document in front of Mary.

The content that caught Mary's eye made her involuntarily catch her breath.

A report from our intelligence agents claims the following: The Pope has fallen ill, and there's a possibility of his demise. Of course, this information has not been publicly disclosed by the Holy See.

While reading the report from the intelligence agent, Beybaron continued.

The Pope was the head of the Holy See, the administrative body of the Theocracy, and the spiritual leader of the Agnes believers.

In the Theocracy of Vaticanus, the Pope was equivalent to the head of state.

If the leader of a nation fell ill, this would be essential information for the empire.

I've heard that the current Pope has always been frail . . .

Indeed. However, this time it seems to be somewhat different. Although he has been bedridden several times, his condition appears to be quite severe, and there’s a possibility that he might pass away soon.

Beybaron shrugged her shoulders.

But that's merely a possibility.

she added.

Given the current deadlock with our empire, there's no chance to hold a papal election. Is that what you're suggesting?

Hearing Mary’s words, Beybaron smiled and gave a small nod.

At present, the Empire and Theocracy were maintaining a precarious equilibrium of power by keeping each other in check, but this balance was on thin ice.

The Theocracy has been plagued by political strife among the cardinals for years. The Holy See selected a legitimate heir with a bloodline tracing back to the first Pope. There's a Japanese proverb that states, ‘Even a sardine's head can be an object of devotion,’ and indeed, the appointed figurehead has managed to bring some stability to the ongoing disputes, as the Holy See had anticipated. Sadly, governance gained through blood is also lost through blood.

So, if the current Pope, elevated because of his lineage, were to die, internal conflicts would erupt again. Of course, the empire wouldn’t miss such a perfect opportunity. Am I right?

As Mary grasped the intent of the conversation and asked for confirmation, Beybaron smiled again and nodded.

Should the Theocracy show any weakness, the empire would seize the opportunity to launch an offensive.

They both knew that, which is why even if the current Pope died, the state wouldn't easily be able to elect a new one.

In that case, the Theocracy might have to make a painful decision soon. That's where the Saint comes into play.

Beybaron did not miss the slight twitch in Mary's face as soon as the word Saint was mentioned. Watching her expression visibly tense, Beybaron smirked.

Magic is essentially just an extension of technology that can be reproduced in the modern age. We Mages manipulate supernatural phenomena using magical power, but while we can heal wounds, we can't prolong the lives of the dead. Of course, the same applies to the Theocracy’s Mystical practitioners, but there are exceptions to everything.

As an example, one could imagine using magic or Angel Arts to start a fire.

Normally, one would need to prepare tools like a fuel source and the means to start a fire, then follow the proper procedures to ignite it.

However, when the appropriate magical power and spell formulas were in place, the process of igniting a flame became much much easier.

Humans possess the technology to start fires, regardless of the means or process.

That was the underlying assumption.

So until humans established the technology to resurrect the dead, magic could heal wounds but not bring people back to life. However, the miracles of the Saints were different, as Beybaron's explanation suggested.

The true nature of the Saint is unknown, but the powers they wield are unlike Angel Arts or magic. While those are merely techniques, the miracles of the Holy Woman exist simply because they do. There are certain limitations and laws they follow, but they are literally nothing short of miracles. If they declare it so, even the dead may be resurrected. That's truly fascinating.

The Saint was an entity that disregarded all notions of reality and had the power to manifest phenomena at will.

The powers they wielded were rightly called miracles.

It was said that they could resurrect the dead.

It was said they received prophecies.

It was said they led armies.

It was said they subdued angels.

It was said they created sanctuaries.

There are such Saints in the world, ten of them known, and most of them belong to the Theocracy. The number of Holy Women a country possesses is a status symbol of national power, and despite falling behind in military and technological capabilities, the Theocracy has managed to intimidate other major powers.

Among them, the one becoming crucial now is the so-called Saint of God's Lamb. The miracle she possesses is the power to resurrect the dead. Essentially, she governs resurrection.

The Saint of God's Lamb . . .

The moment Beybaron uttered those words, Mary's heart began to race.

Normally, she was quite restrained when it came to expressing her feelings, so it was surprising to see her so unsettled; however, Beybaron found pleasure in her response, contorting her lips into a crooked smile.

This Saint's power is a nuisance for those of us who wish to take advantage of the Pope's demise. However, it is also a capability we would very much like to have for ourselves.

Unconsciously, Mary clenched her fists tightly as she listened intently.

The beads of sweat felt unpleasant, but she swallowed hard and tried to steady her pounding heart as she braced herself for what would come next.

