Henderson Scale EX (Immeasurable)
Commonly referred to as the drunken madman’s antics. Unbelievably, it continues.
It’s troublesome, you see. I’ve been receiving fan art and numerous comments on social media expressing interest in Erika’s fighting prowess. It’s quite the predicament.
Show your intent by baring your fangs. Brightly infuse your malice.
A carnivorous beast’s posture: lifting the thigh muscle and baring the canines.
If this act pleases humankind…
The nun reached into her storage pouch attached at the waist behind her robe with a sash and retrieved her favored weapon.
Reflecting the fading sunlight with ominous gleam, the object was a dully shining brass knuckle.
A solid lump of forged iron with holes for four fingers, a tool crafted with the sole purpose of amplifying humanity’s most primal form of violence—the fist. The massive steel block, with its impressive weight, spins in both hands using only the index finger as an axis.
One spin to the right, then one to the left. Separately yet in a matched pair, these embodiments of primal violence flaunt their ferocity in the hands of their master. After twirling twice or thrice, all four fingers slide into place.
The nun then delivered a mighty blow with fists crossed at the chest. The punch hammered upon the knuckles that bore sacred inscriptions: “Where the sun rises there be glory” and “Let the restful twilight come.” These are the cherished verses often hummed by believers of the Sun God.
Contrary to its rugged appearance, the sound resonated as pure and clear as a Manor bell. The powerful noise shook the air, carrying far beyond the distant mountains, asserting that only we could withstand the nun’s strength.
“Come now, the sun is setting.”
Despite her human height and modest robe, the nun’s powerful challenge made men known for their cruelty hesitate.
Though their equipment might appear ragged, their numbers and organization would lead one to consider them mere negligible bandits.
However, these men were not simple fools. More than fifty members in this grand bandit gang usually inspired the Empire to immediately assemble a hunting force upon hearing rumors of their existence.
What sustained this unjust force was their leader’s distaste for the nun standing alone, her unpleasant smile mocking their might.
The offspring of the giants who dwell atop the Great Spirit Peaks, though they called them dwarfs due to their relatively diminished stature compared to their ancestors who lived unaffected by infirmity on the peaks, still towered far above any bell tower.
Even these “stray” half-giants served as their overlord, slaughtering or enslaving any adventurers or mercenaries who dared approach.
A village would not last an hour with such a monster on the rampage, turning into barren wastelands instantly. Even towns wouldn’t stand a half-day’s assault, reducing everything to rubble and dust.
This giant’s overwhelming brutality had silenced the populace, leaving them hopeless and despondent.
Seeing the flattened villages left as warnings, everyone would surely conclude that begging for mercy in the face of his capricious kindness was the smarter choice.
Yet, one person defied this common sense by stepping forward, declaring that the tyrant had no right to bestow mercy and that they should instead beg for it themselves.
Irritated by the audacious nun and also by her cowardly underlings who retreated from a mere woman, the half-giant seized one bandit by the torso and legs, disregarding his screams, and with a startling ease, twisted him in two.
The half-giant then slammed the dead man’s remains in front of his underlings, issuing a challenge: fight or face the same end. The small village’s defiance, caused by a lone nun, enraged him further upon receiving paltry copper coins in offering from the grubby hands of peasants. These supposed mighty followers of the god, who would not even bow before the Sun God for alms, deeply angered him even more when they boasted of teaching sermons while playing with their coins.
The giant’s fury reached its peak when his remaining piece of the bandit was hurled at the nun. The chunk of meat flew straight, emitting a thunderous sound, directly targeting the lone woman. Without urging his men, the impact alone would turn her into shattered debris where no one could tell head from toe.
Still, this impropriety never even touched the nun’s skin.
Moving forward with graceful ease as if shooing away a bothersome insect, the nun deflected the flying corpse with a mere wave of her right hand. The body, which should have struck her, “slid through” her and scattered into the soil behind her as if it had never reached her.
The men gaped, almost dropping their weapons in shock.
It seemed the world itself had made a mistake. Could such an event be truly comprehensible if witnessed directly?
But to the nun, this was nothing unusual. “Horizontal firing” “cannons” can be deflected by the back of her hand; hence, how could such an ungainly and “clumsy” chunk of flesh even graze her?
“An unsightly firework, but sufficient as the opening call to battle. Come now, let’s proceed.”
With a portentously serene smile resembling that of the holiest mother, the nun stepped forward.
Her heavy stomp dug deeply into the earth, closing in the distance of dozens of paces within the blink of an eye. The startled bandit, unsure what just happened, thrust his halberd futilely forward.
“Fu..h..”
In sync with her step, accompanied by a soft breath, the nun extended her left fist. It pierced through the bandit’s chest with a force that made his steel breastplate buckle, tearing through his outfit and shattering his ribcage along the way.
Certainly, the human body, far less durable than steel, stood no chance, and the shockwave penetrated his chest, reducing all his internal organs, including his heart, into a nauseating paste of feces and flesh.
In the face of such devastating speed and power, the bandit never had a chance to comprehend his impending death, his soul handed over to the gods.
