A Toast to the Fallen Hero

The heart of the place known as the heart of the continent. In a tavern nestled deep within that heart, a scorching topic of conversation was currently making the rounds.

"Did you hear? The Holy Church has been isolated. They say the Royal Family openly flaunted their close ties with the Sword Order..."

The moment those words were uttered, the clamor inside the tavern dipped ever so slightly. It did not fall completely silent. Mugs still clinked, the laughter of drunks still echoed from the corners, and the sizzle of meat hitting a greased pan hissed loudly from the kitchen. Yet, the air around the table where the words had dropped grew palpably different.

People loved stories like this. Tales of the high and mighty tottering on their pedestals. Rumors of cracks forming in the Holy Church's authority. Whispers of which side the Royal Family was taking. And, above all, the fact that the name of the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order stood at the absolute center of it all.

Rain pattered against the windows of the old tavern. The night in Terkan, the largest city on the continent, remained awake far later than usual. Crowds still lingered on the main thoroughfare leading to the central square, royal patrols in rain-slicked armor paced through the alleyways, and the spires of the Holy Church loomed dark and lightless against the black sky.

The Holy Church had never been a quiet institution. It was a place of prayers, tolling bells, holy words, and voices that constantly spoke of absolution for the sins of others. But on this night, the Cathedral was utterly silent. No, it had no choice but to keep its mouth shut.

The people had already heard. High priests whose tongues were sliced clean in the sealing chamber. A chamber that held no Holy Sword. The severed arm of the former Hero preserved inside a sacred glass case. And the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order, who had reduced that arm to ashes.

The rumors spread faster than alcohol could flow. Before a single cup could be drained, the news had leaped to the next table; before one person could whisper it, three others had already embellished it. Patrons stepping through the tavern doors shook off the fresh gossip even before the rainwater on their cloaks.

"Close ties, is it?" An old mercenary sitting across the table chuckled softly. He slowly rolled his cup between his palms. "You're saying the Royal Family suddenly flaunted their friendship with the Sword Order?"

"It wasn't sudden," the merchant who had first spoken replied, leaning forward. His collar was damp from the rain, and several cheap rings glinted on his fingers. "In times like this, speed is everything. The Royal Family moved before the Holy Church could even draft an official statement. I heard they welcomed a delegation from the Sword Order at the palace square just this afternoon."

"A delegation?"

"They say Roen went himself." At the mention of that name, the patrons around the table lowered their voices once more. The adjutant to Ena, the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order. The man rumored to have sliced the tongues of the high priests precisely in half in the Cathedral's sealing chamber.

The old mercenary narrowed his eyes. "The palace welcomed him?"

"Welcomed is an understatement," the merchant smirked. "The second prince of the Royal Family descended the steps himself to greet him."

Those words carried immense weight. A member of the royalty descending the steps. It was no mere act of courtesy. It was the silent language of the court, a blatant display of who held the upper hand, who was waiting, and who was being received.

A prince descending the stairs to greet an adjutant of the Sword Order. With that single gesture, the Royal Family had broadcasted a message to the entire city: We do not stand against the Sword Order. No matter what the Holy Church has lost, we will not turn a blind eye to the records brought forth by the Sword Order. And above all, the one who recovered the Holy Sword is not the Holy Church, but the Sword Order.

A young waitress murmured as she set down a tray of drinks, "Does that mean the Royal Family has abandoned the Holy Church?"

The old mercenary shook his head. "They wouldn't abandon them." He raised his cup to his lips. "The Royal Family doesn't operate like that. They aren't discarding them; they're measuring the distance."

"Distance?"

"Whether the Holy Church's transgressions are severe enough to warrant letting them fall, or if they still possess enough utility to be worth holding onto." At his words, the air in the tavern grew heavy. It was a brutally cynical assessment, yet no one rose to refute it.

That was the nature of royalty. They spoke of respecting faith, protecting the Holy Church, and the solidarity of humanity. Such words sounded beautiful when echoed through the grand halls of the palace.

But in the end, the Royal Family always calculated. Which side must they take for the kingdom to survive? Which alliance would keep the frontlines from collapsing? Which faction must they distance themselves from to appease the populace?

This time, the answer was glaringly obvious. The Holy Church had lost the Holy Sword. They had lost the Hero. And they had concealed those facts. Meanwhile, the Sword Order had retrieved the Holy Sword. They had laid the Hero to rest. And they had documented everything. Even the greenest scribe in the archives could tell which party the Royal Family needed to smile upon first.

