I Became a Childhood Friend With the Villainous Saintess

Chapter 80: Imperial Capital Edelmarion (8)

A lantern flickered to life in the pitch-black darkness.

It was a crimson lantern. Sirien gently swayed it, drawing the attention of a few assassins tightening their encirclement.

The focus in their eyes disappeared entirely.

It was as if a serene, melodious voice echoed in my mind.

“Guiding lantern. Rest at the journey’s end.”

The enchantment didn’t last long.

A few other assassins quickly regained their vigilance, snapping the entranced back to their senses.

It was instinctual—something akin to an animalistic awareness that warned them of danger.

Some even inflicted wounds on themselves to jolt their consciousness back.

I’d occasionally seen similar feats on the battlefield, where warriors would break free from mental interference by sheer force of will.

The assassins deliberately averted their eyes from the lantern, but then came the sound of splashing beneath their feet.

“Water...?”

One assassin flinched, looking down at the ground.

The graveyard floor had undoubtedly been covered in dry soil.

The ridgeline where the sun had set had vanished, replaced by a land eerily painted with crimson stone flowers.

As for the water’s origin—a river stretched endlessly, its length indiscernible.

I knew what that river was.

It appeared to be nothing more than clean water, but in reality, it was the embodiment of death flowing through this graveyard.

Yes, this place was unmistakably a cemetery.

It was a site where the divine power of Hibras, symbolizing rest and death, was at its peak.

For us, this was nothing short of a sanctuary, and confronting clergy in such a sacred place was historically ill-advised.

The river of the afterlife, purifying souls.

It washes away every sin and memory accumulated in the mortal realm—

The final gate one passes through before entering eternal rest.

The place where Hibras’s Lantern comes to rest had overlapped with reality.

‘Well, half of it is an illusion.’

Much of Sirien’s power leaned toward deception.

Given its nature of affecting souls rather than bodies, it was far more efficient to interfere with minds than to wield brute physical force.

The death delivered by the Saintess of Hibras] wasn’t unconditional.

For intelligent beings capable of communication, the cost was immense. When dealing with highly elevated souls, it could even result in fatal internal injuries for her. 𐍂âΝỌ₿ȧ

Against humans, it was far more efficient to use ordinary sacred magic.

However, humans consumed by fear or rage weren’t so different from beasts.

The moment one’s rationality dulled, Hibras judged the soul’s rank to have temporarily dropped.

When the soul plunged to its lowest, it became possible to force death upon humans without significant cost—or even compel them to end their own lives.

But this sanctuary wasn’t solely for deception.

This “other shore” was also a realm meant for me.

Considering their level of skill, it seemed a bit excessive, though.

In the depths of the darkness, my vision grew sharper than in daylight.

The deeper the forcibly imposed night became, and the more Sirien’s divine power took control of the surroundings, the clearer my senses became.

‘Three on Sirien’s side. Four on mine. Is their leader coming for me?’

The weight of the sword I gripped felt vividly clear.

A subtly twisted center of balance. The flow of air created by my movements and the sword, the habits visible in the assassins’ steps and gazes.

Everything entered the scope of my perception.

“Remember what I told you yesterday.”

“Not to get hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“You too. I’ll handle the three behind us.”

Soon, the assassins closed the distance to engage.

Perhaps confident in their swordsmanship, one of them lunged toward me with a sharp blade that whistled through the air.

The clash of our swords produced a remarkably clear resonance.

A fast, sharp strike, accompanied by enough weight behind it.

Whoever trained them had done a decent job.

But “decent” wasn’t enough to solve everything.

The days when I lacked strength and relied on cheap tricks were long gone.

I pressed forward, shoving the blade in front of me roughly aside, and the assassin, unable to match my strength, was forced to retreat.

That had been the plan, at least.

Though he stepped back, his retreat was cut short.

Chains rose from the ground and wrapped around his feet.

The price of failing to avoid my blade was, predictably, death.

His body, split in two, fell to the ground, and crimson blood soaked the land of redstone flowers.

With one down so easily, only three remained.

