Chapter 81
Chapter 81
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 81
Chapter Title: The Betrayal of a King
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The capital of the Britannia Kingdom was burning.
Red mages in crimson uniforms, led by the high elder of the Red Magic Tower, the 7th-circle red mage 'Lady Scarlet'.
Purifiers, the elite combat mages of the Red Magic Tower.
They made no effort to hide their identity, their proud crimson uniforms fluttering as red mana swirled around them.
“Turn to ash.”
“Turn to ash.”
The mages in crimson uniforms shared a single image in their minds and began a joint incantation. Immediately after, a flame descended to incinerate this world.
Hellfire.
The standard-bearers of the Unification War, the gods of war. The Empire's executioners.
Such were the red mages of the Red Magic Tower, and hellfire began to pour from the sky.
The scene was like witnessing the end of the world.
And the one who could have stopped this apocalypse, the 7th-circle white mage, Archbishop Thomas, was no longer of this world.
***
The city was burning.
Burning with the will to fight to the death, the Britannia royal army and its people resisted to the last man, but it was nothing more than a meaningless struggle.
The city walls fell, and the Imperial forces poured in endlessly.
Although not all of Britannia's powerful figures had vanished, with the Holy Maiden and the Archbishop—the core forces that united them—gone…
...it was all meaningless before Lady Scarlet, the Holy Sword Master, and the other powerful figures of the Empire they commanded.
This scene again.
A city burning, people screaming, and in that pandemonium, military discipline meant nothing. Plundering, violating, and burning—a vision of hell unfolded there.
It was then.
—People of the royal capital, Reims! In my name, Charles VII, I declare to you!
From the distant royal castle, Charles's voice, magically amplified, thundered out.
—We of the Britannia Kingdom, myself included, will fight valiantly to the last and perish!
It was a will full of resolve, as if to say they would break but not bend.
“Your Majesty Charles…”
At that voice, Orelia murmured weakly. Any further fighting was meaningless. Yet, to think that the ever-unreliable Charles was shouting so desperately for the kingdom.
That he was encouraging the people of the capital, unyielding even in this hell, risking his life.
“It was my foolishness…”
She felt foolish for having been swayed, even for a moment. She should have trusted her king a little more.
It was then.
“Do you truly think so?”
Dale spoke.
He, who burned with such hatred for the Empire, had paradoxically become the standard-bearer executing its ambitions.
“I have something to show you, Holy Maiden.”
***
Immediately after.
The Imperial army camp, surrounding the capital city of Reims.
With the burning city behind him, Dale was there.
In a large tent prepared for the Imperial army's 'supreme commander,' like a king watching the battle from a throne.
“As ordered, we have captured Charles VII.”
And one of his subordinate soldiers reported to him, as if he had been waiting.
“Bring him here.”
“As you command.”
Soon, a man was brought before Dale. A man in shabby attire, with not a trace of a king's dignity.
“Ah, Your Majesty Charles.”
Dale called his name, and Charles VII's expression twisted.
“You, you, you dare…! You deceived me…!”
“Did I not tell you?”
Dale sneered at Charles, who was struggling in the soldiers' grasp.
“——He who desires peace, prepare for war.”
As if he couldn't help but find it amusing.
“In this world, there is nothing so untrustworthy as the peace promised by the Empire.”
“...!”
“Come to think of it, your appearance is quite wretched.”
Clad in rags, a pitiful sight with no sign of his proud golden crown.
“The soldiers captured him as he was trying to escape during the chaos of the siege, with a carriage full of luxury goods.”
The subordinate soldier reported.
“Ah, is that so?”
Hearing this, Dale gave a cold sneer. As if he had known it all along.
“Then the voice calling for a last stand, echoing through the capital…”
...was nothing more than a ploy to buy time for his escape.
“You sold out all the people of the capital just to save your own skin.”
“S-So what if I did!”
“Do you think that is a fitting act for the king of a nation?”
Dale asked.
“Ha!”
Charles VII laughed incredulously.
“This pathetic kingdom, its people—what do I care about any of it!”
It was none of his concern.
“From the very beginning, I couldn't care less about this kingdom or being king!”
Charles VII raised his voice.
“That swindling wench claimed to have received a divine revelation and put me on the throne against my will!”
“For someone who says that, you were quite desperate to protect your throne, weren't you?”
“Because this country, this country could have been mine!”
Fearing he would lose the throne, he had fallen into Dale's trap. Charles's paranoia had driven the Holy Maiden and the Archbishop to their deaths.
“Because I, Charles, could have become the ruler of this island of Britannia!”
“And so you abandoned your people and fled?”
Dale asked again.
“Were the Britannia Kingdom and its people that worthless to you, Your Majesty Charles?”
“If that damn whore hadn't spouted that nonsense about a divine revelation…!”
Charles VII nodded desperately.
“I'd have thrown this pathetic king and kingdom to the dogs!”