The merchant tapped his cup. "What's more, there are rumors that the Royal Family sent an official letter of appreciation to the Sword Order."

"An appreciation letter?"

"Expressing gratitude for verifying the remains of the former Hero and recovering the Holy Sword, or something along those lines."

Someone spat a curse. "That's basically spitting right in the Holy Church's face."

"Which is exactly why people are ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠saying they're flaunting their close ties." The merchant chuckled, amused. But his amusement didn't last long.

There were many in the tavern who had spent their entire lives placing their faith in the Holy Church. Parents whose sons had been blessed in the name of the Holy Sword before marching off to the frontlines. Mothers who had wiped their sick children's brows with holy water. People who had scraped by day by day, relying solely on prayers to God. To them, this gossip was no mere political scandal. It was a devastating realization of just how hollow the beliefs they clung to truly were.

From a corner, an old man spoke in a low, raspy voice. "If the Royal Family is smiling with the Sword Order, who is left to smile with the Holy Church?"

No one answered. The question sounded like a casual jest, but it carried a razor-sharp edge. The Holy Church had always stood side-by-side with the Royal Family. The crown established secular authority, while the Church established divine authority. The Sword Order fought on the frontlines, and the Magic Tower observed from the rear. These four pillars formed the delicate balance of the Human Alliance.

But now, the Holy Church had been shoved aside. The Royal Family was drawing closer to the Sword Order. The Magic Tower had already dispatched researchers to analyze the residual mana of the Holy Sword and the records of the sealing chamber. The Sword Order held all the documentation. Only the Holy Church remained silent.

Silence. Once, it had been the Church's greatest weapon. Tonight, it was the noose tightening around its neck.

The tavern door swung open. A young man burst in alongside a gust of damp wind, drenched to the bone and panting heavily. The tavern keeper frowned. "What news now?"

Wringing out his clothes by the entrance, the young man gasped, "The royal banner has been raised in the central square."

Mugs froze mid-air. The merchant was the first to ask, "Right where the Holy Sword is?"

"Yes," the man nodded. "Right next to the banner of the Sword Order."

A collective murmur rippled through the tavern once more. The royal banner. The Sword Order's banner. The central square. The Holy Sword. No one failed to grasp the significance of those four elements converging in one place. The site of the Holy Sword, completely devoid of the Holy Church's banner. That alone spoke volumes.

The old mercenary slowly set his cup down. "It's over."

The young waitress asked, "The Holy Church?"

"No." The mercenary stared out the window, watching the rain stream down the glass pane. "The old ways." He spoke in a quiet, solemn tone. "The era where everyone blindly believed whatever the Holy Church said... is over."

Silence reclaimed the tavern. Outside, the rain continued to fall, and the distant, low hum of crowds drifted from the direction of the square. Some had likely gone to see the Holy Sword. Others to confirm the presence of the royal banner. Still others to see if the Cathedral doors were indeed shut tight.

The rumors had now found their direction. The Holy Church is isolated. The Royal Family stands with the Sword Order. The Magic Tower has requested the Sword Order's records instead of the Church's. The Sword Order has withdrawn its cooperation with the Holy Church.

These sentences would circulate through the city all night. By dawn, they would reach the marketplaces. By noon, they would swell into a roaring clamor before the palace gates.

And before sunset, they would travel along the carriage roads beyond the city walls, spreading to other territories. And with every step, people would ask: Where was the Holy Sword? Where was the former Hero? What has the Holy Church been hiding?

The merchant stared down at his empty cup. "But what about the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order?" At his question, everyone turned their gaze back to him. The merchant asked in a hushed tone, "What did she do with the Holy Sword?"

The young man swept back his wet hair. "It's still in the center of the square."

"Is it still embedded there?"

"Yes," he replied. "They say no one has been able to pull it out."

Someone let out a soft gasp. The merchant grinned. "Even those Church bastards?"

"The Church's people couldn't even get close."

"And the royals?"

"They didn't lay a finger on it."

"What about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Sword Order?" The man hesitated for a moment. "The Sword Order's soldiers are simply guarding the perimeter."

The old mercenary muttered, "'Its owner will claim it.'"

A declaration left embedded in the very center of the world. It would not rest in anyone's storehouse, atop anyone's altar, or within anyone's treasury.

The tavern keeper slowly pulled out a fresh glass. "Business is going to be good tonight."

