Chapter 211
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 211
Chapter Title: The Fourth Knight -2-
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Some say the highest virtue of a knight is noble chivalry.
That's laughable bullshit from those who have never set foot on a battlefield where blood sprays and corpses snag at every step.
A blade coming down with deadly sharpness doesn't stop for any noble spirit or voice.
Being physically overwhelming is the answer, and decapitating your opponent is the truth.
That one thing.
Simply excelling at that one thing above all others in the Empire is why he held this position.
And yet, after rising to become the Fourth Knight, striding with shoulders back—for the first time, he felt like a leashed dog wandering freely within the Empire.
Amid the crushing stress that soured his appetite, he thought to himself.
Definitely.
'This isn't right!!'
Even if it was an imperial command, he wasn't the type to tolerate such dogshit treatment.
····
Even after impulsively killing an envoy from the Federation, sparking a conflict, and being demoted from count to viscount—an unprecedented dishonor etched into his family.
The reason Cedric Floyd firmly held the position of family head with unwavering support was simple.
Even called a viscount, the family's prestige had grown stronger than ever under him, so no one in the family dared point fingers.
There were surely those who kept their mouths shut, knowing they'd lose their heads the moment they criticized him.
But he stuck to his own ways, pushing forward without stopping.
When outsiders slandered the family or noise arose, he'd grab an axe and step out himself.
Challenging nobles to honor duels and making examples of them silenced the nonsense eventually.
Even with the count title lost and viscount pinned on, he never had to bow to anyone.
Always like that.
Cedric Floyd's life, now called the Fourth Knight, had been impulsive and emotional at every turn.
Since he'd lived that way without hindrance, he'd never thought himself wrong.
Even when establishing his existence and advancing to a new stage of aura, his unshakeable faith in himself was the key.
'I can do anything!'
Life had been smooth sailing.
Like a warhorse galloping across vast plains, his life raced forward in wild bounds.
Whether on the battlefield or deathbed, he figured it'd continue until life's end.
But disaster is an unkind guest that doesn't knock.
Cedric Floyd found himself mired in a quagmire of injustice he couldn't escape, for the first time in his life.
Not even meeting the supreme knight Asen Premiller had shaken him this much.
"Leo... Leo...!!!"
No time to brace himself before news of his son's death hit.
For the first time, the shock brought dizziness and helplessness from mental trauma.
Hearing his son had fallen to demonhood and been purged, he sat dazed for days, denying it over and over.
When reality sank in, rage boiled over.
But with nowhere to vent it, a hard lump festered inside.
Unable to contain it, he erupted—yet no target stood before him, so he forcibly cooled his head while nursing the bubbling fury within.
'Where the hell do I unleash this rage...!!'
If his son—his everything—had truly corrupted, were those insidious black mages with serpentine tongues to blame?
Revenge seemed impossible; where to even find those hidden scum?
And on top of that.
Right before his eyes was fuel for his temper.
'Damn bastards...'
Refusing to return his child's body even for autopsy.
The Church, colluding with imperial investigators, rummaging through his territory willy-nilly—it boiled his blood just watching.
They gave no space to grieve, thorns in his eyes.
Clad in the imperial halo, preaching eradication of evil, they poked everywhere arrogantly—sight alone stirred murderous intent.
He compressed and refined these emotions into a lump of rage in his chest.
To find clear vengeance and restore his son's honor.
"···."
Entering the capital, seeing Church figures made his blood rise again.
Carrying this unresolved volcanic rage within, he began feeling it churn inside.
'...Leo's peace comes first.'
Whatever grand external pretext, inwardly he prayed only for his son's rest.
"The Empire's Fourth Knight, Viscount Cedric Floyd, has arrived."
A man rolling along a massive emotional boulder screaming 'I'm pissed' caught my eye.
His red hair swept back to bare his forehead flowed into a wild beard, like a lion with a crimson mane.
His massive build reminded me of that old coot Roland Wolfgang who'd shoved me into the academy.