“Well, is that so.”
At those words, Dale nodded impassively. After nodding, he continued.
“——So he says.”
“...!”
From behind the tent, a silent shadow finally revealed itself.
“Ah, ah, ahh…!”
Seeing the figure, Charles VII's expression froze for a moment.
Swindler, traitor, witch, the Empire's whore.
The Holy Maiden, Orelia, was there.
“...Was it all a lie?”
Silence descended like a feather. In the stillness, Orelia spoke.
“Urging me, who was conflicted after receiving the goddess's revelation, to fight for the kingdom.”
Her voice trembled faintly.
“Taking an oath to save the nation, to rescue the people suffering under the Empire's tyranny…”
“N-No, it's a m-misunderstanding!”
“Was it all a lie?”
The Holy Maiden, Orelia, asked again. Only then did Charles, flustered, shake his head desperately.
“Why did you run?”
The Holy Maiden, Orelia, asked again.
“Using your own people, the people of the kingdom, as a shield against the Imperial army.”
As if she couldn't understand.
“——Why did you survive alone so disgracefully?”
Her voice was cold, devoid of any hint of emotion.
“H-Holy Maiden! P-Please, forgive my lack of virtue!”
Charles began to beg.
“I swear in the goddess's name, I will confess and repent my sins! Please, I'm begging you!”
Dale silently drew the stiletto from his belt. He spun it by the hilt and handed it to the Holy Maiden, Orelia.
“P-Please, spare me…!”
The Holy Maiden, unable to move a finger under the restraints of high-ranking white mages, readjusted her grip on the stiletto's hilt.
The stiletto's sharp blade began to emit a faint glow.
A brilliant golden light enveloped her body.
*Shatter!*
The binding magic of the white mages, meant to restrain her, shattered and scattered away. A golden light, so bright it was hard to look at, began to wrap around Orelia's sword and armor. By projecting her 'ideology' onto her sword, armor, and body.
The golden light wavered, and a jet-black darkness seeped through it.
The avatar of the Holy Maiden, who had once proclaimed herself the standard-bearer of the nation's salvation, only to be abandoned by that very kingdom and king.
A valkyrie, armed in black-gold armor, stood there.
Black gold, dark as jet and brilliantly shining.
Simultaneously, Dale's world enveloped the area. It was no longer the Imperial army's tent surrounding Reims.
A world of a dark, white winter night. A barrier that existed only for 'three people'.
On the stark white ground of the dark winter night, a trembling Charles VII stood. The black-gold valkyrie was also there.
“P-Please, forgive me…”
At those words, Orelia turned her head toward Dale.
“Think with your own will.”
Dale said, as if teaching a child.
“What you want, the desires you crave.”
You are not a puppet of the heavens.
“Even if our fates are not our own.”
“...”
“That does not mean we must deny our own will.”
Dale spoke, and Orelia readjusted her grip on the stiletto's hilt.
The maiden of war, clad in black-gold armor. That very valkyrie took a step. Toward Charles VII, who was kneeling and miserably begging for his life.
“P-Please, I'm begging you! With the goddess's mercy and compassion, please…!”
“I hate you.”
Orelia answered.
“I hate you, and I hate the Empire.”
The stiletto's blade plunged down.
*Thrust!*
It was not the restrained strike of a swordsman. As if unable to control her emotions, she recklessly plunged the blade into Charles VII's stomach.
*Thrust!*
“Gack, keuk…!”
The blade was pulled out, blood splattered, and the blade plunged down again.
*Thrust! Thrust! Thrust!*
Guts spilled out, blood poured, but the Holy Maiden paid no mind.
Drenched in the blood that splattered onto her black-gold armor, the crimson Holy Maiden turned her head.
“But what I hate most of all…”
The distance closed. The Holy Maiden's stiletto was now touching Dale's chest.
“You must hate me.”
“Aren't you afraid?”
“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“...”
“I, too, hate the Empire.”
Dale continued.
“I hate this country so much, I can't stand it.”
The Emperor, Lord Crimson, the ones who drove his past self into this state.
“But the Empire is not as weak as you might think, Holy Maiden.”
“...”
“Shub.”
At the same time, Dale summoned *The Book of the Black Goat*.
—Fufu, how pitiful.
“...!”
The Holy Maiden gasped. The horrifying, loathsome colony of tentacles Dale had shown her before. That very abomination was extending its tentacles, wrapping them around Dale.
Dripping a black, dark mucus like coal tar from its tentacles, as if embracing a loved one.
And at the same time, those tentacles began to slither toward Orelia.
“There is no need to be afraid.”
Dale, wrapped in the tentacles, spoke softly.
“She is a cuter child than you might think.”
“...!”
“Entrust your body to her, and accept your own desires.”
Like the whispers of a demon, tempting a saint.
“Even if they take on a form most dark and hideous.”