Chapter 20 : The Saint is worried (6)

[Welcome to the Annihilation Battleground!]

A quick glance told me that the first ten matches were placement matches.

I nodded and clicked “Match.”

Clang!

[Match Found]

A sound like clashing swords, and a message appeared.

“Fast.”

Just as I thought that, a golden light engulfed my vision.

I was transported inside a fortress. It resembled an old castle, or rather, a museum. It felt different from the usual Last Ragnarok locations.

‘Perhaps a lost civilization.’

I looked around. It seemed I was the last to arrive, as I saw five dark silhouettes.

I could vaguely make out their armor, robes, and perhaps their gender.

[Choose your weapon.]

A message, and a 60-second timer appeared.

There were more weapon options than I expected.

‘Let’s see…’

I clicked on “Dagger,” and I could choose two.

‘Nice.’

I grinned, wielding the dual daggers.

With about 40 seconds left…

[Ready]

The message changed, and my teammates’ silhouettes disappeared.

A Beastkin Warrior, an Elf Archer… their classes were easily recognizable.

‘Well, teammates aren’t that important.’

Time until battle start:

20s
19s
18s

Just as I was getting pumped for the battle…

“Whoa…”
“Damn, she’s pretty.”
“Huh…? A Priest?”

“Um… excuse me, are friend requests open?”

“Yes?”
“You’re a Priest, right? If you’re interested, maybe we could party up for some hunting…”

Like a third-rate adventurer asking to join my party.

“It’s okay.”

Such a carefree attitude right before a battle. This was a game, after all.

Horn blares!

A grand horn signaled the opening of the gate.

“So, the strategy is…”

Someone tried to speak, but I pushed off the ground and dashed forward.

Time to relieve some stress.

After quickly surveying the map, I slowed down.

It seemed to be urban warfare, in the middle of a city.

The crimson sunset indicated nightfall was approaching, and the architecture resembled 18th-century London, as far as I could remember.

‘Is there no enemy detection feature?’

I closed my eyes and focused on sensing presences.

The slow-moving figures near the starting point were my teammates.

‘The park area?’

Tap. I pushed off the ground, jumped onto a railing, and started running, muffling my footsteps.

In the center of the park…

“Damn it, Baker Street.”

The man cursed, swinging his greatsword.

Slice!

A wooden bench split in two.

‘A plain field would have been better.’

In a map with many buildings, the advantage of a greatsword was lost.

Especially his weapon, a two-handed sword nearly 2 meters long.

Snipers on rooftops were particularly annoying. He could blow up buildings with his ultimate skill, but it was a one-time use per game, a last resort.

‘It’s going to be a stalemate.’

Annihilation was a 6v6 match, where the team with the most kills in 60 minutes won.

There was also a condition of reaching 40 kills for an immediate victory, but that rarely happened.

Especially in urban warfare like this.

He looked around.

An open area with a few trees. He could react to enemies appearing from anywhere.

‘I’ll slice through everyone I encounter and finally rank up.’

He considered himself a highly skilled Silver player, on the verge of Gold.

“I’ll just camp here.”

Just then, a shadow fell over him.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

He looked up at the voice.

A priestess, standing on a lamppost.

‘A pretty voice… wait, how? Where? And… an enemy?’

As soon as he realized…

“Then, goodbye.”

Behind?!

Slice!

His vision spun.

‘What just happened?’

The last thing the Warrior saw was the woman’s face, smiling joyfully.

“The animation is similar.”

The man’s body crumbled as I severed his neck. It dispersed into fragments of light, but his head remained, rolling on the ground for a moment.

‘About 30 seconds…?’

It seemed the bloodstains remained.

I tilted my head, picked up the greatsword, dragged it to a bench, and sat down.

‘Heavy.’

It wasn’t too heavy to wield, but it would be difficult to move quickly.

I fiddled with the greatsword, and…

–Poof.

With a clear sound like an item breaking, the greatsword dissolved into particles of light.

“Huh…?”

The dead Warrior had respawned.

There was no way for me, who had skipped all the explanations, to know, but it was enough to divert my attention.

“Oh well. Shall we start again?”

–Slice!

I decapitated the fleeing Mage and immediately pushed off the ground, turning around.

A trajectory line, like a sniper rifle’s laser pointer, appeared.

Whoosh! An arrow struck where the Mage’s body had been.

‘Pretty fast.’

A small whirlwind erupted where the arrow landed.

‘An ultimate skill?’

Powerful enough to obliterate a person.

I knew what that meant. An instant kill.

I smiled and looked up.

“The rooftop.”

She was good at hiding.

