Severed Ties at Dawn
Sunlight seeped through the window. Warmth drifted in softly, like fine particles.
The dawn light burned slowly from beneath the horizon, awakening the world.
─……Deculein.
In that faint glow, Igiris's voice faded away, and Deculein nodded to him.
As if to say the rest was now his burden.
“…….”
Deculein said nothing. With Julie cradled in his arms, he stepped out into the corridor and stood by the window, gazing at the breaking dawn.
“Professor.”
Julie spoke.
“……Professor.”
She could say no more. Her heart ached as if it might shatter, and the ground beneath her feet trembled precariously.
Yet she could not collapse. It was the etiquette of a knight.
“……I.”
Julie looked up at Deculein.
The man lost in thought while holding her close. Her heart, which had come to know him too late, tormented her like drowning.
Her mind tangled in countless worries, her chest tight with overwhelming confusion.
“I…….”
Too many words and questions swirled in her mouth. But the long sentences halted at her chin, fragmented and broken, leaving only one final phrase.
“……I'm sorry.”
No response came from him.
Was the apology too late? He merely gazed at the dawn, murmuring softly.
“Julie. I am not so good a man as to accept an apology from you.”
A statement about himself.
His voice carried the cynicism that suited him.
“I have slain too many, and feel no remorse whatsoever.”
Julie bowed her head. She rested her forehead against his chest.
“If the end is righteous, the means may be trampled.”
Deculein reached to place a hand on her shoulder but stopped. He gritted his teeth, suppressing the impulse.
Instead, with Telekinesis, he drew an object from her inner pocket.
“If it obstructs, I choose beheading over persuasion.”
The item settled into Deculein's grasp. Julie's eyes widened as she stared at it.
“As you believe, a villain.”
“Professor. That is—”
The magic stone her guardian angel had given her.
The sole evidence, recording footage from that day.
“You bear no fault, Julie. If fault there be, it lies with the god who forged us.”
Julie reached for the magic stone. But before she could—
Crunch—!
It shattered in his fist.
Shaaaa……
Fragments poured from the magic stone. As they touched the corridor floor, footage leaked out. Like shards of a mirror, random projections of that day flickered into view.
Julie's pupils trembled.
“Julie. You are dying.”
Drip—drip—
Tears fell onto the remnants. Water, dust, and mana mingled, rising in blue smoke.
“I confess it. To protect the living you was my greed.”
Deculein released Julie from his arms. He gripped her shoulders firmly, so she could stand at once.
“……I'll let go.”
He laid a finger to her eyes, wiping away the flowing tears.
And spoke.
“The engagement is annulled, Julie.”
The morning sun rose fully. The light of the world bathed him.
“…….”
Deculein gazed at Julie.
The woman so precious that merely holding her in his eyes overwhelmed him, whom he loved enough to embrace right then.
He placed a hand on her cheek. Julie's breath trembled, but she did not refuse.
“Live your life.”
With those words, he gently pressed the blood point on her neck. Julie's eyes widened for an instant, but her thoroughly worn spirit could not endure.
“No…….”
A fading death rattle. She collapsed onto Deculein's shoulder as if fainting, and he stroked her small head tenderly.
“…….”
Then, wordlessly, he looked at the man standing beyond Julie.
No—not one man.
Gawain, Izac, Ihelm, Adrienne. The four stood with eyes wide in shock.
“Take her.”
At those words, Ihelm rushed forward first and hoisted Julie onto his back. As he turned to flee, he glanced back.
“Deculein. You not coming?”
“I have business yet.”
“……Right. Whatever.”
Ihelm pried no further. Adrienne, meanwhile, approached with question marks and exclamation points sprouting from her head.
“Ah?! What was that?! Professor Deculein— Hey, what!”
Ihelm grabbed her hair.
“What're you doing! Let go!”
“Just come along.”
“Looks fun, no no no!”
In any case, Adrienne was dragged away by Ihelm, while Gawain and Izac nodded stiffly and followed.
The corridor fell silent.
In the cold air, Deculein stared into the shadows at the window's corner.
“I have a question.”
—……What.
A distant voice echoed back from the darkness.
Deculein asked softly.
“Did you truly not love Julie?”
—……The one I loved more than my life chose that child's life over mine.
Igiris spoke. Regret and sorrow laced his tone.
—To claim no resentment would be a lie, yet a knight's heart proves frail. Each glimpse of her recalled my dead wife.
Deculein turned his head.
—The cause was freezing to death.
A child born with such potent magical talent and bloodline sometimes inflicts illness or death upon the mother.
Julie had been born under a yoke unlike Zeit's or Yuseffin's.
—……Because I was too foolish, too pathetic in those years.
As Igiris said, the bloodline of Phairden, perfect above all.
The child of winter, born freezing her mother to death.
—Professor, none could love that child as you do.
“…….”
For an instant, his expression twisted. Unbearable anger and contempt ground his teeth.
“Pathetic.”
Thud—! He stamped his cane on the floor. A sharp echo reverberated through the corridor.
—Leaving, then.
“Business remains.”
Before the sun rose fully, before this gate to the underworld closed.
Still things to do.
He wove mana into a sword.
The emperor's mana forged an intangible blade. Wielding its radiant gleam, Sophien moved like a gale wind, unleashing her innate talent freely.
Crunch-crunch—!
The mana sword cleaved flesh. Crimson eyes flashed through the rent body. Blood clung to pale skin and fiery red hair.