Unlike his wrinkled, age-telling face, his body was a muscled mass, fists like pot lids—impressive.
In heavy ornate armor suited to his bulk, dressed to meet the Empire's ruler—he looked utterly ridiculous to me.
Cedric Floyd's gaze, upon arriving, fixed on me first.
I met his eyes without flinching, idly picking my ear with a finger, nonchalant.
That alone soured his already angry face.
'How does he even live like that?'
Eclair had told me about him.
It's a miracle he hadn't died of apoplexy from overreacting to every little thing.
Proof he'd lived selfishly without issues till now.
No kids to his name, arrogant as hell, raging because I didn't avert my eyes—mad bastard.
Now I fully got why the imperial request looked like that mess.
The wordless standoff dragged on murderously until the Saintess stepped in, bowing her head.
"Knight. You must be tired from the long journey."
"···."
Even as the Saintess greeted politely, the Fourth Knight kept a sour face, lips clamped, merely nodding curtly in silence.
'Grown that old and still pulling that shit...'
Some say age makes you childish, but this was another level.
Prime negative example—vow never to age like that.
Church folks scowled darkly at his attitude.
But the Saintess, accustomed now, didn't wait for reply.
"Then let's move."
Business mode: she led with a serious, smile-free face; Mazella and I followed behind.
Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!
Knights and Church members—save a few free spirits—marched in perfect formation, quite the sight.
We arrived at a spot not far from the capital's Church.
"We're going in."
Slipping into an alley guarded by watchmen and Church folk—once teeming with vagrants, now not a rat in sight.
Undealt debris and charred bloodstains lingered here and there.
Scratches like a blood-gloved hand raking the wall caught the eye.
A message of the brutal, desperate slaughter here.
"Undead still spawn rarely, so the Church is managing the area."
Corpses piled from demon kills corrupted the land; nothing for it outside hours, they said.
"···."
The Fourth Knight indifferently scanned around, trailing the Saintess.
We stopped where debris piled highest, black congealed blood pooling thick.
"Let the ritual begin."
The Saintess's holy power formed radiant flowers in the air; petals of light scattered, a spectacle.
"We beseech the Goddess to pity these souls."
"With sacred light, save those lost to darkness, grant them peace and rest in Her embrace."
"With infinite mercy, pray their pains be forgotten."
"We request mercy for the innocent led astray by evil; may grace's light shine eternally on us all."
"Guide us in the holy name against evil, protect the innocent... "
⟨ Rite of Passage ⟩
Church members closed eyes, hands clasped, holding vigil.
Knights, drawn by the holy aura, unconsciously mimicked, watching petals swirl.
"Let us observe a moment of silence."
Silence led by the Saintess.
Short vigil ended; all lifted heads.
Ritual over, Cedric Floyd finally spoke, parting clamped lips.
"Saintess. What of my son... Knight Leo Floyd's end?"
"···."
As a doting father, he'd crave certain words.
He looked wronged, clinging to faint hope: seemed unjust, not his will...
Even so.
The Saintess couldn't sugarcoat a demon-corrupted end as honorable, brave, devoted—lip service it'd be.
Insult to all prior sacrifices she'd prayed for.
"Please tell me."
"···."
Yet even Artra knew the grief of parents losing children.
Artra's heart wasn't so cold as to tell a father his son's end was a grotesque, evil-tainted sight.
As the silent Saintess stepped closer, Mazella intervened.
"Knight. Please stay back."
The Fourth Knight's red hair shook like flickering flames at blocking Mazella.
"What have I done to block my path? Think I'll harm the Saintess?"
Mazella froze under immense pressure, sweat pouring.
Seeing it, the Fourth Knight reached to shove her aside.
'Showtime.'
Watching, knew it wouldn't pass quietly.
As per the request, grabbed his wrist.
Grasping a cranky old man's arm felt the worst; nearly retched.
"Ease up. Let me clock out."