When multiple fighters face a single target, the basic strategy is to spread out and exploit their blind spots.

One assassin quickly slipped to my flank. I could’ve blocked him but chose not to.

“If you go that way, you’ll die.”

As I’d said, that path was certain death.

I’d expected someone to try, so I had gathered divine power in advance.

Using the tip of my sword as a signal, I slashed through the air, and a dark blade erupted from the ground.

Perhaps I should leave one alive?

I flicked the blood from my sword.

***

The sensation at the tip of my sword was unsettling.

The feel of cutting through human flesh.

The pressure of blood from taut muscles and the vibration of bone being severed reverberated in my hand.

Killing humans felt different from slaying demons. It left an unpleasant aftertaste, even though I’d long since abandoned guilt over taking lives.

‘Keeping one alive was the right call.’

The three assassins on Sirien’s side died quietly.

One had collapsed instantly, lifeless. Another had driven a blade into their own neck.

The last one stumbled toward Sirien and knelt as if awaiting execution.

Like a criminal awaiting judgment.

Sirien raised her axe and decapitated him.

With three kills apiece, only one assassin remained.

He was the one who had stayed hidden, giving orders—their leader, no doubt.

I had severed one of his arms, but it wasn’t a fatal wound, at least for now.

The reason for sparing him was simple: interrogation.

Assassins are typically tight-lipped.

But they aren’t the infallible, silent figures of comic books.

Humans are surprisingly vulnerable to pain, and prolonged torture can break even the strongest minds.

The idea of assassins trained to withstand any torture is largely a myth.

Still, torturing assassins often yields little useful information.

They know only what’s necessary for their mission, so even extensive questioning won’t extract knowledge they don’t possess.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t an option to completely skip the attempt.

I pointed my sword toward his leg.

“I’d rather not waste time, so answer my questions. Who’s behind you?”

“…You’re monsters. Both of you look so young.”

“Did I ask for your evaluation?”

The tip of my blade pierced his thigh.

The assassin gritted his teeth, refusing to make a sound.

Was he trying to show off how tough he was?

It seemed this wouldn’t go smoothly.

Sirien watched indifferently and casually commented.

“Not there. A little higher is better.”

“Huh?”

“About a finger’s width above. It’ll hurt more. And don’t stab the same spot twice. Next time, go for the opposite side.”

“Uh… okay.”

The assassin gave a bitter laugh.

I aimed where Sirien had suggested.

Why does she know this so well?

Where did she learn something like this? Regardless, I followed her advice.

After inflicting a shallow wound, I asked again.

“Who’s your employer?”

“Do you think I’d tell you?”

“Then another question. Where are your comrades?”

“…”

The assassin remained silent.

Was he showing loyalty to his allies? This time, he clamped his mouth shut entirely.

There’s no way to force someone to speak if they don’t want to.

If such methods existed, inquisitors wouldn’t need to learn such brutal torture techniques.

Still, making us waste time comes with consequences.

Thud. The blade pierced again.

After a few more questions, the assassin didn’t remain entirely silent.

However, his answers were vague and offered little value. It seemed there were limits to what he could divulge.

As expected, the interrogation was largely pointless.

I could push further, but continuing would only waste energy for both of us.

I glanced at Sirien.

She nodded slightly, signaling it was time to end it.

“This is your last chance. Say something useful, and I’ll grant you a swift death. I’m not great at torture, but I know people who are. If you stay silent, I’ll leave you to them.”

“…We weren’t the only ones to spill blood today. That’s all I know.”

“Good enough. Let’s finish this, Razen.”

“Sure. I keep my promises.”

Swish.

The sound of air splitting followed as the assassin’s neck was severed.

His face showed no pain; his death had been quick.

I pushed his collapsing body aside.

Sirien’s divine power guided his soul to rest.

She tapped her fingers thoughtfully before reaching a conclusion.

“This one didn’t seem to know his employer either. But someone was definitely targeted. Our lodging is safe, considering other nobles are staying there. By process of elimination, there’s only one left.”

“Baron Esquente?”

“Yeah. He went outside the outer city walls earlier today. That’s probably the easiest target.”

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