The Weight of a Forgotten Name

"Do you truly believe a Church that abandoned both the Holy Sword and the Hero still holds any influence?"

"Argh... ugh..."

Roen asked, bringing himself down to eye level with the Cardinal, whom Ena had beaten 'just enough to keep him alive.'

To be precise, it wasn't so much out of courtesy as it was because looking down at someone face-down on the floor was simply too awkward, prompting him to bend one knee.

Cardinal Rodenhaf lay sprawled on the white marble floor, gasping for breath. His red vestments were torn open from his shoulder to his flank, and the golden-embroidered crest of the Holy Church, drenched in dust, blood, and holy water, had lost its luster.

One of his cheeks was swollen and scraped raw from the floor, and a thin trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitched as if trying to grasp at something, but his wrists lacked the strength to support his weight.

Ena had not killed him. That single fact struck a deeper chord of terror into everyone present in the corridor. Survival might have looked like mercy.

However, Rodenhaf remaining alive here meant he had to listen to Ena's words to the very end. As long as he drew breath, his responsibility remained. As long as his eyes were open, he had to watch the ruin of the Church he had protected.

Ena stood a short distance away. Her swords were still in their sheaths. Yet, a Cardinal lay crumpled on the ground. He was a high-ranking prelate of the Holy Church. A man to whom countless priests bowed. A man who sat as an equal with royal envoys. The guardian of the Holy Sword Sealing Chamber.

Such a man was now gasping for air on marble stained with his own blood. That sight alone rendered the cathedral's corridor as silent as a fallen pillar. No one dared to speak first.

The Holy Knights could not move. Their swords remained in their scabbards; some had gripped their hilts only to let go. Everyone had seen what would happen the moment a blade was drawn in this place.

Ena had blown the Holy Knights away just enough to keep them alive. She had beaten the Cardinal just enough to keep him alive. It was not hard for them to imagine who would be next.

Roen knelt on one knee before Rodenhaf. The movement was polite. Excessively polite. And therefore, deeply insulting. While it appeared to be a gesture acknowledging the other's authority, in truth, he was merely lowering himself to the level of that fallen authority to continue the conversation.

Rodenhaf's lips trembled, as if realizing the implication.

"Vice... Commander..."

A cracked voice squeezed out.

Roen tilted his head slightly.

"Yes. I am listening."

His reply was calm, devoid of any emotion. The composure of one who had served Ena for so long was always dangerous. Roen did not shout. He did not raise his voice to corner his opponent.

He spoke as if making an entry in a ledger—categorizing, recording facts, and systematically erasing any room for excuses. Thus, his questions cut deeper and lasted longer than any blade.

"I will ask again."

Roen looked straight into Rodenhaf's eyes.

"Do you truly believe a Church that abandoned both the Holy Sword and the Hero still holds any influence?"

Rodenhaf's pupils trembled.

"The Sword Order... how dare you..."

"'How dare you.'"

Roen repeated the words quietly, as if transcribing them. In one hand, he held the record board he had pulled from his breast pocket. Black ink coated the nib of his pen. The records he had been writing moments ago were not yet dry.

Beneath those sentences, a new record was waiting to be added. Roen moved his pen.

Scratch.

The faint sound echoed with unsettling clarity through the corridor.

"Cardinal Rodenhaf used the phrase 'how dare you' in response to the Sword Order's inquiry."

Rodenhaf's face stiffened.

"Do not record it in such a manner."

"Records are kept exactly as heard."

"That record will never receive the Church's approval."

Roen let out a faint, thin smile—too faint to truly be called a smile.

"I came here precisely to see how thoroughly ruined the records approved by the Church have become."

At those words, several priests lowered their heads. Rodenhaf's mouth contorted. It was hard to tell if it was from pain or rage. Roen did not linger on his expression. He immediately pressed on.

"The Church claimed to be keeping the Holy Sword."

Scratch.

"The Church recorded the former Hero, Adeline Lucretia, as missing."

Scratch.

"The Church buried the failed return of the Sword Order's dispatchers under classified records."

Scratch.

"And now, our Commander-in-Chief has put an end to the Hero's long suffering and retrieved the Holy Sword."

He stopped his pen.

"In this situation, does the Church's influence stem from faith, or from the illusion of not yet being caught?"

Rodenhaf could not answer. The moment he did, he would crumble either way. If he said it came from faith, he would have to explain the matter of the Holy Sword and the Hero. If he said it came from the illusion, it meant the Church's authority rested entirely on its own lies.

