A Powerful Martial Artist Reincarnates as a Nun Knight

Four days later, as she had forewarned, Sophia visited the Bakers’ Guild. Since the talents she needed to instruct had not all arrived yet, she intended to handle this irksome matter while she had time.

The Bakers’ Guild building comprised two adjacent structures – a two-story and a three-story edifice constructed from stone.
The two-story building on the right served as a practice facility where master bakers tested new recipes and instructed apprentices. According to Sophia’s knowledge, the first floor handled dough kneading and proofing, while the second housed ovens and chimneys for baking the proofed doughs.

The wafting aromas suggested masters were currently training apprentices inside. Noting this, Sophia smirked – with people occupied in the practice building, she could likely deal with the guild master in the administrative wing unobserved by most.

Soon, Sophia entered the guild’s left-side administrative building. Its first floor managed the bakers’ financial transactions, while the second handled legal affairs. The guild master’s office was on the third floor.

Ignoring the other areas, Sophia ascended the stairs to the third floor unimpeded. Though some attendants attempted barring her way, she merely placed a hand on their shoulders, causing them to collapse helplessly with a single push.

Some unfortunate kneecap dislocations occurred amidst this, but the compassionate Sophia personally tended their injuries, sparing further trauma. However, exasperated by their foaming protests during treatment, she could not resist clicking her tongue dismissively:

“Tch tch, such youthful insolence.”

After realigning their kneecaps by manipulating their meridian points, Sophia swatted their backs with a crisp slap, unintentionally applying just enough rear hand stroke force to sear their flesh, eliciting silent screams of agony as she left the convulsing attendants sprawled behind.

Finally reaching the third floor, Sophia encountered the guild master’s office door tightly locked from within.
Though such rude reception hardly warranted courtesy in turn, Sophia refused to abandon propriety herself. Ever emphasizing etiquette, she opted to announce her arrival with a light knock first.

Knock knock knock.
“Is the guild master present? I come on Church business, so please open up.”

Despite Sophia’s politely stated intent, no response came from within. Yet her heightened senses clearly detected an occupant’s presence.

Having respectfully knocked and announced herself, only to be rebuffed, Sophia reluctantly acknowledged the need for mild corrective measures against such discourtesy.

The next instant, the guild master’s office door simply disintegrated into powder without a trace. Evidently reinforced and enchanted, the obstruction’s material composition and spells proved irrelevant – Sophia saw no need to regard them.

As the dispersing powder swirled outward, Sophia entered to find the guild master Marco Mancini cowering beneath his desk, panting heavily.
Approaching soundlessly, she lifted the entire desk – their gazes momentarily locking as a distinctly unsavory odor wafted from the terrified man’s trousers.

“So this is where you were hiding.”
Sophia’s gentle, courteous tone belied the situation as the trembling Marco hiccupped his response:
“Hic—If you h-harm me, hic—my allies supporting the Seventh P-Prince, hic—will not remain, hic—idle!”
“Oh? Is that so? My thoughts differ slightly.”

Regarding the guild master’s bravado with a mocking smile, Sophia retorted:
“Wh-What do you mean?”
“It goes like this.”

From her sleeves, Sophia produced a scroll which she unfurled before Marco Mancini. Though presented abruptly, his instincts grasped its relevance to his well-being, prompting frantic scrutiny of the contents.

“The undersigned hereby vow non-interference regarding any and all actions undertaken by Paladin Knight Sophia de Chazelle towards the aforementioned Guild Master Marco Mancini…Hurk!”

Upon seeing the comprehensive roster of the Seventh Prince’s nobility and influencers – from the prince himself down to potential successor Giuseppe Gallo and even rival guild masters – who had sworn neutrality regarding Sophia’s disciplinary actions, Marco choked in dismay.

“For reference, this Giuseppe Gallo has already begun rallying support to swiftly assume your vacant position. Do you comprehend your predicament now?”

Observing the guild master’s stunned, quivering silence, Sophia remarked condescendingly:
“You should have conducted yourself more admirably in the first place.”

Marco wished to argue this transcended mere interpersonal issues into a matter of power dynamics. Yet he lacked the fortitude to voice such retorts.

