Chapter 16: Chapter Fifteen: The Hermitage Sanctuary

Is the Church this powerful?

That makes sense.

It’s only been a few hundred years since the Son of God walked the world; if any holy relics still exist, they’re surely in the Church’s hands now.

“Let me think of what other holy relics the Church possesses.”

“The Ark of the Covenant, the Shroud of Turin, the Holy Grail, the Holy Foreskin, the True Cross, the Spear of Longinus, the Holy Nails, the Crown of Thorns, the Holy Veil, the Holy Robe, Holy Relics, Holy Icons, Holy Scarabs…” (Yes, that foreskin.)

“Damn.”

“That’s brutal.”

The Hermitage Sanctuary Guard bore the mark of the Holy Grail’s Blood; the last person I saw with a similar mark was the Witch Hunter—George.

“Is the Spear of Longinus still around?”

“And the Holy Grail.”

Deng Ken’s mind flashed with countless thoughts—undoubtedly, these members of the Inquisition were the most dangerous enemies he had ever encountered.

The Inquisition was secretly founded in 394 AD.

It predates the historical Holy Office by centuries; that year, the Olympic Flame was extinguished, the ancient Olympic Games banned, the Pantheon’s gates sealed, monotheism entered its golden age, and the persecution of polytheistic heresies began.

But during this period, the Inquisition did not target ordinary people—it sought only to gradually eradicate the remnants of polytheistic worship.

From priests and witches to spirits and fairies, all fell within the Inquisition’s judgment.

Across the entire Italian Peninsula and Greece, no mythic spirits that had thrived centuries ago remained—hence why the last surviving forest nymph of Pannonia, a creature of ancient Greek myth, had turned to the Crow Queen—Tris for aid; she too was on the Inquisition’s list.

The Crow Queen—Tris was sharply alert; seeing Deng Ken’s grim expression, she whispered, “What’s happened?”

Deng Ken had no way to explain, so he simply said, “I sense danger approaching.”

Upon hearing this, the Crow Queen—Tris actually believed him.

To her, Deng Ken was the type of warrior with extraordinary spiritual sensitivity—such people often possessed uncanny instincts for danger.

The group had just stepped out of the inn.

They were met by Aniya and her party riding toward them; witches shared a special resonance—Tris immediately turned toward them, and Aniya looked up, spotting Tris instantly among the crowd.

But Tris’s face changed instantly; her voice tightened: “Hermitage people!”

Part of the Inquisition consisted of Hermitage monks; this monastic tradition originated in Egypt, centered on ascetic devotion, and included many fanatical believers.

Legend says there are two Holy Grails.

One has vanished without a trace; the other is in the Hermitage’s hands—but whether either is real, or which one is genuine, the outside world has no way of knowing.

“Go!”

Deng Ken pulled Tris onto his horse; across the way, Aniya and her party, having just passed through the marketplace, sensed something was wrong and, under the protection of their knight guards, the two-star white-rank witch spurred her horse after them.

Two-star white-rank.

That power level is barely enough—she might not even defeat that one-star silver-gray Hermitage monk.

After all, anyone marked with a silver-gray star is an elite unit.

Tris turned to glance at Aniya and said sternly, “You’ve been followed!”

“By the Inquisition.”

On the opposite horse, beneath the hooded robe, was a strikingly beautiful woman, her wine-red hair long, around thirty years old, with sculpted features, a high nose bridge like a Greek statue, her full lips pressed tight, her eyes tinged with fear: “I… I didn’t know…”

“I was extremely careful on my way here!”

Her demeanor suggested deep dread of the Inquisition; since the death of the last emperor who supported polytheism—the Apostate Julian—this generation of polytheist nobles had been utterly terrified. Those without deep family roots had long since switched to monotheism.

Aniya had even once considered abandoning her home and fleeing overseas, knowing she would eventually end up on the Inquisition’s list.

Her ancestors were close confidants of the Apostate Julian.

Deng Ken interrupted the two witches: “Let’s go first, then talk!”

If we wait any longer, we’ll be even more vulnerable.

Tris was noticeably calmer; she gripped an ancient ritual stone, murmuring something as if chanting, while Aniya, the two-star white-rank witch, looked terrified and anxious—not like a powerful witch, but like a Roman noblewoman shaken by fear.

“The causal law projection doesn’t include this witch—did she die here?”

She was one of the founders of the Witch Conclave, after all; her power might be weak, but her status was still noble.

Deng Ken glanced back.

The Inquisition had caught up, but here in the town, they seemed hesitant, restrained—giving Deng Ken’s group a chance to escape; Deng Ken and the two witches, plus Aniya and her three knight guards, all burst out of Parisji and into the wilderness beyond.

