Farewell 4
"Nice weather we're having."
Someone muttered that inside the chatty carriage. The one carrying Licht was proceeding smoothly. The sky stretched high, the earth a vibrant green. The carriage cut across the verdant plains amid the rhythmic clop of hooves. Jolt, jolt. Every so often, it rattled over uneven ground. Even putting it kindly, the ride was far from comfortable. Unlike the enchanted carriages of nobles or wealthy merchants, designed for luxury and smooth travel, this one transmitted every bump and rut from the hard seat.
Yet no one there, Licht included, complained.
Definitely...
I've gotten soft.
Inside the bouncing carriage, Licht thought to himself. Ever since regressing and the past few months. Unbeknownst to him, he'd grown too complacent. Growing accustomed to discomfort. For Licht, who'd wandered the continent for nearly a decade, enduring every hardship imaginable, it should have been second nature. Days of starvation, going unwashed, writhing through sleepless nights—it was all par for the course. He had no right to gripe about a carriage ride.
And yet, it still took him a little time to adjust. It wasn't until noon that he could finally close his eyes in peace. Objectively, driving the carriage himself would have been harder. Riding demanded serious stamina. The only difference was doing it personally versus letting the coachman handle it. Once accustomed, this was far easier. He gazed out at the scenery beyond the canopy for a long while, feeling the occasional breeze, until whispers from beside him caught his ear.
"But..."
"Alone? Looks young."
"What does age matter? Death doesn't wait in line. Skill's all that counts."
"True enough."
They were mercenaries who'd been in the carriage first. Not all from the same group. Yet they chatted like old friends. Some were complete strangers but had bonded quickly over half a day. In a carriage traveling for days, options were limited: meditate quietly or talk with fellow passengers. Most at least broke the ice, even briefly. Licht sitting alone actually made him the odd one out.
"Quiet guy."
"Leave him be. Don't make it awkward."
Whether consideration or resignation, the mercenaries stopped paying him mind. Licht stared blankly at the passing scenery, lost in thought. What lay ahead, his direction, whether things were progressing well.
When I reach Ceres.
The capital of the Palenia Holy Kingdom, Ceres.
First, to Light Square.
The vast plaza at its center.
Killing the Pope directly...
Would be fastest.
But not easy.
Light Square, and atop it the Light Temple—the papal palace. Security was naturally ironclad. No, "ironclad" didn't do it justice. Knight Secreta. The elite force second only to the Executioners. The Executioners weren't a unit; each was an individual with summary judgment and execution authority, equivalent to an entire knight order. Excluding them, the Knight Secreta were the Holy Kingdom's premier knights. No one short of a Swordmaster could break through alone. Even sneaking in wouldn't work. The Pope was selected from the cardinals via conclave—a powerhouse cleric even without the kingdom's backing. Fail to kill him outright, and he'd be surrounded, walking into a trap.
"Thinking we should scout a campsite soon. Any guides here?"
The coachman, leading the horses from upfront, called out.
"Guide? Isn't that this guy?"
"I know a good spot around here."
A lanky man, similar to Ranin, stood up. The coachman knew the terrain well enough, but why refuse a guide's help? He'd hired the mercenaries cheaply partly for that. Licht silently toyed with the bright yellow mana stone in his grip.
Late afternoon. The sun sinking low. A cool breeze rippling the fields.
Crack!
The stone shattered. Licht's face hardened instantly.
The half of the communication stone he'd given Jack and Ranin. This was the other half. And now it was broken. The enchantment triggered. Shards glowing icy white scattered mana into the air. For a moment, Licht's mind blanked.
"......"
Broken? The stone? Why?
Ambush.
He already knew the answer. The other half had shattered. Triggering the spell, bursting into white mana fragments—just as he'd designed it.
Why.
He'd told them: use it only in emergencies. Jack and Ranin were silver-badge mercenaries—skilled. A Sword User swordsman and a veteran guide who'd seen it all. No ordinary bandits would target them. Even stronger assailants? Ranin, the guide, had sharper senses than most, and knew the land intimately enough to avoid threats.
Yet the stone was broken.
"Huh?"
"What's with him suddenly?"
Licht shot to his feet. The carriage rocked slightly. Dread surged. An unthinkable possibility. The impossible made real. Only one reason they'd use the stone.
Palenia's elite. The Pope's swords—now down to eleven blades.
Whoosh!
Mana surged. It turned to wind. Gusts swirled at his feet. The mercenaries' clamor behind him faded to irrelevance.
Boom!
"Argh!"
"That crazy bastard...!"
The boy kicked off from inside the carriage. A storm erupted belatedly. A figure shot out like a beam of light, streaking across the plains.
***
Vision blurred. Scenery whipped by. Fierce wind tangled his hair into a mess. The road to the Holy Kingdom. Half a day's carriage ride. Now traversing it in reverse.
Tempest, his 4th Circle unique magic. He poured mana into the winds coiling up his legs. Each step exploded the earth, propelling his body at terrifying speeds.
How far...
