The Martyrdom of Lancel Dante
20.
Lancel scribbled down a short letter.
[Lancel Dante, deceased at the hands of the pilgrimage group. Please declare it martyrdom.]
This would be the last thing he needed in this loop. And the perfect person to understand it had come to him of their own accord.
His name was on everyone's lips no matter where you went in the capital Rodnis. News of Lancel's death would hit like a thunderbolt at a time like this. There couldn't be a better opportunity.
Lancel unfolded the second page of his will. This one was addressed to someone else.
‘Mary.’
“So pretty! You're too pretty, Mary!”
“How is your skin this flawless...”
Marygold scratched her cheek lightly amid the maids' voices surrounding her. They'd already kept her seated for an hour, fussing over her appearance.
It had started simply enough. While thinking of Lancel, who should be bedridden by now, Marygold had muttered to herself.
—He invited me on an outing, but I wonder when he'll recover...
The sharp-eared maids hadn't missed it. They'd latched onto her in an instant, insisting they needed to prepare her “outing makeup” ahead of time.
Of course, it was just an excuse. The maids were always itching—practically dying—to doll Marygold up legally whenever they could.
“If Young Master Lancel invited you, that means he's got feelings for you, Lady Mary.”
“Uh, um.”
“Exactly! Why else would he say something like that? Have some confidence. Let's just make you his on the spot!”
“M-Make me what...?”
“You know.”
Marygold flinched and covered her face at the maid's lewd whisper.
“I-I'm not sure if that's what he meant by the trip in the first place...”
“He's a man too. You think he doesn't have those thoughts? He might be all about that.”
“Wh-What?”
“Men are like that.”
Marygold smoothed her skirt absentmindedly.
—Once the tournament's over, how about we go on an outing? Somewhere far away. Like a trip.
Lancel's voice replayed clearly in her mind. She'd decided not to read too much into it. No point getting her hopes up and feeling foolish if it was a misunderstanding.
Still, just the thought of traveling together with him had her heart fluttering.
“Lady Mary. You know it's basically official, right?”
“...!”
Marygold felt her heart pounding as she fussed with her hair unnecessarily. An outing. A smile spread across her lips unbidden. She could barely keep her face from melting.
‘A trip to the sea. Just the two of us.’
That was when it happened.
Thud!
“L-Lady Mary! Lady Mary!”
Hestie burst through the door, panting and disheveled. Normally she'd demand a knock no matter who it was, but this time she said nothing.
Her words hit the room like a shockwave.
“Lancel...!”
Marygold's face froze cold.
A brawl had broken out at the capital's Saint Church. Rumors of Saint Churches crumbling everywhere had the faithful forming a human barricade to protect this one.
They were barely holding the entrance against the aggressively pushing pilgrims.
“Do you even know where you are? Who are you to threaten to smash our church?!”
“This is an imperial order! Step aside now, or it's treason!”
Murmurs spread. An imperial order carried terrifying weight. And treason was the gravest crime imaginable in the empire.
“Move! Don't block the way!”
They were slowly pushed back. Even they didn't have the guts to defy an imperial decree outright. All they could do was drag their feet and obstruct with their bodies.
And even that was futile. Thwack! One by one, they were shoved aside effortlessly.
The path to the Saint Church was about to open fully.
“Halt, all pilgrims!”
“Who the—?!”
The knights whipped their heads around irritably, their faces stiffening.
“P-Prince?”
Standing before them was the imperial palace knight order in gleaming armor. At the center rode the 4th Prince, Cyril.
“The Pilgrimage Church's revocation of the Saint Church's approval has been nullified. This is the imperial decision, and from now on, any harm to the Saint Church will be treated as defiance of the throne.”
“...!”
The reversal sent ripples through the crowd.
“And.”
The 4th Prince's eyes turned icy.
“From this moment, all clergy of every order are to prepare the martyrdom rite for the Saint Church's holy knight, Lancel Dante.”
21.
The 4th Prince Cyril stood before the curtain. The emperor's silhouette loomed in shadow.
“He's dead, then?”
A woman's voice drifted out.
“He's still alive.”
“As good as dead, you mean.”
“They say he won't last the night.”
“I see.”
