A Powerful Martial Artist Reincarnates as a Nun Knight

Observing the scene unfolding at the distant port of Bordeaux, Ezio exclaimed in admiration, “Huuh, it’s certainly smashing things apart splendidly. It seems to be quite a powerful one.”

The water gushing forth, and the massive tentacles thrashing powerfully in all directions – the kraken’s rampage was a truly calamitous sight. The thickness of each tentacle approached the beam of small ships, wreaking havoc akin to a disaster.

To the sailors, attempting to dock at the Port of Bordeaux in its current state seemed extremely precarious.

“It seems docking normally at the port is impossible?”
When the captain inquired to the first mate, the mate looked at the captain with an expression asking if he was stating the obvious. Seeing that insolent gaze lacking respect for his superior, the captain inwardly harbored resentment, thinking he would dock the mate’s pay upon their return, before muttering to himself with folded arms.

“At this rate, reaching the next port within a day or two is out of the question. The port we need to immediately resupply at is blocked. What to do about this…”

Clicking his tongue, the captain admitted he was well and truly stumped. Life was often like that. One would occasionally find themselves in intractable, unsavory situations beyond their control, unable to proceed in any direction – a far more common occurrence than one might expect.

At least when one was a lowly subordinate without any choices or responsibilities, all that mattered was ensuring one’s own safety. But for those like the captain, who had subordinates under their command and bore the burden of making decisions on their behalf, there was no greater source of consternation.

As the captain fell into contemplation, he suddenly noticed a growing commotion on the foredecks and called over the officer on duty.

“It seems there’s another commotion. What’s happening this time? Go check it out and report back.”

After hearing the officer’s report upon returning from the foredecks, the captain spent a while doubting if the officer had eaten something wrong and lost his mind, or if the subordinate dared to play tricks on his captain.

“What did you say? People are running on the water?”

What finally dispelled his doubts about his own hearing was the sight that soon entered his field of vision as well.

Witnessing the quartet dashing across the water’s surface in a manner reminiscent of human figures merged with shrimp and locusts, the captain abandoned his doubts about the officer and his own hearing, and began questioning his very eyesight for playing tricks on him.

+++++

The Frankish Kingdom’s Port of Bordeaux. This city, part of the Gironde region in the southwestern Duchy of Aquitaine, was proudly counted among the specially regarded cities within the Frankish Kingdom and Aquitaine itself.

On land, the confluence of the two major rivers Garonne and Dordogne formed the vast Gironde Estuary, while to the west flowed warm currents from the southern seas.

Located at the meeting point of a large river estuary and the sea, the Bordeaux region was not only highly developed in both agriculture and fisheries, but also renowned as the prime region producing the famous Bordeaux wines acclaimed across the continent.

The accumulated wealth led to Bordeaux’s prosperity and further cultivated a high level of historical and cultural soil. The pride of Bordeaux’s people was no less extraordinary than other regions of the Frankish Kingdom.

However, no matter how prosperous the city, one could not boast of such prosperity in the face of an unforeseen calamity.

“Uwaaah, everyone flee!”
“The beast’s tentacles are smashing the ships and warehouses!”
“Damn it, is there no master of inverse muscle cultivation here?!”

To directly engage massive beasts in contests of strength required at least a second-banding inverse muscle cultivator, or ideally a third-banding master. However, in reality, it was common for even first-banding practitioners to arrogantly call themselves masters.

And at that moment, there were no such true inverse muscle masters present at the Port of Bordeaux – that was Bordeaux’s tragedy.

Pierre de Coubertin, the Marquis overseeing Bordeaux’s port, fled in panic from the kraken’s rampage, an urge to tear out what little hair he had left overwhelming him.

“Why! Why is a kraken suddenly coming ashore and rampaging here?!”

Faced with the foul beast’s merciless threat to his scalp despite any sense of camaraderie, the Marquis de Coubertin felt revulsion welling up within him. Despair, ruin, the end of his life – such lamentations spilled from his lips amidst his frenzied flight. Stumbling over a rock and falling in his panic, the Marquis attempted to rise but could only roll on the ground, crying out in pain from his scraped ankle.

“Ughh, kkhh-huck, uhh-huhuk, damn it, damn it all!”

