Genius Warlock

Oliver witnessed it.

He observed the destitute family taking refuge in the cellar of an abandoned structure.

Each one of them appeared emaciated, draped in garments that hung loosely on their frail frames.

Their shoes were oversized, resembling cloaks that concealed their entire forms, including large hats concealing their eyes.

Notably, the children were in the direst condition. Among them, the youngest child trembled in profound fear at the sight of Oliver, struggling to hold back tears.

The child’s face turned crimson from the effort.

The other youngsters, seemingly siblings, clenched their jaws tightly in a desperate attempt to suppress their tears. However, upon locking eyes with Oliver, they broke into sobs, as if surrendering to the overwhelming emotions.

“Uh… uh… uaaaah!”

“Huuuuuuu… mom… mom.”

“Quiet… everyone, be quiet!”

An elder woman and man, presumably the children’s parents, softly implored silence upon them.

Despite their own evident fear, they acted as a protective barrier for their offspring, fueled by an unwavering sense of parental duty.

This emotion was truly… exquisite. Incredibly beautiful.

“Um…”

Oliver underwent an abrupt transformation, as if a chilling deluge had doused him, prompting him to survey his surroundings.

Before long, he comprehended the source of their dread.

It emanated from him, from Oliver himself.

Shifting his gaze away from the position where he had been poised to crush one of Bonifa’s eyes like a grape, Oliver scrutinized the remnants of his fleeting yet intense wrath.

The ceiling bore a cavernous breach, and Bonifa, now incapacitated and broken, had surrendered all resistance.

The battle had been decided long before its formal conclusion.

Nevertheless, Oliver persisted, even attempting to extinguish what remained of Bonifa’s injured eye.

It was an excessive response.

What could he possibly gain by inflicting further harm…

Recognizing this, Oliver valiantly suppressed his tears and revisited the couple shielding their children.

They stood as defenders amidst the wreckage of their abode, surrounded by disarrayed household items.

It felt profoundly shameful and dishonorable.

Just as he couldn’t elucidate the rage that had consumed him earlier, he couldn’t precisely articulate the sense of shame and disgrace, but Oliver was acutely aware of it.

To the extent that raising his head became an arduous endeavor.

He yearned to depart from this place with utmost haste.

The head of Ark Orphanage had been correct.

People instinctively want to distance themselves from their sins, and Oliver now fully realized what that meant.

He released Bonifa, who had been drenched in fear and despair, his gaze fixated on Oliver’s thumb.

Bonifa, now a battered and unconscious figure, succumbed to relief, knowing that the worst had passed. Oliver seized one of Bonifa’s legs and endeavored to exit the basement of the abandoned building.

He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Cease.

Oliver paused briefly at the basement stairs.

The impoverished family recoiled at the sight of him.

Turning his head toward them, Oliver reluctantly spoke, despite his discomfort.

“Ex… Excuse me. I’m really… sorry.”

Oliver tendered a soft apology and proceeded on his way, ascending the stairs and vanishing from the structure.

***

Thud. Thud. Thud. Drag. Drag. Drag.

Oliver, having emerged from the abandoned building, hauled the unconscious Bonifa by the leg and continued onward.

As he walked, Oliver employed the vision of a warlock to gauge the emotions of the people surrounding him.

While this location was dilapidated even by Wineham’s standards, it was not entirely devoid of inhabitants.

Among those compelled to reside here were the impoverished, alongside a notable contingent of beggars.

During the initial and intermediate stages of the conflict, spectators had observed Oliver and the Paladins with a blend of trepidation and intrigue. Now, fear held sway, and everyone simply yearned for the situation to pass.

Oliver comprehended their emotions.

He remembered the traces of violence he had committed, and what he had done.

He had crossed a line.

Pragmatically speaking, the battle had reached its conclusion when he had vanquished Bonifa.

Bonifa lay incapacitated, rendering both the Paladins and the servants devoid of any combat will.

If Oliver had chosen to open a portal and escape, no one would have hindered his departure.

In that scenario, at least this incident could have been resolved.

However, Oliver didn’t take that course of action.