The old mercenary looked at him. The keeper shrugged. "When the world shakes, people look for a drink."

He wasn't wrong. That night, the taverns of Terkan kept their lights burning until the early hours of the morning. People drank, whispered, and questioned. Is the Holy Church truly isolated? Has the Royal Family really sided with the Sword Order? What did the Magic Tower observe? What will the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order do next? And will the destined owner of the Holy Sword truly appear?

The rain did not stop. The Cathedral's bells did not ring. Only the Holy Sword stood in the center of the square, washed by the downpour. Beneath the blade, the banners of the Royal Family and the Sword Order fluttered side by side. And there, the banner of the Holy Church was nowhere to be seen.

Meanwhile, the Sword Order Headquarters was in an atmosphere bordering on a festival. It was impossible to tell who had started smiling first. Perhaps it began with a word slipped by a messenger returning from the Cathedral as he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠passed the side gate of the training grounds.

Perhaps it started when a scribe in the 1st Division's archives, sorting through urgent documents regarding the Holy Church, was caught by someone while running down the corridor with a report whose ink was still wet.

Or perhaps it was the exact moment the delegation sent to the palace returned, bringing news that the Royal Family had officially accepted the Sword Order's records as formal documentation.

Only one thing mattered: the rumors had breached the headquarters. And once they entered, they could not be stopped.

"The Commander-in-Chief turned the Holy Church upside down." That single sentence swept through the corridors. It quickly reached the training grounds, traveled from the training grounds to the cafeteria, from the cafeteria to the archives, and climbed from the archives all the way to the Captains' offices.

No one cheered out loud. The Sword Order was not an organization that made a spectacle of itself. This was a place where frontline reports arrived daily—where the names of the wounded were logged, the swords of the fallen were returned, and the survival routes of survivors were traced in red ink across maps. In such a place, the word "festival" was not thrown around lightly.

Yet, the air within the headquarters on this day was undeniably different. The hands polishing swords moved with a lighter touch. Steps toward the training grounds were brisker.

Soldiers passing each other in the corridors tried to exchange simple nods, only to fail at hiding the smirks tugging at the corners of their mouths. The lines in the cafeteria were longer than usual, and even as they received their meals, people leaned in to whisper the same questions to those beside them.

"Is it true?" "At the Cathedral?" "All the way to the sealing chamber?" "A cardinal was groveling on the floor?" "What's this about tongues being cut?" "Adjutant Roen did it himself?" "They say it was the Commander-in-Chief's direct order."

Every time those words were spoken, a strange mix of emotions flickered across their faces. Exhilaration, lingering anger, pride, and a quiet, belated mourning for a name that had finally returned.

To the members of the Sword Order, the Holy Church had long been a source of deep-seated discomfort. Whenever the Order requested more reinforcements for the frontlines, the Church invoked the name of humanity; when retrieving the wounded took too long, they cited sacred protocols; and when asked for the names of the dead, they merely offered prayer books. Martyrdom. Sacrifice. Missing in action. Sealed off. They were an institution that used such words to mask the stench of blood.

And into the deepest recesses of that very Church, Commander-in-Chief Ena had marched. She had blasted the holy knights away, leaving them just barely breathing. She had ground a cardinal's authority into the marble floor. She had forced open the sealing chamber that held no Holy Sword.

She had given a proper burial to the human remains desecrated as a "sacred relic." And she had severed all cooperation with the Holy Church. Hearing of all this, there was no way the soldiers of the Sword Order could remain indifferent.

On one side of the training grounds, a young swordsman rested his wooden practice sword on his shoulder and grinned. "Man, I would've paid to see the looks on those Church bastards' faces."

A senior swordsman beside him shot him a look. "Watch your mouth."

"We're at the Sword Order Headquarters, senior."

"Which is exactly why you need to watch it." Despite his stern words, the senior swordsman couldn't hide the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Seeing this, the young swordsman smirked. "Come on, you're thrilled too, aren't you?"

The senior swordsman fell silent for a moment. Then, he muttered quietly, "I am." He added in a near-whisper, "It feels incredibly good."

Low chuckles erupted from the surrounding crowd at his admission. Someone immediately raised their wooden sword again. Another adjusted their stance. Someone else swung their blade through the air and joked, "Should we practice breaking the Church's defensive formations?"

