Chapter 477: Proof of Existence (65)
Chapter 477: Proof of Existence (65)
"I... I..."
My body refused to listen.
What would be the point of picking up a sword again at this stage?
And yet, why?
Gritting my teeth, I reached out and gripped the sword rolling on the ground.
The Saint merely looked down at me with a smile on his face.
However, his eyes were not laughing.
Skreeee.
My golden eyes glared fiercely at the Saint as I ground my teeth.
"...I won't run."
At my spiteful answer, the Saint let out a short, dry chuckle.
But that was only for a moment.
The laughter, which had started as a faint smile, gradually grew louder. Eventually, it became a massive roar that echoed throughout the mountains and fields.
"Pfft, aha. Hahahahahahahahaha!"
The Saint looked up at the sky and laughed for a long time.
Then, his sky-blue eyes slowly lowered once more.
His gaze wrapped around me like a shackle as I somehow managed to force myself up.
His eyes were shimmering with ecstasy and madness.
It was as if he had finally found an entertaining toy after a very long time.
"...Salvation to those who seek it."
Hearing that prayer, I kicked off the ground with a desperate scream.
"Immanuel...!"
Crack.
Once again, my skull shattered, and I died instantly.
I died like that dozens, hundreds of times.
At first, I died instantly from my head being smashed to pieces. But as the deaths exceeded dozens, the causes of my demise became increasingly varied.
Sometimes, my upper body was crushed by a morning star.
It was common for my heart to be pierced by a sword, or for me to be split in half from the crown of my head to my crotch.
I experienced countless deaths.
At some point, memories of a certain man began to flicker across my retinas.
They were worn-out reminiscences. Images from some distant battlefield.
"It's an ambush. It seems someone leaked the retreat plan."
Drenched in a cold sweat, a young messenger came to me and spoke.
"Those who can escape must do so now!"
"Then what about the rest of the troops?"
"We can only hope that as many as possible survive..."
I buried my face in my hands and thought.
O God, are you watching?
Your grand plan is being fulfilled upon this earth. Your children suffer, evil triumphs, and finally, even the last remaining hope is being uprooted.
But my resentment was brief. As always, I reached the most rational conclusion.
"...We retreat. Evacuate the troops who will be most useful to our strength first."
It was the right decision.
I did not doubt for a second that this was for the best.
Until my beloved lover spoke to me.
"I will stay."
With those words, the world froze.
"I will hold the line here."
That voice was the last thing I heard.
I processed this with a mind that was barely flickering into consciousness.
I vowed I would not be broken.
I resolved that I would not collapse.
But it wasn't just my flesh that was being whittled away. My mind was gradually reaching its limit.
By the time the sun, which had been high in the sky, began to set and the glow of twilight appeared.
The time it took for me to regain my senses after each resurrection grew longer and longer. Now, I could barely recover consciousness after staring blankly into space for a long time.
No, even after regaining my senses, my mind felt hazy, as if submerged in water.
Is this how it ends?
Just like all those others who had been stubborn.
"...There isn't much left."
The Saint’s statement was plain.
The voice reached my ears, but my mind lacked the capacity to interpret its meaning.
I simply forced my body up.
Even though I had forgotten why I was even standing.
Like an instinct.
It was then that a spiteful shriek echoed from somewhere.
"...Stop, stop it!"
Wailing and crying, the Saintess came running toward us. Her face, smeared with tears, was a pitiful sight.
The Saint’s gaze flickered toward his back.
The Saintess tripped and fell while running, then pleaded from where she lay.
"Please, please stop... please, Saint... Can't I just be the one to die? Can't it just end with me alone!"
I wasn't in my right mind, but I didn't want the Saintess to be sad.
So, I tried to give her a faint smile to reassure her.
Crack.
And I lost my life again.
For the several hundredth time.
The boundary between life and death grew blurred.
The Saintess felt like she was going insane.
No, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say she already had.
For the first time in her life, she realized something.
The phrase "crying tears of blood" was neither metaphor nor exaggeration. Her capillaries, more than just bloodshot, had burst, tinting her tears until they fell as droplets of crimson dew.