He succumbed to impulsiveness, recklessness, and was swayed by inconsequential emotions, pushing past the point where he should have ceased, causing needless destruction and suffering.

It was undeniably foolish.

“I apologize.”

With Bonifa in tow, Oliver placed him in front of Galahad and spoke these words.

For the record, Bonifa was in a wretched state.

The Paladin’s once-pristine armor was reduced to tatters, one side of his face severely swollen, his skin peeled away, presenting a pitiable sight.

Fortunately or unfortunately, due to his shattered jaw, broken nose, crushed shoulders, and a body adorned with purple and red bruises, the damage to one side of his face didn’t seem exceptionally severe.

Both his body and attire resembled rags.

As he was dragged across the floor, covered in black dust, Bonifa bore a resemblance to a crow.

A crow that had soared high, only to plummet to the earth in a pitiable demise.

“I went a little too far,” Oliver admitted.

Galahad, the official leader of this mission, remained silent for several reasons.

First and foremost, he was fearful.

This was the man who had subdued them with mere aura, reducing Bonifa, fully awakened as the son of an angel, to a state perilously close to death. Reacting impulsively could provoke a man who could easily dispatch them, which would be suicidal.

However, beyond that, Galahad couldn’t respond because he was internally perplexed.

He suddenly found himself at a loss as to why this was happening.

While he didn’t possess extensive knowledge about the pseudo-god standing before him, one thing was certain.

The man had the power to effortlessly obliterate them all.

The fallen Bonifa served as irrefutable evidence of this fact.

Yet, he had not killed them and had even offered an apology for going too far.

It felt like a form of mockery, yet, inexplicably, Galahad sensed a genuine tone in that indifferent gaze.

He discerned a faint trace of regret in those eyes.

Having encountered numerous human dispositions throughout his career, Galahad could differentiate between genuine remorse and feigned contrition.

After all, he was a seasoned Paladin who had completed hundreds of solo missions and participated in dozens of group endeavors.

‘No, that can’t be it,’ Galahad inwardly questioned himself.

Perhaps it was merely that. With such otherworldly power, it remained entirely plausible.

Demons were known for their deceitful machinations and venomous tongues more than their transcendent abilities.

‘But I can’t move recklessly; the mission has already failed. Now, I have to move in the direction that maximizes survival. Even just to report this fact to the church.’

With caution, Galahad gripped his longsword, covertly signaling the next course of action to his comrades behind him, all while maintaining a tense standoff with Oliver.

It felt akin to facing a dangerous beast.

In the event of an emergency, Galahad planned to hold Oliver at bay, buying precious time for the others to escape.

After an excruciatingly protracted silence, during which tension reached its zenith, Oliver made his move once more.

“Once again, I apologize.”

Awkwardly apologizing, he swiftly passed by Galahad and his companions.

Then, just as he had done when evacuating the cult followers earlier, he reached into the empty air, tearing it apart and vanishing into the rift.

Only after Oliver had completely disappeared did everyone finally manage to breathe freely.

It was as though an oppressive weight had been lifted from their chests.

Gasping for air, the sound of labored breathing reverberated in the empty space. It was only then that everyone wiped away their cold sweat and rushed to support Bonifa, who was in a dire state.

“Oh, Lord above… The Holy Knight needs medical attention! There isn’t a single part of the body that is intact.”

“Get a hold of yourself! Holy Knight! You must open your eyes!”

Responding to the servants’ urgent pleas, the Paladins swiftly began to administer Holy healing magic to Bonifa.

They hoped for a divine miracle that exceeded the effectiveness of even the most potent magical healing potions.

“Damn it… Sir Galahad! Something is wrong. Like with the servants earlier, the Holy magic isn’t taking effect properly!”

Galahad, who had been collecting his thoughts, rushed over upon hearing the distressing report.

What Paladin Mason had pointed out was indeed accurate.

Despite their efforts to mend Bonifa’s injuries with Holy magic, it was as if an alien force was obstructing their attempts; the healing was proving ineffective.

Even taking into account that Mason wasn’t a specialist in healing magic, this was an extraordinarily unusual situation.

Only two entities could potentially be responsible for such interference.

