I, Kurumi Tokisaki, Am a Wanderer

Holy… What the… Holy crap!

Saint George's usually composed and saintly expression was now one of utter bewilderment—he was downright stunned.

Too bad no one could see it.

Was this really how his Authority was meant to be used? Did this boy even understand what the name "Saint George" represented?

Guess he really was a true descendant of the Romans.

"Hey, hey, hey, we're about to start the fight. Mind calming down, oh noble god? You're getting on my nerves." Tony grumbled to the divine presence within him.

He couldn't care less about whatever background his esteemed godly guest had, or what slaying dragons might symbolize.

All he knew was that using such a powerful ability to buff someone else was a ridiculous waste.

The dragon-head pauldron on his shoulder seemed to come to life as he wrenched the arrow out of it without a sound.

Tony stretched, his joints popping one after the other.

The "dragon factor" pulsed through his body, and his heart felt like a molten core as his energy surged and his magic boiled. His blood felt like it was ready to burst from heat.

He'd never felt strength like this before, power that could seemingly split mountains and seas with a mere flick of his wrist. This was the power of a "Dragon," the power of a "Heretic God."

Assuming a simple, unassuming stance, he lowered himself slightly and raised the holy sword Ascalon in front of him, poised to face Liliana.

"Come on… let's see what you've got."

Normally, the power of Thou Art a Dragon would only last for a fleeting moment, temporarily branding its target as dragonkind.

But for Tony, who had fully embraced it, keeping Ascalon in hand and continuously pouring divine energy into the spell, Thou Art a Dragon became a more prolonged state.

Though it didn't take him to a realm of no-mind, no-thought, it still gave him the taste of wielding truth through sheer power.

"Hey, kid. It looks like your wish won't be coming true after all," Saint George warned him.

"Huh?" The simple-minded knight hadn't quite processed the comment.

"She's back. The most ferocious, the most ruthless of them all has returned. Hand over your body to me. If I fall, at least you'll be free." Saint George urged.

"No." Tony refused, his sweaty hand gripping Ascalon even tighter, his eyes fixed on the figure before him.

The sky darkened.

...

Liliana wasn't exactly in peak form either. Nuada's power had been crushed once, and her small frame was trembling.

She was still too young. In a few years, she could likely stand alone as a true Godslayer. But for now, she was still just a bit too young.

Even so, her exquisite little face held nothing but resolve.

Liliana was, in her unyielding way, a "fool" as knights go.

"Enough, that's enough."

A soft, alluring voice drifted from behind her as a warm presence pressed against her back, arms gently encircling her neck.

In an instant, the world before her became soaked in dark red ink, as a golden, lifeless clockwork eye opened slowly.

The girl who met her gaze was darkly captivating; just meeting her mismatched eyes made people instinctively look away.

Mountains of corpses, seas of blood, countless bleached bones.

Kurumi leaned her head against Liliana's shoulder, her breath warm against her neck, making the little knight freeze in place.

She had no resistance to someone's breath against her neck.

"My, my, Liliana, you've done wonderfully." Kurumi whispered, her voice soft and soothing, as if she were speaking to a small animal.

Liliana stood stock-still, unable to move a muscle.

This was the goddess she had vowed to serve, the one to whom she'd pledged everything.

Though… there was just a touch of sadism there.

"Now, leave the rest to me."

...

What kind of enemy was this?

Saint George sighed deeply, feeling his own helplessness.

The young swordsman known as Tony was even stronger than he'd imagined, wielding unparalleled swordsmanship. Each stroke could be treasured and studied by master swordsmen for years.

Yet even so, he was still no match for this terrifying Heretic God.

Each effortless swing of her blade tore through his defenses, the terrifying strength hidden in her slender wrist enough to fight dragons on even footing.

There was a difference in strength even among gods, Saint George sighed.

"Let me take over, Tony."

The resilience of this knight surprised him, and now that he had ceded control, he couldn't take it back—despite Tony being an idiot.

