Chapter 380

Thud!

As Oliver’s attention was drawn to the unidentifiable figure hovering above Marie, a moist noise echoed in his ears.

Oliver’s gaze swiftly descended.

There stood Marie.

Marie, who had attempted to claw at Bonifa but was unsuccessful... Marie, who had been impaled by Bonifa’s sword.

Bonifa’s defense had proven impenetrable to Marie’s nails, yet conversely, Bonifa’s gilded blade had pierced through and emerged from Marie’s back.

The wound was in her abdomen.

A heavy silence enveloped everyone present.

Not only those involved in the altercation and its consequences but also Marie’s followers, the temple’s newly arrived servants, and even the sacred Paladins were rendered speechless.

Only after a prolonged moment did Oliver let out a bewildered utterance.

“...Huh?”

***

Death from a severed throat.

Death from hanging.

Death from torn limbs.

Death from extracted teeth.

Death from a bludgeon.

Death from a cut waist.

Death from being pierced by a stake.

Death from a crushed head.

Death from being crushed alive.

Death from hanging on a wheel.

Death from evisceration.

Death from forcibly swallowing a razor.

Death from skin being peeled off.

Death from eyes being plucked by a heated pincer.

Death from hanging upside down and being sawed.

Death from flesh being torn off piece by piece.

Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death...

These unsettling thoughts simultaneously infiltrated the minds of the holy Paladins and servants who had accompanied Bonifa into the temple.

No, it wasn’t just infiltration; they saw it vividly.

Visions of dying in countless gruesome ways, so realistic that even these individuals, who had braced themselves for death, broke into a cold sweat.

And it wasn’t just them who experienced these visions.

The same was true for the followers of the heretic religion within the temple.

Their expressions, their breathing, their perspiration, and their eyes made it evident.

Everyone present had been subjected to vivid illusions of their own horrifying demise.

It was as if they were enduring the wrath of a vengeful God.

A chilling and oppressive silence filled the temple, and slowly, all eyes turned toward Oliver.

He held Marie in his arms.

Despite the stabbing, her dark magic had dissipated, and blood seeped from the wound.

Yet Oliver continued to support her wordlessly, cradling her.

It might have been considered sacrilegious to admit, but in that moment, the holy Paladins sensed a profound sanctity in the scene. Simultaneously, they also felt an unsettling fear.

It was an alien presence, ominous and disconcerting.

“Strike now,” Galahad thought as he observed Marie muttering something toward Oliver.

He had an instinctual urge to strike at this moment, when they appeared vulnerable.

Likely, everyone else felt the same.

However, no one, including Galahad, could bring themselves to move.

Even Bonifa, who had fully awakened as the child of an angel.

The reason remained elusive... Perhaps it was because they saw in Oliver an innocence akin to that of a young child who didn’t know how to react after a significant event.

‘No... No...’ Galahad inwardly rejected this notion.

All the holy Paladins present, along with the servants, were so devout that they would not hesitate to harm a child if it were in service to their god.

They understood that at times, noble blood had to be shed for the greater good.

Their paralysis wasn’t rooted in personal sentiments like sympathy or political concerns regarding their image.

It was something more primal and pure.Ne/w novel chapters are published at novelhall.com

Fear. A fear that transcended even death.

“Ah...”

As the floor became awash with blood and Marie’s complexion grew paler, a feeble sound escaped her lips. In her final moments, she extended her hand, as if beckoning for someone to hold it before death could claim her.

In that critical moment, as Marie’s life teetered on the precipice of death, Oliver set aside his quarterstaff and reached out. However, his hand didn’t reach for Marie’s hand but instead moved toward her abdomen.

“Oh, my God...”

A voice exclaimed as Marie, who had been on death’s doorstep, drew breath once more.

Galahad couldn’t help but wonder as he looked at Marie’s blood-soaked abdomen. Oliver touched the spot where a gaping wound had been moments ago, but now it had vanished, leaving no trace, not even a scar.

Galahad was equally astonished. Though there were no visible signs of healing magic, he couldn’t help but suspect some form of trickery.

“Oh... It’s a miracle. A miracle.”

“He is a God. A real God.”

“Ah...”

As this transpired, some of the wavering believers displayed signs of shock and reverence, kneeling and bowing their heads. Oliver rose from his seat, appearing somewhat perplexed. He snapped his fingers awkwardly and tilted his head, resembling a child grappling with his own emotions.

After standing there for a moment, he picked up the quarterstaff he had placed on the floor and offered it to Marie.

Then he spoke.

“Could you... keep this for me?”

These seemingly ordinary words sent ripples of unease through the temple’s occupants, including the Paladins and servants.

Once his breath returned and the pain subsided, Bonifa swung his sword again to create distance, then invoked a Holy technique, causing his surroundings to erupt in flames.

