I’m a Holy Knight, but I Contracted with an Evil God - Chapter 1

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 1.
Leon wiped the sweat from his brow.
The desolate mist and sodden earth made each step harder for a man already worn thin by exhaustion.
How much longer would he have to do this?

“Damn it.”

He was accustomed to the Order of Light treating a proper Holy Knight like nothing more than an errand boy, but this command felt uniquely unjust.
Without so much as a proper explanation, he’d been ordered to retrieve an abandoned “sword” from the Forgotten Land.
Of course, he understood the reason.
Every task Leon received was grounded in the Order’s Divine Oracle, so this too must be God’s will.
And so, however trivial and unjust it seemed, everything was damn well God’s will.
But understanding the reason didn’t mean he had to accept the situation.

“The Archbishop has spoken, so there’s no refusing, and this…”

Dangerous tasks that no one wanted, missions that would be written off as acceptable losses—these always fell to Leon.
The whispers calling him “the Archbishop’s one flaw” and the contemptuous pity muttering “at least with a Stigma Mark he won’t die pointlessly” should have become familiar by now, yet they never quite did.
Knowing the Archbishop’s true heart, Leon couldn’t even bring himself to resent him.
The knowledge that he simply had to endure everything made his situation all the more wretched.

“Sigh.”

Leon stifled a long breath and rubbed his left hand against his pants leg.
On his left hand was carved the Stigma Mark—the blessed proof of having been chosen by God.
A Stigma Mark.
Evidence proving God’s existence and a blessing that granted special power.

Those bearing a Stigma Mark were so rare that a generation might have at most two, and they invariably came into the world with tremendous Holy Power.
The legendary saint Ilia Rihardt had been so blessed, and Nord Vasquez, famous for his eyes that perceived truth, had been likewise; so too had countless Stigma Bearers throughout history.
This was why every Religious Order elevated Stigma Bearers to sainthood.
Beings truly favored by God.

But Leon was different.
Though born with a Stigma Mark clearer than anyone in recorded history, Leon possessed neither the unique powers of a Stigma Bearer nor even the Holy Power he ought to have—his remained at the level of an apprentice priest.

Moreover, this year marked exactly twenty years since Leon had entered the Order.
Twenty years was time enough for every concentrated expectation to crumble.
Simultaneously, Leon had become something utterly useless to the Order—a vestigial organ.
While his cohort refined their skills and proved their abilities, Leon’s Holy Power remained unchanged from twenty years before. The mockery came openly: “Did God make a mistake?”

By now, he could no longer tell whether it was mockery or fact.
The eyes of his once-admiring peers had shifted to contempt, and subtle ostracism had become routine over the years.
Whenever he headed toward the Order to undertake a mission, the echo of laughter that trailed behind him like a phantom always followed.

He had performed each task with quiet determination, desperate to prove his worth somehow, but nothing had changed.
The Leon who had once been expected to excel had spent twenty years gradually learning resignation, and what should have been a divine blessing and glory had become for him an indelible mark—a shackle.

……

At the destination Leon reached, bitter aftertaste still coating his mind, a single sword stood alone.
It was a blade with a flawless black steel surface and a crudely fashioned hilt that left an odd impression.
Though it must have been abandoned for decades, the sword’s condition was better than expected.

“All this way for something like this…”

As Leon exhaled and reached toward the sword, he stopped mid-motion.
Centered where the blade was planted, he noticed something faint and indistinct.
A familiar pattern and a subtle aura.
An alien presence, different from the desolate mist that surrounded everything else.
After studying the traces for some time, Leon understood what they meant.

‘A Seal?’

No, that couldn’t be right.
A Seal, by definition, bound something of sufficient value to a single location.
But there was no reason Leon would be assigned to retrieve anything of such importance.

‘I thought it was just another menial errand.’

……Or was it?
It was the moment his doubts began to multiply.

Screech!

A sharp, air-splitting sound tore through his ears as a chill raced down his spine.
Before he could even register what was happening, a thick bolt of metal had already buried itself in the ground—at the same instant a shudder of dread brushed against the nape of his neck.
If he had not twisted his body reflexively, the bolt would have pierced his throat clean through.
The moment Leon’s head snapped toward the source, a man’s silhouette suddenly materialized from empty air.

“……Your senses are keen.”

Though he was treated as a half-measure, Leon still possessed the heightened five senses unique to a Stigma Bearer.
A strange, familiar premonition that ran counter to his keener-than-average instincts.
Without that premonition, he would have been dead.
“Your power is paltry……, yet a Holy Knight is a Holy Knight, I suppose.”

The man muttered softly and cast aside the crossbow he held in his hand.
Then, slowly, he drew his own blade.
Light pooled at the sword’s edge.
It was a force Leon, as a Holy Knight, knew well.

‘Holy Power?’

