How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game-Chapter 398: Golden Excorcism
A Grand Paladin.
The title alone was enough to silence a room.
It was not something that could be earned through years of service alone, nor through mere skill in battle.
To be named a Grand Paladin was to be acknowledged by both the Holy Kingdom and the divine will of the Goddess herself.
They stood not just above their fellow knights and paladins—but beyond them, like stars in the heavens that others could only look up to.
While divine power among humans was already considered a rare and precious gift, the ability to properly harness and control it—without losing oneself to the weight of sanctity—was even rarer.
And among those few, there existed an even more extraordinary anomaly: those born with a natural affinity for divinity itself, their very existence resonating with sacred light.
That was what made the Grand Paladins so revered.
They weren't just warriors—they were miracles in armor.
Comparable to archmages in their rarity and mystique, Grand Paladins were living relics, walking legends who bore the strength, discipline, and divine will to carry out the most sacred of missions.
They wielded divine relics—blessed weapons forged in the name of the Goddess herself—crafted for the sole purpose of fighting against the encroaching evils of the world.
Currently, there were only three known individuals throughout the entire world who bore this prestigious title.
And though they were ranked equally, placed upon the same pedestal of holy recognition, each had their own unique purpose—roles tailored to their strengths and the needs of the Holy Kingdom.
First was Leshra of the Grand Chapel—the Guardian of the Holy See.
A stoic woman of unwavering faith, clad in resplendent silver and white, she stood like an eternal bulwark within the heart of the kingdom's sanctum.
Her presence alone was enough to repel darkness. It was said that her prayers could purify an entire region tainted by corruption.
Then there was David the Divine Wolf—the Grand Executioner. He was the Kingdom's silent blade, its bringer of judgment.
Where Leshra guarded, David hunted.
Clad in darkened holy armor etched with silver runes, he roamed the shadowed borders of the
Holy Kingdom, delivering swift, uncompromising justice to heretics and demonic entities alike.
His name was whispered in fear among those who strayed from the path of the Goddess.
And finally—Raphael of Sanctuary.
The Shield of Hope.
The last of the three Grand Paladins, and the one entrusted with the most sacred of duties: protecting the Pope himself.
He did not command armies, nor roam distant lands.
His sole mission was to stand beside His Holiness, to serve as the embodiment of unwavering faith and protection.
Clad in white and gold, with a presence that radiated calm and clarity, Raphael was a symbol to the people—a reminder that hope would never die so long as the Sanctuary still stood.
Each Grand Paladin was a legend in their own right, chosen not only for their strength, but for their unwavering belief, their sacrifice, and their ability to shoulder the divine.
Raphael's role had always been simple—straightforward, even.
Guard the Pope.
Stand in silence and in secrecy.
Protect him from all harm, visible or unseen.
Day after day, the cycle never changed. From the quiet halls of Sanctuary to the golden throne where His Holiness sat, Raphael's footsteps echoed with purpose but rarely with variation.
But that was before.
Before the sudden bloom of cultists and corrupted worshippers, as if darkness itself had begun to sprout from the cracks of the earth.
Their presence was growing—infecting cities, settlements, even sanctuaries.
And most disturbingly of all, even within the walls of an esteemed academy… where the Saintess herself now resided.
That was when his mission changed.
His new orders: protect the Saintess by any means necessary.
Even if it meant extinguishing every last seed of evil before it could take root.
"Is that all of them?"
"Yes, sir. We've confirmed no others in the area."
Raphael's golden eyes drifted toward the writhing pile before them—bodies stacked like broken marionettes, limbs tangled, breath shallow. Some still alive.
Some already dead.
All of them chained and gagged.
Among them, children with eyes wide in horror, their mouths stuffed with cloth to silence their whimpers.
A few of them twitched.
One tried to crawl away.
Another sobbed through bloodied teeth.
He showed no emotion.
"Burn them all,"
"But… what about the Saintess? What if she—"
"Are you a new recruit?"
"Ah y-yes sir!"
"I see…. Just do as you're told and proceed… Her Blessed Lady will understand."
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The paladin saluted, then moved to obey, the others behind him followed suit.
One by one, the holy flames ignited.
A radiant light danced across the walls of the darkened cave, swallowing screams and shadows alike.
The divine fire didn't consume with the savagery of hellfire—it was pure, cleansing, and it burned straight through the corruption, mind and soul.
And yet, to the ones chained—sinners or not—it was agony.
"AAGGHHHHH!!!"
