Chapter 205

“—I think about this sometimes, but, Instructor… you might actually be a genius.”

“???”

Crunch.

Ihan stomped down on the head of the noble bastard still rambling about bloodlines and destiny.

And yet, amidst the dull crack of bone and flesh beneath his boot, an utterly nonsensical comment reached his ears.

‘Genius…?’

Him?

That was a first.

Not just in this life—but across both his lifetimes.

His grandfather in his past life had literally told him, “I’ve never seen an idiot as hopeless as you.”

His middle school teachers had given up, sighing, “Hana, you’re never gonna make it through academics.”

And yet, now… he was a genius?

“…You’re messing with me, right?”

Ihan picked up the fallen warhammer from one of the Holy Knights.

A proper lesson was in order—an affectionate one, of course.

“I’m not joking. I genuinely mean it.”

But the boy looked completely sincere.

“I’ve been fighting the temple for a very long time. And every time, I ended up falling prey to their schemes and suffering humiliating defeats. But you—

You don’t just see through their tactics instantly. You crush them. Effortlessly.”

“?”

“To put it simply—you’re doing things I could never do, and you’re making it look easy.”

“…You’re exaggerating.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Hell, just the fact that he had identified Hayes Roche was baffling.

How did he even know she had nightmare blood?

“She’s got the same scent as that Pierre bastard.”

“…Please don’t say it like that’s something anyone can notice. That’s a skill only you have.”

“?”

“…This is infuriating.”

Was this what other people felt like when they looked at him?

Roen let out a long sigh, massaging his temples.

Derrick, watching the interaction, scratched his cheek awkwardly.

“…Hah.”

Yeah, he kind of understood how Roen felt right now.

To break the tension, Derrick decided to report on the situation before they had arrived.

“So, uh… thanks to you handling things ‘quietly,’ there hasn’t been much of a reaction from the academy.

Lady Karin helped as well, of course.”

“I know your girl’s competent. You don’t have to keep bringing her up.”

“Th-that’s not what I—!”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, the spies. You caught all of them?”

“…Yes, we managed to round up every suspicious individual. What stood out was that a lot of them tried to kill themselves the moment they were discovered. It seems they were thoroughly trained for this.”

“Tch. Crazy bastards.”

“Yeah… seriously.”

Now that he had a closer look, the boys had been running themselves ragged.

Burn marks, splatters of blood—their clothes were stained from their earlier battles.

It wasn’t their own blood, of course.

But it was clear they had fought hard.

Ihan clicked his tongue.

The temple was truly going insane.

They had gone to every length to cover their tracks.

But now—

“With all these bastards captured, they’ve got nowhere left to run.”

“Exactly. And it’s not just any soldiers we’ve caught—we’ve got Holy Knights, and even the heir of House Lohengrin.”

“Lohengrin?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? That guy—he’s Erhin de Lohengrin.

The current Commander of the Holy Knights.”

“…This guy?”

Ihan gave Erhin’s limp, mutilated body a once-over.

A Holy Knight Commander?

This weak?

Derrick let out an awkward laugh.

…This guy seriously had no idea how absurdly strong he was.

“You might not be familiar with them, but House Lohengrin is the Sacred Knight family.

They’re known for following the temple’s orders without question.

Capturing the Holy Knights alone would’ve been enough to pressure the temple, but with Erhin in our hands? That’s an undeniable, damning piece of evidence.”

Derrick was certain—

This was checkmate.

The temple had no way out.

“…Think so?”

Derrick hesitated.

His instructor’s reaction was… off.

He had worked with Ihan long enough to know—when he doubted something, it meant something was wrong.

And sure enough—

“Not to ruin the moment, but… this isn’t going to be enough.”

“…What?”

Roen stiffened.

He wasn’t the kind to brush aside warnings lightly.

And his instructor was speaking with certainty.

“Why… do you say that?”

Ihan’s voice was calm as ever.

“Because the temple is full of insane people.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not just insane—filthy. Disgusting.

And in my experience? Filthy bastards like them never admit they’ve done anything wrong.”

“But… we have obvious proof.”

“And that’s exactly the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“…They’re going to flip the board.”

Ihan had been a soldier in his past life.

He had served in a religious war.

He had witnessed what happened when people used faith as a shield.

He had seen—

Just how far the truly fanatical were willing to go.

And when an organization that claims to serve God decides to act…

They don’t do something as small as making excuses.

They commit atrocities that go beyond imagination.

For the first time in a long while—

Ihan shivered.

Not from fear.

No.

This was—

Revulsion.

‘A sewer rat would be cleaner than these bastards…’

***

Rumble.

Dark storm clouds swallowed the sky.

The southern lands were known for their dry autumns, where rain was a rarity.

Yet today, thunder rumbled, and the skies were heavy with ominous clouds.

Still, it wasn’t exactly a disaster.

Uncommon? Yes.

But a cloudy autumn sky wasn’t a reason for panic.

“Why’s the weather like this on a temple prayer day?”

“Let’s hurry and get good seats before it starts raining. We don’t wanna be stuck outside.”

“I don’t wanna go today…”

“Hey! Don’t be blasphemous!”

Sundays in Pendragon weren’t a day of rest.

They were a day of prayer.

Rain or snow—people had to attend temple gatherings.