The force gathering at the blade’s tip was no ordinary aura.
To begin with, for light that vivid to crystallize at the blade’s tip was impossible for any but the most exceptional swordsmen.
At minimum, he would be of captain rank or higher.
If the man was indeed of captain rank, the gulf between his ability and Leon’s—who was dismissed as a half-measure—was vast beyond measure.

‘Who is he?’

The moment Leon began to contemplate the man’s identity, the man sighed as if lamenting something.

“To think you’d be here, of all days……. I’d say your luck is poor, brother.”

With those words, the man lowered his stance and closed the distance between them in an instant.
In half a beat, the man’s blade came in from an angle, crashing down upon Leon with tremendous force.
Leon barely managed to raise his sword to block, but he could do nothing but parry the blow—counterattack was entirely beyond him.

Clang!

“Ugh!”

What kind of strength……!
The man’s build was similar to Leon’s, yet his strength was double—no, triple his own.
From that single collision alone, Leon felt the bones in his sword arm shatter with pain.
It was overwhelming strength that made even mere defense impossible, let alone a counterattack.
The man’s blade drove toward Leon’s exposed flank before he could even resettle his stance.

“Gah!”

His body was lifted into the air, and the moment he crashed against the ground, Leon felt as though every joint in his body was shattering.
Dirt and the metallic taste of blood rushed into his mouth at the same instant.

‘So easily!’

Could this even be called a fight?
The man was clearly skilled, and yet Leon hadn’t managed a single proper counterattack—he’d done nothing but scramble to block, and even that had lasted only a moment before he found himself driven into the earth.
And he bore the Stigma Mark, supposed proof of divine favor, yet he’d been undone with such contemptuous ease.
Why had it been so simple?

‘No—I’m sick of asking myself these questions.’

Perhaps this situation had never been chance at all.
The Religious Order had always given him only the jobs no one wanted—dangerous, disposable missions where failure meant nothing.
Had they finally cast him out entirely, shoving him into the remote corners of the world only to die here?
Rather than use him for menial tasks while mocking him as worthless, was this their way of discarding him?

‘The truth will remain forever unknown.’

Death was upon him.
Leon clenched his teeth in rage and glared at the man, but the man paid him no mind as he brought his blade down toward Leon’s throat.

“May the Blessing of Chaos walk with you in death.”

Chaos? The Blessing of Chaos?
The question flickered through Leon’s mind, but he suppressed his quickening breath and seized the blade pressed against his neck with his bare hand.

“You think I’ll go quietly?”

The hand gripping the blade was not his sword arm—not his right—but his left, the one marked by the Stigma.
The sharp steel tore through flesh and scraped bone, a sensation that would have been nauseating, yet the pain only sharpened Leon’s mind.
Blood ran from his clenched fist, dripping down the blade.
The man watched the blood flow, then spoke quietly.

“What could you possibly do?”

Had Leon possessed any hidden strength, he would never have fallen in the first place.
So the man reasoned, dismissing Leon’s defiance as mere bluster, unmoved.
It was sound logic—if Leon’s aim had been victory.

‘It’s already over.’

His right arm had broken when their swords first met, and by the third exchange, a gaping wound had been torn in his side.
Had he fled from the start, it might have mattered; but with injuries this severe, escaping the man’s grip would be nearly impossible.
Yet he could not simply surrender to death.
In this absurd world, against this arrogant bastard, he wanted to land at least one blow before the end.

‘I can at least take him with me.’

His blood-stained lips twisted into a smile, bitter and sharp.
And then white light began to gather in Leon’s left hand. The man’s face drained of color as understanding dawned.

“You bastard, what are you—!”
“Come with me.”

Holy Power was the strength of the divine. And because divine strength formed the very foundation of the world, it touched upon the Life Force inherent in all mortals.
Since Holy Power and Life Force shared the same source, in theory one could release a power equivalent to Holy Power by burning one’s own Life Force.
But because the end of that path was death, it was a method that existed only in theory—one almost never used.

The man reflexively released his grip on his sword, but Leon held fast to the man’s opposite leg with his broken right arm, clamping down with all his remaining strength.
The man strained with everything he had to wrench free from that grasp.
But Leon’s strength—forged in the furnace of death itself—was beyond what the man could overcome.

“You mad bastard…….”

Crack!

A violent surge of light erupted outward from Leon’s left hand.
From the point where that radiance made contact, both the man’s body and Leon’s began to dissolve.
Rapidly. Utterly.

A flash of light, then darkness.
It was over.
Or so he thought.

【Stubbornly resolute, aren’t you.】

An unfamiliar voice thrummed through him, strange and piercing.
A dream?
Leon thought as much and scanned his surroundings, but the expanse before him—a white so bright it burned the eyes—made it clear that this, at least, was no waking world.

“……Where is this.”

