The Dark Church's Young Dark Popes were not limited to a single individual—even the priests did not know the full number. The only one Juan knew of was Evan Helvin.
"Harvest Evan Helvin," the Dark Pope had commanded.
Juan obeyed the command while thinking, "Harvest" is indeed a fitting term.
The Seeds of Evil, sown centuries ago, had finally sprouted. Only the Dark Pope could recognize their growth, while the priests bore the duty of reaping them.
Still, Juan regretted the timing of revealing his true intentions.
The Badnikers were among the church's most formidable enemies, and infiltrating their stronghold undetected held immense strategic value. He could have been the trump card in the great war to come.
Yet the Dark Pope dismissed his concerns.
"That won't happen. No matter how long you stay among them, the Badnikers will never truly accept you."
"What do you mean, Dark Pope?"
"Even the position of Great Master might be a trap they laid."
Juan could not refute that statement. After all, from his close experience with the Iron-Blooded Lord, he knew the man could easily outsmart anyone. On the continent, the Iron-Blooded Lord was the only one who saw the church as prey rather than an enemy.
After that, Juan cast aside his regrets and hesitation, deciding to use the training camp as the site where a new Young Dark Pope would be born. But when he finally saw Evan there, Juan felt an uncontrollable surge of anger. Evan's skills were abysmal.
Is this for real? Is he really the Dark Pope's successor? Juan had wondered.
Although Juan knew it was a fabricated persona, disappointment gnawed at him. Worse still was Evan's hereditary swordsmanship.
Raven was horrendous. It was barely worthy of being called swordsmanship.
Juan embraced his true identity as a priest, but he also took pride in his role as the martial arts instructor. At the very least, he held pride in his martial knowledge. From the perspective of a martial arts instructor, Evan's style was unacceptable, and Juan could not overlook such a glaring flaw.
Juan had felt that the revered position of Young Dark Pope had been defiled. For a moment, he had forgotten his duties as a priest and scolded Evan. But it didn't matter. Once the rebirth was complete, Evan wouldn't need to rely on that swordsmanship.
Juan's gaze dropped to the forest below.
Junian was as relentless as expected, proving why the church despised inquisitors. Meanwhile, Seren Goodspring had her eyes closed and was gathering her strength.
Then, there was Luan Badniker.
It was unexpected. If any heroic disciple were to stand until the end, Juan had anticipated it would be Charon or Hector. Of course, being good didn't necessarily guarantee survival. In this situation, survival was as much a matter of luck as skill.
If excellent hero disciples had joined from the start, their survival would have seemed more reasonable. But the sight of Luan fighting dozens of demons was beyond Juan's expectations.
The words of the now-deceased Tanko surfaced in his mind.
"I am eyeing Luan Badniker."
"Remember this. A Great Warrior of the Grasslands doesn't lie when evaluating warriors."
Did I misjudge him? Juan wondered.
He had never given Luan much thought.
Of course, he knew the rumors painting Luan as an irredeemable loser were false. But the hero disciples at this training camp were so far beyond Luan's level that Juan saw no reason to pay him attention.
If anyone warranted caution, it was Charon and Hector—perhaps Seren, if he had to name a third. The rest were too immature to be considered threats.
Now, that assessment had changed.
Luan refused to fall. At some point, he had started playing as much of a role as Juan, perhaps even more than Junian. He wielded a sword as well as his fists, and his once-messy swordsmanship had become more defined.
When the image of Luan slaughtering demons overlapped with that of the Iron-Blooded Lord, Juan decided to intervene.
The survivors' despair would fuel not only the Young Dark Pope's birth but also the god of disaster's strength. That was why he had lingered on the sidelines, even knowing Seren was up to something
Yet only three remained—no, two, since Seren wasn't actively fighting—and they still hadn't been eliminated.
This was an anomaly. The Demon King's Summoning Ritual could not afford errors.
The moment Juan resolved to act,, he focused his attack on Luan, using his power to sever Luan's right arm.
I meant to take his life.
However, he knew what losing an arm meant to a martial artist.
The delicate balance shattered. Soon, Luan's body was completely buried beneath the demons.
Juan heard the sickening crunch of flesh and shifted his focus to his next target: Seren.
Even a hero disciple's blessing couldn't reverse the situation now, but her Goodspring bloodline demanded caution.
I should avoid expending more power, but better to be certain, even if it's overkill.