Some prepared accordingly, bringing umbrellas or cloaks, bracing themselves for the weather.

But then—

“Huh? What’s that?”

“Wait…”

“…A knight order?”

And not just any order.

The teal-colored armor.

The unicorn insignias engraved on their shields.

Recognition dawned upon the people.

Their faces turned as pale as sheets.

“T-The Teal Unicorn Knights! T-They’re from Galahad!”

“!!?!”

Galahad.

Pendragon’s only ducal house.

Its most powerful noble family.

But more than that—

A force so strong that if they ever decided to break away, they could form their own independent nation.

The Galahad Duchy was already on par with a small kingdom in size and strength.

Its elite-only forces were unmatched.

And now…

The strongest of Galahad’s knight orders was marching through the streets.

Each knight exuded an aura strong enough to burn the air itself.

But even among them—

One figure towered above all.

A presence so overwhelming it made the very sky tremble.

Seated atop a massive black warhorse, nearly three times the size of a normal steed—

A name slipped from the lips of a trembling civilian.

“T-The Duke of Blake…!!”

“!?!!!”

An ordinary commoner would never even see his face in their lifetime.

A true descendant of the Dragon’s Bloodline.

And more than that—

The Duke of Blake wasn’t just any dragon-blooded noble.

He was, second only to the Founding King, the greatest ruler Pendragon had ever known.

“…The War God’s bloodline.”

Thud!

Thud…!

Some had already fallen to their knees.

Especially the middle-aged and elderly.

Those who had witnessed the War God’s era—

Could do nothing but lower their heads in reverence.

For those who had lived through it, this was the only reaction possible.

The Legacy of the War God

Under the rule of a cowardly king, Pendragon had become the poorest nation in the south.

So weak that some argued it would have been better to start a new kingdom from scratch.

And in the midst of this downfall—

The War God took the throne.

He purged the incompetent royals.

He became king himself.

And in his reign, he fended off over hundreds of foreign invasions—

Not just defending, but winning.

Through his hands alone, the kingdom was reborn.

During his time, even the greatest rulers of the continent had bowed in respect to Pendragon.

Even now, foreign lands still remembered him.

Enemies.

Yet they still respected him.

And if even they felt that way—

What about the people of Pendragon?

“You fools! How dare you block His Grace’s path?!”

“E-Elder?”

“Step aside, you brats! Do not stand in the Duke’s way!”

Even frail old men radiated a force strong enough to push younger men back.

It wasn’t just presence.

It was devotion.

“What in the world is happening?”

“Where is His Grace going?”

“That direction… c-could it be…?”

Some finally realized—

Where the knights were heading.

Toward the Great Temple.

The headquarters of the Holy Order of Light.

Panic set in.

Yet—

“…How do you even stop them?”

They found neither the courage nor the reason to intervene.

So they simply watched.

As Galahad marched forward.

***

The common folk weren’t the only ones wary.

Even the knights, who had sworn loyalty to Duke Blake, treaded carefully.

‘Is His Grace… furious?’

‘He must be enraged.’

‘Who would have thought the temple would pull a stunt like this?’

‘They didn’t just cross the line—they obliterated it.’

Even the knights were appalled.

They had fabricated a fake daughter…?

A blatant deception—

To manipulate the Duke of Blake?

To mock Galahad itself?

Not a single knight remained indifferent.

If it weren’t for Duke Blake maintaining his composure—

They would have already stormed the Great Temple.

Even now—

“……”

His Grace remained silent.

Rigid.

Like he was barely containing something far beyond anger.

Just how deep was his rage…?

“…You’re all wrong.”

A single voice murmured.

Raq de Duron.

The only one who seemed to see something different.

The others thought Duke Blake was seething with fury—

But Raq knew better.

‘That’s not anger.’

He had served under him for years.

He knew.

When Duke Blake was angry—he was LOUD.

Explosive.

There was no cold fury.

No calm composure.

Which meant—

“…Raq, I have a bad feeling about this.”

“!!”

“You’ve realized it too, haven’t you? I’m not that angry.”

“…That’s…”

“Hah. At least you’re observant. Good to know my training didn’t go to waste.”

“…An honor, Your Grace.”

“Enough of that. That interesting knight said something, didn’t he?

‘The temple isn’t just insane. They’re dirty.’

“…Your Grace, that was merely the words of a rogue.”

“Hmm. I think he’s an excellent strategist.”

“??”

“There’s reason behind what he said.”

Contemplation.

Duke Blake was deep in thought.

And Raq—

Felt a bitter sense of defeat.

That his master was considering the words of a vagrant so seriously.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

As they neared the Great Temple, an unease settled over Raq.

Something was off.

The air—

“…This air is disgusting.”

Not just unpleasant.

If he were to put it in that vagrant’s words—

“Filthy.”

And when they arrived—

They finally saw.

The truth behind the filth.

“Your Grace, what a surprise! We were just about to send a messenger to you.”

FWOOSH!

Flames.

A priest, his expression unshaken.

“We were horrified to discover heretics plotting against the temple. We are in the midst of purification.”

A sea of burning corpses.

Heads impaled on spikes.

And among them—

The head of the Pope himself.

Dripping blood.

Frozen in an expression of sheer agony.

Silence.

For a long, long moment—

No one could speak.

Until—

“…They really are dirty.”

And this time—

Raq had no rebuttal.