The Black Cross Monastic Brotherhood

The Legion of the Undead pressed ever onward, their advance shattering the boundary between life and death long ago. We were once dust, and to dust we shall return. Facing the relentless Legion of the Undead, the leader of the black-cloaked cavalry spoke, their voice resonating with grim resolve:

“Cleanse them into peace, let the dead return to their resting place, and the monstrous be silenced. This is our duty—we are the Atoners, we are the Purifiers, we are the Watchers.

My brothers and sisters, raise your blades, fight on, fight until the very last moment. The Holy Light remains with us—our vows shall never be forsaken, and our glory shall never fade!”

“Glory shall never fade!” Amidst the leader’s thunderous roar, the black-robed warriors, swords firmly in hand, charged towards the Legion of the Undead.

While this appeared to be an act of utter suicide, those stationed on the border watchtower made no move to stop them.

“They… just charged?”

“They always do,” someone replied.

“The Black Church… or rather, the Border Monastic Brotherhood. They are no ordinary priests and nuns.

Those individuals are a military organization entirely dedicated to combating the demonic army.

They have no ties to any other Papal factions, and their sole purpose has always been one thing.”

“To expel all non-human entities from this land, relying solely on divine power.”

****

“Blessing of Light!” Light manifested before the knights, who, like a sharp spearhead, pierced into the Legion of the Undead, tearing open a path.

The leading priest, also the captain of the cavalry, raised his longsword, conjuring a barrier.

Any undead that touched this barrier instantly incinerated before them.

Light converged upon their blades, giving rise to endless flames.

“Purify the Darkness!” Following the priest’s roar, the black-clad cavalry wielded their Holy Light weapons, carving a path of slaughter through the black tide of the dead.

Bloodshed? Violence? Such words barely began to describe the scene unfolding before them.

They were not embodiments of compassion; their very existence was a symbol of ceaseless killing and relentless battle.

The Black Cross Monastic Brotherhood, often referred to as the Black Church by many, was in truth never a church.

They were a new force, composed of individuals who had abandoned their original orders.

In the face of desperate enemies, some had lost their faith.

Yet, despite this, they still raised their blades to uphold their vows.

They had cast aside the original scriptures’ emphasis on mercy and the praise of good deeds, instead dedicating everything to the principle of confronting darkness.

They no longer worshipped the Holy Light; for them, it was merely a tool for battle.

Their actions served but one purpose: to fight, to fight incessantly, and to stand at the forefront of this unending struggle until humanity achieved victory.

“The black tide must have a core, Alaiya! Find it!” Having advanced into the heart of the conflict, surrounded by enemies on all sides, the warriors of the Black Church remained unfazed.

They formed a defensive formation beneath a Holy Light barrier, while their commander deftly managed the chaotic situation.

“…Understood, Father.” Hearing the commander’s instruction, a petite figure within the battle group stepped forward.

Her stature seemed small amidst the others, yet she possessed an aura unlike any other.

This powerful presence emanated from the enormous… weapon in her hands.

“Is that… a hammer?” On the watchtower, those observing witnessed a sight they would never forget.

The petite figure, wielding a colossal warhammer, was caught in an explosion of thunder and light.

Her hood was blown back, revealing her snow-white hair and golden eyes.

Her youthful face remained expressionless, just as the legends described: an angel who, without mercy or hesitation, delivered judgment upon sinners with a mighty hammer.

” ‘Holy Verdict. Sacred Hammer’ ” Alaiya calmly uttered the incantation for the vow she had practiced countless times.

Then, as the warhammer descended, the ground trembled from the immense power.

” ‘Strike of Judgment.’ ” With a single devastating blow of the warhammer, countless undead in the vicinity crumbled to dust.

The maiden at the center showed no hesitation, for that strike was not meant to be decisive, but rather a search.

As the myriad undead turned to ash, an anomalous presence was revealed—a figure that had withstood the impact of the Holy Light without dissipating.

A lone silhouette emerged.

“…” Facing the silhouette before her, Alaiya’s expression softened slightly.

For standing before her was another figure, similarly clad in black cross robes.

The armor on their body was shattered beyond repair, and their arm had twisted into a grotesque tumor, fused with a holy judgment cross-sword.

“Is it truly you, Father Corvin… No, you have been utterly corrupted.” The leading priest, observing the figure, slowly spoke while clutching his own crucifix.

“My friend, you fought until your last breath.”

“…Father?” The corrupted body slowly lurched forward.

His form was grotesquely swollen, and the sword in his hand seemed to be a torn throat, emitting fragmented, guttural sounds.

“I… I can’t feel it anymore… I can’t feel it anymore… I’m so cold… so truly cold…”

“Sister Alaiya,” the commanding priest stated, his voice somber.

“Perform the mass… for Father Corvin. Let him return to the light.”

“As you command, Father,” Alaiya responded.

She lifted her warhammer high above her head, simultaneously facing an enemy who was once a comrade but had now mutated into an abomination.

Then, she swung the heavy hammer.

“Rest in peace… Father Corvin.” As the warhammer struck, thunder erupted all around.

Memories of everything that once was flashed through her mind.

The enemy dissipated amidst light and thunder.

In that moment, Alaiya seemed to hear a voice—Father Corvin’s voice—just as it had been before, gently patting her head on a warm, sunlit afternoon, speaking softly:

“Thank you, Alaiya.”

****

With the dissipation of its core, the black tide rapidly disintegrated in the time that followed.

The black-robed monks stood upon the snowy plains, clearing the battlefield.

The people in the watchtower neither approached nor departed; they remained stationed, observing the actions of the black-robed monks with detached coolness.

“…Clear the battlefield. Afterward, we will proceed to the ruined villages and retrieve any remaining supplies.” The priest captain spoke these words.

Turning away, Alaiya stared blankly at the spot where the holy judgment strike had landed, lost in thought.

“Captain, Alaiya, she…”

“Let her be,” the priest captain said gently.

“Corvin… he was her guide.”

Having spoken, he slowly walked over to her.

Alaiya stood there, gazing blankly at the patch of scorched earth.

The priest had been there just moments ago, but now, nothing remained. Absolutely nothing.

“Father.” At that moment, Alaiya turned to the person behind her, holding Corvin’s crucifix in her hand, and asked:

“Will we all… end up like this, becoming monsters, in the end?”