Volume 1 of BMCPS is available uncensored on ko-fi!

※ This work contains high-intensity, hardcore elements and scenes that may polarize readers. Please be advised before reading.

O. Prologue

Thump… thump-thump-thump… thump, thump, thump!

A powerful tremor shook the very foundations of the earth.

Crunch, stomp. Crunch, stomp.

The rhythm of ten thousand footsteps churned the sodden ground into a muddy mess.

Beneath a sky choked with oppressive, dark clouds, a dense ring of armed soldiers closed in on the temple. The legendary protective barrier that had safeguarded the Holy Kingdom for centuries was gone, vanished without a trace. In its absence, a sinister, gloomy energy seeped into the very air, clinging to the light-forsaken land.

At the head of this formidable army stood a man clad in armor of steely blue-grey. His eyes swept indifferently over the scene unfolding before him.

The Holy Knights, once so insufferably composed even in the face of crushing defeat, were finally in a panic. It was only after their precious shield had flickered and died that they seemed to realize their feet were on fire, scurrying about in a belated frenzy.

There was nowhere left for them to run… and it was a pitiful, almost comical sight.

Priests darted to and fro, desperately searching for a gap in the knightly encirclement. One shoved a young apprentice forward as a human shield. Another tried to squeeze his portly frame behind a temple column, only to be pushed aside by a fellow priest fighting for the same pathetic spot. Some just drew holy symbols in the air, muttering prayers that were utterly, completely useless in this situation.

It was a farce so absurd it could drain the fighting spirit from even the most disciplined knight—and these knights were still tightly wound from their long, grueling battle. To think they were facing… this. A rabble of priests who had probably never held a sword in their lives, against his own forces, brimming with battle-lust.

And to think… he had mentally prepared himself hundreds of times for the challenge of breaking the Holy Kingdom’s famed shield… only for this to be what awaited him on the other side.

And just like that, without them having to lift a finger, the path was clear and victory was handed to them on a silver platter.

“Well, I’ll be…”

“Should we call this fortunate, or just utterly pathetic?”

“So much for their mighty god. Looks like his power’s finally run out! Let’s finish this, Captain, and go drown ourselves in ale!”

The knight’s casual whistle cut through the air. Despite the muttered jokes and banter from his men, the man at the front had remained unmoved, his focus absolute. Only when his name was called did he finally speak.

“Dilton.”

His voice was flat, devoid of all inflection, a cold so profound it could freeze even his own allies.

“…Was I wrong, though? Captain, why is it always me who gets—”

“Enough of your insolence. Maintain the formation.”

“Yessir.”

Under that frigid glare, no one else dared to so much as whisper. The knights snapped their mouths shut and tightened their ranks, while the priests grew even paler.

An uncomfortable tension thickened the air, yet the one who had created this oppressive atmosphere did nothing more. He made no move, gave no order.

He simply stood there, in the heart of this silent standoff… and swallowed down a scornful laugh.

It was all so pointless.

To think they had been brought low by… such a wretched, pathetic lot.

His teeth ground together in frustration.

Starting from the massacre of the mages 12 years ago, the Pope’s divine power surged endlessly. There were even absurd rumors circulating that God, highly valuing his achievement of defeating the witches and saving humanity, had gifted him something like a Fountain of Divinity.

The Pope’s power was the Holy Kingdom’s power, and thanks to him, the nation enjoyed prestige greater than at any time since its founding. The legendary barrier, one that none could pass without the Pope’s express permission—not even the Emperor himself—was proof of that.

So how could such a protective shield just… vanish into thin air in an instant?

Ronius’s brow furrowed slightly as he glanced toward the spy he had planted within the temple. But the young priest could only offer a slight, confused shake of his head.

Was this some kind of trick? Some scheme concocted by the Pope? There was no way that cunning old fox would just sit back and wait for his end.

As his cold, crimson eyes swept once more over the lost and terrified crowd, the men in white robes instinctively shrank back, shuffling away from him.