One was a demon documented in religious scriptures, and the other…

“Grr… This is definitely strange. The amount of energy consumed is too great compared to the healing, and the scars aren’t disappearing.”

Galahad confirmed this with his own eyes.

It was the harsh truth. Despite the utilization of Holy magic, not only was the healing progress sluggish, but the scars remained, leaving grotesque marks behind, including on one side of Bonifa’s face that looked as though it had been torn against a wall.

A servant who had been observing from the sidelines involuntarily gasped in horror.

“Even with Holy magic, scars remain… is this even possible?”

The others nodded in agreement.

Their reactions were only natural. While the servants weren’t Paladins, they had received fundamental training.

Holy magic was an extraordinary power granted to humans by angels through the grace of God. It had the capacity to completely mend any wound.

Not only simple bruises but also severe burns, decay, the ability to restore the crippled to health, and the miraculous restoration of sight to the blind.

This was the universally accepted knowledge they had imbibed, but now it was being shattered.

The realization that even with Holy magic, absolute recovery wasn’t guaranteed.

This led to one inescapable conclusion.

The existence had to be so malevolent and potent that it could resist the very power bestowed by angels.

“That masked guy, could he actually be a God—”

“Blasphemy, shut your mouth.”

The moment someone began to voice the anxious thoughts swirling among them, Galahad sharply interrupted, quelling the panic.

While firm discipline couldn’t eradicate their anxiety and fear, it could at least contain them.

“There is only one God in this world, the Father of our Parterism. Though it is extremely rare, there are those who wield wicked tricks that can resist even Holy magic. Do not casually utter blasphemous words and commit sins.”

Galahad spoke with resolute authority, reaffirming the truth.

Indeed, there were warlocks who could not be subdued even by Holy magic.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

The servant, coming to his senses, offered a heartfelt apology.

“It’s understood. For now, do what you can to heal Bonifa and let’s return to the church.”

“Return now?!”

Paladin Mason was taken aback and questioned the decision.

Galahad, despite his imposing stature and commanding presence, responded with composure as a leader, rather than showing any signs of anxiety.

“Yes.”

“But, if we return like this, our–“

“–That’s something for me, the commander, to worry about, not you.”

This was the undeniable truth. The responsibility for the mission’s failure rested squarely on Galahad, the official in charge. If they had succeeded, it would have been Bonifa’s achievement.

Recognizing this, Mason held his tongue.

As Mason composed himself and fell silent, Galahad continued with persuasion.

“There’s no clever solution just because we’re here. We don’t have a way to chase the one who escaped, and even if we did, we can’t subdue them with our current strength… It’s better to quickly return and report the situation. That would be the right thing to do for the organization as a whole.”

It was an indisputably rational statement.

However, the burden Galahad had to bear was undeniably immense.

He was well aware of that fact.

Nonetheless, he insisted on returning, prioritizing the collective over the individual.

The Paladin wielding the lance spoke up.

“Then, at least let’s find out who that guy is before we leave.”

“Who?”

“Yes, if we’re defeated by someone whose identity we don’t even know, that’s absolutely unacceptable. Let’s find out their identity at least before we return.”

Everyone else concurred with this sentiment. They all supported Galahad to that extent. But Galahad simply shook his head.

“There’s no need.”

“Why is that?”

“Because…”

Galahad gazed at the beanstalk in his hand, one nurtured by the power of nature.

“…I roughly know who it is.”

***

Oliver opened his eyes.

A very peculiar yet oddly familiar space greeted his vision.

It was a dim expanse where discerning the floor, walls, and ceiling was impossible. It felt as though he had entered a void.

In this enigmatic space, Oliver found himself seated on a comfortable sofa.

‘Ah, as expected…’

Oliver mused while gazing at the table before him, laden with chocolate cookies and a sizable mug brimming with warm milk.

Everything was just as he had anticipated.

‘Then…’

As Oliver raised his eyes, he spotted a figure seated across from him.

A figure obscured by deep shadows, rendering their face indiscernible.

The individual spoke as they regarded Oliver.

“I’ve changed the cup to a larger one to make it easier to dunk cookies… Do you like it, kid?”