An instructor overheard the remark from a distance. "If you're going to do it, do it right." The training grounds instantly fell quiet. The instructor crossed his arms and barked, "When facing an opponent with raised shields, don't just think about pushing through with brute force. Try to imitate the Commander-in-Chief, and you'll end up breaking your own wrists."

Laughter rippled through the crowd once more, but the grips on their swords tightened. Pride could easily turn into complacency. However, in the Sword Order, a properly tempered pride usually forged a deeper level of focus.

The Commander-in-Chief had trampled the Holy Church. That fact made the soldiers' hearts swell. At the same time, it compelled them to hold their swords with greater resolve. We serve under such a person. We belong to an organization bearing that name. Therefore, we cannot afford to be mediocre. That shared sentiment heated the very floor of the training grounds.

The cafeteria was even rowdier. There was no alcohol—drinking while on duty was strictly forbidden at the Sword Order Headquarters. Yet, the soldiers chattered as if they were thoroughly drunk. Water cups clinked like beer mugs, heads leaned close over soup bowls, and even the recruits—who would normally fall silent at the mere mention of a Captain's name—could not help but whisper excitedly today.

"Do you know what the Commander-in-Chief said?" "She said whispering behind her back was irritating." "And then?" "She told Adjutant Roen to cut it in half." "Their tongues?" "Their tongues."

A brief silence fell over the table. Then, someone remarked with absolute sincerity, "That sounds exactly like Adjutant Roen."

Strangely, everyone nodded in agreement. Roen was indeed that kind of man. Even when angered, he never raised his voice. When given an order, he never overstepped. He did exactly what was required, precisely as commanded. He was a man who would slice off someone's tongue with the same cold, clinical precision as drafting a line ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in an official report. That was why he was so terrifying—and why he was so deeply trusted.

A recruit from the 10th Squad set down his spoon and muttered, "Honestly, I think the most amazing part is that anyone had the guts to whisper in front of the Commander-in-Chief in the first place."

His peer across the table nodded. "No kidding. I lose my voice just looking at the back of her head."

"You lose your voice looking at the back of Captain Arthur's head too."

"Well, that's because Captain Arthur is terrifying too!"

"Fair point." The two recruits nodded with utmost gravity. The seniors sitting nearby suppressed their chuckles at the sight.

Then, some spoke in a quiet, sober tone. "Still, this isn't just a laughing matter." The atmosphere at the table sobered slightly. He was right. It was satisfying—immensely so. The fact that the authority the Holy Church had amassed over centuries had crumbled before the mere footsteps of their Commander-in-Chief brought immense gratification to everyone in the Sword Order.

But at the heart of this storm was Adeline Lucretia. The former Hero. The owner of the Holy Sword. A person officially recorded as "missing." A soul who had endured alone for centuries, only to finally receive a proper burial at the hands of the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order. Whenever her name was mentioned, the laughter in the cafeteria gradually subsided.

Someone quietly raised their water cup. It wasn't a wine glass. There was no grand toast. It was just a simple cup of water. But for the Sword Order, that was more than enough. "To the memory of the great Hero, Adeline Lucretia." The low voice drifted over the table. Several others raised their cups in unison.

Not many words were spoken. Simply uttering her name again carried profound meaning. Not as "missing," "sealed," or "classified"—the cold labels slapped on her by the Church—but by her actual name as a human being. Within the walls of the Sword Order Headquarters, her name was quietly being brought back to life.

The archives of the 1st Division were buzzing in a different way. There was little laughter here. Instead, the rustle of turning pages, the popping of inkwell caps, and the hushed exchanges of instructions between scribes filled the room without pause.

"Re-extract the entire roster of medical personnel dispatched through the Holy Church."

"Prioritize the Eastern Outskirts first."

"We must also categorize all supplies routed through Church warehouses along the Western Fortress supply lines."

"What about the draft of the notification to the Royal Family?"

"It is being prepared under the name of the Commander-in-Chief of the Sword Order."

"Keep the tone firm. However, make sure to state that the Sword Order will take immediate charge of managing any gaps on the frontlines."

"I will send an official request to the Magic Tower for data on the Holy Stigma resonance."

"Remove any clauses requiring the Church's approval."

"Already done."

It was calm, yet everyone moved with rapid efficiency. Severing ties with the Holy Church was not a mere emotional declaration. It meant restructuring the medical system on the frontlines. It meant altering supply routes. It meant revoking the access permissions of personnel dispatched by the Church.

