Chapter 177

“Gah… huff…”

Breath came in ragged gasps. The heart raced as if it would burst, creating a strange sense of anxiety.

Even in such a situation, Jericho Warren Valeguge did not let go of the sword in his hand.

“Grr… cough…”

“Gah… phew…”

The elf wielding a curved sword with both hands moved swiftly, swinging the blade even in the narrow passage of the trench, certainly posing a threat.

However, unfortunately, many actions were restricted in the cramped trench. Even more so considering that the weapon was a curved sword.

Jericho pushed the sword further into the elf’s chest. Red blood continuously spilled from the elf’s mouth.

“To think you’d wield a curved sword, which cannot thrust, in a trench. The foolish one here is you.”

“…Grrr. Foolish, indeed.”

“…What?”

But the elf, pierced through the chest, sneered treacherously.

“From the beginning, my plan was just to buy time….”

“…What?”

“You knight scum, cough! So… much of a nuisance…”

“What do you mean…?”

“The monstrous girl fighting alongside you.”

Thud.

Jericho’s heart dropped. Why was talk of Michelle coming from this elf’s mouth?

“Cough…! Grrr… is that girl even still alright?”

“…….”

“No matter how monstrous, if attacked by many… she surely won’t endure and will break—.”

– Crunch.

The elf’s head rolled lifelessly on the trench floor, his proud expression remaining unchanged.

And Jericho ran. His entire body wounded, blood flowing, his vision spinning, but Jericho ran.

“Gah…! Huff…!”

Having just fought fiercely moments ago, his breathing quickly became rough. He suppressed the feeling like his lungs were going to burst and kept running.

And how long did he run? How long had he navigated the maze-like trench?

Jericho found a stairway leading out of the trench.

It was certainly a stairway that seemed to lead not toward the allied stronghold but toward the enemy camp.

‘…Damn.’

There was no hesitation. Jericho used his long strides to leap up three or four steps at a time.

And before Jericho’s eyes appeared:

– Crackle. Clang.

Flames raging with the intent to engulf the entire world.

Amidst the searing flames, the enemy’s artillery was bent like a taffy.

Countless dwarves he could see, and just like the elves he’d encountered moments ago, the bodies of elves with curved swords in hand, heads severed.

Between the mound of corpses and the pool of blood, someone, covered in blood whose it was unclear, knelt and gasped for breath.

“…No.”

She appeared to be desperately staunching the blood flowing from the place where her left arm had been torn away, as if she had been hit head-on by an artillery shell.

Her body, barely holding together, leaning against a sword stuck in the ground.

Michelle de Baluerge, the one whose admiration he never wavered from, the one he had pursued all his life.

She…

“No. No…! No…!”

Jericho’s legs wobbled. But he kept moving forward.

The sight of Michelle up close was even more horrific.

Blood continuously oozed from her torn left shoulder, and her complexion, having lost so much blood, was extremely pale.

Jericho touched her cheek with trembling hands. The coldness emanating from her skin, already beginning to chill, was nearly devoid of warmth.

As if sensing his touch on her cheek, Michelle reluctantly lifted her head to look at Jericho.

“B-Bren… dal…”

“T-This… how did this happen…?”

“Haha… Yeah, it was an ambush… foolish, really…”

Michelle’s head, weak and self-deprecating, kept drooping down. Jericho hurriedly lifted her face.

“P-Please! Open your eyes! You can’t!”

“It’s… g-gross…”

“B-but…!”

The vitality in Michelle’s eyes was faint. Jericho’s lips began to tremble uncontrollably.

“H-How… what do I do… what should I do…?”

“Jericho…”

“It shouldn’t be like this, I need to get a medic…!”

“…Jericho Warren Valeguge.”

Jericho fell silent. The voice that flowed from her mouth was filled with strength like never before.

Her lips, sticky with dried blood, parted.

“Do not rest. Keep fighting, Jericho Warren Valeguge.”

“…….”

“For what you wish to protect… keep fighting.”

Keep fighting.

Fight, keep fighting, as he had done before, fight on for what you wish to protect.

“Keep… fighting….”

“N-No….”

“…….”

“M-Master…?”

It was the first time Jericho had spoken the word ‘Master.’

A stubbornness that had persisted since childhood. Although he had changed significantly in temperament, having been told by Michelle that he had ‘lost his cuteness’ because of it…

Now, at this moment, he finally uttered the words he had never spoken until now. A stubbornness he could not abandon since childhood, the only remnant of his willfulness.

– So, will you now acknowledge it? That I am the one who will be your master?

