After Caron was officially appointed as the Warrior, the very first thing he did was expose the full extent of the Order of Truth's atrocities. "Did you hear? Apparently, that so-called Saint Elijah used the power of demons." "They say he even locked up His Holiness the Pope in his chambers!" "Truly vile! Saint Elijah was deceiving us all this time!" "Saint? Ha! He's just an excommunicated heretic now. No wonder he collected so many donations—there was clearly a reason behind it." "If it weren't for Warrior Caron and Grand Saintess Seria, the Holy Kingdom would've been doomed..." In a civil war, sheer military might wasn't the only thing that mattered. Public sentiment did, too. And right now, the support of the citizens was clearly on the side of the Papal Army. They had justice and overwhelming evidence on their side. The rebels, on the other hand, had been brutally extorting the people in preparation for a holy war. That made the shift in popular opinion swift and decisive—nearly everyone rallied behind the Papal Army. Caron listened to the murmurs from every direction with a faint smile and took a sip from the glass before him. He said, "Can't believe I'm drinking in the Holy Kingdom. Most people think of this place as strict, all about abstinence and prohibition." "That changed once the Order of Truth clergy took power. They deliberately relaxed the restrictions. Taverns started popping up everywhere in the capital," Beatrice said. "They probably wanted to blind the people's eyes and ears with pleasure before moving forward with their plans," Caron said. That kind of policy was for dumbing down the populace. No matter how holy the kingdom claimed to be, it was still a place where people lived in the end. "There were always those who risked their lives brewing illegal liquor. It was that profitable," Beatrice said as she tipped back her glass, following Caron's lead. The whiskey had been aged perfectly in oak barrels—something that couldn't be made overnight. Clearly, bootlegging had been going on for quite some time. "You seem to drink a lot in this life," Beatrice teased, smiling softly. Caron merely shrugged, then replied, "I couldn't drink much when I was a Commander. I have to make up for it now." "Such a drunk," Beatrice said with a chuckle. The Shackles of Immortality that once bound Beatrice had been shattered completely by Guillotine. Now, only a radiant, unmistakable aura of holy power flowed from her. Caron studied her carefully, then asked in a gentle tone, "So what exactly is holy power? It looks like it's circulating around your mana core... but I've never seen anything like it before." Beatrice had once been a knight who wielded mana. Seeing her now relying on holy energy instead felt unfamiliar to him. "It's a long story," Beatrice said, taking another sip before beginning. After Cain Latorre's death, she had wandered the continent for many years. There had been only one reason—to avenge Caron. Like the other survivors, she'd hunted down every dark mage she could find across the continent. "I went everywhere—the southern kingdoms, the Free City League. Any place a dark mage could hide, I went and swung my blade," Beatrice explained. Her bloody vengeance had lasted nearly ten years. But it had taken a toll on her too. "My mana core became corrupted in the process. My body was ruined. But then, by chance, I met a missionary named Luten... He's the one who led me to the Holy Kingdom," Beatrice continued. It differed from what Ugo had told Caron. Ugo had claimed she had entered the Holy Kingdom of her own will—but clearly, that wasn't the case. "I planned to die avenging you, Commander. I just wanted to erase every last one of those scum who wielded dark mana," Beatrice said. Her voice trembled with raw, unfiltered rage. "While treating me, Luten told me I had been chosen by the light. Holy power filled my body. Without it... I'd probably be living as a cripple," Beatrice added. "Where is this Luten now? It seems like I owe him more than words," Caron said. "He was martyred. He died tending to the suffering in the southern kingdoms," Beatrice said. It was a bitter tale. Beatrice offered a small, pained smile, saying, "Everywhere I go ends up in ruins, Commander." Her voice held a shade of self-blame. Caron sensed a loneliness in it that words couldn't quite capture. So he replied in an even tone, "That's not true." In the end, the deep loneliness festering within Beatrice had twisted into vengeance—and that vengeance had led her to join hands with Elijah. But Caron couldn't bring himself to blame her. If he had been in her place, he probably would have made the same choice—joining forces with anyone to pursue revenge. Besides, from her perspective, it hadn't even been a mistake. The real problem had been Elijah, that bastard who had tried to use her for his own gain. Caron raised his glass and gently tapped it against Beatrice's. He said quietly, "I'm glad you're alive." There was an honest sincerity in his voice. It was awkwardly expressed, but Beatrice could tell he meant every word. "Is it because you were reincarnated?" she teased with a playful smile. "You've gotten unusually cute." That faint smile lingered on her lips as she continued, "But I new side of you. It's... refreshing." "Can I ask for something? Just one favor," Caron said. "Of course," Beatrice replied. