Divine Power

It was one of the "First Mysteries" bestowed by the gods.

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From ancient civilizations to the present, divine power had its roots in the faith of the Sun God and Moon God, who still dominated the continents of the West and East. There were also the gods of the sea, earth, and sky, now mere shadows of their former glory but still worshiped by small groups of devotees.

The flames of divine power were first gifted to humanity by these ancient gods. As the faith of their followers grew purer, the divine power bestowed upon them grew stronger.

For this reason, most ancient nations were theocracies.

They expanded their territories, established agrarian societies, and built the foundations of their civilizations through the might of divine power.

But as time went on, the abuse of this power for personal wealth and influence led many of these theocracies into corruption.

Thus arose those who punished those who defiled the gods’ name and used divine glory for their greed. These individuals became known as the first inquisitors—the Heretic Inquisitors.

The first inquisitors wielded divine power as if it were an extension of their own bodies. Over time, their methods were discovered to share principles with both magic and martial arts.

However, unlike magic or martial arts, divine power was far easier to wield and far stronger. It remained a dominant force even in the present era.

Sacred Art

The combat system utilizing divine power, known as Sacred Art, was said to have been created by an anonymous wandering monk.

Though convenient, it had its limitations.

“Sacred Art is, after all, a shortcut. If one seeks true strength, one must integrate divine power into their body and train diligently.”This was another teaching from the wandering monk.

He emphasized that Sacred Art, while useful, was ultimately a shortcut and insufficient to defeat a "true master."

Yet, even centuries—no, millennia—later, Sacred Art remained one of the most potent forces within the temples. It symbolized the combat prowess of the heretic inquisitors and had evolved continuously over time.

If the founder of Sacred Art could witness its current state, they might retract their earlier words.

Such was the confidence of the inquisitors in their Sacred Art.

And today was no exception.

"We’ve been outmatched. Prepare the Grand Sacred Art immediately!"

"Understood!"

Seeing their comrade fall so easily to the knight, the inquisitors quickly reorganized.

That fallen comrade wasn’t weak, yet it had happened in an instant.

This meant the knight's skill level far exceeded their expectations.

Thus,

“Then we’ll give him the reception he deserves.”

The Grand Sacred Art typically required the coordination of at least thirty practitioners, but the inquisitors, each capable of the strength of ten priests, could manage it with just nine.

Together, they began their chant:

"<Deliver the Heretics unto the Iron Mace>."

The Blessing of the Iron Mace

This Grand Sacred Art was usually reserved for subduing violent, massive monsters like wyverns and drakes.

It was also referred to as the "Trap of the Earth."

As expected—

RUMBLE!

The moment the Sacred Art activated, an overwhelming force descended upon the earth.

Rocks crumbled into dust, trees were flattened like weeds, and the surrounding area was crushed under the weight of an enormous, heavenly mace.

Even a knight commander of the highest caliber would be unable to escape or break free from this power, according to common sense.

"Wow, this is a decent workout."

“.......”

"My muscles are tingling. Hmm, can you guys maintain this for two hours?"

“Wha-what...?!”

“Answer me, you rude bastards.”

THWACK!

One of the priests chanting the Grand Sacred Art suddenly had his jaw dislocated and crashed headfirst into the ground.

The speed of the strike was so fast that even the inquisitor commander was stunned.

THWACK! CRACK! THUD!

But it didn’t stop there.

One by one, the priests, still in the middle of activating the Sacred Art, were struck down by invisible blows, collapsing to the ground.

"You—what have you done?!"

“Split-Fist Tiger Stance.”

“...What?”

"If you don’t understand, you’ll just have to learn the hard way."

CRUNCH!

Annoyed by the incessant screeching, the knight delivered a precise punch to the priest’s face, leaving a clear imprint of his fist and caving it in.

It was a strike on a completely different level.

“Hundred-Step Divine Fist.”

The priest collapsed without ever having the chance to properly retaliate.

+++++

Screech!

Ihan had just dealt with the nuisances in front of him when two priests, who had been lying in wait, suddenly lunged at him from both sides with immense speed.

In their hands were sharp, deadly awls aimed straight for him.

The air was thick with killing intent, but Ihan—

Thud.

