--All, behold my hero!　The enemy has crumbled, the way has been paved there!

　The enemy is crumbling, the way is open!" said the saint Mattia, her long, neat head of hair shimmering as she cleared her throat to roar to the world around her. Her silver baskets and kneepads reflected the light of the setting sun.

　Deep in Mattia's chest, something like a hot boil is heating up. It's hard, and it's an emotion that you've been forcing down your throat. The name, hatred or resentment, was boiling up.

　Daishonin and heraldry.

　Since when did they become enemies with spears? We don't know that now. There was no record of what kind of relationship they originally had.

　What is certain is that in this day and age, the Great Saints are the strongest people walking the earth, and the heraldic religion is just one of the pagan religions whose dwelling place is questionable.

　Mattia understood this deeply. And so, it is natural for the strong to oppress the weak, and if they were in a different position, Monstrance might have also destroyed the people of the Great Saints.

　But that does not mean that we can forget or tolerate the scorn and persecution we have suffered.

　They were forced to leave their country, their city, their village, their land. The former heralds who became exiles with nowhere to go. Until they took over the trading city of Garou Amalia, the heraldry had no land to live on.

　They ran, ran, ran. In their flight, they trampled their gods, their faith, and turned men into slaves to be mangled and women into property for someone else. That's what it meant for the heraldic people to seek a place to live.

　They were slaves, treated like cattle, day in and day out. How long had this been going on? Mattia couldn't even imagine. All she knows is that, at least when she was born, that's what heralds were.

　The saintly Mattia's tightly covered emotions were crawling and stirring, trying to spill out. A hot breath leaked out.

"Long. There was a very long period of cold.

　Mattia's voice rang out as if he were speaking to me. The words sounded like congratulations or a curse. Mattia's tongue and lips meticulously worked out the words.

They are robbed of their dignity and yet they endure, trampled upon and yet they can only escape. Those who live peacefully in the countryside are killed just because they carry the coat of arms. Men were tortured, women were raped, we were robbed, and yet we had to endure.

　There was such a time of cold, Mattia says. It was a voice that seemed to penetrate the depths of the soldier's body on the battlefield. It was a voice that aroused the heart and gently caressed the chest. The way he stroked his chest shook the emotions deep inside.

　Mattia's voice was so sweet that everyone had to listen to it. Maybe that's what people call charisma.

"A long, very long cold time, when pride is stained, land is taken, and all you can do is grit your teeth.

　But," says Mattia as he continues. The saint's voice echoed everywhere and nowhere.

But it's over now!　Now, at this time, we will be human again. Now is the time to redeem the regret of our people and the rage of our fathers' souls. This is not a holy war, let us use our will and cut off the enemy's head!

　At the same time as the voice, Mattia raised his spear as if to pierce the sky. At the same time, Mattia raised her spear as if to pierce the heavens. The voice that followed the saint splashed the savage voices of the battlefield.

　--Aah--Oh!

　The inaudible voices of the soldiers. The very mass of sound that had been emitted. The very mass of sound that came from them, as if they were blowing off the heavy cloak that had been placed over their bodies.

　If Lugis gives the soldiers a maniacal fever. What the saint Mattia gives is, well, it's not a blessing. It's a clear curse.

　The sobbing words of the saint Mattia cast a curse on all the generals, knights and soldiers of the heraldry. No one is thinking about anything but devouring the Great Patriarchal Army in front of them. Flesh and blood is all that can be seen. There is a dark, dark glow in their eyes.

　Her uncanny ability to implant the faith and emotions that crouch within her spirit into the hearts of others. Should we call Mattia a saint or a witch? I'm sure no one has the answer.


　The Great Sacred Army


　In the midst of the Great Sacred Army and the Great Tent, a shrill voice leaked out.

"Are you stupid? I've already told you not to use ...... ambushes.

You'll open a wound. And I didn't break any orders. You're allowed to use them to rescue soldiers. If the battalion commander is defeated, the more soldiers will be killed.

　He cowered at Neymar's shoving words, and his side ached as if it had been wrenched open.

　In the event that you have any kind of questions regarding where and how to use the internet, you can call us at the web site. It might have been the first time since he was given the name of a hero and traveled around the world.

　Such a wound was given to me by my student.

　I've really grown up. For better or for worse. Thinking of his own student, Richard suddenly thought. That bad boy Lugis is now a hero, standing over you and even scarring you. It was nothing short of abhorrent, but it didn't make him feel bad.



　Therefore, if there's one problem, it's with the formula on Lugis.

　What was that? Richard's eyelids closed for a moment, and the image of Lugis that he had faced on the battlefield appeared behind them. I've seen a lot of magic in the past, and I know about the elven curse, though not in detail. Sometimes he even took the hands of those who were affected by them.

　But in all his years, Richard had never seen anything like it. I knew the moment I put the blade of my black sword through Lugis on the battlefield. Richard's eyes did indeed see inside that thing.

　The sight of high-level magic imprinted all over his body. That was definitely not normal. I've heard of wizards and sorcerers imprinting magic on their own bodies from time to time, but Lugis's imprinting was beyond his magic power capacity, no matter how you look at it.

　Humans have a certain amount of magic power. Even if you try to rewrite your own body with magic or sorcery, if you exceed your capacity, you will eventually contract the adventurer's disease and die. That is common knowledge.

　However, Lugis' body was different. As if someone had crafted his entire body, he incorporated magic without destroying it.

　Casting, smelting, convergence. I don't know what the right word is for it. All Richard could understand was that Lugis now had an undeniable abnormality in his body, and that it was probably the result of someone's strong will. Unintentionally, Richard felt a chill crawl up his spine.

　And what's worse, he's got an elven curse.

　That's the worst, the worst path he could have chosen. Richard doesn't know the details of the elven curse. All he knew was that people who fell under it didn't die well. Most people who have the curse implanted in them will live a life that is far from peaceful. Being cursed by an elf is not a common occurrence. What had that student done to deserve this?

　The healer finished bandaging Richard's side as he sighed deeply at the anguish that had risen in his skull. He must have had some knowledge of magic. There was a hint that the pain in the wound was easing.

"Captain. You're the general of an army. Then please don't do anything rash like that.

　As soon as the treatment was over. Neymar's piercing words struck Richard in the ear. He had never been a man who cared about the etiquette of his superiors, but now he felt that his words were even more devoid of it. As his second-in-command, he was a pain in the ass.

　But this is not a bad way to grow up, he thought, and twisted his lips and said.

"You know, on the battlefield, sometimes you need to be reckless like that. Well, I'll keep that in mind. ...... So, what's the situation?

　As he was being carried out of the battlefield and into the tent, Richard was able to keep himself from losing consciousness, but there was no way he could check the status of the battle. It would not be surprising if the army had collapsed just in the time he was being treated.

　Richard's question was met with a small nod from Neymar.

Yes. Not good. The enemy's magic seems to have ceased, but the witch's command is gaining momentum. We've managed to limit the damage and are retreating.

　That's good, Richard said, snapping his fingers as he heard the voice. As he said, the situation was much better than he had imagined.

　After all, this was the head of an army that had been badly wounded on the battlefield. It would have been no surprise if the entire army had fallen apart in a heap. If you're still holding the line, you should be praising yourself for being good enough.

　Neymar's eyes are asking Richard what he should do now. As if to meet his gaze, Richard's voice rang out in the tent.