No one could even move their lips.
It certainly wasn't just because of the Saint's overwhelming might. For hours now, the image of a man oscillating between life and death had been seared into their retinas.
Hundreds of times, or was it thousands?
Blood and brain matter scattered through the air. Thick bloodstains were sprayed across the earth without even a death rattle. A body that had lost its life would stagger, then—thud.
He fell and collapsed, dying over and over again.
And yet, he stood. He kept standing up.
It was an incomprehensible sight.
It was a tragic masterpiece born from the harmony of the Saint's miracle and the man's ghostly tenacity.
Tens of thousands of eyes stared at the battle between the two as if possessed.
No one opened their mouth. No one.
Except for the screaming Saintess.
"No, no... Please, please stop! Someone, anyone, stop them... please? Somehow, by any means... PLEAAAAASE!"
The end of her cry was a sob drenched in despair.
It had already been over several hundred times.
The man she loved was being slaughtered. Was there a woman in this world who could watch such a thing while remaining sane?
Furthermore, that man stood on the battlefield to save her.
The Saintess's jaw convulsed, her teeth chattering. Her mind, pushed to its limit, felt as if it would collapse at any moment.
I have to do something, anything.
Then, the Saintess caught sight of the Holy Knights standing there, dazed. They were the ones who were supposed to be keeping her restrained.
She didn't have the luxury to weigh her options.
"Ugh?!"
The Saintess forced herself up and ran forward unsteadily. Her hands were still bound behind her back, making her posture incredibly unstable. However, her desperate sprint was not something that could be easily intercepted.
It was an aura, of sorts. A certain resolve could be felt in the Saintess's dash.
The will to save the man she loved.
That made the Holy Knight hesitate for a moment, and his gaze turned toward the Pope, seeking an answer.
He was asking if he should restrain her again.
The Pope wore a bitter expression, then eventually shook his head.
In any case, the Saint was dominating the battle from start to finish. Even if the Saintess intervened, nothing would change.
It wasn't as if the Saint couldn't handle her.
More than anything, the Pope was somewhat overwhelmed by the sight of that young knight.
He had never seen anything like it.
The Saint was a legendary warrior who had protected the Holy City of Siendel for hundreds of years. The name 'Saint' was a towering wall, a mountain that no one could conquer.
Yet, a single man stood before him with a lone sword.
Compared to the cliff he faced, his armaments were as flimsy as toothpicks. But if he fell, and fell, and still forced his body back up...
Wouldn't you want to see it?
To see what the end would be.
Thus, the Saintess ran until she was finally before the Saint.
But she could go no further.
Though her heart yearned to move forward, her collapsed body showed no sign of being able to rise again. The Saint’s gaze merely swept over her once.
The Saintess's legs froze, refusing to move any further.
As if they had suddenly turned into lead.
Nevertheless, the Saintess pleaded.
She begged him to stop, asking if it couldn't just end with her.
The man she loved so dearly seemed worried about her. A faint smile touched his lips as he looked at the woman.
Crack.
And with a spray of blood, the man's head burst like a piece of fruit.
"Ah, aaaah... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
If only her hands hadn't been tied, the Saintess would have covered her mouth with both hands as she shrieked.
Her scream, uttered without any filter, soaked the blood-drenched clearing. The Saintess trembled as if having a seizure, slamming her head against the ground.
"N-no... please! Saint, please forgive me... Is it because I arrogantly insulted the Lord? I will apologize... I will never, never be so prideful again. Please, please, just spare my Ian..."
Thud, thud.
The sound of her head striking the ground several times echoed through the desolate mountains.
The soil was dark with dried blood, and the twilight sky cast dark shadows upon the earth.
A shadow using the dusk as its canvas turned its gaze.
Toward another shadow that was kneeling and pleading.
"O, lost lamb, you need not apologize. Question endlessly, and deny the existence of the Lord. That, too, is faith."
"Then why!"
It was a howl saturated with tears.
The Saint looked down at the Saintess without a word. Not a single ripple of emotion could be seen in his sky-blue eyes.
Covered in dirt, the Saintess raised her voice in heart-wrenching agony.