"PLEASE! NO!!"
"S-STOP—!!"
"IT HURTS!!! PLEASE IT BURNS—!!"
"AHHHH!! OH GREAT BEING, SAVE MEEEEEE!!!!"
The cries echoed, rising and fading as the flames consumed them.
Raphael stood there, unmoved.
To him, they were no longer people.
They had long forfeited their humanity the moment they made contracts with the darkness.
Touched by evil, corrupted by malevolence—they were no more than infected husks, carrying the plague of heresy.
And a plague must be purged.
Even if they wore the faces of children.
They were nothing more than bugs now…
And bugs were meant to be crushed.
He turned his back as the last scream was silenced by fire.
Raphael emerged from the deeper recesses of the cave, his armored boots crunching softly against the charred ground.
The holy flames still crackled behind him, echoing like whispers of judgment through the stone corridors.
The air was thick with smoke, ash, and the faint stench of sin burning away.
Yet ahead, just beyond the mouth of the cavern, the world felt eerily still.
Perched atop a flattened boulder, bathed in a shaft of faint golden light filtering through the canopy above, sat a young woman.
Her long, black hair fluttered gently with the passing breeze, strands catching the sunlight.
She was hunched slightly, her delicate fingers cupping a radiant orb that pulsed softly in her hands—its glow mirroring the weariness in her expression.
By her side stood a robed woman, her figure cloaked in holy and elvish vestments, eyes sharp beneath her hood.
The moment she saw Raphael, she gave a respectful nod.
He returned it silently before making his way toward the Saintess.
"Saintess…"
Her head lifted slowly, her blue eyes meeting his with a tired, familiar warmth.
"Uncle Raph…" Emilia responded with a faint, breathy smile.
"Are you alright?" Raphael asked, coming to stand beside her.
Emilia nodded, though her movements were sluggish. Her smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of exhaustion.
"I'm fine… just tired," she murmured, her gaze drifting back to the orb. "This whole mess is getting wildly out of hand, isn't it…? I'm not going to lie… it's starting to get to me. All of it. Every day feels like I'm holding back a wave that never stops."
"We're close. That cockroach won't keep scurrying for long—we're already at his tail."
The Saintess exhaled softly, nodding in quiet agreement.
"Yeah… I know."
The orb in her hands flickered once more before she tucked it away into the shimmering folds of her dimensional pouch, sealing its light with a gentle gesture.
For a brief second, her blue eyes shimmered with a faint, ethereal white glow—evidence of her divine attunement straining under pressure.
Two months had passed since the cataclysmic Golden Light Incident.
What should have been the closing chapter of her first semester as a First Year at the academy had instead become a daily ritual of blood, prayer, and exorcism.
The rise of demonic cults across the continent, sudden and coordinated, had forced her to act not as a student—but as the Saintess of the Holy Kingdom.
There had been no time for proper classes.
No time for dorm life.
And worst of all… she hadn't even had time to spend with her friends.
That, more than anything, weighed on Emilia's heart.
While she had been buried neck-deep in sanctified battlefields, slinking through shadows to exterminate threats no one would ever know existed, time had quietly marched on at the academy.
She wasn't blind.
She had noticed how Flamme and Reina had grown closer in her absence, how their bond had bloomed naturally while she was away.
It wasn't their fault, not really—but it still stung.
'I want to spend more time with them....'
She had imagined something different.
When she first arrived at the academy, Emilia had dreamed of late-night talks in the dormitory, weekend strolls through town, picnics under the spring trees, and silly arguments over whose tea was best.
A simple, peaceful life filled with laughter, warmth, and the lighthearted joy of youth.
But that dream was slipping away, inch by inch, buried beneath bloodstained robes and whispered prayers over bodies that would never be mourned.
She didn't regret being the Saintess.
Not truly.
She was proud of her role, proud of the lives she saved and the darkness she helped push back.
But for the first time since taking the mantle, she felt it—that bitter twinge of disappointment.
She hugged her knees slightly closer to her chest, blue eyes glazed with quiet frustration.
'Great mother still hasn't spoken to me ever since as well….'
At the very least, she could take some solace in one thing—nothing had spiraled out of control yet.
Thanks to the academy's swift coordination and the unwavering efforts of the Holy See, the growing presence of demonic cults had remained hidden from the public eye.
Most students remained blissfully unaware, living their normal lives, unaware of the silent war raging just beyond their dorm walls.
And that was something worth preserving.