Yet the emperor hesitated not. The filth of blood and meat did not faze her.
Slash-slash—!
The emperor's blade diced humans like tofu, her swordsmanship aloof and flawless.
The quintessence of swordplay, assembled as the imperial palace's canon.
Her body had perfectly internalized it all, her movements firmer than any swordsman's—beautiful as ballet.
“……This is why it grows tedious.”
Yet the emperor's display lasted not even five minutes. The Altar horde that had attacked so boldly could not approach her; they lay slaughtered, sprawled across the floor.
Hmph—She snorted, swept away a few limbs with mana, and shifted her gaze.
“Are you well?”
“…….”
Sophien asked her professor. He, who had been preparing for battle in earnest, cleared his throat and nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then explain. What means this talk of your death?”
Deculein sheathed his throat steel.
“I am memory, yet also mana. Should I merge with Deculein, he gains all memories of that day—but cannot endure the turmoil.”
The shock of memories and mana spanning over a century. Even Deculein—no human could withstand such reverberations.
“Death would not come at once, of course. Yet his body would await it.”
“…….”
Sophien grasped the implication instantly and furrowed her brow.
“……If I will it otherwise.”
If she desired the current Deculein to live, she need only leave this underworld Deculein here.
Prevent their meeting—that was all.
Yet problems remained.
“And what of you, Professor?”
The professor who had shared her memories.
He called himself memory and mana, yet his soul differed little from the original Deculein.
He thought, perceived, cognized, spoke—and……loved Julie.
Damnation.
“This memory-self would linger here eternally.”
Unlike the original, he fought not, ate not, and could not die.
“……A weighty choice indeed.”
Sophien let out a dry chuckle. A true dilemma.
“The sun has risen. The gate stands open.”
The professor spoke thus and opened the door. The passage from this cramped chamber led to the imperial palace.
“Go.”
“……I have yet to decide.”
“To Your Majesty, deliberation is decision. I, who shared those hundred-odd years with you.”
“…….”
The words struck true. Sophien scratched her nape idly, and the professor nodded.
It meant all was well.
“Eternity here holds worth. Even as mere memory, life persists. Even trapped in the game's over screen's cleft, it endures. From here, I can watch.”
Sophien exhaled lowly.
Boom-boom-boom—!
Then, mana of a different caliber rumbled like an earthquake. No mere small fry this time.
“……Make haste. The Altar approaches.”
The professor opened the door. Sophien took a step forward and glanced back at him.
“The memories with Your Majesty—I shall cherish them close.”
Calmly, as if instructing once more, he said.
“Mark this well. Your Majesty stands not alone.”
“……This ends not here. In six years, six months—”
“Go. Cease your fretting.”
“……Insolent.”
The professor pushed Sophien through, and she stepped beyond the door.
Outside the old mansion lay the imperial palace.
“…….”
Sophien, standing there, looked back across the threshold. She smirked, narrowing her brows.
“Listen, Professor. Inside or out—naught but the same, eh?”
Indeed, the palace brimmed with Altar foes. Killing intent saturated the air.
Had they seized the palace outright? When had these roaches and ants swelled their ranks so?
—All is well. Easier there, even.
The professor's voice from beyond wavered like a radio signal.
Easier there.
At those words, Sophien gripped her mana sword and scanned both sides of the palace corridor.
“How many?”
Robed figures numbered legion.
Yet Sophien smiled instead.
“I recall a certain discussion with my professor.”
Leisurely, with imperial poise, she continued.
“Feign all-out war with the Altar, rally our full might, and annihilate them in one stroke.”
—We shall not slay you. We need you.
One among the Altar horde seemed high-ranking. Sophien's face darkened fearsomely.
“You dare interrupt me?”
—Come quietly. Your bluff holds no sway.
The Altar knew the palace's state.
Izac and Gawain remained trapped in the mansion; excluding them, the palace's core forces battled at temples across the continent.
Thus, only the emperor stood here now.
—Emperor or no, alone you achieve naught.
“Hmph.”
Sophien snorted. She dissipated the mana sword in her hand.
“Do I truly seem alone to you?”
Conviction rang in her voice—not bluff, nor madness.
“Behold.”
She pointed to the corridor walls on either side.
Where the Altar horde stood, the walls bore countless statues of knights.
“Knights aplenty, are there not?”
The Altar fools comprehended nothing. Yet Sophien wore a leisurely smile.
Thanks to the vibration stirring now within her bosom.
“Take this.”
Toss—.
Sophien drew forth an object and hurled it down the corridor. A round snowglobe rolled clack-clack—to the feet of the Altar leader.
“…….”
Yet a leader proved leader for cause.
The insolent one who had cut off the emperor cried out urgently.
“Retreat!”
Retreat. The others blinked in confusion, but the leader bolted down the opposite corridor.
A coward, it seemed.
“……No time even for that.”
His gift was Statue. As the emperor's knight, he was the statue.
He could infuse his consciousness into the countless statues pervading this palace, move them all as himself.
Thus, it seemed one emperor against thousands of Altar—but.
“Know you how many statues grace this palace?”
Tens of thousands filled the halls.
That one was all the statues; every statue was wholly that one.
“At last, he comes.”
The snowglobe lay sprawled in the corridor. Crack-crack—the glass trembled, fissures etching across it. The mana he emitted.
Sensing it, Sophien bared her fangs in a fierce grin.
“Too late, yet timely enough—forgiven.”
……The emperor's knight.
Kairon.