Chapter 63
Chapter 63
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Albert, Midnight Prayer
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
Prince Helga paced restlessly through his chambers, clad in full armor. The fire in the market had drawn the attention of the capital's guards, but this had only worked against him.
His planned coup was supposed to begin with an act of terrorism like this. He intended to set part of the capital ablaze to divert the guards' eyes, then bring in Lord Palliamen's forces through the castle gates.
But now that things had gone this way, the capital's guards would remain on high alert for the time being. Prince Helga tapped the hilt of his sword and stared at the door.
"Your Highness, a messenger has arrived."
"Who is it?"
"A squire claiming to serve Sir Albert."
"...? Sir Albert's? Send him in!"
It wasn't the guest he had expected, but right now, he needed every scrap of information he could get. Prince Helga watched as the door opened and Kirhas entered. She carried the sword of Baier.
"...That sword...?"
"Lord Baier sent me in his stead."
"Lord... No, don't answer that."
Prince Helga was a shrewd and perceptive man. In that brief moment, he pieced together the truth from seeing Kirhas with Baier's heirloom sword. He let out a sigh and sat at his desk.
"Ah... Baier. You were not one to meet such an end."
"He fought with honor."
"He always did. And he always will be remembered that way. But my folly has slain a hero!"
Helga took a deep breath and buried his face in his hands. After a moment of silence passed, he lifted his reddened, bloodshot eyes and looked at Kirhas.
"So, you've come to deliver his last wishes?"
"Yes. He said to leave the city and seek out Lord Palliamen. That there is a traitor, and Princess Moria has uncovered the full truth..."
"...I see."
Prince Helga staggered to his feet. His masterfully crafted heavy plate armor clanked dully. He took slow, deep breaths to steady himself, then opened his eyes.
His emerald eyes gleamed like a lion's. He possessed a charisma that could lead men—a natural gift, the talent of a hero. Prince Helga looked down at Kirhas with blazing eyes.
"Where is your lord, Sir Albert?"
"He is facing Princess Moria and her master."
"...What?"
The prince was greatly startled. Had she located the witch he had been tracking for months in an instant? And even lured Princess Moria out of the palace? The prince shouted toward the door.
"Guards! Is no one there?"
"Yes, Your Highness!"
A royal knight hurriedly opened the door and appeared. Prince Helga released the hilt he had been gripping and spoke.
"Where is Princess Moria right now?"
"She left in haste. We confirmed her departing down the main palace road with the guards."
"...Lord Baier. You went too hastily!"
Prince Helga's lips twisted into a sad smile. Clank. The sound of his heavy armor clashing accompanied his footsteps.
Clank, clank.
He slowly, heavily made his way out into the corridor from his chambers. In the colonnaded hallway stood his knights, armed and waiting. Clank. The ten or so knights silently stepped aside one by one to clear his path as he advanced.
"Pan."
"Yes, my lord."
A knight in ashen plate armor knelt beside the prince and spoke. The prince paused and looked down at him. Beneath the knight's visor, his youthful face seemed to reflect Baier's eyes.
"Receive your family sword from Albert's squire, Kirhas."
"Yes, my lord."
"Go straight to Lord Palliamen. Order the advance."
"For the honor of the royal house."
"Eternal honor. Alt-Hais's Pafnar-Mere. I trust in you!"
At those words, the young knight trembled briefly before rising. Kirhas watched the approaching knight and handed over Baier's sword.
"And Kirhas. Will you follow me as well?"
"...I will go to my lord."
"Convey my gratitude to your lord."
Kirhas met Helga's gaze. He looked resigned, yet resolute. He gripped and released his sword hilt several times, then turned and walked down the corridor.
Clank.
His knights followed behind him. Kirhas stood still for a moment, then turned and left the hallway. Until her next orders came, she had to stay by Fernandez's side.
*
Fernandez twitched his nearly powerless right arm. Ever since being struck by Chellini's lightning, he had felt no sensation in it. The black halo burning behind his head flickered slowly before finally fading away.
*Good work.*
-It was fun.
Feizashi chuckled. Fernandez looked down at Moria, who was gasping in terror and shock. She clutched Chellini's corpse, trembling.
"Whose... esteemed deceased is this?"
"Why not say it again? That a mere knight cannot overcome the vastness of magecraft?"
It was laughable coming from the descendant of the Knight King, and utterly ridiculous that she had said it to him. Fernandez glanced at the distant guards and citizens before speaking. Moria's political standing was now finished.
Moria turned away, her face flushed with shame. Fernandez drew his remaining dagger, gripped it, and approached her.
"Pray, witch."
"Pray...?"
"To any god, any words. Earnestly."
"Inquisitor...!"