I’m dead. That much is certain.
It was my last memory, after all.
In the end, Leon had been cast aside.
Murdered by a man who must have been a Holy Knight serving one of the Three Main Gods, and the Order of Light had either permitted it or—more likely—orchestrated it.
The only consolation was that his end had not been entirely one-sided.
Content with that? No. Never.

“Content? How could I be…….”

He had not endured all those hellish years for an ending like this.
If only—just once—he had been given a genuine chance, he could have proven that without all their Holy Power, he could stand stronger than any of them!
At that bitter murmur, the voice that had first stirred Leon’s consciousness spoke again.

【Do you regret it?】
“……Who are you?”
【My name is Ecridje. I am one of the great beings whom you humans call the Three Evil Gods.】
“An Evil God? You claim to be one of the Evil Gods?”

Leon’s response was saturated with contempt and enmity.
The Three Evil Gods—beings opposed to the Three Main Gods, anything tied to them was subject to purification or destruction.
Leon had been a Holy Knight in service to Arseriel, one of the Three Main Gods, and nearly his entire life’s labor had been devoted to matters concerning these so-called Evil Gods.
Strictly speaking, was it not these Evil Gods who were responsible for every torment Leon had endured?

“What business could an Evil God possibly have with me?”
【Child. Your heart overflows with needless hostility.】
“How could it not? I lived my entire life as a Holy Knight, even if they treated me as worthless.”
【A Holy Knight. Then you are one of the offspring of those beings you humans call the Main Gods. Yet you and I meet this day for the first time. Do you not think such prejudgment unreasonable?】
“Unreasonable? How many died under the name of the Evil Gods? My entire life was spent cleaning up after you. Your words are nothing but specious nonsense.”

Leon spat the words out with venom, yet his voice carried no tremor of doubt.
The response came in a tone that seemed almost coaxing—as though soothing an ignorant child.

【My essence differs not from those you name the Main Gods. Power itself knows neither good nor evil. Good and evil are determinations that belong to those who wield power.】
“Different in no way? If an Evil God truly differed in no way from a Main God, should you not have given thought to how justly the power you grant is used? That would be the obligation of one who possesses strength.”
【Was the exercise of power your will? Your judgment? In the end, it was not the offspring of that vaunted Main God who ceased your breath?】

Leon’s relentless stream of words abruptly ceased.
His tongue felt numb, pierced by the arrow of truth.
The voice’s accusation was undeniable proof that the conviction guiding his entire life was crumbling to dust.

“Fine. I’ll grant you that—a servant of the Three Main Gods killed me.”
【So you’ve finally grasped the contradiction in your argument.】

The voice continued, derision dripping from every word.
Rage kindled in his chest, yet he had no rebuttal.
The identity of his murderer had shaken the very foundation of Leon’s lifetime of faith.
The killer had unmistakably been a Holy Knight, a servant of one of the Three Main Gods.
Why would a servant of the divine attack him—a Holy Knight devoted to Arseriel—and steal his life?
Leon wondered if perhaps this voice, calling itself an Evil God, might hold the answer.

“So what business do you have with me?”
【Ah, so you’re finally ready to talk.】
“Stop wasting time. State your purpose.”
【Are you content to end this way?】
“What?”
【I’m asking whether you’re willing to die like this.】

That he hadn’t died alone offered scant comfort, yet the knowledge that death was inevitable left him hollow with regret.
What had he accomplished in life?
For all the grand promise of being a Stigma Bearer, his existence had been something far worse than ordinary.
He had built nothing of substance.
How could he not regret it?
The voice carried laughter as it addressed Leon’s silence.

【I am asking whether you would seize it—the chance to turn back time, to begin anew.】
“If I could start over, what could I accomplish? Could I expose the one who murdered me and the power behind him? Could I show those hypocrites in the Religious Order—those who scorned and despised me my whole life—the price of their contempt? If such a thing were possible, then even if you truly are the Evil God Ecridje, I don’t care. If you can give me the opportunity to overturn everything that has made my life so wretched, I will accept.”
【Is that a wish?】
“Yes. To obtain the chance to make those who destroyed me pay the price—that is my wish.”

There was no other choice, after all.
Leon regretted his insignificant life, and should another opportunity be granted to him, he would seize it without hesitation.
The moment his answer fell, black clouds began to gather slowly before him.
As those clouds coalesced and took shape, Leon heard the voice one final time.

【Very well. Your wish is granted.】
Continued in next episode ▶
A Holy Knight contracts with an Evil God
Author
Ram Dat
Publisher
Kim Seok-hwan, Choi Se-ra
Publisher
Grae Publishing
Contact Email
[email protected]
Publication Date
March 27, 2026
UCI
G720:N+A327-20260227066
※ This e-book is protected under copyright law. Unauthorized reproduction and copying are prohibited, and violations may result in criminal and civil liability.
※ Pentagram awaits your precious manuscript.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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