The Legion of Betrayal Returns
The ruler of the Dark Alliance, Nephthys Archbold, had arrived.
Lethe, who had slumped to the ground with her strength spent, was still somewhat dazed by her sudden appearance. Then Nephthys's gaze swung toward her.
Vwoom!
Lethe instinctively summoned her divinity. Seeing Nephthys's eyes narrow in a peculiar way, Simon hurriedly threw himself in front of her.
"Lady Nephthys!"
"?"
"Lethe—no, the Saintess, she—!"
"I know. She was a great help with all of this."
There was no hostility to be felt from Nephthys. She gave a shrug.
"We barely managed to stop Ever Kire and prevent a war. If we turned around and fought the Saintess right after, it'd all be for nothing, wouldn't it? Kill her, and a new Saintess would just appear anyway."
"Well, if you don't kill me here and now, you'll live to regret it."
Lethe flashed a smile brimming with defiance.
"The day war breaks out, I'll be the first to draw my blade against your neck."
'What is she saying all of a sudden?!'
Simon paled, but Nephthys merely giggled, as if she found it adorable.
"You've got a long way to go, little one~"
"Who are you calling a little one, I wonder."
While the two of them exchanged that banter, the Crow agent Aleister approached and whispered a report into Nephthys's ear. She nodded along.
"Mm-hmm. Proceed with the closing ceremony as planned."
"?!"
Simon was dumbfounded. Push forward with the closing ceremony in the middle of all this chaos?
What could Nephthys be thinking?
"If neither of you is seriously hurt, it'd be good for you two to attend as well. Ta-ta~"
Nephthys raised her hand with a flourish.
"Bye-bye!"
With those words, the teleportation magic circle that had appeared beneath Simon and Lethe at some point sprang to life.
Every event of the Dark Festival had come to an end.
No further anomalies occurred. The Summoning Department had failed to overturn the Curse Department's first-place standing and finished in second—but considering their historical record of eating last place like it was their daily bread, it was a tremendous leap forward.
As for the match at Balkeje Arena right before the battle with Ever Kire, it had been ruled null and void in its entirety. The participating students would each be granted a suitable amount of assessment points so that no one suffered unfair consequences. With the closing ceremony just around the corner, it seemed they intended to smooth things over quickly.
And then there was the matter of the Ever Kire incident itself.
The public still knew nothing concrete about what had happened. The only rumors circulating were that competitors and spectators had collapsed for unknown reasons and been carried off to the campus hospital.
The victims had all regained consciousness safely in the hospital ward, but not one of them could recall a single moment from immediately after they'd blacked out.
Simon and Lethe had likewise arrived at the hospital via the teleportation circle and received treatment. Fortunately, they were merely exhausted, with no serious injuries. Simon lay in his hospital bed, lost in thought.
'Is Kizen planning to bury the Ever Kire incident?'
Certainly, this was a golden opportunity to sweep the whole affair under the rug.
The victims remembered nothing of what had happened, and the only ones who knew the full situation were Nephthys's inner circle—Aleister, Kazhan, and the like.
For the successful conclusion of the Dark Festival, held only once every five years, letting the noisy Ever Kire affair sink beneath the surface might well have been the conclusion reached by the old guard crunching numbers on their abacuses.
But was that truly the right thing to do? Simon's mind grew tangled with one thought after another.
Click!
"How are you feeling, student?"
The hospital's physician dropped by Simon's room to check on his condition. He, too, was one of Nephthys's people, so he knew exactly what had transpired. Simon pulled himself from his reverie and lay back properly.
"I'm fine! And the Saintess?"
"The Saintess who came with you seems to be fine as well. Though she's refusing the ward's jet-black-based treatment, so..."
"Ah."
"But don't worry too much."
The physician scratched his head as he added:
"We've taken appropriate measures."
⟨ Great Healing ⟩
Vuuuum!
The wounds across Lethe's body began to slowly close. She endured the pain in silence and turned her head.
"So it's you."
The one treating her was an old man dressed in robes as white as a fresh spirit, his beard grown long.
"The traitor, Parahan."
"..."
"Once a bishop of Efnel, I hear you now teach necromancers at Kizen."
Parahan finished Lethe's treatment in silence and lowered his hands. Then he pressed them to his shoulder and chest and traced a holy sign.
"Gratula Mi Kibilis. It is an honor to behold the Goddess's dearest daughter."
"..."
Lethe let out a small sigh.
"You betrayed the Goddess and came crawling to the Dark Alliance, and yet you still draw the holy sign and bow to a Saintess?"
"I did not betray the Goddess—I betrayed Efnel. I offer my prayers to her every single day."
Parahan was a man who believed in the existence of the Goddess Deva, but believed that Efnel distorted the divine will to preserve its vested interests and indulge its own greed.
"Of course, I imagine you cannot accept such reasoning, Saintess."
"No. That story you just told—"
Lethe continued with a look of disdain.
"Isn't that just textbook heretic logic?"
She had heard that exact sort of talk only very recently.
—It's not too late yet. Open your eyes. Forget the teachings of Efnel that blind you, and serve my revelation instead.
Ever Kire, of all people.
The mere thought of that fanatic now turned her stomach.
"Ever Kire suffered from a delusion that she was the Goddess's equal, and she possessed an ability that could manifest her delusions into reality. Wielding that power, she drove Kizen into a corner and even conjured a false god."
"..."
"The only difference is degree. At their core, you and Ever Kire are the same."
Her golden eyes flared as she glared at Parahan.
"Using opposition to the Efnel establishment as your excuse, you slithered in among people who wield demonic power. I'd say you're every bit as monstrous."
Lethe believed she had spoken rather harshly, but the old man did not waver. He simply wore a kindly smile and stroked his long beard.
