The End of an Ill-Fated Tie
The End of an Ill-Fated Tie
The first to sense something was wrong was the former Saint, Erika. Even with her limbs bound and her eyes covered, her energy perception discerned the anomaly that the descending Demon King was about to create.
"As one who was once a Saint to you all, I implore you! Priests here present—kindle your holiness and form a shield!"
She exercised her quick wits in an instant. She alerted those who could not perceive the calamity of the anomaly taking shape. Scraping together every last trace of holiness that remained upon the ground, she drew up that power to shield everyone from what was to come.
Holy power had never been a force of destruction. Knowing it was an ability biased toward healing and defense, the Empire had sealed no one's abilities. Because of this, everyone who heard Erika's plea instinctively perceived the danger in her voice, and in that same instant, every priest of the Holy Nation kindled their holiness and formed a shield.
A vast golden cradle spread over a portion of the Holy Nation. It extended beyond everyone on the dais, stretching outward to protect the citizens of the Holy Nation who still stood in the position of victims, unaware of their nation's hidden face.
And all because even the Pope, who valued his own life, had instinctively conjured an enormous shield at the cry of Erika, who had once been a Saint.
The bizarre phenomenon unfolding outside the shield did not reach them.
Horrific screams echoed from every direction. A funeral dirge of despair, steeped in indescribable agony, filled the space beyond the cradle. It was the scream that rose from the very core of those who sought to flee from death, only to be caught by it.
At the same time, a terrible stench of blood began to pulse from all sides. Even someone who had never set foot on a battlefield could tell: the reek and nausea of blood that soaked the ground when butchered flesh was spilled filled the Holy Nation alongside the screams.
And then, not a single sound could be heard. Truly, like the eye of a silent storm. A chilling silence alone filled the place, as if the hellish chaos from moments before had never occurred.
"...Hah, hah."
Erika gasped roughly. She, too, had once been a Saint—a being who had existed beyond the boundary. Through that experience, her broadened energy perception allowed her a glimpse of the world beyond her blindfold.
The sensation that every human in her perception had vanished blanketed her senses.
Everyone who had stood there just moments before had disappeared, as silent as a dead mouse.
No breath, no footsteps, no voices. Not a single utterance—the very proof of a living human's existence—could be heard.
Just then, the sound of an Imperial soldier retching came through. It did not stop at vomiting gastric acid; he gagged with the force of throwing up even his own organs, denying the scene reflected in his eyes, trembling in fear audible to all.
The sense of wrongness was overwhelming.
These were, without doubt, the Crown Prince's personal guard. The bravest and most ruthless men in the Empire. The mightiest warriors, who had overcome all the world's disgust and terror, were now trembling in fear, denying what they saw.
"...Could someone please explain what has happened?"
Erika asked, just in case. Yet no answer came back. Only the screams of humans losing their minds to fear, and the voices of those who had miraculously survived, praying to God.
There was not a single soul left in their right mind.
And the Pope was no exception.
The scene had etched itself vividly into his eyes.
A calamity where human beings twisted, turned to powder, and that powder coalesced into pillars of salt, unfolded before him. The bones of thousands of humans contorted, their entrails spilled, and all of it rotted and decayed into pillars of salt—the Apocalypse from scripture played out right before his eyes.
The Pope tore off the gag he had been biting, let out a ragged breath, and began to retch just like the Imperial soldiers.
And then, the Demon King's laughter filled the sky.
Everyone realized that calamity had arrived.
The faithful of the Holy Nation prayed and began to flee the scene, while Ivan and Ian, still mere children, crumbled before that primal terror, shedding tears and losing their minds to fear.
A scene of chaos as if the apocalypse were approaching.
Erika thought that she, at least, must keep her wits about her. And so, with every Imperial knight collapsed, she was quicker than anyone else to acknowledge the scene before her, and in order to grasp the situation, she removed her blindfold.
"...What in the world."
A scene that defied words lay before her. White pillars of salt dotted the blood-stained snowfield. And she knew that those pillars had, moments ago, been living human beings.
Even Erika, a former Saint, broke into a slight cold sweat.
Yet still she did not crumble. Even having stepped down, she had been a Saint. Through transcendent willpower born of the sense of duty to lead the lambs collapsing in terror, she somehow endured the present situation.
Could retching and despairing over the sight before her not wait until tomorrow?
Her task now was first to lead everyone out of this hell of chaos and carnage.
"...All of you, do not be afraid. Has the Lord God not protected us?"
What she presented first was truth. She told them the truth—first letting them know that they had survived, and that there was still a chance—engraving a small hope to overcome despair.