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs NoveIＦire.net Caron reached over and poured the amber liquid into Beatrice's glass, saying, "Help me get my revenge." He had hoped she would be able to live a free life. But at this moment, he needed her. Every hand was crucial if they were to shatter the Demon Realm. The Demon Kings were ancient foes—powerful and not easily destroyed. Beatrice downed her drink in silence. Then, in a low voice, she said, "To be honest, the moment I saw you alive again... Most of my desire for revenge faded. I only ever wanted revenge for your sake. Do you know what I thought when I woke up again?" "I figured I'd spend the rest of my life bothering you," Beatrice answered, her voice full of mischief. She beamed brightly and locked eyes with him before continuing, "But... If you give an order, Commander, I'll follow it. No complaints. Just... Promise me one thing before that." "If it's something I can do, I will. I mean, I'm rich in this life, you know. Good family, too," Caron added with a grin. "In this life, just grow old and die. Don't go doing anything stupid like choosing death by yourself again," Beatrice said. At her words, Caron couldn't help but grimace. He was reminded once more that Cain Latorre's first fateful decision had left deep wounds in many hearts. Forcing a smile, he gave her a small nod and replied, "I will." "Swear it," Beatrice pushed. "I swear," Caron answered. "That's all I needed. Oh, and this—this is the price you have to pay for abandoning me and dying so irresponsibly last time," Beatrice said. "Clench your teeth," Beatrice added. Beatrice slammed her hand down on Caron's back with full force, sending a thunderous smack echoing through the tavern. The impact was so loud that everyone at the neighboring tables turned to stare. "Argh!" Caron couldn't breathe. Truly, he felt as if the air had been knocked completely out of him. Beatrice finally let out a long sigh, satisfied. "Ahh, much better." "...If I take a few more hits like that... I might actually die again," Caron groaned. "Do you want to give it a go?" Beatrice offered, raising a brow. "...Sorry," Caron said. "Now, enough about me. Let's hear your story," Beatrice said, waving it off. "You were born as your friend's grandson—there must be a lot to talk about." "Oh, it's a wild tale. Where do I even start?" Caron replied. "Start from the beginning—childhood, maybe?" Beatrice suggested. "...You're paying for the drinks—" Caron began, but was cut off. "Should I just kidnap you and sell you off? You're a noble now, so I bet I could get a good price," Beatrice interrupted. "No need for that. Obviously I should be paying for the drinks," Caron sighed. "So, my childhood, huh... Where to begin..." And so, the two of them fell into conversation, sharing their stories and laughter, reconnecting after all the long years apart. The following morning, Beatrice officially returned to duty. She had originally held the position of Special Operations Captain of the Inquisition, but Pope Eurino had appointed her as the Commander of the Papal Army. It was a shocking promotion, especially considering she had stood with Saint Elijah just one day prior. And yet, no one dared oppose the decision. That appointment bore Caron's will more than anyone else's. Moreover, Beatrice—known to the people as Uriel—was still revered by many of the faithful and the paladins. Perhaps people now cursed Elijah, but few would speak ill of Uriel. "Let us begin the strategy meeting," Beatrice said. The meeting took place in the Grand Basilica, nestled in the heart of the Vatican. It was where the Pope led worship and the great matters of the Holy Kingdom were decided. Inside, high-ranking cardinals had gathered, along with Pope Eurino himself. Beatrice, clad in brilliant white armor, presided over the meeting. "At present, the heretical army is gathering near the border of the Keath Kingdom," Beatrice began. "The number of paladins who responded to Elijah's call is estimated to be one thousand. Including