The tunnel slightly slanted downward. The deeper they traveled, the further and further away they got from the surface.

Eventually, the group arrived at a large open space.

It was a dome-shaped chamber whose size rivaled that of Earth’s largest sports stadium. The highest point of the ceiling was more than a hundred meters away from the ground.

At a glance, there were several diverging pathways located all around the chamber. What’s more, wooden rafters and giant metallic platforms dotted the entire area.

It was an abandoned mine. Despite the years of destitution, the vestiges of man were still there for anyone to see.

The scale of the mine somewhat surprised Fel, but his attention was quickly diverted towards the things inside. Green-robes and pale faces. They were the Pagans. Judging by his initial estimates, the information that Reedlim received prior had been grossly inaccurate.

There were more than a thousand pagans within this room alone.

A strange silence permeated through the atmosphere. The bewildered knights stared blankly into the chamber, while the determined Pagans glared intently at the tunnel entrance. Nobody moved. In that brief moment, sound seemingly did not exist.

Then came the violence.

“First Guard, to formation!” Reedlim’s shout echoed through the still air as he rushed towards the nearest Pagan.

A beat later, a hundred knights quickly followed after him. With their swords raised and their armors clanking, the pressure that they exuded rivaled that of a stampeding monster horde.

With an explosive bang, the Cult of Malignant Tumors and the Church of the Holy God clashed with one another.

Naturally, the heroes also participated in the action.

Rivel was the first to act.

“Old woman, let’s go!” He dragged along the perpetually smiling Doris and quickly fired off spell after spell of destructive magic. It goes without saying, but each amazing spell was accompanied with an equally ridiculous incantation.

“Then, we should get going too, Master.” Melo’s words echoed quietly through Fel’s ears. He turned to look at her, but he soon noticed that there was nobody there. In that split instant, her dagger was already hilt deep into a Pagan’s throat.

Fel could only swallow the words in his throat as he unsheathed his short sword. With a hesitant step forward, the crown prince of Pharsheille experienced his first taste of actual combat.

****

A short amount of time passed within what felt like an eternity.

Whether it be in their numbers or individual fighting strength, the Pagans were a lot stronger than the group originally expected. For every eight pagans that died, one knight would accompany them to the afterlife. For any regular army, this sort of statistic was definitely worth celebrating, but for the church, it was nothing short of devastating.

Each First Guard Knight was an elite amongst elites. The number of resources that went into creating one was definitely not light. The death of even a single knight was a price that the Church was reluctant to swallow.

Fel’s first ever battle was bloody and cruel. The sights that he saw within this short span of time caused his previously buried hesitations to resurface.

Although he went through the motions of combat, his heart wasn’t truly into it. It was imperceptible to the naked eye, but because of his hesitation, his attacks grew slower, weaker. Fortunately, nobody really noticed. This was primarily due to the fact that his display wasn’t nearly as eye-catching as Rivel’s ‘Mad Magus’ routine.

The prodigal mage plowed through the Pagans with an almost ruthless efficiency. His hands were stained with red while the nauseating smell of blood exuded out from his deep-stained clothes. Despite his arsenal of long-range magic spells, Rivel had a tendency for close combat.

A thin layer of amorphous semi-solid mana covered his body from head to toe. Not only did this layer of mana block attacks, but it could also change shape at will, transforming into a variety of different weapons.

Rivel dubbed this technique the ‘War God’s Armor’.

Against such a zealous guy, Fel’s glimmer naturally dimmed. Still, it wasn’t as if he didn’t put any effort into the battle. His small body moved through the crowd of dark-robed Pagans like a snake slithering across a field of grass. He would occasionally clash with the Pagans, but most of his efforts were focused purely on dodging.

The battle persisted for fifteen minutes. The tides of war slowly shifted towards the knights. A large reason for this was because of Rivel. With his instructor playing the role of a portable mana battery, the young magus was able to draw out a fighting strength that completely dwarfed everyone else present.

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It was a bit difficult to associate this title with a seven-year-old boy, but right now, Rivel was truly like an incarnation of a war god.

Fel did his best to ignore his fellow hero. Now, he wasn’t jealous, nor did he harbor feelings of inferiority. His avoidance was all due to a completely different reason.

Wherever Rivel traveled, a new corpse would quickly follow. There were plenty of deaths going around within the chamber, but Rivel’s was different. His were bloody, brutal, and all too real. Every time he killed, every time he murdered, Fel couldn’t help but picture himself doing the same thing.

Fel, stabbing someone in the heart. Fel, slicing off a man’s arm. Fel, gouging out their eyes and puncturing their chests with a single, tiny fist.

The mental image alone was enough to make his stomach churn and his face pale.

As a result, Fel stayed within his little corner of the chamber, occasionally hacking and slashing at any unfortunate Pagan foolish enough to approach.

“Fel, come here.” Amidst the blood and gore, Reedlim’s voice suddenly reverberated through his ears.

Fel’s shoulders tensed. He instinctively looked up.

A few dozen meters away from him, Reedlim Howler stood in the middle of a circle of corpses. Not a single drop of blood stained his black military uniform. It greatly contrasted with the red-dripping rapier that he lightly held within his hand.