Thus, the Imperial Army has decided to attempt the respawn by assassinating the Saint. Lieutenant Mary Greemnir, I order you to assassinate the Saint of God's Lamb. Any objections?

The testing question from Beybaron made Mary stiffen.

Each Saint was bestowed with a unique miracle, and no two Saints shared the same miracle.

Additionally, the total number of Saints was consistently kept at 10. When a Saint died, a new one emerged. This mechanism was known as respawn, and since the new Saint could only manifest in the Theocracy of Vaticanus and certain regions of the empire, both nations raced to secure the new Saint as soon as the death of an existing one was confirmed. Beybaron devised a plan to exploit this respawn mechanism, aiming to weaken the enemy's power by killing their Saint and hoping for a respawn on their territory.

What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you have reservations about this?

Beybaron questioned Mary as she remained silent, her lips shut tight.

Beybaron's expression was one of delight, reminiscent of a predator toying with its prey.

No, it's not like that.

Ah, but of course, I was not considerate enough. After all, you once . . .

Shut up, just be quiet.

Mary cut off Beybaron's taunting with a fierce declaration.

Her expression was an intricate mix of anger and sadness, her tightly clenched fist trembling slightly.

I can't allow anyone to use such a power.

As she watched Mary’s resolve, Beybaron rubbed her chin.

Hmm.

Narrowing her eyes, Beybaron waited for her next words.

Her eyes scrutinized her, as if she was appraising her.

I'll take the mission.

Excellent. I knew you’d accept.

Beybaron nodded in satisfaction at Mary’s determination and handed her some additional documents.

Saint Agnus Dei Academy. That’s the current school where the Saint of God's Lamb is enrolled. This mission will require you to infiltrate the enemy's stronghold.

Mary scanned through the papers, taking in their contents.

Saint Agnus Dei Academy was a boarding school located on the southern edge of the Papal States in the Pelage Archipelago.

The Pelage Archipelago consisted of three main islands: Lopadusa, Lampione, and Argusa.

Saint Agnus Dei Academy was located on Lopadusa, the largest island among them.

The journey from the mainland of the Theocracy required about ten hours via ferry, and the primary means of reaching it was by sea.

At first glance, choosing an inconveniently remote location seemed pointless, but sometimes that inconvenience could become a significant advantage.

This academy is attended primarily by the children of the Holy See and their affiliates. It’s essentially a designated facility for relocating key people from the mainland’s war zones.

Though the war was currently staying near the borders, there was no telling when the Empire might reach the central regions.

Thus, the Holy See decided that it would be prudent to initiate an evacuation before the war escalated and conditions deteriorated.

In other words, the academy served the role of seclusion and protection from the war.

However, our target is not here. There’s a hidden facility on Argusa, about an hour by boat from Lopadusa.

Beybaron placed a map of the Pelage Archipelago on the desk, circling the area around Argusa Island with her pen.

Despite being known to the general public as an uninhabited island designated as a nature reserve, that was just a façade.

It was an area that seemed to be off-limits to the public, but in reality, it was not.

The second campus of Saint Agnus Dei Academy serves as a special school and training facility for Mystic candidates. It’s an oceanic birdcage the Theocracy prepared for hiding their Saints.

As Mary continued reading the documents, she understood what Beybaron meant by a birdcage.

The island of Argusa was enveloped in magical barriers that obscured its true nature and deterred outsiders, leading many to perceive it as a deserted island. Its geographical features also made it hard to invade, establishing it as a natural fortress.

The only way to reach the island was by ferry from Lopadusa’s port. This, too, was under strict control by the Theocracy, and only those with permission could board. It was fortified both physically and magically, making it an ideal cage to imprison valuable Saints.

I understand the mission, but how am I supposed to infiltrate this place?

Mary grasped the objective, but couldn't see an easy way to gain access to this remote location.

Beybaron smirked, as if she had anticipated the question.

Don't fret. If there's no back door, then we'll just have to enter through the front, fair and square.

Through the front? Do you mean . . .

Infiltrating the heavily guarded academy was a formidable challenge.

Although Mary voiced a perfectly reasonable concern, Beybaron's unsettling sneer gave her an uneasy feeling.

If we can't sneak in, then why not enroll officially as a Mystic candidate? You were once a Mystic yourself, weren't you? You can do it. Am I wrong?

. . .

Mary found herself at a loss for words.

Beybaron's sadistic smile deepened.