elite forces, their total combat-ready troops exceed thirty thousand." It was a staggering number—nearly half of the total forces of the Holy Kingdom. If one included all auxiliary personnel, the numbers would likely grow exponentially. "What is this, were they preparing for a full-blown conquest?" Caron muttered, stunned by the overwhelming power of the Holy Kingdom. There was a reason Elijah had dared to dream such an impossible dream. Pope Eurino gave a bitter smile at Caron's words, saying, "The Holy Kingdom has trained relentlessly to protect the continent from evil." "They could probably conquer a southern kingdom overnight," Caron remarked. But the terrifying strength of the Holy Kingdom wasn't just in its numbers. If its army crossed into another nation's borders, the followers of the God of Light in that nation would rise to aid them. In other words, the enemy would be assaulted from within as well. That was the terrifying thing about religion—it had no borders. "At present, Archbishop Mitas of the Third Diocese is forming the Papal Army. We expect to finish organizing our forces within a week and begin the advance immediately thereafter," Beatrice said coldly. She added, "I ask all cardinals present here to hasten the mobilization of your respective diocesan forces." It was as good as a threat. Among the cardinals present were several archbishops who governed entire dioceses—some of whom had already sent troops to support Elijah. For them, this meeting felt like walking on knives. Just then, one of the neutral cardinals cautiously raised a hand. He said, "Warrior... I am Eucalon, Archbishop of the Seventh Diocese." "Go ahead, Archbishop Eucalon," Beatrice said. "Wouldn't it be better to resolve this through negotiation with the rebels? Pointing weapons at fellow believers could ultimately lead the Holy Kingdom to ruin," Eucalon suggested. It was a textbook argument. Some nodded slightly in agreement. Even with everything that had happened, there were still people offering such naïve sentiments. Caron found it unbearably frustrating. Sometimes, only a shock to the system could get things moving. Trying to convince each and every one of them would get nothing done. So, Caron decided to drop the act and bare his fangs. He declared, "Anyone who does not actively cooperate will be considered a rebel." "Th-That's too harsh..." Eucalon trailed off. "Hey now. Are you daring to interrupt the Warrior?" Caron asked with a faint smile. He knew exactly how to wield the power he'd been given. "I spoke with His Holiness," he added, "and apparently, the Warrior has the authority to judge even the clergy." He traced a finger across his neck before continuing, "And if things go south, snip—off with their heads. Ah, of course, I'm not saying I'll behead any of you good cardinals. Just saying it could happen." Even the densest of them couldn't miss the threat. The cardinals all recalled the deadly aura Caron had exuded in the Colosseum. That feral bloodlust had made it seem as if he would slaughter anyone who looked at him wrong. The threat was frighteningly effective. "You see, my nickname is the Mad Dog," Caron added with a grin. "But I only bite the bad guys. Let's say I'm a selective Mad Dog. But hey, if anyone wants to get bitten, just say the word. I'll give you a sample." "Ahem, Caron," Pope Eurino tried gently. "This is an official meeting, so perhaps..." Before he could finish, Caron turned toward him and growled. "Grrrrrr." "...Carry on. I'm curious to see how far you take this," Pope Eurino said. "Grrrrrr. Thank you," Caron replied. With the atmosphere fully under his control, he placed a communication orb on the table and activated it. Moments later, unfamiliar voices echoed through the cathedral. "This is Jerath Winterguard, Commander of the Oceanwolf Knight Order under the Ducal Family of Leston." "Orion Windkeeper, the elf patrol captain of the Elven Union." "I am Tauga, representing the Beastkin Alliance." These were members of the Caron Cartel—his closest allies. Caron turned back to the cardinals and said with a toothy smile, "Beating someone up alone isn't any fun. You've got to do it with friends. As of now, my allies will be crossing the Holy Kingdom's borders. Any objections?" He added another growl for emphasis. "Grrrrrr." No one could possibly stop a mad dog threatening to bite. And so, the cardinals unanimously accepted external intervention. "Excellent," Caron said. "Let's call this operation the Group Beating. The plan is simple. We overwhelm them as a pack and beat them mercilessly. I trust you all approve?" And thus began the operation that would go down in Holy Kingdom history—Operation Group Beating.