Once in the wilderness, a Hermitage monk made a prayer gesture—and the next second, all their warhorses surged forward at full speed, as if drugged.

Someone’s cheating!

From his God’s-eye view, Deng Ken saw the enemy horses behaving like they’d taken stimulants—and instantly sensed danger.

Only he could escape.

Deng Ken was the best rider; even with their cheating, their horses couldn’t outpace him. The magic in this world wasn’t as powerful as he’d first assumed—at least, everyone he’d met so far, even Tris, seemed bound by some unseen law.

They couldn’t perform the miraculous feats of witches in the mythic age.

Aniya’s anxious voice rang out: “I can’t affect their horses.”

She seemed to have a similar ability—but it was useless now.

Animal communication.

Inciting animals to frenzy, aggression, etc.

Tris was still murmuring softly—she was now preparing a true spell.

Because earlier, she’d mentioned that after the Olympic Flame was extinguished, all supernatural abilities of priests were drastically weakened; the Romans abandoned their gods, and the polytheistic deities abandoned their priests. Now, ordinary witches were little different from common folk—possessing only a trace of magic, capable of mere parlor tricks.

True magic required ritual rites and special magical tools; Tris, gripping the ritual stone and chanting, was preparing a spell—and her horse’s speed had clearly slowed.

If this continued, she’d be the first caught.

“We won’t escape running like this!”

Deng Ken decided instantly: “Circle around the forest ahead—prepare to fight.”

Saying this, he pulled his reins and fell to the rear.

Tris looked at him deeply, still murmuring as she clutched the ritual stone.

When they faced the Hun Arrow-Slayer, Tris hadn’t abandoned him to flee; now, Deng Ken wouldn’t leave her behind to face the enemy alone.

Severus swiftly raised his shield and joined him.

This druid’s eyes burned with hatred toward the Church—whether due to ancestral grudges or because his faith had been crushed by temple destruction, it was unclear.

In matters of faith, there is no right or wrong.

Christians were once persecuted by Roman priests too; now the tide had turned, and the Inquisition sought total annihilation.

History never offered anything new.

“You two, help too.”

Aniya turned to her three knight guards; the Sarmatian mercenary immediately wheeled his horse around—they were famed for their loyalty and valor, often serving as noble retainers—and the other two quickly followed. But the Imperial Guard knight hesitated slightly, his gaze locked on Aniya, his expression tender, almost worshipful.

“Damn it.”

“In a situation like this, still thinking about love?”

“This fight’s over.”

“I’d even give you space to go off and have your private battle!”

In the dimensional space, Deng Ken nearly cursed aloud.

But Aniya didn’t even glance at the Imperial Guard knight; she began murmuring softly too, invisible magic swirling around her body, preparing a spell alongside Tris.

Who would’ve thought this initially panicked noblewoman had such quick adaptability?

“Follow me!”

Deng Ken didn’t hesitate—he used his God’s-eye view to know exactly where the terrain favored them.

Five riders held the rear.

Deng Ken raised his Northern War Bow, aimed at the enemy, and fired a test shot—targeting the two-star silver-gray Hermitage Sanctuary Guard.

Clang!

What happened next made his eyes widen.

Sparks flew.

The Sanctuary Guard instantly drew his sword and deflected Deng Ken’s arrow.

“Is this even human?” Deng Ken’s face darkened.

He’d seen some insane videos in his past life—modern archers catching arrows bare-handed and throwing them back, or hitting incoming arrows with their own—but he’d always assumed those were staged. Seeing someone block an arrow with a weapon in real life? This was his first time.

This insane reaction speed—you playing Assassin’s Creed with me?

This man exerted more pressure on Deng Ken than the Hun Arrow-Slayer ever had; in some ways, he was already among the pinnacle of mortal warriors.

“Even if we fight him head-on, we won’t win.”

“It all depends on Tris’s spell now!”

After circling the forest, the five riders slowed; the Sarmatian mercenary drew his shortbow, but his mounted archery was mediocre—standard cavalry level. The other two carried sword and longsword-shield, readying for combat.

Fortunately, the enemy had no ranged units—only the Witch Hunter carried a short crossbow; the rest were all melee fighters.

Severus guarded Deng Ken’s right side, clearly treating him as the core.

The battle was about to erupt!

The Hermitage men charged straight at Deng Ken; the Witch Hunter raised his crossbow, aiming at the two knights. Deng Ken had just shot one Hermitage monk—when a scream echoed from nearby.

Beneath the robe, the Hermitage monk wore armor; he grunted, but his movements showed no hesitation.

