The Count’s Knights (1)
The Count’s Knights (1)
Johan fell into deep thought.
As Illea had said, corrupting the Holy Spear would resolve many issues.
First, there was Gawain. His suspicion toward Johan would disappear.
He would no longer sense the spear’s energy from Johan.
That wasn’t all.
The matter of White Horn might also be resolved.
The wound inflicted by Gawain would naturally heal once the spear was corrupted into a Cursed Scripture, and at that moment, White Horn would be able to act again.
Of course, one condition had to be met for this conclusion to hold.
— White Horn must be alive.
If he wasn’t, then corrupting the spear would be meaningless.
Johan had once heard from the Imp about White Horn’s lifeforce, but he couldn’t fully trust the creature.
He needed official confirmation.
Johan looked at Illea.
“Let’s confirm just one thing. What exactly is inside the crack that only you can see?”
She gazed at the space above his head.
“I can’t see the inside. But I think I can clear up the fundamental question.”
She already knew what he was really asking.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Your basis?”
“There’s still Johan’s miasma in my heart. That means the protection contract is still in effect. If ‘demon’ Johan had died, the miasma would’ve disappeared—or in some cases, I would’ve died too.”
With her explanation, it became clear.
White Horn was alive.
“I see. That clarifies my priorities. From any angle, corrupting the spear is the top priority.”
The Imp shouted with eager eyes.
“I can already hear their screams!”
In contrast, Illea was watching Johan with a curious expression.
“You accepted that faster than I expected. This must be a heavy decision for you.”
Johan had worked hard not to lose his humanity. According to his values, this was not something he should be able to carry out.
And Illea knew that well.
Johan said,
“Seems you both misunderstood. I have no intention of offering them as sacrifices.”
“Knew it! Far too small a scale to herald the dawn of a great sin!”
Illea tilted her head.
“Didn’t you just agree with me?”
“Of course the spear must be corrupted. The problem is the method. Think about it. What are the essential conditions for the Heretic Array?”
“Living sacrifice, mana, and a Holy Relic to corrupt.”
Johan nodded.
“Let’s say the sacrifice and mana are accounted for. The issue is the relic. Do we even have a way to place the Holy Spear Espada onto the Heretic Array?”
Given the situation, the spear was above Johan’s head, inside the crack. Even its owner, Gawain, had failed to retrieve it and been gravely wounded. And the crack Illea spoke of wasn’t even visible to ordinary humans.
No ordinary means could reach the spear or the crack.
Illea likely had no solution either. If she could manipulate the crack, she would’ve already experimented with it.
Witches were obsessed with the unknown, after all.
Illea shook her head.
“As it stands, I can’t so much as touch the crack.”
Johan frowned.
“Just as I expected. The plan doesn’t even hold. So why did you bring it up? Were you trying to test me?”
Was she curious which path Johan would choose—humanity or pragmatism? That was the only way to explain her motives.
Illea composed her expression.
“You’re half right. First, I was curious what decision Johan would make in a situation with only one visible way forward. So yes, I tested you. I apologize. But you’re wrong to say the plan doesn’t hold. I told you because if we can just find a way to access the crack, it’s a viable plan.”
If she truly wanted him to abandon his humanity, Johan had to clearly state his values and set them in stone.
“I have a line I won’t cross. No matter what happens, I’ll never go beyond it. Remember that.”
“I will. I won’t test you again.”
Though if that line must be crossed, I’ll do it myself. Without Johan knowing.
Illea swallowed the rest of her thoughts and smiled.
Clicking his tongue, Johan asked,
“Separately, what’s your method for accessing the crack?”
“I gave it some thought while we walked. There’s no visible mechanism, but the crack rejects all forms of magical and physical interaction. That suggests it’s bound by a ‘prohibition.’ Do you know what that is?”
In the Inmalog, a prohibition referred to a tacit law around a phenomenon or object.
If someone didn’t meet the required qualifications, they couldn’t access it by any means.
Johan nodded.
“I know the basics.”
“That prohibition seems to revolve solely around you. My guess is that the crack is some kind of exclusive zone, allowed only to Johan.”
“You mean a place only I can enter?”
“Exactly. After all, the ‘demon’ Johan is inside that crack right now. Assuming the prohibition doesn’t discriminate between races, even Johan in his human form should be able to enter. That’s my theory.”
Johan pondered briefly, then said,
“Seems like a reasonable hypothesis. If your guess is right, then a sacrificial ritual isn’t entirely impossible.”
“There’s another option. It’s still a sacrifice—but with a different offering.”
“Explain in detail.”
“Johan, in other words, use yourself as the offering. Enter the crack, draw the Heretic Array, and place both the spear and yourself on the altar.”
In that moment, ‘human’ Johan would vanish from this world.
He would live as a demon for the rest of his life.