[Lumen]

This sacred technique conjured a colossal bolt of divine lightning. Holy, pure-white flames formed a circle around Bonifa, expanding to engulf both the building and Oliver.

Yet, Oliver didn’t retreat; instead, he moved closer to the flames and thrust his hand into them.

Without experiencing pain or harm.

Then, with a simple pulling motion, he effortlessly tore the flames in two, extinguishing them as if they were mere candles.

“What...?”

Witnessing this, something began to sprout within Bonifa’s heart—a fear that perhaps he was not the chosen son of an angel.

“No. No... that can’t be!”

The moment this thought resounded within him, Oliver swung his fist once more.

Bonifa was overwhelmed by intense pain, hurtling backward and crashing through a wall into a building on the opposite side.

Suffering from a sense of powerlessness, agony, and doubt, Bonifa attempted to summon his wings and escape.

“What...?”

Bonifa was taken aback; his wings would not manifest again—the same wings that testified to his status as the son of an angel.

He had been told that as long as he possessed faith and strength, he could recreate them, but they refused to materialize.

Just as he was on the verge of screaming, “What is happening?” Oliver descended once more, slamming Bonifa’s head against the exterior wall of a building, grinding it against the concrete.

Screeech!

A vivid mark was etched onto the concrete surface.

Blood began to smear as they descended almost to the building’s base, and then Oliver tossed Bonifa back into the original building.

“Ugh... Cough!”

Oliver observed it all.

Bonifa, whose resolve to fight had been shattered, was now crawling away, clutching his longsword, his face grievously injured.

The battle was essentially decided.

Yet, Oliver slowly advanced toward Bonifa.

Not too fast, not too slow, maintaining a steady pace.

Typically, he would have ceased his assault by now, but Oliver didn’t, or rather, couldn’t.

He had an inexplicable desire to inflict harm upon this so-called Holy Knight. He couldn’t fully explain why; he just yearned to cause him pain—profound pain.

Thus, with no real intention or purpose, Oliver seized Bonifa, who had twisted his body and thrust his golden-plated sword towards him, channeling all his Holy power into it in an attempt to engulf Oliver in burning flames.

Crash!

Just as a pristine, pure-white blaze was about to consume Oliver, a dull thud echoed through the air, halting the sacred technique.

Bonifa gazed at his sword with quivering eyes.

It had been his golden sword, bestowed upon him after being designated as the son of an angel and inheriting the angel’s power. A traditionally crafted blade using the Holy Water of Parterism, it was known to remain sharp and untarnished even after hundreds of swings. It was nearly a relic. Yet now, it lay rusted and shattered.

‘Why?’ Bonifa wondered, but before he could ponder further, an intense pain surged across one side of his face.

“Ah!”

The sensation was akin to one of his eyes being gouged out, and Bonifa screamed.

In the silent night, within the confines of an abandoned structure, only Oliver could hear that cry. Nevertheless, he raised his hand once more, emotionlessly preparing to strike Bonifa.

Thud━!

A searing pain rippled through Bonifa, expelling the air from his lungs and compelling him to cease his screams.

However, the ordeal was far from over.

Oliver raised his fist once more, striking Bonifa in a crude, unrefined manner, almost like a child.

Thud━━!!

The floor began to fracture beneath him, but Oliver did not relent.

Thud━━━!!!

Another jolting pain swept through Bonifa, and the floor gave way under the tremendous force.

As Bonifa tumbled to the lower level, he dropped his shattered sword, leaving him defenseless.

“Ah············! Wai-“

Thud━━━━!!!!

Before he could even complete his sentence, Oliver’s fist descended once again.

The floor, unable to withstand the impact, sank further.

Bonifa’s crumbling shoulder bore the brunt of the assault.

Yet, Oliver showed no signs of stopping. Relentlessly, he continued to pummel Bonifa’s body, causing it to descend lower and lower.

Thud━━━━!!!!

Thud━━━━━!!!!!

Thud━━━━━━!!!!!!

Eventually, Oliver and Bonifa plummeted past the ground floor, descending all the way to the basement.

There was nowhere left to fall.

By some peculiar twist of fate, there was also nothing remaining of Bonifa to break.

His shoulders had been reduced to mincemeat, his jaw shattered, his nose broken, and his abdomen and chest were far from intact.

Ah, one thing remained.

An intact spot.

It was none other than one of Bonifa’s eyes.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Oliver seized Bonifa’s head with both hands and raised his thumb.

To crush Bonifa’s eyeball like a grape. To inflict pain.

Just as he instinctively pressed into Bonifa’s eye, a sound emanated from the side.

“Uh······! Uh!”

The sound of a child struggling to hold back tears.

Oliver turned his head and saw them.

A destitute family concealed in the basement of the abandoned structure.

They huddled in a corner, desperately suppressing their sobs.

Afraid of Oliver.