The 4th Prince shot a crooked glance beyond the curtain.
“You let the pilgrims push that far, and now look at you. Sister. I told you Mary the Priestess's power was real.”
“Don't misunderstand. I never doubted you. I was blocking it precisely because I believed it was true.”
“Then why not just make the Saint Church ours?”
“That would birth an idol. These half-baked, dim-witted fakes from the Pilgrimage Church are far easier to handle.”
The 4th Prince smirked. It was borderline blasphemy. Dismissing—and insulting—an imperial-recognized church.
“Hah, what a tiresome, annoying world. Nothing goes right. Who the hell is this Lancel guy anyway?”
“Son of Viscount Dante. Empire's Greatest Swordsman. Tournament champion. Holy knight of Saint Mary. And... the pitiful saint who will martyr himself at the hands of the immoral, unethical pilgrimage group.”
The 4th Prince spoke again.
“By tomorrow, the rumors will spread across the empire. What will you do?”
A small laugh came from beyond the curtain.
Whether she wanted it or not, the conclusion was set. She wasn't foolish enough to deny the obvious.
“Proclaim the Saint Church an officially recognized order from the palace, and hold holy knight Lancel Dante's martyrdom rite.”
A smile tugged at the 4th Prince's lips.
“The palace reaching out to a church first. Dark days ahead for the empire.”
“Indeed. Thanks to whom, I wonder.”
The figure beyond the curtain paused, as if remembering something, then turned back to the 4th Prince.
“Mayril Dunn Duke. He screwed up big this time. Incompetence is graver than immorality. Time to tell him to pack up and head to the provinces.”
“...Rodnis loses one of its eight great ducal houses.”
“Stars must set under the rising sun.”
The figure recited poetry with a wave, a clear dismissal: You're giving me indigestion—get out.
The 4th Prince toyed with the letter in his pocket. In return for his aid, he'd received a single will.
-Lancel Dante, deceased at the hands of the pilgrimage group. Please declare it martyrdom.
Short words. Crystal-clear meaning.
Lancel Dante had been found collapsed in an alley, stabbed.
The 4th Prince pulled out the Saint Church rosary from around his neck and gazed at it.
“Lancel Dante. I wanted to know more about you.”
In the distant square, lanterns rose one by one, stitching the night sky. Every cleric had dropped their duties to converge on the Saint Church.
The crowds honoring the dying holy knight Lancel Dante swelled like a sea of people. Grander than any royal funeral, the martyrdom rite set Rodnis abuzz.
This festival wouldn't end until Lancel Dante finally martyred.
22.
Tough bastard.
Lancel felt how tenacious his breathing was. Still alive, somehow. He felt like he'd die any second, but this lifeline was stubborn as hell.
‘Dying's fine. It's the process that's a drag.’
Lancel Dante's breaths grew faint. Laid on the church altar, countless faithful watched him.
“L-Lady Mary, careful—you'll trip.”
Soon, one figure staggered up the altar steps. No one stopped her sudden appearance. Instead, they guided the blind girl to keep her from falling.
“Lancel...!”
Marygold.
“Lancel!”
Her cracked voice cried out as she rushed into the arms of the dying man. As if she could feel his presence through air, skin, sensation—she pulled the recumbent Lancel into a fierce embrace.
The disbanded Marygold Churches have all been restored.
※Current churches: 199 total (original 180 + 19 new).
“Lancel, Lancel...”
Marygold's shoulders trembled as she felt his cooling body. He was dying in her arms.
Lancel wrapped his arms around her back one last time. On the brink of life and death, even this took all he had left.
“No more... tantrums... Don't leave me. Lancel...!”
Amid her stifled sobs, her body began to glow.
Whoooosh—!
“Th-That's...”
All the clerics awaiting the rite stood dumbfounded. Radiance spread from Marygold.
It started soft like firelight, then blazed into intense pure white, enveloping everything.
Bright enough to turn the dark church into daylight. But it wasn't mere light.
Those touched by the spreading net of light felt tingles across their bodies. Wounds big and small healed in seconds—from scrapes to old scars, all vanished cleanly.
Awe overwhelmed everyone witnessing the miracle.
“...The Saint.”
The Returned Saint.
