15 Pugna

(A/N: Don't blame me for the infrequent updates. I've achieved nirvana by finding a few good novels and games at the same time - a miracle for anyone that has been consuming either for more than a few months - and they're collectively killing my motivation to write.

One of the books is 'Mother of Learning' on RoyalRoad - gets better after the first dozen or so chapters - so maybe try that if you have nothing else to read. Just be warned that the MC's moral alignment is neutral but leaning to good, since most people reading this wouldn't prefer that - I'm only reading it for the good writing, anyway.

Now that my excuses and peace offering are done with, enjoy. Not the other book, I mean this chapter - mine should be your favorite.)

Aquinas Hall was awe-inspiring. I doubt there's even a way to properly express the veneration it is due. Dropping to my knees in adoration would be neither deferential nor worshipful enough in front of the marbled pillars, colossal chandeliers, and sweeping Latin script adorning the walls. [0]

It's incredibly fitting for Saint Thomas Aquinas, the man titled Doctor Angelicus, being such a heavenly, palatial edifice. When you consider that his other nickname is Doctor Ecclesiae Universalis, it's even more apt. [1]

Will I get this sort of immortalization as well upon releasing my newfound theory of God's gift of Mana and its effects on antediluvian lifespans? If such a breath-taking cenotaph was bestowed upon Thomas Aquinas for what amounted to common sense, what would I receive?

The thought, combined with the display before me, brought a tear to my eye. I could write down every word I know over the course of my entire life - and still none of them could properly describe the glorious structure before my eyes. This monument, a testament to faith itself, was just that grandiose. It could never be eulogized, for its beauty was simply beyond rendition. Anyone who tried would end up in a similar state as I, merely slavering over this embodiment of artistry.

Even though I had said falling to my knees in reverence wouldn't be appreciative enough, I did exactly that.

"Dei sub numine viget! Deus lux mea est! Ditat Deus! Dominus fortitudo nostra! Dei gratia rex!" I hollered, prostrating before empirical evidence of God's majesty. [2]

The fact that my entourage was giving me strange looks was their problem. If they don't find such a magnificent display to be worthy of acclaim and admiration, I'm afraid they're more blasphemous than I thought.

However, while they were disturbed at my behavior - the succubus already moving to belittle me - a small group of around five men nearby responded to me in an appropriate manner: """AMEN! DOMINUS VOBISCUM!""" accompanied by a chorus of bangs, presumably from boots or weapon hilts hitting the ground.

'The Lord be with you'. Fitting.

Who are they? So far, this is the only proper response to my actions I've seen so far. The Vatican seems not to have many true believers.

Getting up to look at them, I saw… Templars? Templars kneeling with halberd shafts on their right sides resting against the floor.

Isn't their order extinct? I suppose they could have theoretically retreated into the supernatural.

As long as they fight the demons and other associated heathens with the same, bloody zeal that they previously had, I might consider joining such a group. If it's possible, of course; I'm not sure of the papal regulations overseeing such a request.

"Get up." Leonidas tapped my still kneeling back. "I promise you that we won't be walking all the way down to the end of the Hall, if you're already so tired that you need to sit down."

I'd rather stay here for longer. If that entailed walking for hours to the end of this larger-than-life vestibule, so be it. It would take me a minute or two just to get from one close wall to the other, not to mention going from the actual beginning of this… antechamber-esque structure to the end.

To be honest, each individual painting in this 'hall' is probably worth more than the entirety of Moscow.

"Pay no mind to the Knights Templar for now," Leonidas told us. "I'll explain later. For now, Joseph is waiting."

"There is no need to rush ourselves," Priska said, glancing at me. "I don't believe this puerile drudger is wishing to get whooped sooner than he would."

She isn't even close to ready for what brutalization I'd execute if I could, but even with the mortal chains of accountability binding my conscience, victory is easily within my grasp. If she has a Holy Sword, I have a Holy Soul.

I would say Holy Sacred Gear, but both are correct. Gears are allegedly attached to your soul, so having a Holy Sacred Gear subsequently means that I have a Holy Soul.

I'd prefer to use the former over the latter, however, despite being eternally grateful for both. The Holiness would be ripped out of her pagan, occultic monstrosity of a sword and siphoned to a worthy source: me.

For now, I left her with an omen of what's to come: "Consider yourself lucky that your bones won't yet be snapped and your spine crippled. I'd be severely punished if I acted with such barbarity, after all."

Snapped bones, crippled spine, barbarity. I've set it up for now, and in the far future, I'll fulfill my promise.

Leonidas gave me a weirded-out look. I'm not sure exactly as to why; my statement was factual..

"Keep some pretense of civility, you two," Leonidas sighed. "Anyway, we're basically here. Just place your hand on this book," he pointed at a leather-bound book, propped up on a pedestal, with the golden lettering of 'Ars Gratia Dei', [3] "and you'll be transported."

