FSFSLU 70

chapter 70

Honestly, cold sweat ran down my back.

Lister was a massive man, clad in heavy armor and armed with a steel mace.

Seeing someone like him looking down at me from the hole I had just climbed out of, it was only natural to feel fear.

Isabel was a comrade I had fought alongside until now, but seeing someone I had only ever observed from afar through a glass window right in front of me felt strangely unsettling.

I was planning to hand my body back to Isabel anyway, but somehow, facing Lister directly made me want to put Isabel in front of me and run away immediately.

Then, thinking about why I was so scared… it probably had to do with Lister’s expression.

When had I seen that expression before?

When someone is trying not to break down in the face of an unbelievable reality, they naturally wear that kind of expression.

It seemed Lister had suffered some major shock…

“Ah!”

I froze.

I had clearly told Isabel to separate the inside and outside with the Holy Veil, so that no one could see the magical sword in her hands.

Isabel had comfortably swung the sword behind the veil—but now, with Lister in front of me, what did that mean?

Had we been discovered?

Had Lister realized that Isabel was the sword’s master?

I swallowed hard. According to the Old Stories, even a drinking companion Lister had spent a night with could be struck down with a mace if they were deemed heretical. And the magical sword was one of the highest-priority targets for eradication by the Church.

Could it be that, with Isabel still trapped in the hole, Lister planned to kill her right away?

This was bad. Really bad.

To be discovered by Lister—someone I absolutely could not be found out by—after all the vigilance since Castle Tina?

“What are you worried about, Angel?”

At that moment, Yuga’s voice spoke in my mind.

Did he have a clear solution in mind?

But the next words made me dumbfounded.

“Just kill him.”

I nearly shouted, “Are you crazy?”—at the sword itself.

But Yuga seemed completely serious.

“The veil is still up. Even if you strike him down, Angel, no one will see it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t understand. That man Lister is supposedly the same kind of Proxy as you, yet he’s not a fool like you; he’s cold, ruthless, and frightening.”

Yuga’s words sounded more like a rebuke of my own incompetence.

“That’s why you have to kill him. If you leave him, something terrible will happen. What if he strikes your head with that steel mace?”

“Lister isn’t that kind of man.”

“What are you saying? You yourself believe that Angel is that kind of person to the bone.”

I had nothing to say—Yuga was right.

“Suppressing me, letting me jump into a reckless fight—it’s all to achieve your goal, right? I think our master is foolish, but I don’t think she deserves to die by a mace. Anyway, even if reckless, she has done everything she could before you intervened.”

“Quiet, Yuga.”

“Are you going to let our master die like this? She cannot abandon me, and I cannot leave her. She will always be my master, and even if she doesn’t die, what if he keeps following, finding faults, and clinging to her? Can you guarantee he won’t?”

“….”

Anger rose.

Anger at myself, unable to refute Yuga even once.

It sounded reasonable. In the Old Stories, Lister’s hatred for heresy was unimaginable. Isabel could not abandon the magical sword, and even if Lister did not strike her down immediately, he would be a major obstacle in the journey ahead.

So now, while no one could witness this, and while I was in Isabel’s body… this was the only chance to kill Lister and commit the perfect crime.

The most chilling part was that I knew it wasn’t impossible.

Becoming an angel had stripped away some human traits. My identity as a man had blurred, to the point where seeing a woman naked left me unmoved.

Using the magical sword—something unimaginable before—now seemed simple if the opponent was a monster.

And that change seemed to extend even to the act of killing.

I could tell. I could sense how much force it would take to kill Lister, how to approach him, what to use.

I could make an approximation, decide it was enough, and unconsciously make the judgment.

If it came down to it, I could kill Lister. I had that certainty.

Perhaps that was the problem.

I used to think the so-called “Whispers of the Devil” contained irresistible magical power, enchanting anyone.

But maybe they weren’t magic at all—maybe they were just ordinary, persuasive arguments, simple yet compelling.

And once you follow such words even once, you can’t turn back. Once you think, “This isn’t so bad,” you’re gone.

Ah, what should I do?

I could kill Lister now, destroy the body, and claim that he died while fighting a golem alongside me. No one would suspect Isabel—she wouldn’t even know.

Then, at that moment:

“Isabel.”

Lister spoke from above the hole.

His voice was tired, heavy with suspicion and despair.

Even he called out to Isabel, yet could not continue speaking.

Perhaps it was a stroke of luck for me. Despite being face to face with the sword’s master, Lister hesitated.

But I had no time to capitalize on that luck.

Strictly speaking, there was no chance.

The moment Lister called Isabel, I felt as if I were water being sucked down a small drain, pulled out of Isabel’s body.

“…!”

This had never happened before. It was possible, yes—but normally, a host like Isabel must permit possession for it to continue.

But I thought Isabel would never make the decision to forcibly expel me.

Yet… maybe I was wrong.

“Yes, Lister?”

I had heard that when I possessed Isabel, she became somewhat dazed, like in a light sleep. But hearing a voice calling her own, she seemed to realize it was time for her to act.

She thought: I must step in and relieve Smiel’s burden!

And so…

“This is bad…”

Yuga and I sprawled helplessly on the playground floor, forced to watch Isabel confront Lister alone.

I had no desire to shed the sweat-soaked armor.

No desire to collapse and rest, or to sleep as if dead.

There was no time to think of such things—Lister was too immediate a concern.

Lister had seen it clearly: the vision of someone with wings running atop a golem, striking its limbs and head with black, horrifying sword swings.

The sight was violently fearsome, powerful enough to mesmerize anyone who forgot the heresy involved.

Even seeing it again, the sword was in Isabel’s hands.

“Isabel… you…”

You, what are you?

Why wield the sword?

