The End of Silence 5
Noise, smoke, the stench of blood. Horrifically chilling screams.
'Ah.'
That dream again.
Licht quietly watched the passing scenery. His body moved on autopilot while his sense of 'self' accepted the spectacle with utter detachment—as if he alone were isolated, watching a play unfold from the wings. The events his past self had endured. Killing people, then more swarming in to kill again, reaching the end of a hellish blood-drenched battlefield, and with familiar strokes, severing the neck of the Empire's Greatest Sword.
Only after his drained body slumped and his vision faded to black did Licht know the wretched play was over.
A sensation like plunging into the deep sea. Consciousness slowly buoying up to the surface.
"Ah...."
The first sound from his own throat was so ragged he wondered if it was even his.
Licht lay on the bed now familiar to him, staring quietly at the ceiling. The room's ceiling he'd gazed at for nearly a month.
He turned his head slightly from the light pricking his eyes. Beyond the window flowed crimson sunset light. The same hue as when he'd first opened his eyes here.
After staring out the window for a time, Licht slowly sat up. Unlike before, no bandages swathed his body haphazardly. No pus or scabs either. His body bore no wounds.
Yet Licht sensed his body was different from before. Realization came swiftly.
'The circles...'
Completely locked. Even the two rings he'd barely activated.
But he felt no sorrow, no anger. No despair. Licht was simply grateful to be alive.
By all rights, he'd have died—or been left a cripple—when he forced the remaining three circles into rampage. Yet here he was, alive. That his hard-won circles had twisted shut again without shattering was miracle enough.
"Treatment..."
Someone had done it.
Licht, upper body raised as he gazed down at his hands, shifted his eyes. Right at the bed's edge, head buried, a girl breathed softly. The chair sat flush against the floor beside her. Exhausted from nursing, she'd dozed off.
Licht stared at her face. Platinum hair spilled beside it. He took a careful handful; it slipped through his fingers like silk, strand by strand.
'Again...'
A strange sensation. Licht couldn't name the emotion stirring in him.
They'd met only recently. In his past life, he'd heard of her death secondhand, never laid eyes on her. Their first true meeting.
Yet gazing at her brought an inexplicable calm. Not quite affection or longing.
'Mother.'
Family memories lay mostly buried, but a few stood vivid. Childhood days in the annex, while his mother still lived.
Licht began slowly stroking the girl's hair. Just as his mother once had for him.
She opened her eyes around then. He withdrew his hand.
She blinked sleepily, straightened from leaning on the bed. Her drowsy gaze sharpened.
"...You're awake?"
Her first words carried a husky slur, sleep not fully shaken.
Licht gave a small nod.
"I'm so glad."
"......"
"No external wounds, but your internals were worse than before..."
"How long?"
"A day."
"A day..."
"But you're not fully recovered. You need rest, body and soul..."
"Why."
Licht spoke. The girl had risen to sit on the nearby chair, gazing at him with innocent eyes.
"You saved me."
The words tumbled out.
She gave no answer. Leaving the convent building, forcing his circles to rampage, he'd harbored a faint what if. Even after slaughtering five Knight Secreta, perhaps they'd heal him.
Denying expectation would be a lie. But waking whole sparked questions.
"You knew."
"......"
"Killed Executioners. Five of them. If you halted my circle rampage, you knew. Those sword scars aren't from ordinary holy knights."
"I knew."
"Then why?"
Not some priestess—the Saintess. Killer of five Holy Kingdom Executioners deserved death. No need to soil her hands. Left alone, he'd have died unknown in that forest.
Even learning afterward, she could've turned him over to the Holy Kingdom. Yet neither Saintess nor abbess had. Even now, after he'd slain Knight Secreta too.
"I..."
"......"
"Never once lived as I wanted. Back in the Papal Palace."
The Saintess wasn't merely an oracle vessel. Proxy of Goddess Isterria. Idol drawing universal awe. Life as the Pope's sole daughter. As the previous Saintess's only kin. As the oracle bearer.
"First time acting selfish."
Loneliness tinged her eyes.
"...So you fled the Papal Palace?"
"Yes. Because I wanted to."
First time.
"First time... I felt truly alive."
Felt the fact of living.
"Without the abbess, I'd never have dreamed it."
"......"
"And my second selfish act."
"You saved me."
"Yes."
No shadow darkened her face now.
"Heard a sound at midnight. In a dream. Can't recall what. Just went out. Wandered the woods. Felt I had to."