Fel hesitated for a moment before he approached the man.

“Yes, Instructor Howler?”

“You are hesitating.” Reedlim coldly stated.

“Hesitating?”

He certainly was hesitating, but Fel did not really think that was important. After all, wasn’t he still here, fighting, participating in the mission? Fel wasn’t someone who liked to slack off. In fact, within this battle, he did not think that his efforts were any less than Rivel’s. Although his results might not be as flashy or grand, that couldn’t be helped. People possess different talents. Rivel was gifted in the art of slaughter, Fel was not.

It was as simple as that.

Reedlim ignored the doubt scribbled across the young hero’s face. Instead, he simply said, “You have yet to kill anyone.”

In that moment, Fel’s body subconsciously trembled. It was true. Unlike everyone else here, his blade was bloodless. In fact, against the Pagans that he clashed with, he had only ever hit them with the backside of his sword. At most, he knocked people out. Within this bloody and violent battlefield, Fel had yet to kill.

“You cannot show mercy to evil,” Reedlim stated.

“…”

He did not respond. Fel could only tightly clench onto his sword.

Hesitation? Mercy? Of course, he was hesitant! Of course, he showed mercy!

Fel had previously lived in a world where death was a very foreign concept. It certainly still existed, but it was so detached from his everyday life, that it was like it didn’t even exist in the first place. At most, an accidental death might appear in the news every now and then, but nothing had ever personally happened to him or to those that he loved.

It was taboo, a taboo that he had only experienced during the last moments of his short life.

Earth was a world completely different from Lull, in which death was taken quite lightly.

He could only marvel at Rivel’s mental fortitude. The young magus was someone who could wantonly massacre at the drop of the hat. Such a mindset was ideal for this twisted fantasy world, but unfortunately, it was something that he could not replicate.

Reedlim wordlessly stared at the young prince. Fel’s expression constantly shifted. Fear, agony, frustration, the boy’s face was like a kaleidoscope of different emotions.

He paused for a moment, before he grabbed onto the cuff of Fel’s shirt and jumped. The two soared through the air. Fel held back his desire to scream as he watched the ground grow further and further away.

Eventually, Reedlim lightly landed on top of a wooden rafter. Meanwhile, Fel’s feet dangled in the air. The only thing that held him in place was Reedlim’s steel-like arm.

“Do you see it?” Reedlim’s solemnly stated.

“See it? See what?” Fel hurriedly responded. The panic in his voice was undeniable. Although he wasn’t deathly afraid of heights, dangling in the air like this still sent goosebumps running down his spine.

“Below you.”

Fel instinctively looked down.

From this vantage point, he could see the bloody battlefield in its entirety. An audible gasp leaked out from his lips.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. More than half of the ground was stained in a layer of deep crimson. The bodies piled up like small mountains. At the same time, the wails of the injured rang out like vengeful church bells.

It was a scene of pure carnage.

“This is what you’re fighting,” Reedlim stated. “Evil.”

“…No,” Fel’s voice was barely audible. “Isn’t this just the result of war?”

While Fel may not be accustomed to warfare, he was not entirely unaware of it. He had seen plenty of pictures and documentaries from his old world. WWI, the Korean War, the Vietnam war, humans were capable of vile things, but most of the time, it was not under the pretense of evil, but rather, under the banner of war.

This too was the result of war. A war between the believers and the non-believers.

“A war that would have never started if it had not been for the cultist.” Reedlim adamantly insisted.

Fel could only shake his head.

In his mind, it was easy to blame one side, but it was hard to blame both. Even as God’s chosen hero, he was not quick to cast judgment on his enemy. After all, even though they called him a hero, Fel was truly nothing more than a soldier. He had no ability to change this world nor was he capable of saving lives any further away from where his small hands could reach.

As a hero, as a prince, he was powerless. Still, he was not completely without options. He could listen to orders, but he adamantly refused the church’s way of thinking.

“Only by eradicating evil can this sort of war be prevented.” Reedlim looked up. He stared at the dome-shaped ceiling with vague and hazy eyes. “Killing people is not a noble thing, but underneath the banner of God, the ignoble can turn noble. As Knights, we sacrifice our minds, our bodies, our everything for a better, brighter world. That is the Church’s mantra. That is the mission that our great God has given us.”

“…”

Again, Fel did not respond. He forgot about it sometimes because of how cold and callous this guy’s face was, but Reedlim was a devout member of the clergy. It was this sort of zealous determination that carried him to the position of commanding officer at such a young age.

Reedlim turned his attention back down onto the young crown prince. “Do not forget your purpose as Hero.”

“…”

Fel remained silent for a long time. He lowered his head, his eyes transfixed onto the bloody battle below. Eventually, he imperceptibly nodded.

In response, Reedlim grunted in acknowledgment. “Then, get back to fighting.” With that, he loosened his grip. Fel could only stare wide-eyed and in shock at the shrinking hand above his head.

The crown prince of Pharsheille plummeted back down into a world of steel and violence.