Only after news of the failed attempt on Conra did Marco finally investigate the Paladin knights, belatedly realizing he had poked a hornet’s nest. In desperation to safeguard himself, he attempted hiring mercenary swordsmen – an understandable if futile recourse given the Paladins’ transcendent might and authority he had glimpsed.

Yet the moment those sellswords grasped their intended target, they unanimously terminated their contracts while demanding exorbitant penalties, abandoning Marco to hide in what he assumed was his safest refuge.

That even this bakery guild headquarters – the nexus of his authority and power – proved no sanctuary filled Marco with such self-loathing, he yearned to pummel his past self senseless if possible.

“In any case, for those very reasons, you shall serve as my stress relief target.”
“No, please don’t!”

Despite the guild master’s plaintive, trembling objections, his feeble limbs could not repel the series of exquisitely cruel constraints and duress techniques inflicted upon his corpulent form. His shrill, anguished screams filled the office yet failed to breach the silencing barriers Sophia had preemptively erected.

The next day, Marco Mancini resigned as guild master, retreating into seclusion. As if awaiting this opportunity, the bakers’ guild’s chief artisan Giuseppe Gallo was promptly elected the new leader after a convening, naturally securing various concessions from the confectioners’ guild throughout.

+++++

“Did you observe closely?” Sophia queried Conra upon returning from handling everything.
“This is how one wields force and authority.”

Until the night before visiting the bakers’ guild master, Sophia had remained exceptionally busy late into the evenings.

Visiting backstreet informants, leveraging exclusive connections and appropriate recompense, she acquired the King’s, Crown Prince’s, Seventh Prince’s and their respective backers’ latest intelligence alongside any potential vulnerabilities. Applying her genius intuition, she extrapolated further underlying secrets behind this gathered information.

Armed with these insights, Sophia systematically visited the Seventh Prince’s supporters each night – simultaneously threatening them by revealing their weaknesses while demonstrating her transcendent might, yet alternately dangling carrots of their rivals’ unveiled secrets to compel that sworn non-interference pact.

Finally, by subtly provoking the former rival confectioners’ guild master while soliciting the ambitious Giuseppe Gallo’s cooperation, the bakers’ guild master found himself utterly defenseless – enabling Sophia to mete out unimpeded disciplinary actions without risking undue scrutiny or legal repercussions.

Having witnessed this entire meticulous process, Conra felt an instinctive urge to backpedal. He belatedly realized that while Sophia normally refrained from such machinations, she could effortlessly orchestrate Byzantine political maneuvers if so motivated.

Perceiving the youth’s discomfiture, Sophia smiled mirthfully:
“Well? Do you now find your master daunting?”

That single barbed remark struck the sensitive pubescent nerves of the nearly twelve-year-old Conra, prompting his indignant retort:
“Of course not! What do you take me for?”
“What else but an impudent, misbehaving brat?”
“Aah, you even called me impudent and misbehaving now?!”

As Conra leapt up in outrage, Sophia firmly ruffled his hair, savoring her disciple’s endearing petulance as always. Regarding his disheveled, fluffy locks and sulking pout with an amused gaze, she continued:

“In any case, it seems we may need to intervene regarding this Iron Throne succession issue.”
“Huh? Whatever do you mean, Master?”

Pausing from straightening his tousled hair at Sophia’s cryptic remark, Conra expressed his confusion – prompting her to narrow her eyes sharply in response:

“It appears demons are involved in sowing chaos within the Royal City.”
‘While the Church could abstain from mere secular power struggles and resulting turmoil, demonic elements cannot be ignored.’

Though leaving it unstated, Conra could extrapolate Sophia’s unspoken context from his experiences under her tutelage. Voicing his concerns, he cautioned:
“But considering the Church’s established stance, wouldn’t intervening prove risky?”

Reassuring her visibly worried disciple with a warm smile, Sophia replied:
“I remain uncertain myself this time. Yet knowing demands we cannot simply stand idle. This affair may require unofficial measures.”
“Like the methods you demonstrated earlier?”
“Precisely.”

The subtly orchestrated resolution Sophia had just displayed certainly left an indelible impression upon Conra. Recalling her deceptively gentle handling, perhaps unofficially intervening in the royal succession could similarly proceed smoothly.

‘Well, considering Master’s prowess, any trepidation seems rather pointless.’

Having grasped Sophia’s non-standard capabilities even by Paladin criteria, Conra swiftly dismissed his own misgivings.