Chapter 302: Even the Exalted Have Tempers
As the blinding light faded, the Radiant Knight—Margaret—was gone. So was the dark-haired young man who had been standing beside her only moments earlier: Steven.
The middle-aged man barely managed to open his eyes, and before he could make sense of anything, he instinctively looked toward where Zofia and Maria had been held.
As expected, the two girls had vanished as well.
Only a few black-clad bodies scattered across the ground marked where they'd once stood.
"R-retreat! Everyone fall back—retreat!!" he shouted in panic.
But it was far too late.
The mercenaries, still recovering from the momentary blindness caused by the burst of light, blinked—and what they saw drained the color from their faces.
Standing directly in front of them was a young knight. Her golden eyes burned with fury, barely restrained. She stood tall, unmoving, the very picture of divine wrath.
"I gave you a chance," Margaret said quietly, her voice trembling with tightly coiled rage. "You chose not to take it."
She raised her left hand, palm facing upward.
A brilliant golden spearhead began to form in her hand, shaped from pure energy. The light it emitted was so intense that none could look at it directly. The concentration of Originium energy at her fingertips was enough to make every experienced fighter present shudder.
Behind her stood the two girls—Zofia and Maria—now freed from their binds, shielded by a dark-haired youth.
The same youth they had ignored only minutes before.
The mercenaries didn't have the time or will to wonder how it had all happened so fast.
Because Margaret had already hurled the golden spearhead.
It struck the ground like a meteor, and the resulting impact sent a powerful shockwave radiating outwards. The pressure alone knocked dozens of mercenaries off their feet, dazing them where they stood.
And in the next instant—
The Radiant Knight charged forward.
Her golden lance reformed in her hands as she swept into the crowd like a war goddess descended.
Each swing of her weapon cut through the enemy ranks with terrifying precision.
Whether it was a retired knight turned mercenary or an elite soldier hired at exorbitant cost by the K.G.C.C—none could stand against a single blow.
Not even one.
Each strike dropped multiple enemies at once, as if she were mowing down wheat in a field.
The sheer brutality of it defied belief.
How could someone like her—who didn't even look particularly muscular—unleash such overwhelming force?
Steven found himself wondering the same thing.
Margaret, for all her presence, still looked like a tall, gallant young woman—more heroic than most, sure, but certainly not the kind of bulky musclebound super-soldier you'd expect to be throwing men like rag dolls.
He had met some overpowered people before—the Abyssal Hunters, for example—but they were literal biological weapons. Monsters created through brutal transformation.
This? This was different. Margaret was still human.
In the end, he could only attribute it to one thing: the mysterious, absurd power of Originium Arts.
Whenever something made no sense, Originium Arts usually had a hand in it.
By the time he shook himself free from his thoughts, nearly half of the black-clad mercenaries had already been taken down. The others, seeing the hopelessness of the situation, had dropped their weapons and scattered in retreat.
Margaret hadn't even gone all out.
He could tell. Her movements were precise, efficient—but restrained.
She wasn't aiming to kill.
She was holding back.
Still, even without using any flashy Originium Arts, the Radiant Knight's raw power alone was terrifying.
Simple, brutal swings of her golden spear had shattered a force of over a hundred armed mercenaries. If anyone doubted the legend of the Radiant Knight before, they wouldn't now.
Her strength was very real.
And among the fleeing enemies, the one who couldn't escape was the very man Margaret had marked from the beginning—their commander.
Just as he was about to slam the car door shut and flee, Margaret grabbed both him and the door, yanking him out with terrifying ease.
"Apologies," she said, her tone icy cold. "But I don't think we're quite finished yet. Don't you agree?"
There was no smile on her face—just piercing, frozen fury in her eyes. Steven, watching from afar, realized it was a side of Margaret he had never seen before.
Even Zofia, who had known her longer than anyone, looked unsettled.
This wasn't the radiant, ever-smiling knight they all admired.
This was someone furious—deeply, unrelentingly furious.
And who could blame her?
No one would calmly accept their own family being used as leverage against them. Not even a knight as noble and bright as her.
Knights may be exalted beings—but even the exalted have limits. Push too far, and they will strike back.
"I was just following orders!" the middle-aged man cried out, panic and regret written all over his face. "It was the K.G.C.C's plan! I was only carrying out what they told me—I had no choice!"