Even the funeral protocols for the deceased would have to change. War was not fought with swords alone. A single line in a document could alter a day on the frontlines. The members of the 1st Division understood this perfectly. Thus, despite their excitement, their hands never faltered.

Once Roen returned, all these documents would be scrutinized and reorganized. Rather than focusing on the bloody reports from the Cathedral, he would undoubtedly look at the calculations regarding the administrative gaps within the Sword Order first.

Knowing this, the scribes moved ahead of time. They wanted everything ready before their adjutant returned, ensuring that their Commander-in-Chief's declaration would not falter under administrative weight. This pride was quieter than the laughter in the cafeteria, but it was far more solid.

The reactions of each squad varied as well. Arthur stared at the report in silence for a long while before finally letting out a short laugh.

"The Holy Church crossed the line."

His adjutant asked cautiously, "Didn't the Commander-in-Chief cross it instead?"

Without looking up from the report, Arthur replied, "Even if the Commander-in-Chief crosses a line, there is no one in this world who can call her out on it." His adjutant asked no further questions.

Arcel Libern stared at the sentences regarding the Holy Stigma and the Holy Sword's resonance for a long time.

"Using the arm of the former Hero to maintain the residual resonance of the Holy Sword, is it?"

He smiled. The smile was beautiful, but his eyes were ice-cold.

"Technically speaking, it's quite impressive."

A moment later, he set the paper down.

"Which only makes it all the more repulsive."

Edenkart stood motionless for a long time, holding the report in his hands. His silence, his massive frame, and the heavy armor that completely concealed even his eyes exuded an overwhelming pressure.

"..."

He said nothing. He was a man of few words to begin with, so his silence was not unusual. However, the edges of the paper in his grip were slowly being crushed. That alone was more than enough.

Though the Captains of the Sword Order reacted in their own distinct ways, their conclusions were virtually identical. The Holy Church had crossed the line. The Commander-in-Chief had trampled and shattered that line. And now, the Sword Order had to clean up the aftermath.

In the central hall of the headquarters, soldiers gathered and dispersed as they discussed the rumors. No official announcement had been posted, nor had the Commander-in-Chief returned. Yet, everyone already knew. Their relationship with the Holy Church would never return to what it once was.

The Royal Family would align themselves with the Sword Order. The Magic Tower would come running with their observational data. The Holy Church would remain silent. And the Holy Sword would wait for its owner in the center of the square.

"'Its owner will claim it.'" Someone muttered quietly in the central hall. At those words, several heads turned. The members of the Sword Order loved that phrase. It was just so incredibly Ena. It was arrogant, simple, and utterly irrefutable. The Holy Sword belonged neither to the Church, nor the Royal Family, nor the Sword Order. It belonged to its owner.

In a world where no one dared to state such an obvious truth, only their Commander-in-Chief had spoken it so casually. And so, the soldiers of the Sword Order smiled. They were immensely proud that their leader was such a person.

Even as the night deepened, the lights at the headquarters did not easily go out. The clacking of wooden swords in the training grounds persisted late into the night.

One by one, more lanterns were lit in the archives. In the cafeteria, the quiet clinking of water cups echoed a few more times. Some imagined what expression the Commander-in-Chief would wear upon her return. Others warned their peers not to make their excitement too obvious.

Hearing that, several immediately agreed. Ena would undoubtedly find it all incredibly bothersome. If she saw the entire headquarters buzzing like a festival, she would likely half-close her eyes and drawl, "You are noisy." And then, everyone would fall silent.

But even so, it didn't matter. The members of the Sword Order knew. Ena would not go out of her way to praise them. She would not offer them a warm smile. She would not explain why they should feel proud. Yet tonight, the pride they felt required no explanation.

Their leader had not bowed her head before the Holy Church. She had not left the name of the deceased buried beneath the label of a "sacred relic." She had called a human being a human being. And she had reclaimed that name, etching it back into the records of the Sword Order. That alone was more than enough.

Night settled over the exterior of the headquarters. Rumors swirled through the city. The Holy Church remained silent. The Royal Family continued to calculate. The Magic Tower kept observing. And inside the Sword Order Headquarters, swords were polished, documents were organized, and training went on.

Then, from a corner of the cafeteria, someone spoke very quietly. "Let us observe a moment of silence for Adeline Lucretia." Once again, people raised their cups. Clink! Simple water cups bumped together softly. It was a very Sword Order thing to do.

A moment of silence for a name that had returned far too late, and a touch of inefficient romance—all of it was uniquely the way of the Sword Order.