When Irexana and the Holy Iron Inquisitors reached the border where the two armies faced off, the people who had been locked in a tense standoff couldn’t do much other than fall silent.

They weren’t a thousand. They weren’t even a hundred. Compared to Ferma’s army of ten thousand cavalry made of elite soldiers gathered from border territories, trained and refined over decades, they seemed almost meager.

And yet, neither side’s commanders dared to claim superiority. Adela grinned as she spotted three figures approaching.

“Oh! They sent three of you! Anna and the bald one, too!”

The colors of their mozetta—the short shoulder capes fluttering at their necks—were red. They were Cardinals, the Holy Church’s greatest power. There were only ten of them in total, and nearly half of them were now gathered in Portroi.

Led by Irexana, the three Cardinals greeted her. Irexana bowed politely first. Anna, with her warm demeanor, pulled Adela into a hug, while the last of the three—Cardinal Dominic—smirked, curling his lip.

“It’s been a while, Cardinal Adela,” Irexana said first.

“It’s good to see you again, Adela! It’s been, what, ten years?” Anna followed with a cheerful smile.

“You’re still as mini as ever, Adela,” Dominic also joined in with a grin across his face.

And to think he had almost been buried alive along with the Grand Church once before... It seemed he truly did not know fear.

Adela’s forehead veins twitched as she kicked and struggled. “Hey! Let me go! I’m finally gonna kill that bald bastard!”

Anna, who had somehow become the barrier between them, wiped cold sweat from her brow and said, “Come on, calm down, Adela. You know Dominic’s mouth always runs free.”

“Cardinal Dominic, mind yourself,” Irexana also added firmly.

“Yes, of course,” Dominic obliged.

“‘Of course’ my ass! You won’t learn until I rip that mouth of yours open!”

The four Cardinals bickered for a while before the mood lightened again, and they turned to greet Leon’s group. Adela still shot the occasional glare at Dominic, but at least she was quiet.

“Hero Leon. It’s been some time. How have you been?” asked Irexana.

Leon gave a faint, knowing smile. “Same as always, Your Eminence. And yourself?”

“Haha, I guess that was a needless question. The same as ever for me as well. But I’m glad to see my efforts haven’t gone to waste.”

Indeed, he wasn’t wrong.

Each Cardinal was equivalent to a Master in strength. They each governed vast regions, making it difficult for the Church to mobilize them freely. Any absence left behind a hole that required immense resources and manpower to fill.

And yet, the Holy Church had dispatched not only four Cardinals but the entire Holy Iron Inquisitors. Aside from a few who couldn’t make the journey due to distance, practically more than half of the Church’s power had been assembled here.

This time, a woman with honey-blond hair, as soft as ripened wheat, extended her hand to Leon. It was Cardinal Anna.

“This is our first proper meeting, isn’t it, Hero?”

She looked to be in her thirties, though despite her youthful tone and manner, there was an unmistakable air of an experienced matron about her. It was something that told Leon she was far older than she appeared.

He was smart enough not to mention it aloud, though.

“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Eminence.” Then he turned to the man standing behind her. “And you must be Cardinal Dominic. I’ve heard much about you.”

“Heh. Please, forget all that nonsense. They’re just empty rumors.”

“They’re definitely empty,” Adela muttered, glaring.

This time, Dominic’s eyebrow twitched. He probably didn’t want to be humiliated in front of the Hero.

Leon, meanwhile, had another question in mind for Irexana.

“Your Eminence... May I ask what happened to Jugend’s army?”

A collection of three Cardinals and over sixty Holy Iron Inquisitors was an undeniably formidable force. Even against tens of thousands of elite troops, they wouldn’t just hold their own—they’d dominate. They were a unit whose quality of strength outweighed quantity, to the point of defying common sense.

But for any army, sheer numbers still mattered. Of all nations, a military superpower like Jugend should have understood that.

Irexana didn’t make excuses. He merely smiled wryly, as though he’d been expecting Leon’s question all along.

“My apologies, Hero ... The royal army of Jugend has halted its advance at the domain of Ladoga and begun an occupation of the surrounding territory.”

“What does that mean?” Leon asked.

“It means that they believe they’ve already gained enough advantage. They see no reason to push on to the capital and shed more blood.”

Leon finally understood why the Kingdom of Jugend had made that decision.

A difference in perspective, is it...

It all came down to profit and loss. The two scales of the Holy Church, which pursued justice without weighing gain, and a kingdom that prioritized national interest, were bound to tilt in different directions at their core.

The Clyde Empire was vast. To occupy its lands and establish effective control, the Kingdom of Jugend couldn’t afford to advance too far. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

So, they had stopped. It was the most reasonable and simple decision possible.

“Even as Grand Meister, I couldn’t overturn the decision of the royal court or the military high command. The best I could do was keep them stationed close enough to the capital to intervene if necessary.”

“Ah, so they haven’t completely withdrawn?”

“They’re within two days’ march, but... realistically, they won’t be of much help in practice.”

Even if they did move, they wouldn’t fight seriously. Winning would bring them little benefit as it would only strengthen either the Revolutionary Army or Ferma. They were, at best, a reserve force to respond if things went wrong.

Still, Leon comforted Irexana, who looked disheartened.

“That’s more than enough. Just having all of you here is worth an army in itself.”

As he said it, he glanced over his shoulder, recalling the moment when the tension in the command tent—where the Revolutionary and Ferma leaders had nearly come to blows—finally crumbled.

Now, the initiative was theirs. It was time to put an end to fruitless arguments. Leon returned to the command tent with the three Cardinals.

