“To cultivate an Extraordinary, it takes decades. One must be selected from among thousands—someone whose will alone can shake reality. Then comes the mastering of their powers to the point of combat readiness, which requires a large amount of rare materials for practice. After all that time and effort, what do we get?”
The old woman pointed to the bolt-action rifle slung across a Holy Guard’s back.
“To kill them, all it takes is a single bullet.”
“Young man, how long have you been in the Holy Guard? How long did it take you to learn to use the bolt-action rifle?”
The Holy Guard was stunned for a moment before answering haltingly, “I’ve been in the Holy Guard for about two months... I learned how to use the bolt-action rifle... in about a morning.”
Erwin’s eyes flickered. He gave a silent nod.
The old woman casually picked up the silver teacup from the table, clenched it tightly, then rubbed it with her hands. When she opened her palm, only a metal ball remained.
“You may think this kind of strength looks formidable, but in front of firearms, it’s worthless. There’s no need to compare it to Castel’s rifles—even the Empire’s standard military muskets are unstoppable for most Extraordinaries.”
“The Royal Army of the Empire wages war across all fronts. Aside from the monsters of the Silent Sanctum, no Extraordinary can stand against bullets in a frontal battlefield.”
“In the Deep Sea War, the enemies were irrational beasts, yet even so, we ‘Moths Chasing Fire’—the Extraordinaries—served little more than as high-altitude scouts. The airships above the battlefield could easily replace most of our roles.”“As for the Banshees, when are they at their strongest? Charging in heavy armor? No. It’s when they’re throwing explosives.”
“Among peers of the same rank, the Banshees are basically unmatched in head-on combat.”
Erwin opened his mouth but couldn’t find anything to say.
When the Banshees charged in heavy armor, they were tall and imposing like a moving wall, slaying enemies like slaughtering chickens.
But in terms of actual effectiveness, nothing matched their efficiency when they were throwing explosive packs.
And... if Castel were to invent some kind of throwing device—even if it were only one-sixth as efficient as a Banshee—the Banshees would immediately be phased out of the throwing squads.
There were only a hundred Banshees in total. But if a factory opened a few more production lines, it could manufacture more than that before lunch.
Erwin suddenly realized that these powerful, bizarre Extraordinaries seemed to play an almost negligible role in actual combat.
Even the Banshees’ Mind Link—Lord Hughes had said—could be replaced by radio communication.
The Holy Guards looked at their hands, at their companions, at the bolt-action rifles on each of them.
Extraordinaries had always been synonymous with power, mystery, and invincibility. But under the old woman’s words, they seemed utterly incapable of standing against industrial creations—reduced to mere burdens.
How could Extraordinaries be so...
weak?
No—perhaps it wasn’t that the Extraordinaries had grown weaker, but rather that they had failed to recognize just how powerful *industry* had become.
The knight with a longsword, the infantry clad in full plate—these once-symbols of strength had faded into silence, vanishing without even causing a ripple.
No one remembered their resistance. No one cared for their sorrow.
Extraordinaries were merely more powerful and more mysterious—and thus became qualified to be crushed by *industry*.
Did ancient knights ever charge toward ranks of musketeers?
No one remembers.
What people do remember is the priest from the Silent Sanctum charging through a storm of bullets, smashing his flail down on a musketeer’s skull—that was the final brief bloom of the Extraordinary era.
The old woman herself was an Extraordinary. She knew their time had passed. Zoe and Erwin were mere mortals, so they still clung to illusions of the Extraordinary.
“That’s why all the major Churches have locked down knowledge of the Extraordinary. Extraordinaries are only dispatched to deal with anomalies caused by other supernatural forces.”
The old woman smiled and shook her head, though a sigh echoed in her heart.
In truth, even dealing with anomalies was becoming increasingly difficult for Extraordinaries. During the continent-wide anomaly several decades ago, nearly all of the Church of Candlelight’s Investigators had perished. In the end, it was the Mechanical Sanctum that resolved the situation using forbidden technologies.
And now, in Castel’s Deep Sea War, the Extraordinaries had been thoroughly reduced to a support role. Mortals were the true main force on the battlefield.
Mortals standing against the supernatural—it was once unthinkable, but now it was gradually becoming reality.
Back when they were still on the island, the old woman had initially been puzzled.
Hughes clearly had a team of Banshees, yet he hadn’t built his army around them.
A full hundred Extraordinary beings—Banshees no less, masters of frontal assault. With them, Hughes could’ve even vied for control of the Storm Ocean against the Pirate King’s Court.
But Hughes only had them assist Castel’s scientific development and industrial growth. He had no intention of deploying them in external combat.
It wasn’t until the Deep Sea War that the old woman finally realized—Hughes had been right all along.
Even she, a “Moth Chasing Fire” in pursuit of knowledge, had never imagined industry could wield such overwhelming power. The monsters that Extraordinaries couldn’t defeat had been stopped, tooth and nail, by mortals.
The old woman let out a sigh, her expression softening.
“So, you don’t need to fear those cultists. They’ll never amount to anything. The weapons in your hands... are far stronger than anything they have.”
Erwin and the Holy Guards nodded unconsciously.
Zoe asked curiously, “Granny, when you were investigating in Blood Harbor, did you find any sign of cult activity?”
The old woman nodded, her expression turning grim. “Yes. And they’re quite troublesome... There are Mother Goddess followers in Blood Harbor.”
“Mother Goddess followers?”
Zoe’s eyes lit up with innocence, her face showing confusion as she scratched her head. “Are they... very dangerous?”
Erwin and the Holy Guards perked up their ears. They knew almost nothing about the world of the Extraordinary. Castel, isolated across the sea, had rarely seen any cultists aside from the Moths Chasing Fire.
“The Cult of the Mother of Life is one of the most dangerous cults out there. They’re not necessarily the strongest—but the destruction they cause, especially the casualties, is often horrifying.”
“Mother Goddess cultists may not be individually strong, but they’re *numerous*, and utterly fearless. By the time they’re discovered, they’ve often already spread like a plague—extremely difficult to handle.”
“Numerous? Why are they so numerous? Is it because their supernatural path is easier to succeed in? More powerful?” Zoe asked.
The old woman gave her a long look. “No. The Cult of the Mother of Life has the weakest path of all. Almost no supernatural ability... and an extremely short lifespan. Most of their priests don’t survive a month.”
“Then why would anyone join such a cult?”
This time, the old woman said nothing. She only sighed and silently looked out the window.