The Blind Sword
3373 pilgrims marching.
- Thud, thud.
They pressed forward in utter silence, not a single word among them.
The Pilgrimage no longer turned toward the north. Instead, they were heading back south.
Under normal circumstances, the road would have rung with endless hymns and prayers, with the laughter of the joyful.
"..."
"..."
But not one of them dared to open their mouth. They simply walked.
Where laughter and delight should have been, their faces were filled with bewilderment and a faint, creeping dread.
Only a single fact circled round and round in their heads.
The great crusade has failed.
And not at the hands of the Evil God Cult — by the very God they believed in.
Grief, confusion, and doubt were written across every face.
Why?
Doubt.
It was a road leading to disbelief — and at the same time, a shortcut to certainty.
And so, for days on end, Mohaim Espirentse had been trapped in endless turmoil.
O Lord...
It had never once happened before.
A resolute blade must never doubt.
One must never presume to judge right from wrong for oneself.
But in this moment, of all moments, that faith was shaking apart.
And so Mohaim quietly repeated, deep within, the vow he had recited all his life.
"I am His sword, the weapon that smites evil."
A sword does not think. It only cuts.
We are the ones who cleave through the hordes of evil and shield the righteous. But then — who is evil?
Doubt pried its way in again beneath certainty.
"Those who serve the Evil God shall surely be destroyed."
But then why did the Lord God take the Saintess's side?
Was there truly a greater cause than even the holy war against the Evil God Cult?
Or had we misunderstood His will?
Fleeing from the blasphemous thought, he recited another phrase.
"We follow Him. We follow the will of His proxy."
Who is the proxy?
Pope Escabaor III.
The one closest to God.
But his divine power had shattered. Even the disguise woven from holy relics had been laid bare.
And it was Her who had intervened to expose it.
Then who is the proxy now?
"The Saintess..."
But Erzena Selaphe had stripped herself of her own title.
By denying everything she had stood for and leaving the Order, she had received God's favor all over again.
Why?
He wavered.
Faith, blade, purpose.
Helplessly, they shook.
He needed an answer.
An answer that could never be found within himself.
He needed someone who could explain all of this to him.
And then, beside him, one of the holy knights spoke.
"Commander. We have arrived."
At those words, he slowly lifted his head.
A city wall raised so high it seemed to pierce the sky.
Upon it, figures standing utterly motionless, like statues.
"..."
Mohaim stared up at the familiar sight in silence, his face hollow.
When we passed this place, I believed there was nothing in this world that could stop us.
Yet here they were again — as defeated men who had not even managed to begin.
And then his gaze lowered once more.
A single man stood before the gate.
"Welcome to the Southern Border, soldiers of the holy crusade."
A face he knew far, far too well — a young man.
Mohaim spoke his name.
"...Central Officer."
"Sir Mohaim Espirentse."
The man who had started all of this — the wellspring of every doubt.
And, at the same time, the only one who could give him an answer.
Nathan Kell spoke.
"Will you be proceeding with your departure processing?"
Mohaim Espirentse.
Our eyes met.
A short history between us — but a deep, bitter one.
"Will you be proceeding with your departure processing?"
"...Yes."
he answered, drained of all strength.
Instead of replying, I turned my head to glance at the Gustatory Officer — the one who had just hidden Erzena away in the immigration office's conference room. She gave me a small thumbs-up.
Erzena's presence here must not be discovered.
One look at their faces told me everything.
I knew exactly how desperately these people were searching for something to cling to. With their own faith so thoroughly denied, if they laid eyes on the woman whom God had chosen anew, there was no question their lost piety would reignite into fanatical flame.
Besides, as a temporary asylum seeker, any contact with them is legally forbidden anyway.
More than that, Mohaim's face bore no resemblance to the man I knew. He was no longer the proud, unshakably certain holy knight. What stared back at me was an old soldier stripped of conviction, his face crowded with countless questions and doubts.
Looks like he's been through hell.
But that was none of my concern.
I'd been through hell too.
They had no idea how much I'd suffered these past few days. And deportations are decreed by royal order — which meant executing them right now, immediately.
I had no desire to watch these people linger here for even one more second.
So I addressed them without hesitation.
"We will now process your departures. All of you, without exception, divide into five lines and present yourselves before the examiners."
The Five Senses Officers took their places beside me, faces set like stone.
We'll get you out of here faster than you came in, you fanatics.
- BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM.
In the silence, the sound of stamping echoed at a relentless, furious pace.
Thirty minutes. Just thirty.
Perhaps because so much had accumulated between us, the departure processing moved several times faster than their entry had.
"If your processing is complete, stand to the left. If you're waiting, stand to the right."
"Ugh, forget ten at a time — bring me thirty!"
"I'll process them by entire families!"