How long had he run? The sun set. Twilight draped the plains. Yet Licht didn't stop. As time passed, he pushed even harder.
They'd parted in Bailen that morning. Not far. At most a day's carriage ride. At full speed, he could catch up. Lungs burning, his five rings spinning wildly like they might ignite his insides—still, he pressed on.
Why...
Why had this happened? He'd killed Executioners. Two of them. One a excommunicated low-rank, the other 7th Seat. His prediction made sense. Most Executioners were on secret missions, rarely at the palace. After deploying the 7th, they wouldn't send more so soon.
His guess was logical.
And wrong.
Something had changed. Shortly after the 7th, they'd sent more. The stone broke. It happened. He'd given it just in case—an improbable chance, but possible. He'd even offered to escort them. But they refused, and he'd foolishly trusted them.
Complacent.
Why target the mercenaries, not him? He pondered while running. Why Jack and Ranin, not him? He was the one with the grudge. Pursuing him made sense; them, not.
To silence witnesses to the cathedral's secrets? Unlikely. Only he, Jack, Ranin, and Archbishop Sernos knew. Sernos was effectively crippled, and Millein betraying via Holy Kingdom collusion? No. That's why he'd let them go freely. They understood.
But now another Executioner.
How many.
One? Two? Three?
How did they even know their location?
The continent was vast. Tracking one person precisely was near impossible without traces.
Traces?
A holy relic specialized for tracking.
Such a thing...
Wouldn't exist.
Would it?
Truly impossible? The world brimmed with miracles: space-slicing magic, resurrection rituals, time regression. Licht himself was living proof of the latter—deemed utterly impossible. The Holy Kingdom's vaults held treasures untold. A tracking relic? Not surprising.
The past had changed. His actions left traces. If they'd followed those—or used the yellow stone as a medium...
He entered the mountains. The sun nearly gone. Red light clashing with encroaching black. Licht raced on, clutching the shattered stone, following the mana traces he'd embedded.
Until he reached a streamside.
"Ah..."
His steps halted. Breath caught.
Under a tree, two blood-soaked bodies. Two horses, legs severed clean off. Beside them, a bisected greatsword and longbow.
Licht rushed to them reflexively. Bodies cold. He checked pulses at necks and wrists.
Nothing. No heartbeat, no pulse.
Blue lips and ashen faces answered for them.
Jack and Ranin were dead. The burly mercenary grinning broadly that morning, the guide with his wry smile—gone. Carrying hefty pay, chattering innocently about returning to El Sion.
Two men dreaming of futures.
"Ah..."
His hands trembled.
"If I'd..."
Escorted them myself. Or never hired them at all. Gone to Bailen alone. He could have prepared. He'd even considered it. Not been complacent, accounted for the slim chance.
Then.
"......."
Too late for regrets. His fingers slipped from their wrists.
He should have thought more. Once hired, he should've escorted them, worst-case in mind.
Anger boiled.
...Why?
Why so furious? At his own carelessness? They were just mercenaries. He'd seen countless deaths wandering the continent, charging hellish battlefields. Kingdom soldiers who'd hailed him as sword demon, all perished in that inferno. Only the Holy Sword and sword demon survived. Fathers, sons—dead without stirring him.
Yet these two acquaintances shook him? Ridiculous. Absurd.
Still.
"......."
Licht slowly gripped the hilt of his Ascension Sword. Inner turmoil swirled. He knew this feeling.
Like when he'd heard of Sebrik and Lena—first kindnesses beyond his mother. And rage at repeating the same mistake.
Rustle.
Bushes stirred.
"We waited."
A gruff voice. Heavy footsteps. Executioners emerged—one from left, one right, one behind.
"Thought we'd have to come find you..."
"Didn't expect you'd come yourself."
Alternating voices from flanks, laced with faint mockery.
"Those mercenaries kept their mouths shut better than expected."
"Didn't matter in the end."
"Licht Barbalte."
Footsteps stopped. Licht didn't look up. Still, he sensed the encirclement.
"Surrender quietly. In God's name, we'll grant you a painless end."
"......"
"So be it. If that's your will."
Licht extended his right hand—not the one on the hilt.
"Executioner 4th Seat, Yon Schneider."
"Executioner 6th Seat, Dominic Hertz."
"Executioner 9th Seat, Gust Forden."
Three voices in sequence.
"We execute you here."
Shing!
With the last man's words, clear metal rang out. Three Execution Swords gleamed red in the dying sunset.
Licht rose slowly. Even then, his eyes stayed on his right hand. Yellow stone fragments scattering like windborne petals. Black eyes deepened. He reined in churning emotions—belated regret, fury at them.
The boy, watching silently, finally spoke, slow and deliberate.
"...You all."
Whoosh—
Wind howled. Mana quivered. Fallen leaves scraped the ground noisily.
Scattered winds and mana converged.
"Die."
Roar!
The air warped. His five circles blazed like they might burst. Time twisted amid radiant glow. A golden blade flashed out like lightning, hurtling forward at horrifying speed.