“To corrupt a Grade-4 Holy Relic, it takes about two thousand lives. I alone won’t be enough.”
“You’ve forgotten something. You’ve got the Eye of the Great Saint embedded in you.”
Right now, Johan’s body far exceeds the value of two thousand ordinary humans.
Johan let out a short laugh.
“Impressive. You really are a witch. That’s a brilliantly creative idea—and worth trying.”
Illea looked puzzled.
“Do you fully understand what you just said? If this succeeds, you’ll never be able to return to being human. You’ll live as a demon forever. Day or night.”
It was a decision that required deep thought.
“Then what if I found someone else with the same condition and used them instead?”
Interest flashed in Illea’s eyes.
“You’re saying, get a body part of the Great Saint, implant it into some random person, and offer them instead?”
Johan gently patted her shoulder, not bothering to hide his appreciation.
“Exactly. Thanks to you, I’ve found a path forward. You really are a witch.”
“…That was a compliment, right?”
“Of course.”
After a slight cough, Illea said,
“Then we’ll have to find the worst person in the world. Someone Johan can live with sacrificing.”
He had no intention of sacrificing an innocent.
“It’ll be a hassle. We’ll also need to acquire a piece of the Great Saint’s body. It may be hard to understand, but I hope you respect that. This is my line.”
“Don’t worry. I completely understand.”
Johan nodded and said,
“Then let’s verify your theory first.”
In order for the proposed solution to work, Johan had to be able to enter the crack.
“That’s impossible for now. At the very least, Johan needs the ability to perceive the crack before we can test anything.”
“Can you prepare a way to do that?”
“For now, let’s return to the domain. We’ll just stay here for one night.”
Johan definitely needed rest.
And in a village this size, there was sure to be an inn.
“Alright. Let’s get some sleep and head out right after.”
They headed straight into the village.
The Imp, insisting that a disciple of the End could never use a mere shelter as a hideout, burrowed into Illea’s arms.
***
Baron Grian Miyatro was, as always, drinking alone and lamenting his life.
All those noble ladies, Betra who once sat on his lap and flattered him, and Illea who brought a smile just by existing—none of them were by his side anymore.
He was a mere puppet, stuck in his office.
No one sought him out.
Today was different.
The door to his office burst open.
The uninvited guest, who hadn’t even asked for permission to enter, was none other than Gaf.
“Hey, trash. Someone’s looking for you.”
Grian shot up.
“…Th-The Master?”
The Master meant Johan.
“No. Says they’re from Count Staviana.”
Before he finished speaking, heavy footsteps and the clinking of armor echoed down the hallway.
Gaf called out toward the corridor.
“Go on in and state your business.”
Two knights with large builds entered the office.
They didn’t even remove their visors as they spoke.
“I am Knight Campbell Laura. Sent by Count Staviana.”
Grian stammered.
“I-I am Grian Miyatro. May I ask why the Count has sent you…?”
“Where is the young lord? We’re here to see him.”
The young lord referred to the next heir—Johan.
Gaf looked puzzled.
“Why are you looking for Lord Johan?”
The knight with the visor stared at Gaf. His eyes were hidden behind the helm, and he finally spoke.
“You interrupt rudely. I doubt you’re a knight.”
“You’re in no position to scold others about manners—coming into the lord’s office with a sword on your hip.”
The knight tapped his hilt.
“Then why don’t you try taking it from me?”
Gaf snorted.
“Brat hiding in armor. I used to rip your kind apart bare-handed. That metal won’t protect you.”
Just as the knight was about to yell something, the other knight intervened.
“Campbell, enough. We’re not here to fight.”
Gaf spoke curtly.
“Then just say what you came for. Why do you seek Lord Johan?”
“Count Staviana wishes to meet the Young Lord of the Miyatro Family. He sent an invitation. Take a look.”
The knight held out a white piece of paper.
In the center was a seal shaped like an eagle.
“I’ll deliver it. Hand it over.”
The knight shook his head.
“It must be delivered personally.”
“He’s not here right now.”
“That can’t be helped.”
The knight removed his visor and sank into a chair.
“You’re going to wait?”
“Is there any other way?”
“No, so suit yourself.”
The moment he finished speaking, the office door opened.
Johan and Illea entered side by side.
Gaf chuckled.
“Nice timing. Young Master, you have visitors. They say they’re from Count Staviana.”
Without even looking at the knights, Johan said,
“I’m busy. Where’s Raguel?”
The knight furrowed his brow slightly.
“Count Staviana has urgent business with you.”
Johan clicked his tongue.
“Come back later. I’m busy. Gaf, take Raguel to the basement. It’s urgent.”
With that, Johan left the office.
The knight was left stunned, frozen in place.
What could possibly be more important than a matter involving Count Staviana? He couldn’t comprehend Johan’s actions at all.
Gaf smirked and looked at the knight.
“Want me to deliver that invitation for you?”