"No," Tony said.

"Letting you take over is a death wish, isn't it?"

Saint George fell silent.

"I came here as a martyr, solely to kill the Heretic God."

"Kill?" Tony rolled out of the way of a swinging gun blade.

The opponent wasn't even serious. She was merely toying with him, indulging in a bit of revenge for the little knight.

"Can you really kill a god like that?" Tony glanced around; the world was drenched in her colors.

"You're marching to your own death."

"So what?" Saint George said softly. "The world doesn't need gods."

"But I do." Tony rolled out of the way again, her gunblade lashing out along its chain, pinning the edge of his blood-red robe to the ground.

"Besides you, where am I going to find a god willing to lend me his strength?"

"C'mon, you lend me your power, and I'll go take down those Heretic Gods. Isn't that a pretty good deal?"

Tony was surprisingly good at calming people down, even if he was a hopeless fool.

"Saint George the Dragon Slayer or whatever…"

"Historically speaking, didn't that never actually happen?"

"Saint George being identified with Michael? Isn't that just a coincidence of art and myth?"

Tony smiled as he swung the holy sword at Kurumi once again.

"So you're merely 'Saint George' by proxy, the 'dragon slayer' by mere association, right?"

"The world is vast. Why don't we go see it?"

Unsurprisingly, the holy sword was instantly batted away by the flintlock gun. She was a brute who didn't play fair.

Without even relying on her powers, she could overpower a dragonified, god-empowered Tony with ease.

Kurumi hadn't even fired a shot.

In the end, Saint George's power just didn't suit Tony. Even though he had used Thou Art a Dragon on himself, he still struggled.

Saint George remained quiet within him.

Tony sensed his power and charged at Kurumi again.

Holy flames rained down, falling as if in divine judgment.

This was Saint George bound in the temple, praying to the Lord, summoning forth divine wrath.

The girl in black-and-red emerged from the holy flames unscathed, jabbing the handle of her gun into Tony's stomach, driving him to the ground.

Staring up at the night sky, he released his grip on his holy sword, feeling the dragon's blood fade away, his breathing ragged.

"You really are a fool," Saint George said, exasperated. "Still… you're right."

"I like traveling."

...

Tony didn't have the energy to respond.

He lay flat on his back, muttering in irritation.

"Ugh… safety shorts."

—

Full of innocent retribution, Liliana stepped right over Tony's sprawled-out body.

What she thought was a "fierce" act of revenge was surprisingly playful.

Yet she seemed to forget that without her bright silver armor, she was now dressed in the short chiffon dress and pristine white stockings that Erica had so maliciously chosen for her.

Liliana had resisted such a short dress, but in deference to Lady Kurumi's delight, she had begrudgingly put it on.

Erica understood her friend's sensitive pride and embarrassment too well.

…

"Tsk, safety shorts."

A lazy voice drifted up from below.

Liliana froze. Within seconds, her neck and face flushed a brilliant red, with her delicate ears following suit.

"Oh my, it's Steam Maiden Liliana," Kurumi snickered inwardly, committing this moment to memory.

She had to admit, there was something deeply amusing about teasing a girl like Liliana—serious, dignified, yet sensitive and easily flustered.

Kurumi hadn't known that kind of delight before, but as she watched Liliana, her lips curled into a mischievous smile.

Oh, what fun this could be.

She imagined Liliana's stern and prim face, her brows knit with embarrassment—wanting to refuse but hesitating, forced by duty to stand there, utterly flushed.

Yes, it seemed she really was a "bad person."

Then, after a brief moment of mortification, Liliana turned and gave Tony a fierce kick to the head.

A viciously precise kick.

In the final moment before it hit, all Tony saw was the toe of her small, round shoe growing larger in his vision.

"Oh no. Game over."

—

The journey from San Gimignano to Florence covered about 60 miles.

Their destination was the St. Giardino Monastery, located about a twenty-minute drive outside Florence.