Unfortunately, those who have mastered magic cannot become a Mystic. For a Mage, who is a dismantler of mysteries, religion is merely one of many bases of belief—nothing more than a subject of study.

The fundamental difference between Mages and the Mystics lay in their stance towards divinity.

Magic involved studying divinities and mythological origins from around the world, working towards making them more efficient and versatile, advancing with the ages. To Mages, gods were merely archetypes to be extracted for their rituals, not beings to be revered and worshiped.

But for the Mystics, it's different. For them, God is the one and only entity, while guardian angels are divine messengers sent by God. They harbor a certain madness that never doubts the presence of an angel within themselves. Without this power, they can't wield Angel Arts. Essentially, it's a matter of how one perceives the mystery. It’s the difference between polytheistic and monotheistic views.

For the Mystics, God was the savior mentioned in the scriptures, which led to a more focused belief in angels and Saints. In contrast, magic adopted a wider yet less profound perspective on different deities, whereas Angel Arts delved deeply into a singular belief system.

Thus, those with a magical perspective couldn't recognize angels, and couldn't wield Angel Arts.

However, there were always exceptions. If a Mystic, for some reason, lost their faith and later learned magic . . . Mary was such an exception.

Even so, do you think it’s that simple to just enroll in the academy?

Rest assured, the arrangements are already in place. The Theocracy isn’t monolithic. I can’t divulge the details, but let's just say not everyone in the current papacy stands to lose from this.

As Mary pressed further, Beybaron answered with a leisurely laugh.

From her tone, it was clear she believed there were collaborators within the Theocracy.

War was never a clean affair, especially when it escalated to conflict between nations.

It was unclear who exactly was supporting Beybaron, but it was evident that the groundwork had already been laid. Thus, there was no reason for Mary to hesitate any longer.

Truly, this was a task that only she was destined to carry out.

Of course, you'll literally be entering the lion’s den. If you fail, you won’t come out alive. Even though you're skilled in combating Mystics, the mission is extremely dangerous. Are you still willing to go through with it?

Beybaron was seemingly amused, but for Mary, it was no laughing matter.

However, this was nothing new for her, so she was beyond feeling surprised.

Of course. If the target is none other than the Saint of God's Lamb, I wouldn’t let anyone else take this mission.

No matter how perilous the mission, Mary’s response remained unchanged.

After all, her commission as an imperial officer was entirely for this purpose.

Mary had been waiting for the moment she would meet the Saint of God's Lamb again.

Thus, this mission represented the perfect opportunity for her to fulfill her deepest aspiration.

Hmm. Good answer. I'm eager to see how you perform. While I may have come across as intimidating before, I've arranged for a collaborator on the ground for you. Feel free to use them as you see fit. Do your best.

Wait. There’s still something I need to ask.

Mary began to ask questions to Beybaron, who was smiling cheerfully.

This document doesn't contain any information about the target.

The materials handed to Mary offered an in-depth description of the academy, but there was nothing about the target, the Saint of God's Lamb. She could not find even a photo or her real name.

Didn't I just mention it? Use the local collaborator to your best advantage.

Beybaron responded to Mary's inquiry with a slightly disappointed shrug.

The details regarding the Saint of God's Lamb are classified. It's not that I don't trust you, but we must avoid any potential information breaches. Acquire the necessary details on-site.

Information held significant value in warfare. The Empire understood this importance, which is why it sent numerous operatives to secure an edge through intelligence gathering. If Mary were to err, the carefully collected secrets by these operatives could be exposed. Given the risks of infiltration, it was best to proceed with only the essential information.

Understood. I'll start preparing right away.

Bring victory to our homeland. I'm counting on your efforts, Mary.

Mary began walking toward the exit.

Beybaron offered parting words as she watched Mary's departing figure.

Now, the stage is set. The outcome is in the hands of the gods, as they say.

As Mary left the room, Beybaron pulled out a photograph from her desk drawer.

Observing the present-day Mary alongside an iMage of her younger self, Beybaron contorted her lips into a crooked grin, stifling a chuckle as she pondered the challenges that lay ahead.

2

A week after receiving her official orders from Beybaron, Mary boarded a ferry bound for Argusa Island. Most of her belongings were sent ahead to the dormitory, so she traveled light with just one suitcase.

The journey from Sicilia Port on the mainland of the Theocracy took about ten hours to Lopadusa Island, and then another hour to reach Argusa Island. Although it was a long trip, Mary was accustomed to such rigorous travels.

From what I can see, it doesn't look like a place where people could live . . .

As Mary peered out the porthole, the destination, Argusa Island, came into view.