Probably the Elf woman. I had killed her a few times already, but she was persistent.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heavy footsteps approached from the front.

“How convenient of you to come to me.”

A man wielding a two-handed sword.

“Hyaaaaa!”

He swung his greatsword without hesitation.

Clang, clang, clang.

A series of attacks, not just a single blow.

“You won’t get me this time!”

He gave me no opening, relentlessly attacking with the greatsword’s long reach.

That was his strategy.

But no matter how hard he tried, his attacks were completely neutralized by my daggers. Not blocked, but deflected.

“Damn it! What are you, for a Priest?!”

As he met my gaze, my cold white face and piercing red eyes, he froze.

He was a Warrior, tasked with hunting the enemy Priest, yet he felt fear.

He had been killed by her several times, but he had attributed it to surprise attacks.

‘Why?’

He clearly had the advantage. Every time their swords clashed, the Priest was pushed back.

He was the one on the offensive.

But why… did he feel like she could kill him at any moment if she wanted to?

He swung his sword repeatedly to quell his unease.

‘He’s much better than Night King.’

The power and speed of his techniques were on par with a skilled knight.

The problem was the transitions between his moves, which were clumsy, almost amateurish.

Especially the occasional brute-force swings, relying solely on strength.

Anyway…

Exchanging blows was exhilarating.

Even if the opponent was weak.

And especially if they had a trump card.

‘What’s the Warrior’s ultimate skill?’

If I stopped moving, even for a split second, that greatsword would cleave me in two. A thrill ran through me.

‘He’ll use it if I hold out a little longer, right?’

I didn’t have a self-harm fetish.

But the first blood I saw, with my own hands, was my own.

It was shortly after I woke up in that other world.

Life at the monastery had taken a toll on my mental health.

It looked glamorous on the outside, but as an orphaned child, all I got was a bowl of watery gruel. And even that was only after a full day of labor. I wasn’t physically punished, probably because of my delicate appearance.

That’s what I thought at the time.

Then came that day. After washing a greasy pile of dishes, food I had never even tasted, I was about to leave the kitchen when…

I saw a knife.

A silver steak knife. I pocketed it instinctively.

I held the thick knife to my wrist and pressed down, dragging it across my skin.

If it was a dream, I would wake up. If it was reality, it would be the end.

Either way, it was fine. That’s what I thought.

As the searing pain tore through my flesh, and warm blood flowed down my arm, the realization that it wasn’t a dream hit me, and tears welled up in my eyes.

But as evidenced by my current existence…

I didn’t die.

My first and last suicide attempt failed spectacularly.

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the monastery, but in the Grand Temple.

‘Why did you save me?’

Those were my first words.

‘…Saint-nim, do you know how old you are?’
‘No.’
‘…Four years old.’

Such a small, weak body. Well, it made sense for a four-year-old.

At my curt reply, the old Pope burst into tears and begged for forgiveness.

That was when the message appeared: ‘Defeat the Demon King, and you can return.’

I forgave him.

He told me everything. The reason for my treatment, the people who had decided my fate, the people who had driven me to this point for their own selfish gain.

They had tried to make someone else the Saint for their own benefit.

But after my suicide attempt, the guilt-ridden Pope brought me to the Grand Temple and made me a Saint candidate.

From then on, I lived with the Pope.

At first, I planned to kill him once I was strong enough.

But he treated me kindly.

Kind enough to almost melt my frozen heart.

Of course, I still felt murderous rage every time he fed me that bitter herbal porridge. But it was necessary to heal my weakened body.

I endured it and ate.

He would gently stroke my hair every time.

Sometimes, he even gave me chocolate, a luxury only nobles could afford in that world.

Perhaps that’s what having a grandfather would be like.

Time passed quickly as my body recovered.

And then, it happened, after I had let down my guard.

‘The Pope has been assassinated.’

Thinking back, it was inevitable.

The Pope had betrayed them and saved me.

And he had taken care of me.

The new Pope immediately announced the second Saint candidate.

Perhaps Grandpa Pope… no, the Pope, hadn’t officially declared me the Saint because he had foreseen this.

If he had, they would have eliminated me first.

But Grandpa Pope… no, the Pope…

Anyway…

When we were alone, he would call me “Saint-nim,” or “My little Saint-nim.”

So, I decided to become the Saint.

The new Pope summoned me and asked me a few questions. I smiled sweetly and answered obediently.

‘I will follow God’s will. As long as your orders, new Pope-nim, do not contradict God’s will, I will do anything.’

That’s what I said.

He smiled in satisfaction and didn’t kill me.

But three years later…

Night visitors began sneaking into my bedroom.