Roen waited for an answer. He did not rush him. He waited like a man who treated even silence as part of the record.

Ena watched from behind. Her silver-white hair gleamed coldly beneath the candlelight. Anger still lingered on her face. However, it was no longer the active rage of physical violence, but the cold wrath of someone listening to a person's final excuses.

Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. That single fact sent cold sweat dripping down the necks of the Holy Knights. The cathedral's protective wards had already lost their light in several places.

Some of the holy words carved into the walls had faded as if scorched by heat, and the edges of the sealing cloths were parched and cracking. Those who knew Ena had not even unleashed her power felt an even deeper terror.

That woman is angry without even drawing her strength. Yet, that alone was enough to lay a Cardinal low.

Rodenhaf struggled to push his upper body up. His elbow slipped. His body hit the floor again. Roen did not help him up. He merely maintained his eye level. The contrast was cruel.

"The Church..." Rodenhaf spat through gritted teeth, "has preserved the faith of all humanity."

Roen nodded. "I shall record it as such."

The pen nib moved.

Rodenhaf gasped. Roen pressed on.

"Does that faith include Adeline Lucretia?"

Rodenhaf froze.

"The former Hero also, for the sake of humanity..."

"Then why did you not search for her?"

Roen's voice remained low.

"If you searched and failed, why did you not disclose the records of that failure?"

Scratch.

"If you could not disclose the failure, why did you not place the names of the Sword Order's dispatchers on the official recovery list?"

Scratch.

"If you could not list their names, why did you not even retrieve the swords that should have been returned to their families?"

Scratch.

"And what was your reason for making everyone believe the Holy Sword was in the Sealing Chamber?"

Rodenhaf's gaze grew increasingly rigid. The questions piled up, leaving no room for escape. Roen's words were not emotional. That made them all the harder to evade.

Ena's wrath shattered walls; Roen's questions hollowed out the floor beneath. Rodenhaf was trapped between the two.

"You people... know nothing of war."

To say such a thing to the Sword Order, whose casualties always piled up like mountains, was a blatant absurdity. Yet Rodenhaf spoke those words in a low voice.

The moment they left his mouth, the air in the corridor shifted. Roen's pen stopped. Ena's finger twitched ever so slightly on the hilt of her sword.

Rodenhaf caught his breath and continued.

"If faith crumbles, the frontlines crumble. Had the disappearance of the Holy Sword been revealed, the royal family would have shaken, the Magic Tower would have fractured, and the armies of every nation would have retreated to their own territories. The Church had to maintain order. Sometimes, order must come before truth."

He managed to push himself up, bringing one knee off the ground. Blood dripped from his chin. Yet, an ancient conviction still burned in his eyes. This was Rodenhaf. An old cleric holding onto power. A man who, rather than calling his sins what they were, labeled them as necessary choices.

Roen stared at him for a moment. Then, he asked:

"And within that order, where was Adeline Lucretia?"

Rodenhaf remained silent.

"Was she on the frontlines?"

Roen's voice was low.

"Was she in your prayers?"

Scratch.

"Was she inside the Holy Sword Sealing Chamber?"

Scratch.

"Or was she buried beneath the word 'missing'?"

There was a sharp, subtle edge to this last sentence. Rodenhaf shut his mouth, looking like a man who had been cut by that very edge.

Roen leaned in closer.

"Cardinal," he addressed him, maintaining a veneer of respect. "If the order the Church preserved could only be maintained by erasing people, then that order has already collapsed."

It was a quiet statement, yet powerful enough to carry the weight of Ena's fist.

A young priest standing near the wall raised his head. His face was pale. Until a moment ago, he had been trembling in fear of Ena. But now, he could not tear his eyes away from Roen's words. It was a way of speaking he had never heard before.

The Church had always spoken of order. Of faith. Of humanity. Yet, a voice that held onto the name of a single person who had vanished within that order, demanding answers to the very end—such a voice was echoing through this corridor for the first time.

Ena looked at the young priest. Feeling her gaze, the priest quickly lowered his head. Ena said nothing. Now was Roen's turn to speak.

Roen did not close his record board.

"Open the Holy Sword Sealing Chamber," he said again. "If our Commander-in-Chief breaks it down herself, the Church will be recorded as an institution that could not protect a single door. If you open it, Cardinal, then at the very least, there remains a chance you will be recorded as an institution that opened its doors to the truth."

Rodenhaf ground his teeth. It was an insult. A threat. Yet, at the same time, it was advice. That made it even harder to accept. Roen was calculating the Church's final shred of dignity while maintaining his polite demeanor.