The landscape was overgrown with greenery, with no towns or even a port in sight, making one doubt if an academy really existed there. Officially designated as a natural reserve and uninhabited island, it was naturally untouched by human hands, but without prior knowledge, one would never imagine a hidden academy on such a remote island.

There must be magical concealment in place, but for now . . .

Mary started to mutter but suddenly swallowed her words. A feeling of disgust washed over her, an unsettling sensation that made her feel as though she were wrapped in a thick layer of slime, causing her body to stiffen as she scanned her environment.

I can't sense any enemies. What was that?

Mary reached for the knife holstered at her side, but the chill soon passed and she felt no abnormalities around her. Keeping her guard up, she peered out the porthole once again and was at a loss for words.

There’s a cave . . . Could it be inside there?

As if by teleportation, the ferry had moved closer to a cove that faced the cliffside.

There was a cave large enough for ships to pass through, and the ferry navigated precisely through the gaps between the rocks. As it sailed through the cave, the color of the sea reflected on the walls, dyeing them blue, and a dock capable of mooring ships came into view. It seemed this was being used as a port.

An advanced barrier that prevents detection until one steps into the domain, and visually and magically isolates it from the outside world . . . Whether it's Angel Arts or the Saint's miracle, it's quite a complicated apparatus.

Mary felt as if she was caught in a cunning trap, but at the same time, she understood.

The concealment covered a wide area of the island, further inducing discrepancies in perception such as sight and distance.

Among the Empire's Mages, Mary knew of no one who could combine these elements.

As she prepared to step into the academy filled with fearsome Mystics, her determination grew stronger, coinciding perfectly with the ship's docking announcement that resonated throughout the vessel.

Mary headed toward the exit with her suitcase and presented some documents to a crew member.

Let me see that. Mary Magdalene, correct?

One was a student ID issued in advance by the academy. The other was a letter of introduction from the monastery to the academy.

These two served as identification and checks like this were made during boarding and disembarkation.

The crew member closely examined the contents of the letter of introduction and stamped it, causing the letter to emit a faint glow.

The papers used a special ink to prevent forgery of stamps and documents, with tiny traces of magic embedded in them, causing the discoloration.

All confirmed. Please watch your step when disembarking.

The crew member returned the student ID and letter of introduction, then bowed respectfully, seeing Mary off.

As Mary stepped down from the gangway onto the dock, the damp air of the cave enveloped her entirely.

Looking around, the port seemed reasonably well-maintained and functional.

Mary watched workers unloading luggage from the ferry as she started walking toward the exit.

The illuminated trail created by lights affixed to the rugged stone wall guided her to what appeared to be an exit, where sunlight poured in. As she emerged from the dim cave, a brisk sea breeze swept past her.

The Pelagie Islands were a part of the Mediterranean. Having just been inside the cave, the realization was faint, but it seemed that Argusa, too, was characteristically warm.

I see. This kind of location is an ideal hiding place for a Saint.

Mary squinted at the sun shining brightly overhead and muttered as she took in the view before her.

The depression that appeared to be a caldera was surrounded by cliffs of whitish limestone.

The lush, verdant wilderness had the orderly touch of human hands, a stark contrast to the typical iMages of publicly accessible nature reserves. This was no uninhabited island; it bore the marks of human activity.

In the heart of this green oasis carved out of the rockface stood a particularly striking building.

As Mary continued her stroll, she finally reached her destination.

So this is it . . . Saint Agnus Dei Academy.

Standing before the school gates, Mary looked up at the majestic building and muttered, not much impressed.

The school, a blend of Renaissance and Baroque architectural styles, was constructed using limestone likely sourced from this very island. It was the kind of building that would fascinate anyone with an eye for architecture or art, though such appreciation was, of course, subjective.

The appointed time has passed, but . . .

Mary glanced at the pocket watch she had pulled out, realizing that the scheduled time for the meeting at the school had passed. However, there was still no indication that any staff members were showing up.

Even if she wanted to enter, the absence of gatekeepers or security personnel made it impossible.

As Mary wondered what to do next, a heavy metallic sound suddenly filled the air.

Looking towards the sound, she saw the front gate slowly opening and a woman quickly making her way through the narrow gap between the doors.

The woman wasn't wearing a veil, but her school uniform, consisting of a long dress, and the silver crucifix around her neck resembled the typical attire of a nun. Judging by her looks, she appeared to be in her twenties, possibly indicating that she worked as a teacher or staff at the academy. Her chestnut hair, tied in a side down, bounced as she hurried along.