Eyes that had passed through countless agonies and long years of reflection, so serene they seemed almost enlightened. Eyes as deep as the sea, Lethe thought.
"Go on, then. Offer whatever excuse you can."
It was Lethe, in fact, whose patience began to fray.
"First, this humble servant does not deny the Goddess like that fanatic, nor does he consider himself her equal."
Parahan began.
"And the Goddess never decreed that necromancers were evil to be vanquished."
Lethe jolted upright.
"What nonsense is that?! It's written plainly in the scriptures!"
"Humans transcribed the Goddess's words, and what has been passed down as scripture is the result of repeated interpretation and revision to favor the vested elite. According to the original texts held by the Pope herself, Deva spoke of demons—but never once declared that necromancers were enemies or demon-worshippers."
"Even so—!"
"Grant me a hundred concessions and say that jet-black truly is demonic power. Even then, necromancers do not worship demons. What they worship is—"
Parahan placed a hand over his chest.
"Nothing but themselves."
"...!"
"They are simply humans, the same as us. They merely adopt efficient means in their endless drive to grow stronger and advance. Jet-black is demonic power, and humans who use demonic power must worship demons—all of that is Efnel's claim, nothing more. Our true enemy lies elsewhere."
Lethe's expression grew complicated.
"...Rubbish."
After a moment's thought, she dismissed it as nonsense, but Parahan simply smiled.
"And yet, you are the first priest or Saintess to listen to this humble servant's story so deeply and seriously. Most dismiss me as a mad old man and won't even try to hear me out."
She tilted her head slowly.
"One last question, if I may."
"Ask it."
"Do you regret it?"
In place of an answer, Parahan offered a knowing smile.
A smile that was unburdened, yet warm.
That smile was answer enough.
In the afternoon, the Dark Festival's closing ceremony was held.
Before the ceremony began, all manner of talk swirled about the sixteenth arena and the people who had lost their memories. But the moment the extravagant ceremony actually began, every eye and ear turned to the event.
And just as Nephthys had suggested, both Simon and Lethe attended. As Student Council President, Simon had no choice, and Lethe figured she might as well come out and watch. Aleister's people had provided a spacious VIP seat, so she could take in the show in comfort.
Before the vast crowd of spectators, Vice President Jane and the elders of the Dark Alliance delivered their addresses. Highlights of each student's crucial performances were played across the mana screens.
And then came the important part: the student MVP awards.
Given to the students who had delivered the most outstanding performances of this Dark Festival.
The third-year MVP, unsurprisingly, went to Ballack—ranked second overall and the head representative of the Poison Department.
And the second-year MVP was—
"Second-year Student Council President, Simon Polentia!"
WHOOOAAAAAAA!
Amid the fervent roar of the crowd, Simon hoisted the enormous trophy and posed for a commemorative photo alongside Ballack. He'd had a hard time of it holding his breath, since venomous fumes kept leaking out of Ballack's mask.
'Ah.'
He spotted Lethe in the VIP seats.
She had her hood pulled low, but she was unmistakable at a glance. She was clapping for him too, clearly delighted, and Simon smiled back.
Before long, the awards concluded.
"Ahem, ahem."
Saywre, the master of ceremonies for the closing ceremony, cleared his throat and spoke in a solemn voice.
"The Headmistress of Kizen, Lady Nephthys, is now entering! Students and distinguished guests, please rise from your seats."
Everyone in attendance rose.
Thud... thud...
Amid a heavy silence, Nephthys appeared to the sound of low, deliberate footsteps.
The woman who had not even shown herself at the opening ceremony had come to the closing in person.
'Lady Nephthys.'
Simon watched her from behind the stage.
A broadcast minion came scrambling over and set down a wooden box beneath the podium. Nephthys hurriedly climbed onto it, cleared her throat, and spoke.
"All right, everyone, have a seat."
"Please be seated."
Only after Nephthys's words settled did the audience return to their chairs. She took hold of the amplification crystal and opened her mouth.
"Thank you all for brightening the Dark Festival's stage to the very end. The reason I've come before you today is—"
Her mouth opened wider.
"To share something important about the future of the Dark Alliance."
A declaration of major announcement.
An electric tension swept through the audience in an instant.
"I'm sure plenty of rumors have been flying around already, hmm? The sixteenth arena. And the spectators and students who lost their memories this time. To give you the conclusion straight away."
Her eyes grew sharp and heavy.
"Kizen was attacked by a fanatic who deserted from the Holy Federation."
Murmur murmur murmur!
A fanatic.
It was the most sensitive topic—and threat—in the Federation today, and the crowd's buzzing grew louder and louder.
"The fanatic who infiltrated us this time is named Ever Kire. A dangerously potent ability user who could distort reality itself, turning what never happened into something that did—capable of deceiving everyone. Those of you who were in the arena won't remember it, but a ferocious battle was fought with Roke Island itself on the line. And in the battle that unfolded beneath the surface—"
Her blue eyes swept across the crowd.
"We discovered the existence of a new Legion Commander."
"!!"
The hall surged like a crashing wave. First a fanatic, and now out of nowhere a new Legion Commander! The story was careening into territory no one could have predicted.
The necromancers who had competed in the Dark Festival especially began exchanging words in grave voices.
"That can't be possible, can it? A new Legion Commander?"
"All seven seats are filled. The Ancient Undead aside, unless a brand-new Manager suddenly appears..."
Pff.
Nephthys smiled slyly and brought the amplification crystal to her lips.
"We have confirmed the existence of the Manager of the 7th Legion—known to have been completely destroyed—and the Ancient Undead once called the 'Lord of Terror': Pier."
"!!"
"That's right."
Nephthys put steel into her voice.
"The Legion of Betrayal has returned."