Marygold.
The real, tangible idol. Beyond sects and doctrines.
The clerics knelt one by one, bowing before her.
Mary is real. Incarnation of the saint, divinity descended in this age.
No one could deny it now.
The 200th church has been established!
※Marygold's karma decreases by 1 point.
Karma is now ‘0’.
The fog over Marygold's world clears, and she finally beholds the light!
The murky silver of Marygold's eyes regained color. Luminous emerald filled her pupils.
Yeah. That's the color.
Lancel met her brightening gaze with fading consciousness. Seeing it after so long felt especially welcoming today—that signature green.
“Ah...”
Marygold stared at Lancel with wide eyes. She must have felt reborn.
I told you I'd make you see.
Lancel murmured faintly, on the verge of silence. A satisfied smile formed.
Ah, dying.
This was it. Even her white magic's leaps couldn't heal such wounds. Made by a pilgrimage knight.
Though Lancel had struck first. No one left alive knew that.
Left the letter, so probably not another bad end, right?
His awareness drifted. Marygold's tear-streaked face was his last memory.
Marygold.
Three lifetimes since her eyes went blind.
Twenty-three years.
The eight-thousandth night.
Lancel had finally opened her eyes.
Ten years passed.
10 years 0 days
Marygold is now 25 years old.
No marriage partner.
Achievements unlocked.
▶ White Magic Awakening +30 points.
▷ Black Magic Awakening +20 points.
▶ Returned Saint Title +50 points.
▷ Evil God Title +50 points.
Evil God Marygold's Skeleton Soldiers
Ending added to ‘Memory Album’.
Opening album...
Confirming Lancel Dante's final words in his will—“We'll meet again”—Marygold's heart fills with hope and joy. She finally knows all her actions were right.
‘Yes, we'll meet again.’
Marygold heads to the church basement. Past the crypt, she stands before the dark altar.
‘Today!’
Clatter. Clatter.
The 200 bones she'd cherished vibrate on the altar, merging into one. It stands tall on two legs.
Marygold senses a familiar scent from the skeleton soldier.
‘Lancel.’
The man who was her everything.
‘Let's go on that outing now. Lancel.’
The man who opened her eyes.
‘The day this empire—from its roof to walls, pillars, floor, and foundation—turns to ash and vanishes.’
Marygold cradles the 200 bone fragments shambling without muscle or skin.
Old memories surface: a cozy afternoon riding through fallow fields.
She feels overwhelming happiness within.
‘Together... on an outing.’
Start the game over?
“Fucking terrifying.”
Lancel couldn't hide his shock at the unimaginable ending.
‘Uh... how did it come to this?’
He'd figured she'd live out her days hailed as the Returned Saint, coasting in luxury.
That's how the flow pointed. But this weirdo pulled some bizarre stunt again.
Her karma hadn't risen, so no major atrocities, at least.
“More importantly, why'd she turn me into an undead?”
Lancel wiped cold sweat, suddenly a skeleton soldier. Just posthumous humiliation?
She was bewildering in so many ways.
‘Marygold, when the hell are you gonna be happy?’
How? What to do?
“Hm.”
After agonizing, Lancel reached a decision.
“Mind if I take some vacation?”
Yeah. This loop, he'd just recuperate.
‘Honestly, I've worked too damn hard.’
Even with endless time, Lancel wanted a break sometimes.
And now was that time.
‘Decided. This round, I'll gorge on seafood and live the gourmet life. Sabbatical in a spot with great water and air! Goodbye, Marygold. See you later, Marygold.’
With that, Lancel boarded the train.
“Listen up, folks! Mary's money on the line—money-eating dice game! Back again today!”
In a street of the village where the train stopped, Lancel perked up at the familiar name.
‘...No way. Imagination.’
Had to be. Or a namesake. Mary wasn't rare.
“You bitch! Scamming me right now?”
“Wh-What nonsense! When did I scam you?!”
“Hah! I saw you palm those dice, and you're playing dumb?”
Lancel glanced over and instantly regretted it.
“Lost your money, now you're nitpicking! Ptooey!”
“Y-You...!”
Marygold. She was running a three-card monte scam.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
[Next - Wealthy Marygold]