Then, with great effort, she rose and made ready to lead them.
Even though she was old. Even though she had stepped down. Even though she had been persecuted.
She, as one who had been a Saint, now fulfilled her duty.
"Imperial forces, I make you an offer. As one who was once a Saint, I will stake everything and lead you in escape from this place. Therefore, release all our restraints and permit us to accompany you."
She asked this of the invaders who, moments before, had held blades to their throats. She bowed her head and spoke sincerely. Could protecting one's pride not be something done steadily, starting from tomorrow?
First, they must survive.
Even if it meant sleeping with the enemy.
As one who had lived a martyr's life, she must lead them.
Now that Rosaria, the Saint, was dead,
the only martyr left in the Holy Nation was Erika, after all.
The Empire's elite soldiers deliberated. They were soldiers. A soldier obeys the orders of a superior, and exists to follow them. And their superior had commanded them to guard and bind these prisoners.
It was a moment of tightrope-walking between duty and instinct.
"Signal... it's a signal! It's His Highness the Crown Prince's signal!"
One soldier cried out in an ecstatic voice.
At that voice, Erika and the soldiers turned their heads in that direction. Zeke, the Hero astride a white horse, was raising a rod that emitted red smoke high into the sky, signaling their retreat.
It was a disaster. The tightrope walk between duty and instinct was over. In the end, the two merged, and conflict vanished. Every Imperial soldier began to flee, throwing aside even their spears. It was the highest-rank retreat signal, ordering them to discard everything with weight and run.
They even abandoned the bundle containing dozens of keys and fled.
Just as Erika was struggling to pick it up, somehow find the matching key, and free everyone here—flailing to get as far from the Demon King as possible—
"Do you need this?"
It was the Pope, who had been crawling vilely on the ground with only his two arms, who had picked up the key bundle first. He wore a smile of undisguised scorn, an attempt to hide his wretched face filled with terror.
It was as disgusting as a terrified son of a bitch putting on a smug act.
"Then fetch it!"
So saying, he hurled the key bundle into the snowfield below the dais. Even without his legs, his mobility was still better than those fettered in chains.
The Pope intended to offer every limb of the captured Rosaria as a living sacrifice to the Demon King and buy himself time to flee.
He had not anticipated the Empire's betrayal, but in any case, he was confident he could somehow overcome the situation if he could just get off this dais.
And so, just as the Pope, using the spear the Imperial soldiers had abandoned in their haste as a walking stick, was squirming to descend the long staircase along the path they had fled—
A scream echoed from below, like a reverberation.
-All units! Prepare to attack...
The voice of an officer issuing an order.
What followed was not a complete sentence.
Along with the ghastly sound of a skull being crushed, a tremendous explosion of walls breaking began to resound from the end of the dark staircase.
-Monster...
A soldier's voice, swallowed by fear, was the same.
Along with the metallic screech of iron breaking, the revolting, horrible sound of flesh being pulped echoed out.
And so, the sound of people and walls being destroyed continued to ring out.
Precisely as many times as the number of soldiers who had fled into that place.
When, at last, not a single sound could be heard anymore—
The Pope realized his lower body was soaked with urine.
Even Erika could only now breathe, and those with covered eyes were driven nearly to the point of fainting.
"...Erika, Francesco."
A familiar voice rose from below, as if reverberating. It was a voice known to any high-ranking official of the Holy Nation—the voice of the Demon King, and also the voice known to the two boys because she had been their elder sister's friend for so long.
It was the voice of Canaria, laden with emptiness.
But no one felt relief at it.
Because she was the Demon King, and the chief architect of all this atrocity.
It was a moment when everyone felt terror at that voice.
"...As the new Saint of the Holy Nation, I command you."
Canaria, whose silver eyes—the proof of a Saint—appeared in that place.
Carrying the corpse of Rosaria, into which the color of blood had returned, she wept. With the snow that had fallen upon her pure white hair still resting there, she walked before them wearing the face of one who had lost the world.
"...Take Rosaria, and go someplace safe."
The moment those words ended, two contrasting divine powers bloomed forth.
The Demon King's authority, which rusted and shattered bindings, and the Saint's authority, which healed all wounds sustained. In particular, the authority that healed the right eyes of Ian and Ivan—which could not be treated because of the Pope—manifested simultaneously.
"...I will explain afterward."
Everyone's bodies were freed. At the same moment, Francesco and Erika, who had quickly grasped the situation to some degree, carefully held the corpse of Rosaria and fled with all who had been taken prisoner, escaping as if fleeing the dais that was to become the stage for a vengeance play.