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The rumors spread like wildfire—fast, hot, and impossible to contain.
It had already been a week since Caron clashed with the inquisitors. And now, his current situation was…
"Warrior! Please, save the Holy Kingdom!"
"Grand Saintess Seria! Deliver your suffering people!"
"For the Radiant Light!"
"For the Radiant Light!"
Caron was making his way to the Holy Capital, accompanied by a growing throng of pilgrims chanting praises. The number of people who joined him had already surpassed two thousand.
He gazed upon the spectacle he had created and nodded in satisfaction, smugly remarking, "This is what I call a bomb train."
"...Caron," Seria said, frowning. "No matter how I look at it, using the faithful like this doesn't feel right."
"Saintess," Caron replied smoothly.
"Yes?" Seria replied.
"Then you shouldn't have made me the Warrior in the first place," Caron said.
"…Ah."
"Why the regret now? The bet's been made. There's no point in second-guessing it. Besides, this way is a lot more peaceful than going around slaughtering everyone, don't you think?" Caron continued.
Seria had no way to refute that logic. She slowly turned her gaze toward the crowd of faithful trailing behind their carriage.
They were clad in a patchwork of outfits—some in worn clothing, others in dazzling robes. Although the Holy Kingdom officially had no class...
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