Church Confessors were a group never favored by faith, yet unwavering in their pursuit of it.
For a moment, Nolan did not know what to say. There was no real notion of whether something like this was worth it or not. Everyone had their own choices and their own pursuits.
To live in this world, one always needed something to believe in, something to aim for. Some thought or goal to serve as the force that kept one moving forward. Faith could be one such thing.
"Why are they here? What exactly did Miquella do to anger the Two Fingers? But with just these people, there's no way they could kill Miquella. Is this only a warning? And Miquella, that madman… why would he ever listen to them?"
Nolan's thoughts raced, one possibility after another flashing through his mind.
He knew that Miquella's situation was somewhat similar to Ranni's. He too wished to abandon his current body. But whether that was truly the reason the assassins had come to the Haligtree was impossible to say.
The Church Confessors were clearly not about to explain themselves, and Nolan had no intention of asking such a foolish question. He simply raised his greatsword and charged.
A sharp tearing sound split the air.
Nolan forcefully halted his follow-up strike, vanishing from where he stood and reappearing several steps back. Two black wooden bolts slammed deep into the ground at the spot he had occupied just moments before.
Nolan looked up.
Two figures dressed identically were half-crouched on the second floor, each holding a pitch-black crossbow.
The moment they locked eyes with him, the Golden Needle Knight felt an invisible pressure crash down on his chest, as though an unseen hand had seized his heart, freezing the blood in his veins.
The Confessor he had knocked away looked utterly disheveled, but the others were still more than twenty meters away.
Nolan was certain that if he dared to rush forward, three razor-sharp Great Knives would pierce straight through his armor and into his body without the slightest hesitation.
Facing these brutally efficient super assassins, Nolan understood his own limits.
In a one-on-one fight, he had confidence he could battle them head-on. But one against three? Charging in would be nothing short of suicide.
As if realizing the crossbows could no longer exert their full effect, the two Church Confessors stood upright.
They drew their knives from their waists and leapt down from the second floor, closing in on Nolan.
"So you were hiding two more."
Nolan clenched the sword hilt tightly, veins standing out across his palm from the strain. Even so, he forced his voice to remain steady.
"But it won't matter even if you send a hundred more. I'll kill every last one of you."
The air grew heavy. Nolan had not only injured one of their companions, he was even daring to speak so brazenly.
"There's no need for empty bluster. Tokke simply failed to anticipate how many tricks you had," one tall Confessor said, slowly shaking his head as he raised his knife. Cold light glinted off the blade, the threat unmistakable.
"These little surprises won't change the fact that you are weak. Only those with true power can be called strong. The weak, no matter how they struggle, are nothing more than gravel, crushed underfoot along the road."
"I don't like that way of thinking," Nolan replied silently.
But at this moment, words no longer mattered.
The two Church Confessors lunged at him at the same time, and darkness swallowed everything in an instant.
Two Fingers incantation. Darkness!
Assassin's Approach!
Pitch-black armor merged seamlessly with the darkness, vanishing without a trace. There was not even the faintest sound, only the distant, intermittent clash of weapons echoing through the space.
Before long, a pale golden silhouette appeared in front of the knight. Its speed was unhurried as it drifted nearby.
That shadow seemed to take the shape of enemies Nolan had faced before. Yet strangely, his instincts told him there was no real danger.
He understood at once.
"Shadow Bait!"
This, too, was a prayer of the Two Fingers assassins.
Even with superior strength, they still resorted to such methods. Truly professionals.
Nolan vanished from where he stood. His mind had no time to think it through; his body had already responded.
No fear. No hesitation.
He raised his sword before him, lowered his stance, and stepped forward.
Bloodhound's Step!
Lion's Claw!!
Iron boots kicked up dust as the greatsword flashed with cold light. The knight charged through the darkness, utterly convinced that nothing stood in his way.
He did not know where his courage came from. He only knew that retreat had never brought victory.
Silver hair whipped in the wind as the white figure loomed above the black-armored assassins, looking down from on high.
"What the hell are you supposed to be?!"
The wounded Church Confessor had just begun to struggle to his feet when a greatsword came crashing down like a whirlwind. Blood burst forth like a blossoming flower.
He did not even have time to scream. His head split open like a smashed melon, and what remained of his body collapsed limply to the ground.
First one down!
Gasping for breath, the knight suddenly snapped his head to the side. The darkness peeled away, and a single-edged dagger abruptly emerged from thin air.
He had always thought assassins were emotionless killing machines. He never expected them to care about their companions.
The dagger came far too fast. There was no time to turn and block. Nolan made a split-second decision, abandoning defense altogether. He kicked off the ground hard, his figure vanishing from where he stood.
Yet the instant he reappeared a short distance away, a searing pain exploded across his back.
Still not fast enough!
The Golden Needle Knight spun around sharply, gripping the hilt with both hands and slashing out in a decisive diagonal arc.
The heavy greatsword tore through the air with a piercing howl, like the roar of a monstrous beast.
In the next moment, the blade scraped violently against the air, spraying brilliant sparks that flared like a blazing star in the darkness.
A Church Confessor's figure emerged from midair. The dagger in his hand caught the greatsword with ease, and with a casual flick, he deflected the Golden Needle Knight's attack aside.
But in the very next second, the Golden Needle Knight seemed to have exhausted every last ounce of strength. He dropped to one knee, bracing himself on his sword, his body trembling slightly.
At that moment, another short blade silently took shape in the air.
The two daggers hovered for a brief instant, then lunged toward Nolan together like venomous serpents.
This sudden assault pushed Nolan into a dead end.
Attacked from both front and back, he had nowhere to escape and no strength left to block.
Yet Nolan showed not the slightest hint of fear. His gaze suddenly lifted toward the distance.
There, a familiar figure was walking toward him at an unhurried pace.
Finlay, save me!
Nolan cried out in his heart, but before the words could leave his mouth, the sky abruptly lit up, as though countless meteors were streaking across it.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—
Like a surging tidal wave crashing down, the torrent instantly shredded Nolan's sturdy armor into a scatter of broken metal fragments.
Blades. Endless blades, flashing too fast to see clearly.
"This is outright personal revenge," Nolan muttered helplessly, curling his lips as he looked ahead.
A tall, red-haired figure descended from midair. The stone pillars and scattered debris that had filled the surroundings were gone without a trace, leaving behind a space that felt pure and immaculate, untouched by dust.
The elegance of that blade work was breathtaking.
But even more terrifying was the sheer power required to wield such techniques to such an extreme.