His voice cracked. He looked like he might cry.
He had never expected the mission to turn into a disaster.
It was supposed to be simple: grab the girls, pressure the Radiant Knight, get what the K.G.C.C wanted. He hadn't anticipated her sudden return. Or worse—Steven, that unpredictable variable who flipped the board entirely.
Without Steven, even Margaret could've only saved one of the girls.
If he'd kept a hostage, this situation could've gone very differently.
But now? He was out of options.
Looking back, he should have refused the job—even if it seemed easy.
And it had seemed easy.
Now, with the Radiant Knight staring him down like death itself, he realized why the K.G.C.C had tried to bring in a Darksteel of the Armorless Union for backup.
But it was far too late for regrets.
His only hope now was to somehow survive the wrath of this shining war goddess in front of him.
And judging by the look on her face—like she might literally rip him apart—he wasn't optimistic.
"So that's your excuse?" Margaret asked, voice low. "You were 'just following orders'?"
She shook her head.
"I understand your reasoning. Truly, I do. But I can't accept what you tried to do—what you nearly did. Threatening my family to get to me… that's something I won't forgive."
Her eyes narrowed, and her grip tightened around her golden spear.
"You may not hate the Nearl family—but you made your choice. And choices have consequences."
This was something Margaret had learned ever since she left the Grand Knight Territory and began walking the harsh lands of Terra on her own:
No matter how noble you think you are, in the end, people must be held accountable for what they do.
And before the man could offer even a single word of protest—
Margaret hurled her spear.
The radiant weapon flew with a blinding golden arc, taking the man with it—body and all—and slammed him into the ground with a thunderous crash. The force pinned him to the earth like a bug beneath a nail.
His fate was unknown.
Margaret rose to her full height, eyes still cold. Without hesitation, she summoned another spear—formed again from raw Originium energy—into her palm.
Margaret's final, decisive action shattered the last vestiges of resistance.
The remaining black-clad mercenaries, already shaken and disorganized, lost all will to fight. Whatever courage they had evaporated completely. Within seconds, they had all scattered and vanished like smoke on the wind.
The once-chaotic courtyard in front of the hospital was now eerily quiet.
All that remained were the unconscious bodies strewn across the ground—groaning weakly from time to time—and four people still standing: Steven, Margaret, Zofia, and Maria.
Only then did Margaret begin to relax, her battle-ready aura fading. The divine glow that had surrounded her dimmed, and the oppressive energy in the air finally dispersed.
She stepped forward, slowly making her way toward her companions.
But her body wobbled.
Maria immediately rushed to her side, catching her just in time and helping support her.
That battle had taken a toll on her—physically and mentally. She had pushed herself hard, and it was showing. Thankfully, the danger had passed. And with Steven here, she no longer had to worry about any sneak attacks.
Steven, however, showed no signs of sympathy. In fact, he raised a brow.
"Seriously? You got worn out after handling a bunch of small fry?"
He didn't bother offering a hand or comforting words. His tone was curious, almost teasing. From his perspective, those enemies didn't seem to warrant Margaret's full strength. He couldn't understand how someone as powerful as her could be this drained.
Margaret shot him a rare glare.
"Oh, I don't know," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Maybe because I rushed here at full speed from over thirty kilometers away after getting a certain someone's message. No breaks, no pacing—just straight-line sprinting."
She muttered the complaint under her breath, glaring at him like a woman who had just been dragged out of bed at midnight for nonsense.
In truth, she'd been frantic the entire trip. All she had thought about was getting back as fast as possible—damn the consequences. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the physical toll was hitting her hard.
Honestly, if Steven had simply told her earlier that he was already on the scene, she might not have gone to such extremes.
Because Margaret knew him well.
He talked a big game—always claiming he'd just stand back and watch the drama—but when push came to shove, if anyone really tried to hurt Zofia or Maria, Steven wouldn't sit idle.
He never had. And he never would.
"Heh. I just wanted to see what the Radiant Knight return looked like in person," Steven chuckled, rubbing his chin with amusement. "And I've got to say—your entrance? Pretty damn cool. Teach me how to do that sometime, and we'll call it even for me looking after these two."
He smiled, finally stepping in to support Margaret by her other arm.
"Welcome back."
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
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