A Midsummer's Noon

Lothair donned an unorthodox silky white priest robe with a crimson X sewn from the shoulder to the upper stomach level. A rather conspicuous appearance in the most suspicious location — he leered at the widely stretching across tents of travelers and the well-maintained fortification of the town.

"The starting town, the beginning mark of this story."

Despite showcasing a harmless stance and nature, the guard approached him with precautions.

"State your reason and affiliation."

A wide smile spanned across the fake priest's face.

"Merry X-mas~"

He flicked what seemed to be a spark of green flame. The tiny spark traveled disorderly in the air before violently smashing its tiny body onto the surface of the guard's protective helmet.

An explosive burst spurted out, knocking the guard's hard to the ground as their associates watched in indignation.

"Murder that bastard for commiting harm against the guard!"

"Woowie, what jolly X-mas indeed."

"You scum, it's not even winter yet!!"

As they all charged forward like a raging bull, the result of the stampede invited many glances and attention from the camping travelers.

"HURRAAAH!"

The utmost front lunging guard hurled his three meters long sword. Lothair merely needed to step sideways to completely avoid the attack, letting the weapon kiss the ground.

Before the rest of the guards follow up, Lothair pressed his hands to the body of the sword before casting a hugely condensed amount of healing to the surface of the palms and the steel, melting and fusing them together.

Rushing forward, Lothair slid the planted sword away from the ground like a doorwall, giving an intense thrust at the stomach of the first guard.

And with the sword disarmed from its original owner, he used the entirety of the weapon that was molded to his arm as a crutch to block and redirect all of the incoming attack like he was swatting flies in the air.

"I'm still not used to this, but it's certainly working." The weight of the sword was 70kg, while Lothair himself only weighed 48kg at most. This feat was possible because he was on a drug that stressed his adrenal gland to produce a burst of adrenaline into his muscles, while maintaining his body with a continuous stream of self-healing.

There was an extreme amount of pain involved in this.

Using the same technique as before, he over-healed the center mass in a horizontal line respective to the sword. With the atoms that kept the iron in place started loosening and eventually melting in such a precisely thin area, Lothair was able to break the sword molded to his hand into two like a dried twig — allowing him to wield one sizable chunk on each hand.

All of the guards who witnessed it began to slowly succumb into uncertainty.

"What a freak…"

"Something is off with that green glow…!"

"Stay focused, gentlemen." One of the guards placed a wry grin under the helmet. "I've already sought out reinforcements from the nearby patrol unit. They should be there soon!"

"You're suggesting… we should play a game to wait for them?" Lothair inquired as he tilted his head, smashing the steel attached to his palm like a street-fighter warming up his glove.

"Nobody suggests anything!"

"A game of tag it is, then!"

"You bastard! Nobody said a damn thing!"

"Worry not! I'll give you all a handicap!"

Lothair leaped forward. To an experienced guard of the town, such an action was utterly predictable.

Before the freak of nature touched the ground, the utmost front guard lunged his halberd. It was an easy kill, a sure hit, a definite impalement of the torso with little to no margin of error within plain sight.

Just before it connected, Lothair clashed both pieces of the sword onto one another before pushing his whole body to propel downward, avoiding a complete skewering.

And then like a mad cat, Lothair aggressively strode forward with hunched head — and then uppercutting the guard's chin with the sharp side of the snapped bladed chunk, brutally pushing the dismembered bottom jaw up to the nose.

"Splint Sword Uppercut!"

"Oy! Who the hell tells their enemies about what they do!!?"

"Pummel Strike!"

"GAAAAH!!"

Before any of them could process what was going on, Lothair slinked into formation as he took down the guard one by one with either the sharp edge to the neck, or the handle-part and blunt side to the nose.

"H-how come our wounds didn't regenerate??"

"Sorry, my man, I took it."

"How's that possible??"

"Powerful Punch!" Lothair implied, while he kicked the guard on the neck…

Before stomping his head repeatedly with both feet like a trampoline. After he was done, he kicked the unconscious guard on the side of the guard's stomach, flinging them four meters away.