The Five Senses Officers, poison thoroughly raised, were churning through one person every two seconds.
Thirty minutes.
In half an hour, the bottom of the Pilgrimage's roster stood exposed.
"Very good. And finally... Sir Mohaim Espirentse. Identity confirmed."
I stamped the second-to-last sheet of paper.
- BAM.
The red letters burned themselves onto the holy knight commander's documents.
The mountain of rosters had vanished entirely; only a single sheet remained.
Mohaim and I looked down at that document at the same moment.
Upon it was the face of a woman we both knew painfully well.
[Saintess Erzena Selaphe]
"..."
"..."
A conflicted expression crossed Mohaim's face.
- Slide.
I quietly slid Erzena's personal record behind me, then addressed the Pilgrimage.
"As of this moment, the departure processing of all 3,373 of you has been completed. Accordingly, proceed through the gate without delay. Is there anyone who objects?"
"..."
Silence.
"Then this concludes your departure procedures. Thank you for visiting the Crossline Kingdom. Safe travels."
Finally, it was over.
Let's never meet again.
- Thud, thud.
Like routed soldiers, the crusade crossed toward the far side of the border with no resistance, no reaction — nothing but quiet, heavy footsteps.
It was pitiable, almost, to watch.
They'll be branded as the ones who failed the great crusade now.
Their future was plain as day. They would be seen as the defeated — the failures.
The ones who could not carry out God's will.
And yet, at the same time, they would become a bomb in the Church's hands.
Erzena's self-deposition. God's direct intervention. The Pope's divine power stripped away.
What would happen when they carried all of these stories back south?
The rumors would swell beyond all control, and the Pope would never be able to stop them. And the moment his authority finally wavered, the Saintess's temporary asylum would come to an end — and she would return to the south.
And then the Church would be turned utterly upside down.
With the Saintess who had truly been chosen by God at its head.
Having thought it through that far, I turned and spoke.
"Sir Espirentse. Your companions are waiting."
"..."
In the empty grounds, only Mohaim remained standing, rooted in place.
But instead of moving, he spoke to me.
"One thing... there is something I wish to ask before I leave."
"If it concerns the whereabouts of Miss Erzena, I cannot answer."
Absolutely not. Who knows what the Pope would do if he found out? I'm not telling them about the temporary asylum either.
But his question was something else entirely.
"Were we truly... wrong?"
"..."
Where did that come from all of a sudden?
When I held my silence at the unexpected question, he pressed on.
"I have lived my entire life as a sword for God. And so I believed this crusade, too, was His will."
Like a knight confessing to a priest, Mohaim's face was twisted with anguish.
"But if that was not so, then I am terrified — what, in all the life I have lived until now, was ever right? How far was His will, and how far was my own delusion?"
Scar-rimmed eyes fixed themselves on me.
Those eyes were speaking.
Was I wrong? Give me an answer. Give me an answer about what we believed in.
A face crowded with countless doubts. An old man whose life's calling had been denied for the first time asked me:
"You, who are renowned as a Talent Awakener — you, who have received God's blessing — can you give me an answer?"
He sought the answer from me.
"Were we wrong? Did the Church misunderstand His will?"
As though I held every truth in the world.
"..."
For a moment, I could not say a word.
I was angry.
It felt like my blood was running backward.
The arrogance of that old man made me sick to my stomach.
You flailed about trying to kill me.
And all while trapped in that revolting binary where anyone who didn't suit your purposes was a heretic.
And now, after all that, you come demanding answers from me?
The reasoning itself was absurd. Deciding on his own that I must be a Talent Awakener, a beloved of God, and demanding answers on that basis —
It was the very summit of ignorance, arrogance, and selfishness.
My fists clenched until my hands went white and numb.
And yet, at the same time — it was heartbreaking.
That world was all Mohaim had ever been allowed to see.
Right and wrong, truth and lies — soldiers have no need of such things.
A soldier merely follows orders. Swings his blade where it is pointed, cuts down whoever has been branded evil. That is all.
And so now, with his certainty shattered for the very first time, Mohaim looked for all the world like a man who had lost his way.
"This officer..."
So I opened my mouth, and spoke honestly.
"This officer does not believe in God."
"...I beg your pardon?"
"I have no wish to lean on such a being, either."
Confronted with outright rejection of the divine to his face, he cried out in flustered shock.
"Your very existence is proof of God!"
The old man's voice rang out across the empty ground.
"You saw it yourself, did you not! Through the Saintess — He was trying to protect you! I heard everything. That you, the Central Officer, are a Talent Awakener! And God Himself proved it, did He not!"
"..."
"And still you claim you do not believe—"
"Who asked for any of it?"
I cut him off.
The sight of him still trying to view the world through his own standards was disgusting beyond words.