It was also clear that he was not doing this for the Church's sake. It was for the records of the Sword Order. To leave a record for the royal family and the Magic Tower in the future of whether the Church resisted to the end or opened the doors of its own accord.

Rodenhaf looked at Ena. She stood in silence. But that silence had a time limit. He had heard that her patience was already wearing thin. And Ena was not one to make empty threats.

Rodenhaf finally turned his head.

"Bring the seal."

A priest at the end of the corridor froze.

"Your Eminence..."

"The Holy King's Seal," Rodenhaf said clearly through his blood-stained lips. "And prepare the communal holy covenant."

The priests exchanged glances. They all knew what this command meant. Opening the Holy Sword Sealing Chamber. Opening the heart of the Church, which had been sealed for hundreds of years. And whatever lay inside, they would no longer be able to pretend they did not know.

Roen opened his record board once more.

Scratch.

His handwriting did not falter.

Ena took her hand off her sword hilt. Only then did several clerics let out a breath. It was not forgiveness. It was merely a sign that she would wait a little longer.

Roen stood up slowly, returning to a position high above the fallen Rodenhaf. He looked down at the Cardinal one last time.

"Your influence will likely remain."

Rodenhaf's eyes turned toward him.

Roen continued calmly.

"However, from this day forward, the way you preserve that influence will change."

He slipped the record board back into his breast pocket.

"If you protect it with lies, it will crumble."

Roen's gaze shifted toward the sealed doors.

"But if you return the name to the forgotten, perhaps some of it will remain."

Rodenhaf could offer no reply to those words. From the end of the western corridor, priests were running over, carrying the Holy King's Seal. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows. The relief of the Holy Sword at the center of the sealing doors caught a faint glimmer of light.

Ena stared at the doors. Roen stood a step behind her. The Church was finally preparing to open the doors. And from that moment on, no one in this corridor could ever return to the way things were.

"You may spread word of today's events if you wish..."

But do remember that the Church has far more to lose than the Sword Order.

Clack. Clack.

The two did not speak as they descended the stairs to the sealing chamber. The commotion from the cathedral's corridor was fading behind them.

The sounds of the Holy Knights being helped away, the rushing footsteps of priests searching for the Holy King's Seal, and Rodenhaf gasping through blood as he struggled to stand—all of it was muffled behind the thick stone walls, turning into a low hum.

The staircase was narrow, too tight for them to walk side by side. Ena led the way, and Roen followed a step behind. It was a natural distance, as it had always been. Neither too close nor too far.

A distance where one did not move until an order was given, yet was already in motion the instant it was uttered. Today, however, that distance felt slightly awkward.

Roen stared at Ena's back. Her silver-white hair shimmered faintly under the lamps hanging on the staircase wall. The hem of her Eastern-style robes swayed gently with her steps, and the swords at her waist remained sheathed.

Her stride was remarkably calm for someone who had just blown away the cathedral's Holy Knights and slammed a Cardinal into the floor. That, in itself, was quintessentially Ena. Even in her anger, she did not draw her sword.

Even when she resolved to destroy, she never exerted enough force to kill. She dragged the Church's authority down to the dirt, yet spared the life of her opponent. That was the nature of her wrath.

Roen looked down at his own fingertips. He had gripped the record board so tightly that his fingers still felt stiff. A smudge of ink, which would normally never be there, was smeared next to his thumb.

He must have unconsciously put too much pressure on the pen while writing in front of Rodenhaf earlier. It bothered him slightly. He felt a twinge of embarrassment. Roen rarely showed such lapses. The Adjutant to the Commander-in-Chief was not a position that allowed for emotion.

Records had to be precise, sentences cold, and anger unleashed only when necessary. Only then could one handle the commands of the living and the names of the dead with the same steady hand.

Yet, moments ago, it had been different. Roen had clearly been angry. He hadn't shouted, but every sentence had carried a sharp edge.

Do you truly believe a Church that abandoned both the Holy Sword and the Hero still holds any influence?

In hindsight, those were incredibly harsh words. They weren't wrong, but they were uncharacteristically direct for him. And Ena had heard them. It was strangely embarrassing.

And Ena was likely feeling similarly. Roen looked at her back once more. The Commander-in-Chief was not one to show her anger so openly either. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ena was often annoyed. She was often exasperated.

There were times in the conference room when she would sit with her chin resting on her hand, listening to the royal family's long-winded excuses, only to cut them off with a single sentence: "So, what is the conclusion?"