“?”

“??”

He didn’t evade.

He took the awls head-on.

But instead of piercing his flesh, the awls stopped abruptly as if hitting a solid wall.

“W-What? Even with the Blessing of Penetration, how...?”

“You think I’d answer if you just asked?”

Crack!

Ihan casually grabbed their wrists and twisted them.

Their joints bent in directions they were never meant to, and their eyes widened in shock.

“Wow, you’re tougher than the others,” Ihan remarked.

Despite the excruciating pain, neither priest screamed. Clearly, they had considerable tolerance for pain.

Which gave Ihan an idea.

Squelch!

CRACKLE!

“Let’s see how well you handle this, then.”

He used his signature Muscle Tearing and Bone Crushing Technique—a method typically reserved for torture but masterfully adapted by Ihan as a combat tool.

By combining his deep understanding of anatomy with unparalleled precision, Ihan had refined the technique for battle.

While not as severe as during actual torture, the pain was still immense, making endurance a nearly impossible challenge.

Whoosh!

As Ihan admired his handiwork, he noticed an arrow hurtling toward him from afar.

The shooter was a sniper, 1.5 kilometers away, sending the arrow with murderous intent.

The arrow seemed almost alive, spiraling toward him with uncanny precision.

Ihan, intrigued, studied it for a moment before responding.

Thunk!

He playfully kicked a small stone lying on the ground, launching it like a soccer ball.

His action seemed lighthearted, but the force behind the stone was anything but.

BOOM!

The arrow shattered mid-air as the stone obliterated it completely.

If one were to name the move, it might be called Piercing Stone Throw, a variation on his signature techniques.

Ihan then turned his attention to a nearby tree.

CRACK!

With a single hand, Ihan uprooted the tree as if it were a mere flower.

His raw strength was far beyond the realm of normal humans.

It would take at least a thousand-year-old troll or ogre to even challenge him in brute force.

THUD.

Ihan adjusted his stance, preparing for a javelin throw.

Whoosh!

Using his entire body as a spring, he channeled all his energy into the tree and hurled it with tremendous force.

Though he couldn’t guarantee perfect accuracy, the sheer destruction it would cause upon impact would ensure no one in the vicinity could escape unscathed.

BOOM!

The sound of an explosion echoed in the distance as the tree landed, obliterating everything in its path.

“Did I hit the mark?” Ihan mused, unsure if his improvised throw had found its target.

“To disregard even the Blessing of Precision... Such irrational strength. Even if you’re not a heretic, your power reeks of heretical sorcery.”

Ihan turned toward the voice.

“You’re the last one, huh? I thought your presence felt familiar.”

“......”

“I let you off the hook once. Surely, you didn’t expect it to happen twice?”

“I wouldn’t presume to be that shameless.”

“Good. At least you’re self-aware.”

“......”

“Go ahead and pull it out. I know you’re carrying it.”

“You already knew?”

“With that strong smell of gunpowder wafting around, how could I not?”

“...Fair enough.”

Click.

The priest, who Ihan recognized as the man holding a Bible and a small bell the previous night, pulled a revolver from within the folds of his scripture.

Without hesitation, he aimed and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

+++++

Firearms in This World

In this world, firearms were nothing more than muskets invented for noble hunting parties, and they had never become a standard combat weapon.

Guns were ineffective against monsters, and the mere thought of intelligent monsters gaining access to them was nightmarish.

Furthermore, the slow development and distribution of firearms were deliberate, stemming from fears that advanced weapons might one day spark uprisings among commoners.

BANG!

But just because their development was slow didn’t mean their research was neglected.

BOOM!

Even with a simple revolver, the destructive power on display was extraordinary.

It had the force of an anti-material sniper rifle, far exceeding the limits of a typical revolver.

Even with his Diamond Body technique, Ihan doubted he could withstand a direct hit.

The weapon’s power seemed to transcend physical laws—likely enhanced by Sacred Art or specially crafted.

Whoosh!

Ihan deftly dodged, his trained eyes following the bullet's trajectory.

A knight’s honed senses allowed him to react even to projectiles.

He considered simply closing the distance and subduing his opponent—

Thwack!

“?”

“Looks like fists alone won’t do the job.”