“May the goddess’s grace be with you. Greetings, everyone. I am Irexana, the Third Cardinal of the Holy Church.”

Following his words, the others introduced themselves.

“Hello, everyone. I’m the Eighth Cardinal, Anna.”

“Hello. Sixth Cardinal, Dominic.”

With Adela included, that made four Cardinals present, and that was enough to overwhelm both the Revolutionary Army and the Ferma commanders. Some were even left speechless, their expressions stiff with unease.

They had already doubted whether they could win against Leon’s group. Now, with three more Cardinals and the Holy Iron Inquisitors added to the equation, even an entire army couldn’t hope to prevail. Even Cedric had gone quiet, realizing that fighting now would only end with him being beaten senseless.

Right, he did say he lost to His Eminence before, Leon recalled.

If Cedric still remembered that difference in power, it was no surprise he hesitated to draw his sword in his presence. Even a battle maniac knew better than to start a fight in which he had no chance of coming out on top.

Valter, marquis and commander of the Ferma forces, was no different. He deliberated for several minutes before sighing heavily and accepting the reality before him. Refusal would lead nowhere.

“Ugh... my head aches from all this. Very well. In accordance with the Church’s mediation, the Kingdom of Ferma shall honor a mutual non-aggression pact until the Mad Emperor Nex is slain and the Imperial Capital Calelum has fallen.”

“Thank you, Sir Valter,” Lyon expressed his gratitude.

“But!” Valter’s eyes flared as he pointed straight at Leon and Irexana. “You must also keep your word! Once Nex is dead and the Evil Order driven out, the Holy Church must immediately withdraw from any involvement in Ferma and the Empire’s dispute!”

“Of course. After all, that was the condition of the pact,” Irexana replied, as if he had expected it.

Then he clapped his hands once, drawing everyone’s attention, and spoke of the one thing everyone knew but had yet to address—time.

“Since both parties have reached an understanding, there’s no need to linger here any longer. Your supplies must be running thin, aren’t they?”

With a sigh, Lyon admitted, “You saw right through us.”

“K-Keuhem!” Valter also spat a grunt of admittance.

Neither the Revolutionary Army nor Ferma’s forces were built for a long campaign. Knights, cavalry, charioteers—their entire composition was centered on mobility, which naturally meant fragile supply lines. They had marched for a quick and decisive battle, not a drawn-out war. Even with the Church’s aid and Fortroi’s remaining resources, they would be lucky to hold out for more than two weeks.

“Fortunately, Calelum isn’t far from the Gateway City, where we stand,” Irexana continued, tracing a line in red ink between two points on the map. “A cavalry unit could reach it in half a day, and even at a measured pace, you’d arrive within one.”

He looked around at everyone gathered. “Let’s march on Calelum.”

“When do we depart?” Valter asked, but the answer was already decided.

“Right now.”

By the time Irexana said it, the western horizon was already dyed in twilight. And at that hour, thirty thousand soldiers began to move toward the Imperial Capital of Calelum, like an arrow aimed straight at the heart of the Clyde Empire.

***

“They’re coming.”

The voice bore no hint of excitement.

Morse of Chaos watched the air writhing beyond the horizon with an unchanged look as if he had seen all this coming. His insight had nothing to do with exolaw; it was his innate faculty. He had been like that since birth.

There was a saying about knowing the depths of water but not the depths of a man—Morse would have found that proverb meaningless. In his murky eyes, every ugly thought of his showed through.

Nekator, who had been lounging nearby, sprang to his feet, shouting. “Finally! At last! I’ve been waiting so long! Is it the Church? Or the Ferma army? I don’t care if it’s rebels—more mouths to entertain me the better!”

“There are many,” Morse said.

“Oho! Brother! You don’t disappoint!”

Nekator slapped him roughly on the shoulder; Morse’s joint tore and drooped under the impact. He did not even groan. Calmly, he restored the joint, grinding the displaced bone back into place.

He might be a few tiers below Nekator in raw combat power, but for sheer abnormality and madness, no one of the Nine Hell rivalled Morse. If one insisted on naming another, perhaps the archbishop would qualify, but it seemed that mattered little in this case.

“It seems he won’t step forward again,” Morse said

Suddenly halting his frenzy, Nekator replied, “Oh... Yeah, but he’s always been that way,”

“Do we have any place in his grand plan? I won’t hold my breath,” Morse added in his usual droopy, depressing tone.

“Brother.”

“Even when Cordia died, it was like this. We’d get more reaction out of someone who’s lost a single piece of firewood. We’re nothing but some weed at his feet.”

Even the madman who had seized the continent with pure malice and cunning could not read the archbishop’s mind. There had been a time they believed him a prophet. A time they worshipped him as a savior. In Morse’s head, those old memories had blackened. Now, they were gone.

“I will make chaos. I will open the gates of hell that whirl with blood and flame and pose the question I carried in my mother’s womb.”

His eyes shone a grisly, pearly white with madness while Nekator simply stared at him. He had surrendered the direction of his life to impulse and pleasure and had never hesitated or faltered, life like an arrow loosed, like lightning striking through clouds.

“Are you still searching, brother?” Nekator asked.

“Of course. Until I reach the final destination in this life of mine, there will be no stopping.”

Morse wanted to ask the same question to those who are coming beyond the horizon, marching forward untroubled in their own sense of justice, and himself, who could not live the same way.

Why were they born the way they were?

The question not even the Goddess could answer—he would realize that unanswerable question with his life.

“Come, O justice.” Morse spread his arms wide and smiled with a benign face. “I will welcome you with my malice.”

The day of reckoning was drawing near.