Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 321: City of Holy Fire

[Timeline: One Month Earlier – The Surface World]

[Location: Outskirts of the Holy Capital, Kingdom of Light]

Time goes back to a month before Damien and his family made it out of the abyss

The wooden wheels of the merchant wagon groaned in protest, kicking up clouds of golden dust as it rolled down the sun-baked King’s Road.

Inside the canvas-covered transport, the heat was stifling, but the three occupants were accustomed to far worse.

Lukas sat cross-legged near the tailgate, the sleeves of his dusty tunic rolled up to his shoulders. His hands, or rather, the heavy, black Magitech Gauntlets that replaced the function of his burned nerves hummed with a low, dangerous frequency.

Click. Hiss.

Small, metallic needles extended from the inner lining of the gauntlets, digging deep into his forearms and connecting directly to his mana core.

He winced slightly at the familiar sting, then raised his right palm. A tight, focused orb of superheated blue plasma hovered inches from the metal.

He held it for exactly 1.5 seconds before extinguishing it, testing the cooling cycle of the Dwarven tech Prince Hephaestus had built for him.

"Still running hot?" Alaric’s gruff voice called out from the driver’s bench.

"Just calibrating," Lukas replied, wiping sweat from his brow.

"If we’re heading where I think we’re heading, I can’t afford a misfire. A 1.5-second cooldown feels like an eternity when someone is trying to take your head off."

Beside him, Elena sat perfectly still, a picture of elven elegance despite the grime of the road. She was adjusting the silver rim of her Photon Lens over her right eye.

"We are entering the lion’s den," Elena murmured, her ancient green eyes tracking the landscape through a gap in the canvas. "The Holy Capital. I haven’t been this far south since the Academy fell."

Alaric pulled back on the reins, bringing the two sturdy dust-horses to a halt at the crest of a massive hill.

"Hoods up," Alaric commanded, stepping down from the bench.

He reached into the back and hoisted The Anvil, his massive, six-foot slab of heavy mythril, onto his broad shoulders.

Beneath his tunic, the Titan’s Capacitor grafted to his sternum thumped a slow, powerful rhythm, converting the ambient mana of the air into pure, dense kinetic potential.

The trio stood at the edge of the ridge, looking down into the valley.

Before them lay the Holy Capital of the Kingdom of Light.

In the stories, it was described as a utopia of pristine white marble, golden spires, and eternal sunshine. But the reality of the new era had painted a different picture.

The city was heavily militarized. The sprawling white walls were fortified with siege ballistas and anti-air mana turrets. The sky above was choked with the smoke of massive military foundries churning out armor and holy water.

But what caught their attention wasn’t the city itself. It was the river of silver and gold flowing out of the main gates.

Tens of thousands of Paladins, clad in gleaming Divine Armor, were marching out in perfect, disciplined columns.

They rode atop armored war-steeds and Griffons, carrying banners bearing the crest of the Sun. They were chanting hymns that shook the earth, a sound of absolute, unyielding fanaticism.

"They’re mobilizing," Lukas whispered, moving up beside Alaric. "An invasion force? Are they marching on the Empire?"

"No," Elena said, her enhanced elven vision piercing the distance. She pointed toward the ragged, wounded prisoners being dragged back into the city by the returning vanguard.

"Look at their captives. Black robes. Mutated limbs."

Alaric’s eyes narrowed. "Void Cultists."

"The Pope has officially launched the Holy Crusade," Elena realized, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes.

"They are fighting a full-scale war against the Abyss worshippers and all cultists."

Over the past years, while the Empire had scrambled to maintain its fragile grip on power, the Kingdom of Light had been expanding its reach, fighting the very same demonic incursions Damien had warned them about. The Church was fighting the true enemy.

But they were doing it with ruthless, absolute extremism.

"Well," Lukas sighed, crossing his mechanical arms. "I guess that makes them the good guys now? Maybe we can just knock on the front door, introduce ourselves as Zero’s star pupils, and ask to borrow their most sacred relic."

"I doubt it," Alaric grunted, pointing toward a massive stone checkpoint at the bottom of the hill leading into the city’s outer ring.

Plastered across the thick stone walls of the checkpoint, dwarfing the notices about Void Cults and demon bounties, were massive, magically illuminated wanted posters.

The sketches were older, drawn from memories of the Academy, but they were unmistakable.

A hulking warrior with a greatsword. A fire mage with burned hands. A high elf with a monocle.

[CLASS S-CRIMINALS: THE ACCOMPLICES OF ZERO]

[WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE]

[BOUNTY: 1,000,000,000 GOLD COINS]

Beneath the bounty was a decree signed by the Pope himself.

"For assisting the Anti-Christ ’Zero’ in the shattering of the Goddess’s Visage, these terrorists are denied the Light in this life and the next."

Alaric stared at the poster. He remembered the day Damien had saved them from the Demi-Gods, the day the statue of the Goddess had cracked down the middle as the world chose a new deity. The Church had never forgotten, and they had never forgiven.

"One billion gold," Lukas whistled low. "Barnaby would be proud of our market value."

"It means diplomacy is entirely off the table," Elena stated, her voice returning to its cool, tactical edge. "If we walk into that city, every Paladin, Priest, and bounty hunter will swarm us. We are public enemies to the very people fighting the Void." 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Alaric placed a hand on The Anvil. The mythril was heavy, but it was blunt. It was a weapon meant for crushing monsters, not for the precise, world-ending battles that were coming. If he was going to stand on the same stage as the 8th and 9th Order calamities Damien was undoubtedly facing, he needed a true weapon.

He needed the blade that had slain demons in the First Era. He needed the Sword of Heroes, his ancestor’s birthright.

And it was locked in the deepest vault beneath the Grand Cathedral, guarded by the very Paladins marching out to save the world.

"We can’t ask for it," Alaric said, his grey eyes hardening with a gritty, unyielding resolve. He pulled his hood low over his face.

"So, we steal it."

Alaric turned to his team.

"Lukas, calibrate your plasma. Elena, prepare the stealth arrays. We have to be careful."

They climbed back into the wagon, leaving the bright sun behind as they descended into the shadows of the Holy City.