Interlude: The Holy Knights

...Time rewinds a little.

While Princess Sonia enjoyed the Thanksgiving Festival with the Demon Lords at Central Park, a visitor arrived at one of the church rooms in the royal capital, Torte.

Two figures dressed in the church’s formal black ceremonial robes came to meet Bishop October.

"Been a while."

"So, the fact that you called us here means you finally caught the rat’s tail, huh?"

The visitors were an unusual pair—one a short, cute-looking girl with reddish-brown hair, the other a tall, lanky man with a shaved head and long limbs.

"Oh. January and November. You arrived faster than I expected."

"Well, we did literally fly here using ‘Flight.’ Anyway, since you summoned us, I take it you’ve hit the jackpot this time?"

The red-haired January asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"The instruments read above level ten. Even with you two here, it still might not be enough," October replied evenly.

"...Could be that demon we fought before—Berial," November murmured quietly.

"That’s my concern as well," said October. "I’ve prepared full anti-demon equipment. Make sure you’re armed before we move out."

"Let’s hope it turns out to be nothing," January muttered.

"As a humble monk, if the enemy be a demon, it is our chance to shine. I have no objections," November said solemnly.

"This time, it’s just reconnaissance," October added. "Still, I’ll cast the ritual spell ‘Return Home,’ just in case."

"Mm. But if it’s Berial again, he might’ve learned from last time," November cautioned.

"If it’s Berial, the anti-demon magic should do the trick, shouldn’t it?" January said lightly.

"Perhaps so," November replied with a slow nod.

"So, what do you think? Should we run a little exercise first?" January suggested with a grin.

"You ready for it?" October asked.

"I can summon a sealed greater demon—threat level ten—from one of the grimoires anytime."

October spoke casually, but a level-ten demon was no small matter. To any human, that was a colossal threat—strong enough to topple a small country on its own.

"Sounds perfect for a warm-up," January grinned.

"To warm up against a demon—how fitting," November said, his expression hardening.

"All right then. Give me a moment."

October walked to a bookshelf along the wall, unlocked a sturdy iron door built into it, and pulled out a single book.

Its cover seemed to be made from some creature’s hide—almost alive. Corrosion had discolored it grotesquely, and its surface bristled with countless spikes and fangs. The book radiated pure malice.

"...Good. Let’s begin."

Setting the book on the floor, Bishop October dipped a brush into ink and began to draw a complex, almost maddening sigil across the stone—a sprawling summoning circle.

He then lit candles around it, burned incense, and placed offerings—a few headless birds among them—before chanting an incantation in steady, rhythmic tones.

As his chant continued, the summoning circle began to glow and twist.

"Still, if the devout congregation ever found out their beloved bishop dabbles in demonology, they’d probably die of shock on the spot," January said wryly.

"Don’t let your guard down, January. It’s coming," November warned.

"You worry too much, November."

January chuckled and casually drew the sword at her waist—a thin blade that shimmered faintly in pale violet light.

It was none other than the legendary sacred sword Coli Coli Colne, the relic that earned her the epithet The Divine Blade.

The sword’s surface was engraved from end to end with Holy Mantras praising God.

"It’s here!"

Without a weapon of his own, November clenched his fists and took a firm stance. His movements were sharp and economical—proof he was a true master of martial arts.

A towering pillar of flame, at least four meters high, burst from the center of the summoning circle. The church’s stone structure was sturdy and its ceiling high, yet the flames nearly touched it, roaring with explosive force.

And within moments, something began to take form in the heart of the inferno.

A monstrous being appeared—its body clad in dark red armor, bearing three enormous heads: human, bull, and sheep. In one hand it carried a banner; in the other, a massive spear. It sat astride a reptilian creature with sleek, scaly hide—utterly alien, utterly wrong.

"...I am Asmode. I am he who governs wrath and lust. Small ones... was it you who summoned me?"