Looking back, he had yet to escape the kraken’s tentacles’ range, his bulky frame hindering his movements.

He firmly resolved that if he survived, he would definitely start a weight loss and inverse muscle regimen – but callously, as he looked up, a kraken’s tentacle was already descending from on high to smash the area.

Certain of his imminent demise, the very moment the Marquis de Coubertin contemplated death:
A miracle occurred.

“So it was you, the enemy of my beloved Bordeaux wines, was it?!”
Smashing through the tiled ground with a “kwung” sound, revealing herself was a short-haired nun knight clad in silver-white nun’s robes and armor. Hildegard, wielding her raised halberd, briefly glanced at the Marquis rolling on the ground with a sprained ankle before letting out a sigh and raising her halberd higher.

“Sunras! Enualios!”

With a brief invocation, divine blessings and auras blessed her form. The blessings granted her Sunras’ mountain-moving might and Enualios’ ferocity.

What would have previously required lengthy prayers or chants to manifest divine blessings now naturally manifested with a mere utterance of their names – a testament to her growing capabilities in this period.

The blessings of Sunras’ might and Enualios’ ferocity imbued the form of Hildegard, a third-banding inverse muscle master. With her preparations complete, Hildegard did not evade the kraken’s massive, looming tentacle, instead meeting it head-on.

Chooooung!

An impossibly thunderous sound erupted, unbelievable for a steel halberd striking a sea creature’s flesh. Even as the deafening roar drained the color from the Marquis’ face, he could only stare in a trance as the nun knight battered aside a tentacle thicker than most buildings.

However, Hildegard was not the only one to arrive in the meantime.

“I’ve yet to taste kraken meat! I wonder how beneficial it would be for muscle growth!”

The scantily-clad, muscular monk Ezio had already appeared, grasping one of the kraken’s tentacles and hauling it onto land in his signature peculiar poses.

“Somarkhaiḣ an-phas-ra a-phasan i-ḷriaḃan na-masa-mara…! (Brethren flora growing from our mother ocean’s bosom!) Pheỳol ar-na eidris ag karai-geacḣa geara knaphaċa…! (Rugged, craggy stony skins mirroring yourselves!)”

“Phas swas (Grow)! Phor (Thrive)! Geḃ mo naimdd (Bind my foes)!”

Conra, brandishing Ogma’s great spear, was using alchemical and druidic spells to cause vegetation and barnacles to grow over the kraken’s body.

Meanwhile, Sophia, having arrived instantly through her heart technique, stood naturally in midair, surveying the situation as she pondered the reason for these circumstances.

‘How strange. Krakens rarely approach human ports, don’t they?’

Just as human races were wary of monsters, monsters tended to be wary of human races as well.

Especially larger monsters, having lived for so long, tended to possess the wisdom of avoiding unnecessary entanglements with human races unless provoked. Those who had recklessly picked fights with human races were all dead and gone, leaving only those who avoided direct confrontation – a natural outcome.

‘Now where, where is it?’

Sophia was certain that somewhere, a schemer was at work. And as she extended her senses to the utmost, searching for the root cause, she finally detected a lingering presence.

“Well now.”

The moment that exclamation left her lips, her figure had already arrived before a deep warehouse in the Port of Bordeaux.

“As I thought, the demons’ minions are everywhere. Has it really been that long since I left Frankia for them to be running rampant like this already?”

“Tch, I’ve been discovered.”

Before the warehouse stood a robed, suspicious figure wearing a hood. Of course, they were not alone.

An acrid, fishy stench permeated the area, reminiscent of aged shellfish.

“This foul stench suggests their masters are those fish-headed lot. You there, what relation do you have with the Sapphygons?”

The robed schemer did not answer Sophia’s query. Instead, they rolled their eyes craftily, surveying the surroundings before abruptly shouting, “Heh, what are you fools doing? The enemy is alone! Attack!”

At the robed schemer’s command, creatures hidden near the warehouse came pouring out. Those that revealed themselves were none other than the malefic Sapphygon race – crudely shaped into vaguely humanoid forms by combining parts of fish and lizards.

Following the robed schemer’s orders, the Sapphygons immediately charged Sophia with hostile intent, recognizing the formidable threat before them.