A dark wave erupted from Juan's palm, slamming into Seren's defenseless body. The impact sent her flying like a broken doll, crashing against a tree before collapsing.
Yet Juan sensed that she was still alive.
This time, he would use a little more force.
"Priest!"
Juan froze at the roar. He turned, startled.
Luan was glaring at him with blazing eyes.
His forehead split open, his face drenched in blood, his severed arm still dripping thick gore. Yet he tore through demons with his remaining hand, his gaze spearing Juan like a spike.
"Calculating who to eliminate first? You think the Goodspring bloodline and a dying inquisitor are the biggest threats here?"
Luan laughed and roared, "Then take a good look—who do you see as your greatest enemy on this battlefield?!"
Goosebumps prickled Juan's skin. The Badniker blood.
He'd lost count of how many times the Iron-Blooded Lord's aura had overwhelmed him.
The church members who witnessed the Iron-Blooded Lord on the battlefield rarely survived to tell the tale. Anyone involved in operations related to Badniker was almost always discarded as useless.
Calling the man cruel would be an understatement. He embodied a horror that eroded even faith.
Juan knew. Given the true meaning of hunter, only one man in the empire deserved to be called a demon hunter—the Iron-Blooded Lord.
Luan's taunt was obvious. It was a ploy to draw his attention and save those who were still alive.
Juan recognized the trick but played along. I'll indulge you.
If this sprout wasn't crushed now, Luan would become the church's greatest enemy in the future.
Juan landed on the ground.
It was one of the church's top secrets that priests couldn't use their full power during rituals. At most, only about 30% of their normal strength was accessible.
That wouldn't be enough. Thus, Juan concentrated his power and forged a spear that seemed to pulse with darkness.
The strain made blood surge up his throat—he forced it back down.
Suddenly, black sparks crackled along the obsidian spear, yet Luan was still smiling.
Then, Juan saw a sword protruding from his chest. The blood he'd barely swallowed surged back up.
"Cough...!"
He forced himself to turn his head and look behind him.
A knight in a bloodied helmet stood there. Unexpectedly, the face beneath it was one he'd never seen at the training camp.
That man is—
"Luke... Badniker..."
"Such a cowardly ambush would stain a knight's honor," Luke said, his face unreadable. "But fuck that if I can kill a priest."
***
I hadn't sensed Luke's presence from the start.
The man concealed his aura so perfectly he could evade even Juan's heightened perception—more assassin than knight.
—Do you need help?
Shortly after my arm was severed, Luke's voice reached me. It probably wasn't magic. A blessing, perhaps?
—Don't make it obvious. Just answer by nodding. Do you need help?
I barely managed to nod.
—If you can hold on a bit longer, I can definitely kill the priest. But not yet. The odds are only half.
It was barely a 50% chance. After all, the enemy was in the sky. No matter how well one could hide their aura, in an open sky, it was impossible to remain undetected.
I shook my head.
—I see. Don't die.
Luke's terse reply came as I deliberately roared, drawing Juan's attention.
Juan's eyes were drawn to me, and he finally stepped on the ground...
Luke's sword pierced the priest's heart.
As Juan's eyes widened, a shadowy figure materialized and struck Luke with crushing force.
Luke wrenched his sword free and blocked, but the impact sent him flying.
Is this the demon king's punishment?
In my current state, I couldn't have countered it. Even if my eyes tracked the blow, I wouldn't be able to react.
Juan clutched the wound over his heart, but it was like trying to stem a flood with bare hands.
"So the demon king's intervention begins the moment you notice it," Luke said, rising from shattered wood and dust.
Blood trickled from his lips, but his smile was triumphant.
"If you were a demonic human, a pierced heart wouldn't kill you. But you're not. No tainted thing could've set foot on Badnikers' land."
Juan said nothing.
"That's it for the ritual, Priest. The demon king's descent has failed."
Juan slumped to his knees, a broken laugh escaping him.
Had the shock of his plans crumbling unhinged his mind?
I wished that were the case, but things never went so smoothly in situations like this.
"عبدك المتواضع أعرض الجسد والروح..." (Your humble servant offers up his heart and soul...)
A chill ran through me at the unfamiliar, dreary language
The bloodied priest lifted his face to the sky and screamed, "God of Disaster of Despair, Ahop!"
Luke and I had charged the moment Juan started the incantation, but damn it, we were too far away.
"Descend to this land!"
And then, pitch-black darkness consumed the world.