I'd like to flip through it, but I doubt that's an option.

Leonidas was the first to place his armored glove on the fine material, leaving Priska to smirk at me, mouthing the words 'last', before following in his footsteps.

This spar will be enjoyable. I'll make it so.

I transported myself as well, and by now, I'd acclimated to the nausea-inducing feeling. One moment I'm in an indescribably beautiful monument, the next I'm standing in the middle of an open field that stretches far beyond the eye can see, with no nauseousness to boot.

Turning around, we were greeted by a chestnut brown-haired man with a decent amount of stubble, lounging on top of a slab of stone. He wore gear similar to Leonidas', the battle priest uniform - red steel and fabric with golden Orthodox crosses decorating much of its surface - and he held an eerily familiar sword in his right hand.

Jumping down, he gave a quick introduction: "It's a begrudging pleasure to meet you three."

"Stop acting like you don't know who I am, Joseph," Leonidas said, stone-faced.

"Who are you again?"

"Isn't that what they," he gestured towards Priska and I, "should be asking you?"

"Ah, yes. I am Joseph - well, technically Iosif, but some people find that hard to pronounce - Baltag, your trainer for the near future."

This one seems entertaining, at least.

"I already know everything about you two, so onto today's main event. But first, catch, little thing!" he said, throwing Caladbolg at Priska.

She crouched and shielded herself, knowing that she wouldn't be able to grab the huge airborne blade, and so Leonidas did it for her.

"Watch out next time, Joseph," he said, barely trying to contain his amused smirk. "We don't have all day."

"Technically, yes, we do."

"You damned gyp-" Priska began, only to be interrupted.

"I'm Romanian, not a gypsy," Joseph said, watching on as Priska struggled to lift the weight of her sword.

"I see no difference, you asinine buffoon. What if I'd died?"

"And what a shame that would be," he replied, brushing away nonexistent tears. "I weep at the thought. Why do you have to make a scene? Don't answer that," he interrupted her, "it's a rhetorical question. Can we move on now?"

I like his attitude.

"I'll take your defeated, temporary silence as a yes. We've done our introductions - my name is Joseph Baltag, Bishop-rank Exorcist, you get the gist - so now we can move onto the main event: your spar! Aren't you excited?" He turned to me, exaggeratedly whispering, "Don't worry; Leonidas will make sure you don't get any of your arms or legs cut off. I don't think I'm fast enough, though, so make sure you stay in his good graces for your future spars as well."

How comforting.

"And why are we doing that before anything immediately important?" Priska asked, still scowling.

"Because I'll get to act smart by making a lesson out of it."

At least he's straightforward about it.

"He also wants to act smart by pointing out your weaknesses and then talking about the training regimen afterward," Leonidas offered. "Although, if it makes you feel better, you could view it as him wanting to see your weaknesses and traits before laying out a plan for the future."

"Can we get on with the fighting?" I interrupted.

"Are you looking forward to being amputated? Even I didn't take you to be suicidal," Priska said.

"You can talk as much as you want," I shrugged, "but it won't hide the fact that I'd crush you just with my weight, not to mention a concentrated effort."

"You're proud of being so shockingly obese? For shame. Beneficial for me, however, as that makes you a much easier target."

"Calling me obese implies that I'm not capable of shattering your skull with my bare hands."

"You deal with this all the time?" Joseph asked Leonidas.

All he did was give a bitter smile.

He patted his friend on the back. "Anyway, get onto that platform over there," he gestured to the huge block of cement in the middle of this open field, "and you can begin when I say so."

"And how do we do that, stooge? There are no stairs, nor is there a ladder, nor is there a servant to pull me up, barring you."

Why must she be so venomous?

"Well, little thing," Joseph responded, "I can do this."

He walked in front of her, stole Caladbolg, chucked it a decent distance, and then, after a cursory, "Brace yourself," threw her like a soldier would a sandbag.

…He threw her almost sixty meters in the air. Not that I don't appreciate him turning her into a bloody smear on the floor, but how are we supposed to spar? Concrete isn't particularly merciful.

Oh. Leonidas caught her.

"Would you like me to do the same?" he asked, smiling.

I shook my head no, deciding that pulling myself up had a significantly lower chance of breaking my neck than the alternative.

"Now that we've gotten to the slugfest, I'd like to inform you two of a few general rules," he said, jumping onto the platform along with us. "One, try not to kill or permanently maim one another. Two… Actually, I guess there's only one rule. The 'stop when I say so' is common sense. Okay - start on 'zero'. I'll start counting down."

From what? Five? Ten?

Whatever. I'll know when he begins the countdown.

The girl tried to pull Caladbolg up from its resting place on the pavement, unable to do so when clutching its blade - who picks up a sword by the sharp part? - but could do so easily when her singular neuron fired and had her grab it by the hilt.

