Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: The Land-Devouring Serpent
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Duke—no, the saint party formed to subdue Opfir—chased after him.
In the shaking carriage, the saint cautiously asked from behind Ari, who was driving toughly.
"Your Highness the Princess Consort. Is it right to go this fast?"
"Rather, we're late. Duke... no, Lord Opfir is advancing faster than this."
"Huh?"
To the saint's counterquestion, the vice head maid in the passenger seat spread out the map instead of Ari and explained.
"He's conquering two fortresses a day. Even if we drive the horses at full speed, he might reach the capital before us."
The vice head maid briefing the situation sharply while pushing up her round glasses.
Grace and Rosalyn's faces grew even paler as the explanation was precise and detailed.
"What about the Holy Kingdom's army?"
"Same as you saw on the first day."
It meant Opfir was unilaterally hunting them down just like the first day.
The saint couldn't hold back her admiration for Opfir's prowess, who was changing maps alone.
"I never imagined a single superhuman could alter the tide of war to this extent..."
"Honestly, this is my first time experiencing something like this."
"Huh?"
The saint's eyes widened.
"Your Highness the Princess Consort..."
"Yes. I have some experience with war."
Ari answered without taking her eyes off the road.
"But Duke always emphasized the virtue of restraint. He saw destruction beyond necessity as waste."
Not just Ari, but most knights in the kingdom viewed Duke's personality that way.
His telekinesis inspired awe, but the terror Opfir created ran on a different track.
"Master Duke always kept civilian casualties in mind and focused his power solely on individuals. But now..."
The carriage arrived at a place Opfir had passed through.
The plain before them was so flat it was unbelievable that a massive earthquake had struck.
But the ecosystem was unnaturally severed, as if someone had forcibly stitched grassland to desert.
Forests abruptly turned to rocky terrain in places, swamps connected to deserts in others.
Ari gazed at this trace called the "Scar of the Earth" and continued.
"Now, it doesn't seem like he's considering that at all."
As one's realm ascends, the scary part isn't raw destructive power, but delicacy and unpredictability.
In other words, it meant such catastrophes occur when someone of high realm lets their guard down in battle.
"Can the other 12 Warlords do this too?"
Answering Ari's question was the vice head maid.
"I believe they can. But Lord Opfir is particularly violent among them..."
The vice head maid fired back,
"Vio..."
"...lence..."
"..."
"I'm sorry, Director Sneria."
The carriage sank into an awkward silence for a moment.
Ari broke the uncomfortable quiet.
"Shall we practice acting before we reach the capital?"
The reason Grace and Rosalyn had been dispatched this time was to turn them into heroes of the Holy Kingdom.
First, after the Holy King overreached and revived Opfir only to face karmic retribution, the two saints would save the Holy Kingdom from Opfir and become heroes.
Then, the two hero saints would expose the corrupt upper echelons—a very conscience-stinging self-staged drama.
Naturally, when the moderately corrupt Peter proposed this plan, the two saints freaked out and tried to refuse.
But,
— "The hands of the cleaners have no choice but to get dirty, Saintess, Miss Rosalyn."
Persuaded by Rex, the two eventually agreed to the play.
They rationalized it by saying the Holy Kingdom's misdeeds, overreach, and corruption were at least true, and it was to save more people.
Of course, that wasn't the only reason.
'To write such a fine fairy tale, I thought he was simply a kind king, but he's full of surprises.'
Grace recalled the expression Rex had worn back then.
The decisive Rex neither stuttered nor feared the future.
As if resolved to take full responsibility for his choices.
'I thought he was just that kind of person when he stammers, but there's a reason Duke serves him.'
This was also the trigger for Grace to revise her assessment of Rex.
Back to reality,
"I'm confident in my acting, you know."
Grace smiled.
But Rosalyn cast a dubious glance at Grace's declaration.
"Uh... Sister?"
"Sister~ Why'd you call?"
"No, nothing."
Rosalyn awkwardly averted her gaze from Grace.
Several hours later.