Sorry I'm late! I'm so sorry!

As they faced each other, the woman clasped her hands together readying another apology.

Forgive me!

She bowed deeply.

Caught off guard by the suddenness, Mary observed the woman closely.

I kept you waiting, didn’t I? I'm truly sorry! Cleaning up after class took longer than expected . . .

The woman glanced at her nervously as she spoke.

As Mary continued to observe silently, the woman gave a wry smile and continued.

Um . . . You are the transfer student, Miss Magdalene, correct?

I'm Mary Magdalene from the Novecera Monastery. I'll be under your care from today.

Mary bowed slightly, introducing herself with the pseudonym she was using for this mission.

I'm Judith Melari. I teach here at the academy. My subject is . . . Well, we can get to that later. I'm also going to be your homeroom teacher.

The woman who introduced herself as Judith looked more relaxed as she continued.

I'm from the countryside, so I may not know as much or pick up things quickly. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Mary returned the social nicety, recalling the profile she was to use for this mission.

The girl named Mary Magdalene was a novice from the Novetzera Monastery in Alto.

Alto, located along the border between the Empire and the Theocracy, had been ceded to the Empire after a recent war but was returned to the Holy Nation following a military pact several years later.

Mary had been recognized for her potential as a Mystic and was thus permitted to enroll in this academy.

Of course this was under the guise of being a devout believer who continued to reject assimilation policies and maintained her faith.

This provided a full persona for her and also served as insurance in case she slipped up as an Imperial citizen.

The timing of Alto's return might make one suspect it was planned in anticipation of this mission, but she avoided dwelling on that thought too deeply.

Knowing Beybaron, it might have been something she orchestrated.

It was indeed a possibility she couldn't dismiss.

Anyway, you must be tired after such a long journey. It's quite a distance from Alto, isn’t it?

As Mary was lost in thought, Judith spoke to her with a cheerful smile.

Since their meeting, Judith had changed her expression frequently, a demeanor that might make her more approachable to someone around a student's age. Indeed, her appearance and personable nature gave the impression of an older sister rather than a teacher.

Thank you for your concern. I actually arrived sooner than I expected.

Is that so? Oh, by the way, I'd take you to the principal, but he's unfortunately too busy right now. He's away on a business trip. So instead, the student council president would like to welcome you.

The student council president?

Judith glanced around cautiously and whispered.

Just between us . . . Our school is pretty laissez-faire, so the student council president actually has more clout than the teachers. I won’t say it’s a bad thing, but it’s wise not to cross her.

Understood. Thank you for the advice.

Caught off guard by Judith's sudden frankness, Mary responded mechanically. Judith continued to explain without hesitation.

Rather than just being a training institution for the Mystics, this academy is more about protecting the Holy See's daughters and the Saintly ladies. So, the teachers here are more or less those who couldn't be placed back on the mainland, either as a second career for Mystics or as a sort of demotion.

Mary cross-referenced the information she had read about the academy with Judith's explanation and nodded in understanding.

Indeed, if they were serious about training real Mystics, they wouldn't choose such a remote island.

Their main concern was the protection of Saints instead of focusing on education, Mary thought.

So, does that mean you were injured somehow and ended up here?

Mary glanced at Judith's left leg as she asked.

Oh? What makes you think that?

Judith blinked in surprise but quickly smiled and responded with another question.

You seem to favor your left leg when you walk. I apologize if I'm mistaken.

From the first meeting, Judith had been favoring her left leg, shifting her weight to avoid putting pressure on it. Mary guessed that perhaps she had been injured and retired from her role as a Mystic, which led to her current placement at the academy.

Impressive, you're exactly right. I used to be a Mystic, but I messed up during a mission . . . And after retiring, I ended up being exiled here. And, by the way, this left leg is a prosthetic.

Even though the question was a bit inappropriate, Judith chuckled lightly and playfully stuck her tongue out.

She then lifted her skirt to reveal her thigh wrapped in stockings, and from afar, it was impossible to discern that it was an artificial leg.

I've rehabilitated enough that it doesn't interfere with my daily life, and there's no way I'll be on the front lines again. I'm here on a sort of vacation . . . Well, not really, that's a bit of a stretch.

Judith engaged in light conversation to prevent the atmosphere from becoming too intense, yet when she caught sight of Mary's serious demeanor, she deliberately cleared her throat.

Well then . . . Shall we head to the student council room first? They're probably waiting for us.

Understood. I appreciate your guidance.

Judith regained her composure and started walking, with Mary following behind.