Shadow Strike Assassin.

The one-star silver-gray enemy suddenly spurred his horse forward, catching up to the Sarmatian rider; his body twisted on the saddle, predicting the arrow’s path, dodging it by hugging the horse’s belly, then closing the distance to mere two or three meters. The Sarmatian frantically drew his short hammer—but before he could swing, the assassin lunged, driving his dagger into the rider’s throat, flinging the corpse from the saddle, and leaping onto the dead man’s horse like a monkey.

Fuck, this is a real assassin!

One strike, certain kill.

Fierce to the point of chilling dread—Deng Ken had never encountered such a ruthless opponent before.

He spun his horse around as if it were an extension of his arm, locking onto the Shadowhide Assassin in an instant, bow drawn full, arrow piercing the air, crosshair fixed on his target.

The assassin wore no armor.

Otherwise, he could never have moved with such agility and speed.

—Parthian Shot!

Hit!

Blood sprayed.

The Shadowhide Assassin tilted his head slightly, but he lacked the momentum to leap for the horse—the arrow pierced his throat clean through, and with a thud, his corpse landed not far from the Sarmatian rider.

Both sides turned pale at once.

Deng Ken’s group was stunned by the assassin’s power, while the Heresy Inquisitors were astonished by Deng Ken’s archery.

“Chase those two witches!”

The Hermitage’s Templar drew his sword and charged; in the flash of crossing shadows, the mercenary rider was flung back by a longblade, the Templar immediately parried with his own longsword, striking the opponent’s weapon aside with a burst of sparks, then lunging forward, both hands gripping the blade, and with a wet thud, severed the mercenary rider’s head clean off.

Blood gushed like a fountain!

This was the first time Deng Ken had seen someone decapitate with a longsword—barbarian berserkers always needed two-handed greatswords or battle-axes to accomplish such a cut.

This man was either an unparalleled combat master, or possessed superhuman physicality.

Or perhaps both.

The Hermitage Templar, having just decapitated the mercenary rider, charged toward the retired Imperial Guard Knight—suddenly, a severed arm flew through the air; the Guard Knight’s arm and sword were cleaved off together, his lone left hand fumbling for his hand hammer, but he lost balance and tumbled from his horse, landing half-dead.

Before he could rise to his feet, the Heresy Inquisitor drove a short spear straight through him, killing him on the spot.

The battle turned sharply against Deng Ken and his group.

—Parthian Shot!

Deng Ken shot an arrow through the head of the witch-hunter wielding a short crossbow, then charged forward to block their pursuit of the two witches.

Close combat with these enemies was extremely disadvantageous for him.

The Hermitage Templar cut down two men like slaughtering chickens and dogs, dispatching the Guard Knight as easily as a general felling a common soldier—Deng Ken knew he’d likely be dead within one or two strikes if he faced him directly. Had he not stolen the riding skill from the Rider of the Eagle, making him the best horseman among them all, he would have been cut down in the first charge.

Arrow pierced the air.

Warhorse screamed.

Deng Ken blocked the enemy at all costs, shooting the Templar’s warhorse dead—but before he could nock another arrow, his own mount let out a mournful cry.

A javelin was thrown at a sixty-degree angle!

The Heresy Inquisitor had used a short javelin to cripple and kill Deng Ken’s warhorse.

Could this guy have once been in the Imperial Legion?

Only elite Imperial units could throw javelins from horseback with such accuracy—since Roman times, Imperial heavy infantry had trained in javelin throws.

Deng Ken tumbled from his horse, rolled, grunted, and rose quickly to his feet.

He hurled his Frankish throwing axe backward!

Thud.

Blood sprayed—the Heresy Inquisitor twisted to dodge, but Deng Ken had aimed for the horse’s head; these enemies were too strong—if he didn’t knock the man off his mount, Deng Ken would be left vulnerable to cavalry pursuit if he failed to land a killing blow.

If an archer is chased by cavalry, the battle is truly lost.

Warhorse neighed!

Severus broke off his engagement and charged toward them, dismounted without a word, shield and hammer in hand, growled: “Get on!”

Good brother!

Deng Ken didn’t hesitate—he leapt onto the horse, drew his bow, pulled it full, and shot straight into the Hermitage Templar’s calf; the man stumbled, his speed instantly halved.

This guy was fully armored—and his physical strength was astonishing.

Severus roared, charging forward with his oak shield, giving his horse to Deng Ken—if they got surrounded, death was certain!

But Deng Ken was the only archer who could hold back these Heresy Inquisitors.

—Adrenaline Surge!

Deng Ken was going all out.

………………