Chapter 26
Chapter 26
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 26
Chapter Title: Holy Knights' Massacre 3
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The wyvern scaled the tree in an instant, dodging the arrows before vanishing from their sight.
"It's a wyvern, so why isn't it flying?"
"Seems like a clever one. It only flies at night."
A wyvern with black scales was nearly invisible when flying in the dark. It knew that flying during the day would only draw crowds.
"Tch. What a pain. Even when the farmers said they saw a wyvern, I figured those yokels were just spouting nonsense..."
In truth, farmers were notorious braggarts. They'd claim to have seen a dragon, but it turned out to be an alligator or a lizardman. Or they'd swear it was a giant, and you'd find nothing but a bugbear.
But this time, the farmers' sighting matched the real thing perfectly.
"If a young one's wandering alone, that means there are already quite a few sub-adult wyverns around."
Sir Gazrek grumbled as he trudged toward where the wyvern had disappeared. Soon the forest gave way to the outskirts of the farm. There, workers who looked like farmers lay sprawled on the ground—not pierced by arrows and groaning, but...
"......"
The arrows meant for the wyvern had sailed past the trees and struck the farmhands instead.
"Damn it. Why are stray arrows always so damn lethal?"
When you aimed to kill, you could loose ten shots and the target would still run off. But a careless shot like this? One hit and a person's dead.
As Sir Gazrek stared in dismay, the squire knights caught up and spotted the scene.
"Huh?!"
"Eh?"
"Oh god. Shit!"
"Eight Thrones preserve us..."
The squire knights realized their blunder and gasped in horror. Sir Gazrek let out a deep sigh and scanned the surroundings.
"Ugh..."
"P-please, spare us. We didn't do nothin' wrong, sirs."
One farmer lay dead from an arrow, the other two wounded and collapsed. Spotting the knights, they clasped their hands and begged.
"W-what do we do, Sir Gazrek?"
'Does this idiot have no sense? Why call my name right here?'
Sir Gazrek seethed inwardly and jerked his chin at Tasig, who had spoken.
"Cultists. Finish them off, Tasig."
"Huh?"
"Why else would peasants venture into these woods? Cultists, obviously."
An invisible shock rippled through the squire knights at his words. But Tasig, ordered to kill, grasped the situation instantly and acted.
"Ah! R-right. Got it."
Tasig raised his hunting spear and pierced the pleading farmers, ending their lives.
"......"
The squire knights panted heavily. Their consciences screamed at the murder of innocent civilians. Sir Gazrek turned to them with a bitter smile.
"Hey, snap out of it. I just cleaned up your mess."
"Huh?"
"Who loosed those arrows?"
We did.
"And those arrows hit these people. You killed them."
Sir Gazrek barked at the squire knights.
"Recite the knightly code."
"W-we..."
"What happens if you kill innocent civilians?"
"H-hanging."
"Want to hang?"
"N-no. But..."
Framing innocents as cultists to cover a crime—wasn't that just compounding sin with sin? And if squire knights accidentally killed someone, there was a path to atonement: become a Penitent Knight.
Penitent Knights endured harsh penance to cleanse their sins. Without church support, they wandered the lands, slaying beasts and aiding folk to rack up merits until a bishop granted pardon—if ever. They roamed the wilds, sleeping under open skies.
Few who became Penitent Knights ever completed their penance and returned. Most fell to depravity, turning bandit or dying on the road.
Even then, that was only if the bishop was lenient. Given the temperament of the bishop in the Sarasuma diocese, those without strong backing were all bound for the gallows.
'Damn it. I can't become a Penitent Knight at my age. It'd ruin my daughter's future too...'
Sir Gazrek had already fallen out of favor with the higher-ups for fathering a bastard with a commoner while a holy knight. If word got out he'd accidentally killed civilians, he'd be forced into penance for real.
If it were just him, fine—but it would drag his daughter down too.
"If you get it, say they were cultists."
Tasig, finishing the kills, wiped blood from his spear and asked.
"Cultists come in all types, don't they? Which kind should we say?"
"Followers of the Kurt divine tribe."
As Sir Gazrek spoke, he glanced around and froze.