There, "Saint Raffaello" and the head of the Copper-Black Cross, Paolo, awaited their arrival.

Rejecting the idea of having Arianna come to pick them up, Kurumi took the wheel herself for the trip to St. Giardino.

But soon enough, both Erica and Liliana paid the price for their hasty decision.

Kurumi's driving was smooth—controlled with the ease of a seasoned pro and surprisingly bump-free… if one ignored the speedometer needle nearly pinned at the max.

The car engine roared like a furious beast. In the passenger seat, Erica's face was pale as she hesitantly worked up the courage to speak.

"Lady Kurumi, in Italy… they drive on the right side of the road."

"Oh?" Kurumi appeared to hesitate, then abruptly jerked the steering wheel before swiftly straightening it again.

The force flung Erica forward, leaving her sprawled in Kurumi's lap.

"Ugh…" The usually mischievous Erica felt utterly defeated, groaning inwardly.

"I should've known. The way she calmly walked away from Arianna's car that time should've tipped me off."

"Why was she so unbothered?"

"How could she stay so indifferent to Arianna's driving?"

"It was because… they both drove the same way."

Meanwhile, Liliana clutched the handrail, eyes fixed on the wind chimes hanging from the rearview mirror, too scared to look anywhere else.

Both Erica and Liliana found themselves slightly envious of the unconscious Tony—he was lucky.

It was right then that Tony began to stir, propped awkwardly against the floor, looking dazed.

He stared blankly for a long moment before finally sitting up.

In the next instant, his face drained of color.

"What kind of monster driver is this?!"

…

As night fell, activity was still underway at the St. Giardino Monastery.

A "Heretic God," a "Godslayer," and a saintly vessel would soon arrive.

Though a grand reception wasn't necessary, it wouldn't do to let such distinguished guests arrive unnoticed.

Dressed in black, somber priests moved busily through the fortress-like white monastery.

Beyond the courtyard, row upon row of knights continued their rigorous training, their expressions holding not a trace of complaint.

A procession of distinguished guests approached.

A dignified priest, with a bearing as upright as a sword, led the group inside.

Kurumi followed with her usual grace, trailed by two perfectly synchronized young ladies, and lastly the slouched, casual Tony.

The priests they passed bore odd expressions, struggling to maintain composure, lips twitching as if stifling laughter.

It wasn't their fault. After all, who could remain solemn upon seeing a young man sporting a perfect footprint on his face, wobbling along nonchalantly?

But Tony hardly paid it any mind, preoccupied with his silent exchange with Saint George.

To most, the thought of another soul inhabiting their mind, able to witness their thoughts and memories, would be unbearable.

But Tony was different. There was nothing in his life he felt he needed to hide.

He had become a knight for his love of the sword; his lack of magical talent had made him the black sheep of his order, and yet it was for that very same swordsmanship that he had earned the title "Knight of Siena" and had been taken under Saint Raffaello's tutelage.

A life fit for the protagonist of a story.

"Well, well, seems you know my tale quite well~" Saint George teased.

To better wield Saint George's authority, Tony had peppered him with questions of all kinds.

But the saint, rather unexpectedly, was nothing short of a joker.

"Not exactly," Tony denied. "You just seem pretty taken with reading your own biography."

"Tell me, how many versions of your legend have you read since you came into my life?"

…

The priest leading them stopped to bow respectfully, gesturing for them to enter the small, white chapel nearby.

"Greetings to you, Lady Kurumi." With a sound of staggered footsteps, a muscular knight and a dark-haired beauty came forward and bowed in reverence.

A sophisticated-looking man with the air of a living David statue then approached Liliana with a complex expression.

"Greetings to you, young Campione, sixth of the Godslayers."

"Uncle…"

Erica froze, momentarily at a loss for words.

"Erica, I am grateful for your close connection with our Campione."

Paolo said.

"But… she is a Godslayer, do you understand?"

…

Regardless of how it came about,

the young girl named Liliana

was now, officially, the sixth Campione.

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