As the two sides faced off once more, a soldier's shout echoed over: “Oh no! The prisoner has been rescued by the Demon King Cult!”
Marcus's face darkened.
Regardless of whether Wendy had actually joined the Demon King Cult, he had no intention of letting such a threat live.
Turning to Roland, he spoke in an urgent and solemn tone, “Lord Roland, if the prisoner is truly rescued by the Demon King Cult, the Empire's reputation will be severely tarnished. Please pursue them. As for these two—”
No longer holding back, he unleashed the embryonic form of his gravity domain. A dark gray light expanded from his body, enveloping everything within a radius of dozens of meters.
He raised a hand and pressed it downward. The two masked figures instantly felt a colossal pressure descend from above, pinning them firmly to the ground, unable to budge.
“I can handle them myself!”
Roland glanced at the two pinned to the ground, nodded, and then blurred, shooting off like an arrow from a bow in the direction Greg had fled.
Seeing Roland give chase in that direction, the one wearing the crying mask actually began to push against the immense pressure, slowly raising her body inch by inch.
But just then, the one wearing the smiling mask suddenly elbowed her, prompting the crying mask to lie right back down.
“Was that... an illusion just now?”
Marcus frowned as he pulled his gaze back from Roland's receding figure.
He had suddenly felt a lingering sense of dread, as if some terrifying entity was about to awaken.
But seeing how the two of them lay completely motionless within his domain, he figured he was probably overthinking things. He refocused his attention on maintaining his embryonic gravity domain.
“Are you stupid, you closet-pervert elf?”
Olivia lowered her voice, scolding Luna in a whisper only the two of them could hear:
“If you use your domain now, won't you be telling him exactly who you are? Do you want to start an all-out war between our two nations?”
Luna fell silent for a moment. “But... he's going after them. My disciple...”
“Oh, relax.”
Olivia cut her off, her tone filled with absolute certainty:
“Roland isn't the only skilled swordsman in this world. That kid Greg has one by his side too.”
She paused, then added, “And her talent is leagues ahead of that old man's.”
When Greg had first enrolled, Olivia had been completely stunned the first time she saw the maid following behind him on campus.
A first-year freshman accompanied by a maid who was practically a monster—this was something unprecedented in the academy's entire history.
At the time, she had mistakenly assumed Greg was some peerless genius, and that the House of Sass had spared no expense to hire such a powerful maid to protect him.
As it turned out, she later learned that Greg was no genius at all, but rather a complete menace. Moreover, that maid hadn't been hired by the House of Sass—she was simply lusted after Greg's body.
Though it sounded rather absurd, Olivia knew exactly how ridiculously talented that maid was.
Thus, she was certain that even though they both wielded swords, Roland was absolutely no match for her.
Luna fell silent for a moment.
She knew Olivia wouldn't joke about something like this. If she said it was fine, then it definitely was.
So, she asked with her characteristic innocence, “Then what do we do now?”
Olivia lay on the ground, her posture as relaxed as if she were sunbathing:
“Just lie here and rest. This is a rare treat. Honestly, with this pressure, my spine actually feels a lot better. Once his mana is mostly drained, we'll make our move. We won't even have to exert much effort then.”
“...”
Listening to Olivia, Luna was completely speechless beneath her mask.
She thought to herself: My disciple might be in grave danger right now. How can I just lie here and enjoy this?
Olivia added another line:
“Besides, I heard that doing planks under this kind of gravity might actually help with breast enhancement. Boys seem to like them big, anyway.”
“...”
Luna still didn't say a word, but she silently flipped over, propped herself up on her hands, and began doing planks under the crushing gravity.
“Hmm... is the one wearing the crying mask still trying to struggle?”
Marcus looked down at his domain, noting that the one in the smiling mask seemed to have given up in despair, lying motionless on the ground.
The one in the crying mask, however, had flipped over and propped herself up on her hands, seemingly attempting to stand up under the pressure.
But after watching her for a moment, he realized she was just holding that exact position—neither standing up nor collapsing.
He figured that simply maintaining this pose was likely her absolute limit.
Thus, Marcus quickly looked away, lowering his guard and turning his attention to his surroundings.
“H-Help! There are Demon King Cult lunatics here too!”
“Someone save me! I don't want to die!”
“Run! They're coming this way!”
Hearing the chaotic cries echoing through the imperial capital from the Demon King Cult's attack, Marcus showed no sympathy or urgency on his face.
He knew most members of the Demon King Cult were just a rabble. Though they might cause some casualties, it would only take a bit of time for the knights to suppress them.
Moreover, with the Hundred Academy Exchange currently underway, some hot-headed students would surely step out of the Magic Tower to help.
Therefore, his primary concern right now was how to exploit this incident afterward to consolidate his own power.
So, he simply hovered in the air, calmly contemplating how to turn today's events to his own advantage.
...
On the other side of the square.
As the most devout believer of the Goddess of Light, Serafina, Veronica had no intention of sitting idly in her ornate chair and staying out of the conflict.
She had already made her way to the outskirts of the square. Gathering gentle light-attribute mana in her hands, she erected protective barriers one after another amidst the chaotic crowd.
The white light enveloped the civilians caught in the explosions like warm wings, shielding them from flying debris and searing heatwaves. Then, another beam of light shot out, directly piercing through a rampaging Demon King Cultist ahead.
“Thank you for saving us, Lady Saintess!”
The rescued commoners knelt on the ground, bringing their hands together in prayer.
But Veronica had no time to respond to them. She had just noticed that the Empire's Sword, Roland, was already rushing in the direction Lord Greg had fled.
According to the plan, she was supposed to follow Greg immediately when he left.
However, because more members of the Demon King Cult had launched attacks, as the Saintess, she simply couldn't stand by and watch innocent civilians die before her eyes, which had delayed her here.
But now, she knew she had to head over immediately.
Withdrawing her channeled mana, Veronica turned to Silvia beside her:
“Silvia, you will take over for me now. Organize the Church's personnel to handle the evacuation and calm the people.”
Silvia was taken aback, clearly not expecting Veronica to entrust her with such a task. Looking at the chaotic crowd in the square, she hesitated:
“Can I... really do this? I've never handled something like this on my own before...”
Veronica looked at her, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips:
“Hehe, who was it that came to me yesterday of her own accord, claiming she wanted to adapt to her role as the Candidate Saintess as quickly as possible? Where did that resolve go? Or... did you actually lack the determination all along?”
Hearing this, Silvia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
She had already made up her mind. If it was for Greg's sake, she was willing to shoulder the responsibilities she had once rejected. There was no way she would back down now.
Taking a deep breath, her gaze turned resolute. “I can do it.”
Veronica gave a slight nod and said nothing more.
Turning around, she cast her gaze in the direction Greg had vanished, murmuring to herself:
“Besides, I also have other trials bestowed upon me by Lady Serafina to complete.”
Before her voice even faded, her figure transformed into a streak of white light, silently darting through the chaotic streets and rushing into the distance.
Rate on N.U.