"......"
"Knew this place was remote, but the abbess has central ties. Five Executioners dead. Wounds from them."
She caught her breath, continued.
"No regrets. I wanted it."
"The holy knights..."
"All dead. Won't find them. Deep in remote woods."
"I killed your guard."
Executioners could pass, but not Knight Secreta. Straight from the Papal Palace—one her anima, David Liberke, Cardinal Pedro's sole son.
Yet she'd saved him.
"Not sad."
She smiled bitterly.
"Knight Secreta—Holy Kingdom's finest order. Before knights, each more devout to Isterria than any."
"......"
"Yet no sorrow. As Saintess, I should mourn properly. Instead, relieved."
"Why?"
"You lived."
Licht had no reply.
"Grateful you lived, over honoring the dead. Prioritized your healing. Strange? Saintess must love all equally. I didn't. Unlike Mother."
Suddenly, she turned to Licht. Eyes earnest, unlike before.
"Am I strange?"
A question—to him, and to herself.
Saintess: Isterria's proxy, universal idol. Strange. Unhinged. Relieved a Holy Kingdom heretic lives, over devout Knight Secreta deaths. Anyone would call it madness.
But Licht couldn't say it. Didn't believe it. She was a person before Saintess.
"No."
Not strange.
"Not at all."
No one judges another's heart.
"Really."
Only then did she beam—a genuine smile, first since his waking.
"More importantly."
After peaceful silence.
"What now?"
Licht asked. Five dead Knight Secreta made the convent unsafe. One no mere member—Saintess's anima, Pedro's heir. Should've reached capital Ceres by now. In a week, probes into their vanishing.
"...Can't dwell in dreams forever."
"What?"
"I'm leaving."
"Where?"
She rose. Eyed Licht propped on the bed, extended her hand.
"Shall we step out?"
***
A sunset like roaring flames. Faint shadow trailed his feet.
He looked up; the sky bled crimson glow, endless as paint dissolved in water.
Licht walked slowly, wordless. Ahead walked a girl in pristine white priest robes, platinum hair cascading to her waist.
She who'd offered her hand led him out, then climbed the mountain path, back turned.
Circles stalled, but no grave wounds hampered movement. Each step sent her radiant platinum locks swaying.
Face hidden, he couldn't read her expression—but likely her usual gentle smile.
"Here."
Mountain summit. Silent till then, she turned. Her lips curved in the bright smile he'd pictured.
But Licht couldn't respond.
Panorama unfolded.
She turned forward again. Licht followed mutely.
Not far: a sheer cliff, proclaiming the end. Licht halted at its brink, gazed down.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Vast plain stretched below. Boundless earth, unhidden, all in view. Ridges along the land burned red. Meandering rivers gleamed bloodcrimson. Horizon where sky kissed earth, endless beyond sight.
The vista—so achingly beautiful—left Licht speechless for ages.
"Wanted to show you this."
"......"
"Come here when weary or drained."
Her clear voice rang. He looked up: birds sliced the crimson sky, cries piercing.
"Returning to the Papal Palace."
She said abruptly. Licht stood beside her, eyed her profile.
"Five Knight Secreta dead. Won't go quietly."
"Then."
"So I must go."
"Papal Palace?"
"Convent stays normal. No threats. Then you rest easy."
Stay put, all perish. Someone covers it. Her words exactly.
Pope craved her return. Paramount cleric, absolute power. Could bury it. Even five Knight Secreta, including cardinal's son and her anima.
'He'll kill.'
Licht knew the Pope's intent.
'January 1st.'
But the words don't go wouldn't come.
"Licht."
Her hair glowed red in the sunset.
"What do you want, Licht?"
"I..."
Want. Wish. Purpose, yes. Northbound. To the emperor who revived him. Questions aplenty. Fate decreed it, per the Great Sage—certain.
Yet not a dream, not true desire. Innate fate. Was yielding to fate his true will?
"I want to fly."
She said.
"High where none can grasp."
"Freedom."
"Freedom... yes."
She mouthed it, bitter smile.
"Crave freedom. Won't happen."
"......"
"So you make it real."
She unclasped her necklace. A rosario, unlike the cardinal's or David's.
Licht said nothing. Accepted it silently.
"Promise."
She smiled airily; hair whipped in wind. A cool breeze, odd for summer. Sun dipped; twilight cloaked the sunset. Long after, Licht stood rooted, drinking the view.