“...No, keep going.”

“......”

“I won’t kill you. Just keep at it.”

“...Hmm.”

The priest’s hand-to-hand combat skills were impressive.

His techniques mixed joint locks and strikes in a style reminiscent of—

"Systema?"

Interesting!

Ihan couldn’t help but marvel.

He hadn’t expected to encounter such techniques in this world.

"Gun-Fist Techniques," was it?"

A martial art combining firearms and unarmed combat.

It was the kind of fighting style often seen in action movies, where the user seamlessly integrated shooting and martial arts. In skilled hands, it was a devastating combination.

Here, however, the fear wasn’t just the gun itself but how it was wielded.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The priest wasn’t just skilled in martial arts—his shooting skills were equally exceptional.

The recoil of the revolver didn’t seem to affect him at all, likely stabilized by Sacred Art. His aim was impeccable.

"Why do you still have bullets left?"

“This, too, is Sacred Art.”

“Wow, that’s ridiculously overpowered.”

“......”

“What’s with that face?”

“...I feel you’re the last person who should say that.”

“?”

For a moment, Ihan was confused, but he soon focused on the fight.

He continued sparring with the priest, keeping his strength in check and relying solely on hand-to-hand techniques.

If he wanted, he could have ended it at any time.

But—

“This guy’s not bad.”

The priest’s skill and his seamless integration of firearms into his combat style piqued Ihan’s curiosity.

He wanted to see more.

“One hour.”

“?”

“If you last one hour, I’ll let you go.”

“??”

The priest didn’t understand Ihan’s cryptic remark at first.

But by the thirty-minute mark—

“So that’s what you meant...”

The priest was drenched in sweat, his body trembling uncontrollably.

He finally realized Ihan meant he had to endure for an entire hour to be spared.

But his stamina was already near its limit.

“Come on, you can do it. Get up, you spineless wretch.”

“...Are you even human?”

Ihan hadn’t broken a sweat, and his breathing was calm and steady.

“Cheer up, you’ve got this!”

“...Don’t you think it’s strange to encourage your enemy?”

“You’re the enemy? Huh, I thought you were just here to entertain me.”

“......”

“This is even more humiliating than being treated like a worm.”

The Priest’s Realization

The priest, Pierre, finally understood.

From the start, they hadn’t even been considered enemies—just toys for the knight’s amusement.

Faced with this revelation—

Click.

“I’d rather die.”

Pierre pointed his revolver at his forehead and pulled the trigger, determined to end it all.

"Not happening."

“......”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“......”

Pierre was left speechless as he saw the bullet spinning harmlessly between Ihan’s thumb and forefinger.

“This guy’s talented, but his mindset is utterly rotten. What kind of idiot acts like this?”

Like a dragon struck on its reverse scale, Ihan roared in anger.

He picked up a random stick from the ground.

Though it looked like a simple wooden stick, it seemed imbued with life and felt as solid as steel in Ihan’s hands.

"Rotten-headed fool! You’re getting exactly a thousand strikes—no more, no less!"

“......”

“Lie down.”

“What?”

“Lie flat on the ground, you brainless idiot!”

Ignoring Pierre’s protests, Ihan mercilessly wielded the stick.

WHACK!

Pierre’s consciousness faded.

But Ihan wouldn’t let him escape that easily.

Whenever Pierre fainted, Ihan poured water to wake him up, healed him with potions when he was on the brink of death, and fed him when his stamina was depleted—only to resume the punishment.

Four Days of Hell

Pierre lost consciousness countless times, only to wake up to the sight of the stick coming for him again. It was as if he had fallen into a never-ending cycle of torment.

By the end of four days, Pierre finally understood one thing:

This knight had an uncanny ability to keep his word.

“Trainee, how many strikes are left?”

“Uh, you’ve delivered four hundred and eighty so far, sir.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“You’ve been keeping count on the chalkboard, sir.”

“There are so many to hit, I might lose track.”

“That’s understandable, sir.”

“Oh, you’re awake. Only five hundred and twenty to go! Trainee, keep counting accurately.”

“Yes, sir...”

Pierre knew exactly how many strikes remained because Ihan kindly announced the count every time he lost consciousness and woke up..