But it was rare to see her trample over the Church so coldly. She had ignored their protocols, blown away their knights, beaten their Cardinal, and marched straight to the doors of the Sealing Chamber. She had been angry. Plainly and clearly. Both of them had. That was why they were silent now.

Clack. Clack.

The cold scent of holy water drifted up from the bottom of the stairs. Small lamps hung sparsely along the walls, and ancient holy words were densely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠carved into the stone.

Unlike the lavish corridors upstairs, this place had little decoration. The things the Church truly wished to hide were always kept in quiet, unadorned places rather than grand ones.

They descended further in silence for a while. Then, Ena suddenly spoke.

"I do believe that is the first time I have seen you so angry."

Her voice was as relaxed as usual, a stark contrast to the freezing tone that had locked down the cathedral's corridor just moments ago. There was even a hint of playfulness in it. Hearing her voice only made Roen feel more self-conscious. He replied a beat late.

"Did it appear that way?"

"It did," Ena said, keeping her eyes forward. "I half expected you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to cut his tongue out before I did."

Roen fell silent for a moment.

"I do not conduct myself in such a manner."

"I know," Ena's lips curled up ever so slightly. "Which made it all the more terrifying."

Roen could not find an answer. The lamps on the staircase flickered, casting long shadows of the two. Ena's shadow stretched onto the wall ahead, and Roen's shadow overlapped from behind. Roen lowered his gaze slightly.

"...I was simply saddened that a hero's end had to be like that."

Ena did not speak for a moment. She did not stop walking, but her pace slowed ever ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so slightly. That alone was enough for Roen to know she had heard him.

"You were saddened."

"Yes," Roen replied shortly. "And I was angry."

"At the Church?"

"At the Church, yes."

Clack. Clack. Roen took another step down before continuing.

"And, to some extent, at the Sword Order as well."

Only then did Ena stop. They were in the middle of the staircase. A single lamp hung right beside them, illuminating the side of Ena's face and casting a long shadow downward. She did not turn around completely, only tilting her head slightly.

"At the Sword Order?"

"Yes." Roen stood one step above Ena, bringing their eyes nearly to the same level. "Adeline Lucretia was the owner of the Holy Sword, and the one humanity called the Hero." Roen paused to choose his words. "But before any of that, she was a person who took up a sword and went out to fight."

Ena remained silent. Roen took her silence as permission to continue.

"If the duty of the Sword Order is to hold onto the names of those who went out with swords to the very end, then her name should have remained far longer somewhere in our records."

A cool draft blew up from the bottom of the stairs, carrying the scent of holy water and ancient stone. Roen tightened his grip on his record board.

"The Sword Order should have remembered her better."

Ena slowly lowered her eyes.

"The Sword Order of that era is different from the Sword Order of today."

"I know."

"And it is not your responsibility."

"I know that as well," Roen's voice was quiet. "But just because it is not my responsibility does not mean I cannot feel ashamed."

Ena stared at Roen for a moment. It was a very Roen-like thing to say. He knew how to distinguish his personal responsibility from that of the organization. Yet, just because he could make that distinction did not mean he allowed himself to feel any lighter. Ena turned her gaze back down the stairs.

"You are sometimes far more stubborn than I."

"I learned from you, Commander-in-Chief."

"I have never taught you such things."

"I watched and learned."

Ena let out a soft breath—a sound that could have been a chuckle or a sigh.

They began to descend once more. The air grew colder the further down they went. If the upper corridors of the cathedral were decorated with incense and light, this lower path was forged of seals and silence. The letters carved into the stone walls grew smaller, and the distance between the lamps grew wider.

Roen spoke in a low voice.

"Adeline Lucretia endured for a very long time."

Ena did not reply.

"It was likely not just because she was the Hero that she held on."

"...Indeed."

At those words, Ena's eyes sank slightly. She recalled the rain-drenched forest. The demonic beast that had roared with the Holy Sword impaled in its chest. The former Hero, who had drawn the Holy Sword with her remaining hand and taken a textbook dueling stance.

More than the title of the Holy Sword's owner, more than the epithet of Hero, more than the grandiose words of 'humanity's hope'... the thing that had remained with her until the very end.

The fact that it had simply been a memory of her childhood.

Because it was so human.

Because it had been discovered far too late.

"How tragic."

Sizzle. Ena secretly rubbed her eyes with a hand infused with heat. The scent of burning salt water drifted into the air.