"I did not demand it. I did not request it. It was simply dropped into my life, unbidden."
"B-but that was God's gift, given for our sake—"
"Who the hell is 'we'?!"
I shouted.
"Don't you dare lump me in with you people."
It was the first time I had ever spat out informal speech in an official capacity — the Five Senses Officers turned to stare at me in surprise.
My breath roughened.
I glared at Mohaim.
Even if God exists, I do not thank Him. Even if God helps me, I do not rely on Him.
Conversely — no matter how unreasonably this world turns, I will never blame Him either.
Because that, above all, would be the most dangerous thing of all.
What happened to the Sight Officer — everything I have endured — none of it may be chalked up to the will of some such being.
I would not entrust every joy and sorrow of my life to something like that.
If my Talent Manifestation is God's blessing, then I will simply use it. I will not be swallowed by it.
I am not God's chess piece.
That was the one and only difference between Mohaim and me.
I ground the words out through my teeth.
"I do not resent having been given this power. But neither do I intend to thank anyone up in the sky for it."
"..."
"If this officer had revealed himself as a Talent Awakener from the start — would you have judged this officer a heretic?"
You were the ones who tried to kill me for upholding the law.
"If a Talent Awakener had refused the Pilgrimage entry, had refused the Pope's request — would you still have called him a Talent Awakener, a blessed of God?"
I struck straight to the bone.
"In the name of your great crusade, you violated the laws of the Crossline Kingdom and the treaties of the entire world. You were scattering the embers of war."
I drove it into him like a dagger.
"Was that God's will? Was that the will of the good and righteous God you all wailed about so ceaselessly? Is that the kind of thing a Church does?"
No.
That was unmistakably the will of men. The ambition of Pope Escabaor, plain and simple.
"How are you any different from the Evil God Cult?"
The Evil God Cult — who held human life cheap, who committed every terror and atrocity imaginable. And the Holy Church — who whipped people into fanaticism in God's name, and killed those who resisted.
In my eyes, they were one and the same.
It turned my stomach.
They had watched their beloved God intervene with their own eyes — and still, knowing it in their hearts, their minds refused to understand.
Beyond anger, it was almost pitiable.
And so, I added one final thing.
"That is why Erzena deposed herself, I imagine."
Mohaim could say nothing at all.
"Go home, Sir Espirentse."
If you want an answer from me, that is all I have to give.
"You already know the answer."
What was right and what was wrong had been laid bare in the trial, for all the world to see.
The one who cannot accept it is you.
The blind sword.
That is exactly what you are.
Mohaim stared at me as though I had struck him with a hammer.
A long silence.
"..."
"..."
In the empty grounds, the eyes of the knight commander and mine held each other for a long, long while.
How much time had passed? At last, he slowly opened his mouth.
"Is the Saintess here?"
"I cannot say."
"Then... please deliver a message for me."
The light in his eyes had changed.
No longer doubt — but the look of a man who had finally understood something.
"Tell her it was an honor to serve her. And that I will soon find the truth."
For the first time, he bowed his head to me.
"...Until then, stay safe, Central Officer."
Even his manner of address had changed to one of respect.
At the sight of it, I said:
"The Crossline Kingdom will always be here. Safe travels."
Whether you change or don't —
This country will keep guarding this place. I will keep guarding this place.
And so Mohaim left the border.
The gate closed behind him, and Mohaim joined the rear of the Pilgrimage without a word.
Once more, the procession made its slow way toward the Holy Church's southern branch.
— How are you any different from the Evil God Cult?
The Central Officer's words circled in his mind.
— You already know the answer.
The answer the man had given him, wrapped in cold reproach.
"I already know," do I.
He repeated the words quietly to himself.
All the doubts he had heard, over and over — they were slowly settling.
And in their place, he remembered the trial.
The Lord's will was clear.
Now, he had his answer.
The Central Officer does not believe in God. More than that, he actively sought to exclude God from his own life.
And yet, at the same time, he lived more as God wished than anyone alive.
By standing up on his own.
By enduring to the very end and living uprightly, even as he wavered and stumbled.
It was written in scripture itself.
— Heaven helps those who help themselves.
And so God had chosen him.
At the same time, the man had handed Mohaim his answer as well.
What he had seen with his own two eyes and still refused to believe.
He had named it precisely — and told him he already knew the truth of it.
"Your Holiness."
Then it was the Pope's turn to give his answer.
Instead of the silent crystal orb, he would go to the man himself and put the very same question to him directly.
And when I hear that answer — this time, I will decide for myself.
That would be his final act of respect for the Pope he had believed in and followed all his life.
The Church's blind sword was, for the first time, trying to open its eyes.
And the moment was drawing near when it would choose, for itself, where to swing.