Only then did Moria realize that Fernandez was no temple knight or wandering knight. She should have suspected it from the start. But why? Why?
"How... how can an inquisitor wield black magic...?"
"What are you talking about? When did I ever cast forbidden spells?"
Fernandez gave an innocent smile. In truth, throughout the fight, the only magic he had cast through his three heads and six arms was to interfere with, dispel, or block his opponent's spells. No non-mage could have noticed.
The black halo and the translucent spirit forms of the three heads and six arms were not so flashy amid this thick smoke. Not compared to spewing lightning or summoning blood-red spears from thin air to hurl them.
Realizing this, Moria bit her lip. She cried out venomously.
"What were your gods doing when I prayed?"
"What?"
"When I begged, what were those exalted good gods of the Holy Pantheon doing?! Hypocrites—they only exploit our spirits and collect our faith! Your gods are no different from demons!"
Moria cursed the bloodline of the Knight King. Was it wrong to be born with innate mana? To be born a woman? The king, the princes, and those vaunted Round Table knights had treated her as a witch and scorned her. When she was just a little girl!
"I curse you. Be cursed! You hypocrites, forever!"
-Snikt.
Her radiant platinum locks were sliced by the cold dagger. Moria had drawn her obsidian dagger and cropped her hair short. She glared fiercely at Fernandez and scattered the strands into the air.
-Whoosh!
For an instant, it was like a platinum canopy unfurling overhead. As Fernandez paused, the hair caught fire and blazed. Crimson-black flames began devouring everything around them.
-You shall be cursed.
Moria's voice, laced with hatred, echoed. Fernandez was impressed. A true mind-player. Magic befitting Chellini's disciple. Chellini had fallen to his hand before even unleashing her mental spells, but her student was properly manifesting the school's magic.
-Rumble...
A heavy vibration shook the ground. It felt as if flames were consuming the entire world. Fernandez stood still, watching the inferno filling the space around him.
*Better than her master.*
-She burned her soul. Impressive resolve.
Feizashi said admiringly. Yes, without burning her soul for mana, she could never have wielded magic so powerful and pure. For that brief moment, Moria had surpassed her own limits.
Was it because her political position had crumbled, and she faced the Holy Pantheon's judgment? Even if she survived this, the pyre—or the noose—awaited her.
Prince Helga wouldn't miss this opening. Moria's hatred and rage seeped through palpably.
-Even if I perish, your ruin is near!
Moria's sharp voice rang out. Through the flames, hell appeared. Demons roamed, the bodies of the righteous hung from gibbets, and the remains of heroes lay scattered like trash. Fernandez smiled calmly at the illusion Moria conjured.
-Hell approaches. Beneath your feet! Within your shadows! Even in the moments you feel safest, most at ease in slumber—always by your side!
"Ah, so that's it."
-...What?
For a moment, the illusion wavered. Fernandez could clearly picture the young witch's panic. Mental magic was indeed threatening. At least against an ordinary knight. More so than flashy visible spells.
But for him, with Demonica blood pulsing through his veins and the unyielding stigmata embedded, mental magic held little power. Especially trying to intimidate him with visions of hell?
"Even when heroes sleep, saints pray, and sages shut themselves in their studies poring over ancient tomes. Hell never stops. For demons wail in every shadow of this age."
-What nonsense are you spouting...?
"But Moria. The dragon said it. This is the Age of Fire."
Fernandez slowly extended his hand. Fearlessly into the flames of the illusion. The bronze throne had ceased functioning and wouldn't recover for at least a day.
The manifested illusion scorched his hand like a burn, but he reached out with his wounded right hand, grasped the being within, and stroked it.
-Ah...
"Even if we stand in the mire, even if the heavens use us and the earth hates us, without pause. Moria. Did you spend that sad, hard, painful time alone? And so, you came to curse this world?"
From the perspective of one who had walked that path before you. Fernandez paused briefly. The illusion slowly shattered. Amid the dying flames, Moria knelt, bleeding.
Blood tears streamed from her emerald eyes. In her final moment, she had burned her soul for magic and was now dying from the backlash. Fernandez stroked the back of her head, knelt to meet her gaze.
"Only regrets remain. No one you love yet? Perhaps that's a blessing for you."
"You're... no inquisitor."
"I was, once."
Moria gasped and smiled. Venom filled her eyes. After spitting blood-mixed saliva, Fernandez whispered to her.
"Will you pray?"
"To whom? Your Holy Pantheon's gods?"
"For yourself. Toward yourself."
"How ridiculous. False priest."
I'd rather curse you. With those words, Moria breathed her last. Fernandez placed his hand over her eyelids and paused.
*Holy Pantheon, grant your blessing. This once.*
He closed Moria's eyes and briefly traced the holy sign.
*