Lady Saint&h.e.l.lip;could it be? The one from Arcadius?

Hearing the attendant"s plea, the bandit laughed.

"Who needs some "Lady Saint"?! Who needs G.o.d"s miracles?! Just so y"know&h.e.l.lip;we don"t need the likes of saints. It"d be even better if they were gone! That"s why I"m gonna kill her. I"m really gonna kill her&h.e.l.lip;! For real—"

Suddenly, the campfire went out. No—someone put it out.

It seemed to still only be the five bandits and two women. Besides Zero and myself, I couldn"t sense anyone else. But there was someone else here, somewhere.

"What?! Why"d the fire go out?! Who—"

The bearded bandit using the saint as a s.h.i.+eld let out a scared yell. In the next instant, he buckled at the knees and fell to the ground.

I had good night vision—but I saw nothing.

It was probably because the sudden extinguis.h.i.+ng of the blazing red campfire meant my vision was still adjusting to the darkness. Maybe that"s what they were going for.

But, someone—

"W&h.e.l.lip;atch out!"

Something flashed past my eyes with blinding speed, and I threw my head back.

The tip of one of my whiskers had been sliced off into the wind—it was a blade.

We were under attack.

From where? By who? The h.e.l.l—when"d they get so close?

Silently, leaves fluttered down.

—Above.

There was something there.

I felt the nape of my neck tingle in fear, and I grabbed Zero and jumped from the branch. A moment later, the branch we had been on was felled with a single slash, and it fell to the ground.

Dodging the falling branch, I threw Zero behind a tree and drew my sword.

"Hide! This one"s on a completely different level!" I yelled at Zero.

"—You have good perception," a soft voice spoke in my ear.

Even before I registered that it was a man"s voice, I heard the sound of something slas.h.i.+ng through the air. Relying on the sound, I swung my sword, and I felt the clash of metal against metal.

In that moment, I had a sense of incongruity. When I swung, I felt a strange pull—but before I realized why I felt it, my attacker had clicked his tongue and leapt far backward.

Then, he landed near-silently between me and the saint.

The man was carrying—a giant sickle.

It was like a joke weapon. No, was it even appropriate to call it a weapon?

Sickles were farming tools, not weapons. The sickle in the man"s hand, which looked like it could harvest a lot of wheat, would only be suited as a weapon for farmers who were tired of their ruler"s tyranny.

But the man between the saint and me was clearly not a farmer.

His simple top and bottom, along with his leather boots, seemed to suggest that he was. But the belt-shaped piece of cloth that replaced his mantle and belt indicated that he was of a special occupation.

—It was the attire of a priest.