So easily that because she thought it would be heavy and therefore used as much force as possible, it went flying over her head, causing her to let go in surprise, and landed on the ground behind her.

Well, I suppose that nullifies my perceived advantage that she couldn't use her weapon because of its weight.

"Ten."

Leonidas threw me a dulled steel sword to make up for it; however, I doubt it'll be much use against a God-given weapon.

Well, given what I've heard, she can't access her sword's full power - in other words, she can't cleave through mountains like butter - so I do have a chance… maybe.

"Nine."

I remember that she should get exhausted after using her sword for a bit, but how long is 'a bit'? Three minutes? Thirty? An hour?

"Eight."

With things being as they are, the only thing I can see in my favor - in the short term, at least - is that the sword is as tall as its wielder and thus unwieldy, despite it apparently weighing little more than a feather to her.

"Seven."

And how does her Sacred Gear factor into this? I distinctly remember that we were only allowed a comprehensive Holy Sword Affinity test because of my alleged high chance of getting one and the possibility of her Gear's effects synergizing with a 'natural Holy Sword Aura, creating Holy Fire similar to Lord Uriel's or Incinerate Anthem's'. What if that happens? An aura encompasses an area, so will I be cremated upon her activation of the ability?

"Six."

Or maybe the aura is too small right now because of her inadequacies as a wielder. Or maybe I'm misinterpreting the usage of 'aura' - getting confused by vague Church terminology is something that's become increasingly common. Or maybe she doesn't know how to use her Sacred Gear; I wouldn't be surprised, considering her already shown incompetency.

"Five."

There's still the supposed ability of releasing semicircle slash things from the sword upon slicing. Does that mean she can just stay far away and attack without letting me get close? Will the Sacred Gear mix with that ability, making them burn me upon getting close?

"Four."

Either way, I need to deal with it - or at least pray that she has horrendous aim. I wouldn't be surprised if that's the case; the sword is as big as her. Maybe she'll be careful and slow in her swinging instead of being unpredictable and erratic so as to accidentally not bury it in her own gut. It would be beneficial for me - slower swings mean more time to see the big slashes coming.

"Three."

Now, I just need to collate this all into a comprehensive strategy. Dodge her slashes, if she uses them; stall to gauge her stamina; get close after tiring her out; beg God to throw off her aim and make her unable to summon her Sacred Gear; disembowel her if I get the chance.

Easy enough.

"Two."

My sword seems useless, what with its dull edge and short range, so it can be disregarded in my grand strategy. Perhaps I can use it to gauge the power of her slashes - will they dissipate upon contact with something?

"One."

Doesn't matter, I suppose. All that's left now is to pray.

"Do the hokey-pokey."

All three of us - Leonidas, Priska, and I - turned to stare at him.

"Sorry. I meant 'zero'."

I'm not one to pass up a potentially useful distraction.

The platform was around fifty meters [4] in both length and width, and Joseph had strategically thrown Priska to the opposite side of where I pulled myself up, and so I had plenty of distance to traverse before being able to gut her.

That doesn't mean I didn't try, however. It only meant that by the time I'd run ten meters, Priska had wised up and decided to test out the slashing ability.

The good thing? No hint of heat or flames. Caladbolg's golden arc barreled toward me at a decently high speed - a speed that could be avoided, if one was paying attention - and was significantly smaller than the rainbow-sized semicircle of destruction described in the mythos. In her hands, the created attack was a mere meter.

The bad thing could be paraded as a good thing, in that she missed, but that would be ignoring the corporal effects of such a move. She didn't slice parallel to the ground and accidentally tilted the blade downwards at the last second, yes - it doesn't change the fact that the slice went straight through the three meters' worth of concrete we were standing upon.

At least there's no need to sacrifice my sword to see its power.

"Ha. Haha!"

Well, I can see that the witch is enjoying herself.

If there's one thing I can count on myself to do besides upholding the Word of God, it would be wiping any hint of joy off of Priska Freya Ilse von Ernst's face. It would be eradicating every particle of enjoyment that ever tries to grace her unworthy self.

I've internally realized my goal. All that's left now is to materially realize it.

And to continue on with that, I had to duck underneath the second arc about to slice me in two.

I suppose that's what happens when you get distracted during battle.

Hitting the dirt - or cement, if you want to be literal - and watching the attack harmlessly pass over where I'd been standing, dissipating around five seconds later, I realized my folly: I overestimated her.

Actually, it's better to be safe than sorry. Especially when her third attempt nearly just shaved off a few hairs on my head.

Jumping up, I slowly got closer and closer, aware that the less distance between us, the less time I had to react, and the better her aim would be. With that in mind, I would act out three facets of my grand strategy, two being instituted during the countdown, the other being something I just came up with.