"Uh... Um..."
"How was my pronunciation?"
The saint puffed out her chest with a confident expression.
The companions in the carriage couldn't meet the saint's eyes.
Even the vice head maid, who had confidently volunteered as acting coach claiming a gakhee background from her hometown,
"Ahem. Ahem. Sorry."
"Huh?"
gave up on instructing Grace after just five hours.
Grace, unable to pinpoint the issue on her own in the carriage, panicked at the heavy atmosphere.
"Is there something wrong with my pronunciation?"
"Si, Sister?"
"Sister~"
"That's the problem, Sister."
"Huh?"
Rosalyn cautiously pointed out the saint's flaw.
"Sister, your pronunciation is too extreme. Either emotionless or bubbly..."
"What do you mean! In the Holy Kingdom, the faithful rave that my speeches are too moving! The joint funeral last time was the same!"
"That was probably because your emotionless delivery gave off a mystical, worldly-detached vibe..."
"Huh?"
"Acting serious doesn't suit you, Sister."
The saint looked to the vice head maid.
The vice head maid nodded, her glasses catching a white glare fit for a pachin! sound effect.
The saint crumpled in shocked dismay.
"You mean I can't act?"
"Sorry, Sister."
Grace kneaded her face while staring into a hand mirror, denying reality.
But even her facial muscles betrayed her, managing only an innocent smile or a blank expression.
"See! A benevolent smile!"
"Blank expression, Sister."
"What about this?"
"You look like a fool, Sister."
"Cough!"
Reeling from Rosalyn's brutal facts, Grace hugged a book and crawled into the corner of the carriage.
Ari sighed while sidelong glancing at the saint huddled in the corner, radiating gloom.
"Looks like we'll have to revise the plan."
Opfir's advance continued unabated.
As he marched toward the capital, disquieting rumors spread through the Holy Kingdom.
— The Holy King overreached out of greed and revived Opfir, and now the kingdom faces destruction as retribution.
The rumors spread faster than Opfir's advance, blanketing the entire kingdom in an instant.
Normally, local priests, holy knights—especially the Knights of the Night—would suppress such rumors.
But the Knights of the Night, tasked with intelligence, had been annihilated in their first sortie, and local priests were barely clinging to survival.
The Holy Kingdom had no spare capacity to control even rumors.
"Opfir... how far has he come..."
In the audience chamber thick with the air of defeat, the Holy King stroked his ashen beard.
Originally silver verging on white, his beard and hair had lost all luster in just days.
The dull white made the middle-aged Holy King appear as an old man.
The chief scribe, his right-hand man, approached cautiously and answered.
"He should arrive at the capital in about a week, Your Holiness."
"Feels like he's trying to strangle us to death. Tell me it's just my imagination, Scribe."
"I'm sorry, Your Holiness."
Everyone in the audience chamber stared at the map with grim expressions.
Opfir's path was marked on it: a spiral narrowing inward from day one.
Instead of charging straight for the capital, he was methodically laying waste to the surroundings, slowly squeezing the life out.
Like an anaconda constricting its prey—it only reinforced the certainty that this was Opfir.
"I was a fool... a fool..."
The Holy King rubbed his eyelids.
One moment of overreach had brought downfall.
His century-spanning dream ended in a single night.
"What of reinforcements?"
"All refused."
"The 12 Warlords too?"
"Not even replying."
"Belphegor, then."
The Goat of Falsehood, Belphegor.
Recalling the horned salesman goat, the Holy King let out a deep sigh.
"He came to mock, not warn..."
No one in the audience chamber could respond to the Holy King's mutter.
No comfort. No optimism.
Everyone knew it was futile before that mad serpent.
"The knight order captains?"
"No volunteers since the Shield Knight Order captain fell."
"How many heroes remain?"
"All... out of contact."
All they could do was repeatedly chew over reality and feel the horror sink in.
As that futile time dragged on, a priest entered the audience chamber.
The head priest of the oracle division.
"Your Holiness. The oracle has been deciphered."