"......"
A single wooden clog dangled from a tree stump. It was obviously just removed— the inside was pristine.
The matching clog's tracks led toward the farm.
"Ah, for fuck's sake."
Sir Gazrek covered his face with his hand.
"You idiots really gonna fuck this up this bad?"
"W-what do we do?"
"What do you mean, what?!"
Sir Gazrek counted the farm's rooftops.
"Barns and sheds, so maybe two households? With three dead here..."
He roughly tallied and clicked his tongue.
"We'd better pray that farmhouse has few kids."
"Huh?"
"Come on, you lot."
Sir Gazrek led the reluctant squire knights toward the farm. He didn't like his choice either, but for his superior's daughter—his own—he'd do anything.
*********
Azadin groaned, lying down. His muscles ached fiercely.
The past week had been nonstop forced marches. He'd collected three imperial gold coins—more than most saved in a year.
People knew of the Church of the King's persecution yet hoarded imperial gold to petition the Herald Clan... The calamity shadowing the world had made them dip into forbidden savings easily.
His body throbbed.
The Aragasans' brutal training and innate gifts made them seem superhuman, but they were still human.
Azadin especially so. To match other Heralds, he paid a steeper price.
But...
[Duty calls.]
The Emperor's voice said.
[Only those who answer justice's call are worthy of my Heralds.]
"...Never seen many like that."
Most Heralds he'd met weren't so zealous for justice. He barely dared claim the mantle himself, and the others? Even less.
It was the nature of inherited contracts. Bloodline decided Herald status, soul be damned. So the Emperor's words were wrong.
But now wasn't the time to correct Him. If justice truly called, someone was suffering.
"Damn. No rest for the weary."
Azadin whipped his weary body awake from the dream.
Then the farmer's son burst into the barn.
"P-please, save us!"
"What happened?"
Azadin descended from the loft as chickens in the lower level panicked and flapped away from him.
"Urgh."
"Ugh."
Midiam, Ismail, and Tarky still slumbered fitfully.
"My father's been murdered! In the woods over there!"
The farmer's son was tear-streaked. His skin flushed from running, sweat reeking, one shoe missing—he was a mess.
"Murdered how, exactly?"
"Arrows!"
"Arrows?"
Azadin frowned.
"Kyaaak!"
A woman's scream echoed from outside the farm. Azadin rushed out to see a squire knight in chainmail, emblazoned with the Church of the King's insignia on his chest, spearing a woman working the fields.
"Damn!"
Azadin charged, scooping a ground stone. Mid-stride, he hurled it sidearm with vicious force.
-Whooosh!
The stone whistled through the air.
Fierce momentum—but the squire knight yanked his spear from the woman and blocked the incoming rock with the shaft.
-Clang!
The stone ricocheted off.
"What the hell? You wanna go?!"
Even the squire knight paled. Azadin's throw was so powerful his hands went numb.
'Tch. Just woke up—power's down.'
His master had drilled him: never throw full force until your shoulder's loose.
Until now, wrist and elbow strength alone sufficed to dent armor and kill. But Church holy knights were no pushovers.
He couldn't stand by watching civilians murdered. Azadin sprinted at the squire knight.
"Have you lost your mind?!"
The squire knight regripped his spear for a killing thrust. Azadin was unarmed—save a short dagger at his waist.
"Hah!"
The spear stabbed short at Azadin. He dodged sideways; it retracted swiftly, then lashed again like a viper's tongue, hissing.
Impressive skill. Unarmed against spear? Even Azadin's prowess couldn't bridge that range gap.
But Azadin flowed around the strikes like water, grabbed another ground stone, and threw again.
"Where?!"
Spotting the motion, the squire knight turned his head to dodge.
He should have...
-Thunk!
The stone hit true. Azadin's throw had curved midair, slipping inside the squire knight's prediction.
-'Firebird Windmoon Heron, Kazas Style!'
Not mana-bent, but air-swum curve—similar effect. Smooth stones resisted sharply, so for big bends, coat in mud or sticky stuff.
Azadin waxed his scabbard for this. He'd rubbed the stone on it pre-throw, then pulled off the feat.