One, stall to tire her out. Two, acclimate myself to the danger of being nearby Priska - which increased with time and proximity, as her attacks would give me less and less time to react, would get more accurate, and, since she was also getting used to her own power, increase in their frequency. Three, disembowel her upon getting close.

I wish she would make this simpler for me by fighting as one normally would with a sword - up close and personal. Expending precious brainpower on such an unsightly frump is a waste of my intellect.

Also, it's been around a minute so far, and there is a slight sign of exhaustion from her - namely, a slightly noticeable sheen of sweat on her forehead.

I'll take it, I suppose. In the meantime, I'll continue my strategy, only that I'll mix in a bit of taunting to throw off her aim.

At least, that's the intended outcome.

"You look ungainly swinging that thing around!"

In order to not distract myself from dodging the life-threatening semicircles of light trying to decapitate me, I didn't put much effort into the gibe. It's a probe, more than anything - I'm trying to see if she'll take the bait, that way I know I don't have to waste time on coming up with something more hurtful.

"Speaking during a fight is unseemly! Focus, before I kill you!"

It worked but didn't at the same time. It got a response, but she was supposed to get angry and mess up with her aim - instead, she just beat back with her own reply. There was no real upshot.

Doesn't matter, to be fair. Jeering at your opponent is such a barbaric, uncivilized strategy in battle.

Then again, the very act of fighting could be easily described with those two adjectives.

It's been a minute and thirty seconds or so. I'm unharmed, and so is Priska, but her attack rate is slowing down. She's trying to catch her breath and has shaky arms.

Hm. I'll just wait it out. No need to take chances with a risky gambit when I can be patient and win anyway.

After another thirty seconds or so of a steadily subsiding assault, she tried to use the sword as a cane to help her stand.

Only that it sunk into the stone below us, causing her to lose her balance and fall down.

She's finished.

Beginning my blitz, I charged, sword at the ready.

"Don't use the sword," Leonidas called out, "but, since you won, you get one hit on her. Try not to make it fatal."

Hm. As much as I dislike it, at least I get to hit her. A liver shot would probably be fatal, considering the difference between our builds, but a fist in the gut works just fine.

I chucked the sword behind my back, hearing a distinctive rattle, and nearly tripped.

Oops. I should focus. She left a lot of cuts in the ground.

I keep running, now paying attention to both the floor and my target - speaking of which, what's the way to exert the most force? Sure, it might cause organ failure if she's unlucky, but whatever. We have healers.

She's still on her knees, so how would I properly punch her in the gut? From where I'm at, a kick, in her four-legged position, would be fatal no matter where. The head for obvious reasons, the neck for obvious reasons, the torso for obvious reasons… hm.

Thankfully, Priska took care of it herself.

Her eyes widened upon noticing how I was sprinting at her full speed, especially after hearing what Leonidas said, so, logically, she tried her hardest to pull the sword out of the ground and defend herself.

She failed. Her energy had fully left her by now. Her best option at this point was to lie face down on the concrete, but instead, she stood up on shaky legs, facing me with as much courage as the circumstances permitted.

"Humble her! Humble her! Humble her!" Joseph cheered, pumping his fist. "End her bitching!"

Again, gladly.

Turning back to Priska, I could see that I was only around five meters away - and that she was sticking her tongue out at me.

Truly a petulant child. Her size fits the description - and it also perfectly fits my fist.

My fist impacted as soon as it came within reach. The blow had her stumble backwards for a meter or two, then double over and begin vomiting on the ground - perhaps with a hint of crimson in its contents.

I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of tranquility.

Is this what God felt upon exterminating Sodom and Gomorrah?

Maybe I should continu-

"Glad you got it out of your system." Joseph clapped. "Now for the recap."

###

[0] Reference image here, in the comments. It's not really an artwork of Aquinas Hall, since it doesn't have even half of the traits I described, but it should help your imagination. And yes, I chose [0] instead of [1] - what are you going to do about it?

[1] 'Doctor Angelicus' = 'Angelic Doctor'. 'Doctor Ecclesiae Universalis' = 'Doctor of the Universal Church'.

[2] I'm not going to bother to list out the individual meanings of each Latin saying, but they generally mean stuff like 'by the grace of God', 'God is my light', 'God enriches', etc. Also, yes, I used the Latin text there even though all of the characters are basically always speaking Latin - what are you going to do about it?

[3] 'Ars Gratia Dei' should be 'Art For God's Sake' in Latin. It's meant to be a spin on that modern art saying, 'art for art's sake'.

[4] Fifty meters is around sixty yards. I'll convert it to cubic football fields per fortnight next time for any Americans out there.

###

Wasn't much of a fight scene, since not much actual fighting happened, but I'm satisfied.

I think I was in a Latin mood this chapter. Even the name, 'pugna', is 'fight' or whatever other associated word (war, battle, etc.) in Latin.

###