He reported in a voice that crawled.
The Holy King grasped at the oracle like a drowning man at straws.
The Holy King's hand trembled as he read the restored oracle and its interpretation.
"This..."
"Your Holiness, that..."
"It's fine. Say no more. I thank you for your loyalty in speaking truthfully even now."
The Holy King repeatedly dry-washed his face.
Were it not for the current crisis, this priest would have been purged.
For attempting rebellion through the oracle.
But with Opfir closing in, he couldn't dismiss it as nonsense.
The Holy King deciphered the meaning.
In this land, the sun signified one thing.
"Should I have handed the saintess to that kingdom?"
— Those who discarded wings shall become stars.
"Should have surrendered. Not struck first. Then at least kept my seat."
— Tried to seize the moon in the mirror, clutched void. Sorrow comes.
"For chasing vain dreams, we face emptiness first."
— Do not gaze, do not defile name. It warned.
"No need to say this one."
The Holy King closed the report in gloom.
Was this the heart of a king facing his kingdom's ruin?
The Holy King questioned his chief scribe.
"Scribe, answer me. Was the attempt to make as many people happy as possible wrong from the beginning?"
"..."
"I deemed them necessary sacrifices. Thought sacrifices essential for the majority's happiness."
The Holy King plugged his ears.
"Screams... Those who once whispered enlightenment to me now scream for my aid."
Roadside grass taught endurance against the wind.
And the agony of being trampled.
A rat in a leaky-roofed hovel whispered survival.
And the hatred of kin dying in traps.
His mother's voice supporting the hero's dream to bring happiness to the people.
And the voice of that mother, who worked till dawn for her child, losing her body to a passing hero and apologizing to him as a spirit.
"All seek salvation. All scream, all thank me, all call my name!!"
The Holy King wailed.
"What was I supposed to do! I just wanted as many happy as possible!!"
So the screams would be fewer.
So cheers could bury the screams.
But now screams drowned the cheers.
"Sacrifices were necessary! Not everyone can be happy!"
He created a faith that discriminated against the Ain.
Believing it the only way for overwhelming humanity to unite.
Promulgated doctrines worshiping strength.
Believing it minimized chaos—and thus sacrifice—right after the empire's fall.
Created saintesses.
To confirm if he was doing well, in place of the silent heavens.
"Where did it all go wrong..."
Then, voices of Grace and Rosalyn flitted through the Holy King's mind.
— "No moon visible, Holy King?"
— "Torches? That's weird..."
Back when the two were still innocently naive,
Before using them as propaganda against the 12 Warlords.
Their guileless replies made Vesper II recoil.
"No. No!"
Like a child checking his report card.
Like a child scolded by parents despite good intentions.
The Holy King began avoiding them.
Began fearing those eyes evoking sun and moon.
And condoned the priests' rampages and vile plots against the saintesses.
Perhaps hoping they'd remove the twins from sight forever.
"I'm just! I did my utmost!!!"
In that instant, the saintess's emotionless voice echoed once more in his head.
— "Now I see. Your good deeds lack any altruism. Selfish hypocrite. That's why it's still just torches."
The verdict from the saintess alone with the Holy King, after calming the rampaging Rosalyn.
Crack!
The Holy King shattered the throne's armrest.
"No! I'm a good man! The Holy King! I made everyone happy!"
Veins bulging on his neck, he hurled a spear of light at the ceiling.
The priests in the chamber didn't even think to stop him, merely fleeing.
An 8th-circle superhuman like a big child—who could stop him?
Only the longtime chief scribe watched, taking debris on his body.
The spear pierced clean through, and through the hole, the Holy King bellowed at the sky.
"Heavens! Answer me! What did I do wrong! You made this world one of weighing sacrifices against salvation! Why am I the sinner?!"
His resonant cry brought the ceiling crashing down again.
Thud.
A falling chunk struck the scribe's head dead-on.
The scribe's robe slipped, revealing an elderly woman beneath.
A woman whose face was shrouded in scars.