Strangely enough, the bandit’s corpse did not stagger even once, collapsing neatly from the knees to the ground.
An expert in the martial arts would understand how terrifying this was.
The nun’s punch, with its pinpoint precision, contained all the destruction within the victim’s body without wasting an ounce of energy. This was solid proof of her incomparable prowess.
As one member fell, the rest of the bandits finally realized the nun’s presence within reach.
Within a few seconds while the front-line switched from their unwieldy spears to swords, six more bandits paid for their sins. Their necks snapped, bones crushed, viscera reduced to the consistency of pie filling, yet even this was insufficient retribution for their crimes of preying on the weak.
“Pray, pray! The right to beg for mercy remains even for sinners. Now then, loudly recite wondrous sacred verses. If you cannot, let your last voice ascend to the heavens.”
Driving her right fist into the chest of a nearby man to end him, while simultaneously deflecting the blade with her left hand and delivering a final punch to the gut, ending the vice once and for all.
In the blink of an eye, the punishment from the gods obliterated the bandits who relied solely on their cruelties. No escape was possible. Even those who threw away their weapons and turned around only felt her relentless divine will as she rushed forward and struck them down without a word.
“…How pitiful. Is there no man powerful enough to grapple me and cause me to fall in a heap of blossoms?”
Each blow was decisive. With no need for feints or hesitation, her relentless fists surpassed logic and purged the bandits’ wickedness.
Witnessing this, even the half-giant, who had never known fear from his immense size and raw power, trembled. Though his pride refused acknowledgment, his instincts understood the truth: he would be killed by this human-shaped Something.
“Now then, only you remain. Shall you not reconsider? I have the authority to hear confessions. I could indulge you a hearing even now, if you wish…”
Shouting louder than he ever had in his life to drown out his fear, the giant raised his mighty weapon, once the foundation of some building, high above his head. A massive iron pillar that could cleave entire armies in one fell swoop—it stood as the cornerstone of his confidence. With all his might, the giant prepared to smash the woman who slaughtered his slaves into submission.
“…So light.”
However, brute force unbacked by reasoning proved futile against the nun. Two unprecedented events had already occurred, and now a third would unfurl before his very eyes.
Her fist, so mighty it split the earth beneath her step and rose toward the sky, shattered that enormous iron pillar into fragments as if it were paper. The residual force traveled through the steel and into the giant’s hands, wrenching his fingers in every which direction, breaking through the skin to expose the bones beneath, spilling blood that painted the twilight sky a dark crimson.
As he writhed in agony, he couldn’t believe what he saw. A being so diminutive, perhaps one twentieth his height and mass, had somehow deceived reality itself. How could such an impossible feat exist?
What nonsense—a Human Race could not even lift a cow no matter how much they trained, let alone possess speed that far surpassed birds in flight. A column designed to hold up entire buildings shouldn’t be something even a fragile skeleton could withstand for a moment, let alone crush it with ease.
No, it must not be allowed.
“Ah, you acknowledge your defeat by kneeling, I see.”
Especially, no human could leap so high without divine intervention.
“This is the posture of begging for mercy.”
Soundlessly descending from her jump to land atop the half-giant’s head, the nun extended her “prayerfully clasped fists” downwards.
“Though I doubt our strict father would show leniency.”
A thunderous sound filled the air as the nun’s feet seemingly stayed in place—where otherwise a counterforce would have sent her flying back—and the half-giant beneath her collapsed, his head flattening unnaturally. His bald cranium resembled a melon too ripe, collapsing under the weight of the heavens, spilling not juices but pinkish cerebral matter, liquefied by the extreme force.
Yet, the difference wasn’t significant. Could one distinguish between the crushed brain of a beast that had once thrived on oppression, theft, and murder, and the decay of an overripe fruit?
Serenely landing beside the crushed half-giant, the nun reached into her waist pouch to retrieve the brass knuckles again and exchanged them for a well-used flask. The flask contained harsh distilled liquor, which she carelessly sprinkled around, its droplets gleaming against the sunset as if resentfully.
She wiped her sensual lips after consuming the remaining liquor, muttering.
Lately, nothing is entertaining. Am I too behind the times? Complaining to the Sun God about her day’s work, the nun began walking quietly…
Without fanfare or acknowledgment of the nun’s valor, the grand bandit gang that would have been a threat even to an army met its end quietly. People would quickly forget and suppress the painful memories, ensuring that such events faded from their minds.
Silent and forgotten, the villain fell to his karmic fate.
“Good grief, good grief. Though death reduces all to mere bones, it is proper to bury them, is it not?”
The nun, with an oddly masculine undertone, said this, then stored away her brass knuckles and drew out a flask instead. The flask contained a strong distillate, poured carelessly into the surroundings, sparkling under the slanting evening light.
Finishing her drink, the nun wiped her lips with a sensuous flick, muttering with a hint of lament.
But lately, things have been rather dull, which is troubling. Perhaps it’s time to catch up, thinking about how the Grand Abbot is embarrassingly behind.
And so, concluding his antics, it’s time for him to seriously continue writing soon.