"Asmode. We are devout servants of God, belonging to the Western Unified Holy Church. I hate to say this so soon after your arrival, but in God’s name, we’re here to destroy you," October said calmly.

"Hah. You summon me only to declare my destruction, little ones? ...Very well. I shall teach you the full weight of my power!"

Before Asmode’s words had even finished, the mouth on his human head split open all the way to his ears, unleashing a torrent of crimson fire.

"Too easy!"

January dodged the flames effortlessly and, in the blink of an eye, slipped into Asmode’s guard. Her sacred sword flashed.

"GRRAAAH!"

With a single stroke, the human head was severed cleanly from Asmode’s shoulders.

"Insolent wretch! From the depths of the abyss, I call forth—!"

The bull’s head began to chant an elaborate spell, its voice booming like thunder.

"Like I’d let you finish that! Haaah! Martial Technique—‘Hundred Fist Barrage: Berserk Bullet!’" November roared, his fists exploding forward like cannon fire.

Moving with gliding, silent footsteps, November slipped close to Asmode without making a sound. His hands and feet flared with a battle aura as he unleashed a rapid flurry of punches and kicks.

Even though none of his strikes contacted the demon’s flesh, each blow released bursts of compressed aura that struck Asmode like invisible bullets. Those aura bullets were the source of his epithet—"The Magic Bullet."

Unable to withstand the barrage, Asmode’s bull head—the one chanting the ritual incantation—buckled with a dull crunch and fell silent.

"I guess I should get in on this too."

Bishop October reversed his grip on the short knives and lowered his stance.

"Come then, little one!"

From atop his reptilian mount, Asmode leveled his massive spear at October and thrust—an attack powerful enough to cleave a knight in two.

"Too slow."

October deflected the spear at the very last instant with one blade, using the recoil to kick off the wall and then the ceiling, closing the distance to the demon’s remaining sheep head.

"...Ultimate Technique—Dance Macabre."

He murmured the words under his breath—and his figure vanished. The next instant he landed silently on the ground, sheathing a knife with a soft click.

"...Oh… ohh."

As if answering that sound, the sheep head—about to speak—shattered into countless fragments.

With a deafening crash, Asmode’s colossal body collapsed, shaking the floor. His red-black armor, reptilian steed, and monstrous form crumbled into dust and drifted away on the air.

"...Good. That’s a decent warm-up."

"Then shall we head out?"

"I would prefer a foe with a little more spine," November said almost wistfully.

The three holy knights donned their strange masks and vanished soundlessly from the room—as if eager for the hunt that awaited them.

October signed with a flick of his hand, signaling that the barrier had been established. January and November focused their senses on three figures walking along the wooded path beside the park. Two women, one man.

One woman radiated the refined aura of a seasoned martial artist—someone to be wary of. The man gave off no presence at all; even their heightened sense for life energy could not detect him. That absence marked him as the true target.

The last woman appeared utterly ordinary—no hint of power, no threat—so ordinary they almost assumed she had stumbled into the scene by accident. But the operation was already in motion. Even if that woman died in the crossfire, it would be considered an acceptable loss for the Church—a necessary sacrifice.

"Be careful!"

One of the women shouted, stepping forward in a single motion; her rapier flashed into position at her side. Apparently she had noticed them despite their concealment. A capable opponent, October thought, smiling darkly beneath his mask.

"Hey. You there, hiding in the shadows—come out."

The man’s voice rang out, casual and unbothered. Their ambush had failed.

With silent gestures, October relayed formation orders and strategy to his companions, then stepped out into the path. He could sense January and November shifting into combat stance behind him.

…First, eliminate the man. If possible, kill the rapier-wielding woman—she could become a pursuer. The ordinary woman might be spared, depending on how things went.

Then, a surprised voice spoke right beside his ear—belonging to the very "ordinary" woman.

"Ah! Aren’t you the Holy Knights?"

…So, she knows something.
October’s eyes narrowed under his mask. The woman had just moved from "irrelevant civilian" to "potential target."