"So much for keeping the air pollution in town." Lothair then saw one trying to fake their death. He then hurled both pieces of the giant sword onto them, flinging them forward along with the skin on his palm. "Heh, guess I won the game. Now that I recap it, to beat them to pulp despite shouting your own move, is surprisingly amusing."

A celebratory whistle was sent from the emerging crowd.

"Bravo, bravo!"

"I don't know your business, but that's a good performance there."

"Yeah! Sucker punch them! They deserve it!"

"Nobody likes the entrance guards anyway!"

A choir of voices erupted in the air, many of them were commending the deed that Lothair displayed.

"All of you!"" Lothair shouted back, dispersing the noise pollution away into silence. He faced them with straight backs, and gleaming green orbs on respective hands as he danced a smile. "Who said that I'm not going to do the same to all of you???"

2 seconds of confused silence passed by, only to be defused by a sequence of screams which split the crowd into two divisions: Those who ran away with tails between their legs, and those who saw it as an invitation of challenge.

Those groups of people sprinted, albeit in two completely different directions — ensuing the chaos of the former clash.

There were at least 36 demons who joined the murderhobos fray, with 11 of them seemed to be an expert in what they do.

"Healing Punch!"

"Gaaah!! Wait, there is no wound. Just what are you-"

Another punch landed in the worst place possible — it was followed by an anguish, debilitating cry.

"Jewels Crusher!" Lothair then grabbed the axe from the fighter that he incapacitated. "Thanks for the loot!"

"Preposterous! Healing spells is an act of taboo!"

"No, it's not." Lothair then dragged the axe all across the ground he covered in a second before splitting the magus demon from bottom to up. "I didn't use it to heal, I'm using it to cause pain."

"Pretty boy~ why don't you cease this meaningless fight and let us pleasure ourselves in my-"

"Axe Throw!" Just like Lothair shouted, he literally threw the axe he looted at the thirsty succubus. Albeit, not before crushing them into many pieces. "Shrapnel Version!"

"GYAAAAH! MY FACE!!"

"Sorry, lassie, I'm busy killing all of you. Also, here, I'll heal you up."

"AAAAAAH! WHAT'S THIS GROSS FEELING????"

"Whoopsie, I forgot to pull out the steel shards. Here, I'll heal you more."

"AAAAAAAA-"

After he was done with them, Lothair took a peculiar needle-like object from beneath the surface of his wrist's skin.

"These precious cause me a fortune of lifetime to invent." He then sprayed each of them to both the dead and unconscious body littered on the ground. "Not to mention, the amount of failed experimentation that's enough to plunge an entire Nether Country into debt~!

"It's still in its inferior potential, but it's enough to use 90% of the original prowess."

Not even a minute after, each of the bodies began to sprung back to life with a straight back. Although, not a single one of them possessed the slightest of life in their eyes.

"Lesser Puppets! That's what I call them for now!"

With a new army of former guards and experts, he marched forward throughout Thornar Town.

And not even a day, the puppets and its puppeteer razed the town foundation to the ground.

Not even resting for a moment, they marched onward to the next town along with hundreds if not thousands of new comrades in their wake. All while spreading the pain and anguishing repulsion of being healed.

Towns after cities, villages after war zones. The small neighboring Nether Country were shuddered by the spreading news of this threat, while those who possessed the military and power of the Overlords began to take a consideration of utilizing this event.

A name was spread in commemoration for successfully taking down half of nations. With how this threat utilized an army of loyal puppets and the taboo power of healing in their wake.

He was dubbed as the Holy Witch.

Not only that, the upper echelon of society began to reel themselves to recruit this new terrifying menace into their league.

Sadly, all of those recruitment attempts ended in blood baths.

"I'll work under your boss, if you bring me 1 millions gallons of milk in return. The time limit is two hours."

"W-what!? How do we even get that many gallons in just a day?? Let alone two hours!!"

"Tick tock, the ticking clock is clicking rock~"

"Like what do you need a million gallons of milk for!??"

"You know, I have more than seven hundred thousand lesser puppets, with each of them craving for some good and lactose filled milk. It's good for their bones."

With the information about how the newly trending Holy Witch was shown to be very uncooperative in working together, many sides of the spectrum began to hunt him down before he rose any more in power.