Do you not realize this is evidence of heresy? Do you forget that once drawn, the magical sword cannot be undone?

Why act so recklessly?

I should kill you now. You are heretical; all my jealousy and awe of you is meaningless…

There were so many things I wanted to say.

But all of them stuck in my throat.

Why? Why couldn’t I speak?

Was it because Isabel was looking up at me from deep within the golem’s head and smiling?

“Lister, are you okay?”

She said this with a smile. She was simply happy.

The golems had been elegantly defeated by Smiel; no one had died.

And while that was satisfying, above all…

“You’re amazing!”

“…What?”

“You came through my Holy Veil!”

That, above all, brought Isabel joy.

No matter how foolish she appeared, she neither overestimated nor underestimated her abilities. She knew not just anyone could penetrate her Holy Veil.

From the first encounter, Isabel had feared Lister. But seeing him kneel and weep while she erected the city’s protective shield, then immediately attack the steel golem at Smiel’s command, transformed her perception of him from terror and solemnity to that of a struggling believer.

That was why she was happy.

That the pinnacle of Lister’s inner struggle had reached the same benevolent light she represented.

Lister gazed silently at Isabel for a moment.

Then, in a weary voice, he asked:

“Did you… draw the sword?”

“Yes.”

“Was it the command of the Archangel assigned to you?”

“No. It was my own judgment.”

“Why did you make that judgment?”

“If I hadn’t, it would have fallen into someone else’s hands.”

“The magical sword seduces people and leads them into heresy. You know that, don’t you?”

“Smiel suppressed it, so it’s okay.”

“You… by your careless judgment, you have burdened the angel who chose you with the sword. Do you know the gravity of that sin?”

“Yes.”

Lister, gripping his mace tighter, slowly extended it toward Isabel. His voice trembled.

“I know your holy power is immense. Even if I attacked with all my strength, I cannot guarantee I could break your shield. Still, if you walk the path of heresy, I will kill you… until your breath ceases, until the sword cannot maintain its form.”

“Will you wait?”

Isabel’s words were so calm that Lister missed the small stir in his heart.

“Wait…? You mean, wait before I kill you?”

She nodded, smiling. She truly wished for Lister to wait.

She knew drawing the sword could anger him—or even kill him.

Now, Isabel lived a second life by Sunya’s grace; it was unnatural, and she knew it.

Even so, she chose this path because she knew it was right.

But she also understood her righteousness might differ from others’.

So she would not plead for her life.

His right action here would be to kill her. Hers was to not stop him.

Of course, she would strive to survive, in every way possible.

Still…

“Lister.”

She smiled and spoke:

“I have something to do now. Please wait.”

“….”

Lister wanted to ask, but he did not even know what.

How long to wait? For what purpose? Was the sword needed to achieve it? Was this following the angel’s orders? He could not ask any of it.

Slowly, Lister lowered the mace aimed at Isabel.

He let it fall entirely.

The mace clattered down the steel-brick slope that had once been a steel golem, rolling to the ground.

Lister had considered excuses. He thought if he claimed Isabel drew the sword by Smiel’s command, he could let it slide.

But Isabel said it was her judgment. That Smiel was aiding her.

A Proxy acts on behalf of an angel. It is not the Proxy’s will, merely a means to realize the angel’s will. At least, that is what Lister believed.

But Isabel said the opposite—and showed no hesitation.

How could that be?

And then, Isabel screamed—shattering Lister’s inner turmoil instantly.

Lister flinched in shock.

“W-what…?”

“Judith!”

Isabel shouted an unknown name and leapt from the brick hill, sprinting in one direction.

Lister turned to follow, seeing under the rubble of collapsed earth golems someone trapped.

A woman—but Isabel seemed to know her well.

Lister tried to run after her. It was their duty to help the weak.

But his eyes caught something strange.

Isabel had swung the magical sword—a weapon said capable of cutting even the sky.

The backlash seemed mitigated by her blessings, but her robes were not spared.

From her shoulders down to her back, her priestly robes were tattered. She seemed unaware.

But on her small back, a vivid cross-shaped mark was visible.

The kind said to have been borne by the saint who resisted Demon Lord Daerex’s invasion 300 years ago…

A sacred stigmata…!

In that moment, Lister realized.

Isabel was not merely a foolish wielder of holy power, nor a heretical weapon user.

She was a saint bearing the sacred stigmata.

In that instant, the inner conflict raging in Lister’s heart vanished.

He staggered and collapsed, unable to take his eyes off the stigmata on her back.

It was a complete disaster.

A calamity unlike any other.

In the life of the ultimate undead, Tio, nothing had been this disastrous.

He witnessed it with his own eyes: the chatterbox priest beside the giant he had mistaken for Dyke—the true master of the magical sword.

Running as if one with the sword, neutralizing three enormous earth golems and a steel golem.

Using the chaotic traits of magic, he nullified the golems’ regeneration and rendered them motionless.

Bathed in the radiant magic from the sword, Tio was dumbfounded.

And so, he was trapped beneath a massive earth golem cleaved by Isabel’s strikes.

Tio often lacked a sense of danger. He needn’t fear death, as injuries healed faster than golem regeneration.

So normally, being buried in rubble wasn’t worrisome.

But not now.

“No, no, no!”

Tio struggled, terrified. He had to escape before she reached him.

“Don’t come!”

But it was useless. Isabel, adorned with the highest-grade blessings, sprinted straight to him.

“Are you okay? Don’t worry, I’ll help!”

“No, I don’t nee—!”

Tio squeezed his eyes shut. Isabel’s hands had firmly grasped his left arm, now protruding from the rubble.

The purest holy power in the world coursed through his arm, burning painfully. Tio was utterly frustrated and furious.