From her wound, tentacles and insects swarmed to mend it.
Seeing this, the Holy King's fingertips began to tremble.
"Mother! Who did this!"
"Child."
"Mother, I can't hear. Just say who, loudly. I'll..."
"Vesper!!"
At the cry from the former scribe, the Holy King crouched before the throne.
"Sorry... I was wrong. No more tantrums. You don't need to leave anymore..."
The former scribe slithered close to the cowering Holy King before the throne.
Her lower half tentacles wriggling in place of legs.
She approached quietly and embraced him from behind.
"Child."
"Mother. No. I'll... definitely make everyone happy. I'll become the hero..."
"Child. I'm sorry."
"Mom, don't apologize. Please..."
"You tried hard enough."
Black tears streamed from the eyes of the scribe embracing the Holy King.
"Mom. This is what people wanted."
"No, my baby."
"Just listened to their voices."
"I know, baby."
"What... should I do..."
The scribe had no answer to the Holy King's question.
"Sorry this mother lacks learning."
She recalled her past choices.
Those hand-to-mouth days.
Unable to shake the habits, always picking the best option at hand.
When the nation faltered, she birthed witches and heretics, rallying under hatred.
But now she knew.
She had merely postponed.
Chasing the happiness of the absolute majority, opting for nearsighted lesser evils—this was the result.
As mother and son quietly embraced in the ceiling-holed audience chamber, a bird flew in through the gap.
With mere telekinesis from her finger, the scribe unsealed and swiftly read the letter tied to the bird's ankle.
"This..."
"Mother?"
The scribe quietly offered the letter to the Holy King.
He read it through teary eyes.
"The saintesses... are going to stop Opfir?"
The two saintesses, heading first along Opfir's path, knew a way to reseal him.
Closing the letter, the Holy King strained to listen.
The grudge of the dead and nature's wrath poured toward the Holy King who overreached into tragedy.
Amid it, a voice unforgettable, heard only once in his life, rang out.
His pupils quaked at the heaven's voice he'd longed to hear.
What to choose was clear.
The Holy King's gaze lingered briefly on the scribe.
On the woman scarred like pieced flesh, yet infinitely beautiful in his eyes.
Vesper needed no deliberation.
"Mother. Let's flee."
"Child. What are you saying."
"The saintesses won't stop him. Just us two, escape."
"What of the subjects?"
"To me, you're worth more than those fools!"
Slap!
The scribe struck the Holy King's cheek.
"Child. You know."
"..."
"This is the result of our choices."
The mother caressed Vesper's cheek.
A 1st-rank angel's scratch wouldn't mark a Seraphim Holy Emperor,
yet she stroked with tender remorse.
"Can't bury screams under cheers forever. Time to let go."
"Mother..."
"I want to rest too."
The Holy King bowed his head.
"Understood."
Only then did resolve return to Vesper's eyes.
Shattering the throne and yanking the backrest revealed an iron shield.
He strapped it to his left arm and rose.
The scribe clasped his right hand tight and activated amplification magic.
Vesper II spoke through the magic.
"All holy knights, hear me..."
Steadying his trembling voice, the Holy King addressed them.
"You are sinners. I am a sinner too. We are all sinners."
"Beneath the name of necessary sacrifice, we hid our sins."
"But this body has awakened. What we fought was the monster within us."
The Holy King's lips quivered.
"The monster we nurtured now presents its bill. I will gladly offer my neck. If it satisfies the monster and paves a future, so be it."
"But holy knights, one final request."
"I'll grant you a chance at atonement. Won't pursue if you flee. But those who once shared my dream—admit it's time to bear responsibility."
My fault.
My fault.
All, my fault.
"May the sun and moon's grace shine upon the Holy Kingdom."
With a final indirect mention of abdication, the Holy King departed the audience chamber.
Before leaving, tears traced down Vesper II's cheek.
"Sorry, Mother."
Scribe—Vesper—shook her head.
"Sorry, for birthing you like this."
In the audience chamber they left behind, only the bird glanced about.