– …Wh-Who are you?

– Huh?

– I mean, what is your name?

Because of that willfulness to surpass Michelle, those words he had tightly hidden until now.

“Please, n-no… Master….”

It was no doubt a trick of fate that they finally escaped his lips.

“Don’t leave me. P-Please….”

Everyone is dead. Sixty percent of the Imperial Knight Order dispatched to the frontlines perished. He had heard that news just a little while ago.

Even those Jericho had been friendly with were dead. He could hardly remember their faces, it had been so long.

And the one who had remained with him until the very end. Michelle de Baluerge.

His swordsmanship teacher, who had taught him life from a young age, the one he had strived to surpass his whole life was leaving him.

– So, I’ll be relying on you from now on, Jericho.

– …Don’t call me by my name…

“Call me whatever you like, but please….”

In a world engulfed in flames, Jericho became all alone.

Lord Jericho lowered his head. Clear tears fell steadily onto his rough hand.

“If I hadn’t fallen away… if I hadn’t been apart from my master….”

“…….”

“If that were the case, maybe my master would still be alive….”

Sadness surged like a tidal wave. The feeling of relief vanished without a trace as all the painful memories gushed forth, leaving only tears behind.

“I killed her… I am the one who killed her….”

“…Lord Jericho.”

“Because of me, she died… I… I…!”

Lord Jericho lowered his head. The weight of his guilt pressed down on him like a heavy burden, forcing his head to bow deeper.

The small room of the confession booth felt as if it were tightening around his entire body, making Lord Jericho suffer even more.

This was supposed to be a place to confess all his faults, yet instead of confessing his sins, he could only speak of longing for someone, feeling immense shame.

“But, my master died because of me, and yet… I had these thoughts.”

Michelle de Baluerge. She had left behind the words, “Do not rest, keep fighting.”

That’s why Lord Jericho had not held back in punishing those who threatened the Empire.

However, Lord Jericho realized. No, he had been aware from the very beginning, yet he lived pretending not to know.

“The reason I behave like this is simply… I want to be at ease now…”

To be at ease.

To escape responsibility for Michelle’s death, and for the countless comrades and fellow knights who had perished.

Outwardly presenting the façade of “I will take responsibility for my master’s death, and follow her words to protect the Empire,” while internally wishing to escape that oppression.

Lord Jericho became fixated instead on Michelle’s last words. He pursued any means necessary to protect the Empire.

It was ridiculous. To instigate war over something as trivial as a handkerchief, while having contributed to the cause of war with his vacillation prior.

“But if I don’t do this, I… truly… don’t think I can endure it… So, I lived by deceiving myself…”

“…….”

“That is my sin…”

“Lord Jericho.”

A calm voice drifted from Professor Antorelli, who stood in shadow, beside the flickering candlelight. At hearing this voice, Lord Jericho raised his head.

Through the small confession window, he faintly saw Professor Antorelli opening a Bible.

“That is not the charge against you. Therefore, I believe I cannot grant you absolution.”

“W-What…?”

“The sin you bear is different. Think carefully.”

Lord Jericho fell silent. A trembling voice refused to emerge, and he swallowed hard, trying to steady himself.

‘My, sin….’

The sin Lord Jericho bore was acting apart from Michelle de Baluerge. As a result, she had succumbed to the enemy ambush and met her demise helplessly.

As Lord Jericho spoke this truth, Professor Antorelli shook his head again.

“Lord Jericho. While I do not fail to understand your feelings, the fact that Lady Baluerge perished in an ambush is not your fault. Consider something else.”

“If that’s not a sin, then what on earth qualifies as a sin?”

“…Sin is disobedience.”

Sin is gluttony.

Sin is envy and jealousy.

Sin is failing to perform every good deed one can.

And, and…

“Are you not deceiving yourself right now?”

“…….”

It was a hard truth. Since witnessing Michelle’s death before his eyes, Lord Jericho had despised himself to the point of wanting to kill himself.

So much self-loathing that he became mired in the ‘stubbornness’ he created. That stubbornness bore the name ‘It’s all my fault.’

And it was a stance of ‘disobedience.’

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily.”

“…….”

Deceiving himself.

It’s my fault. Everything is my fault. He thought it would be easier that way. No need to think deeply or recall memories that only brought pain.

However, that was…

“Under the Lord’s grace, I will give you another chance, Lord Jericho.”

“…….”

“Confess.”

This was an act of deceiving Lord Jericho himself.

Based on Michelle’s last words, he harshly lashed out at himself… while holding on to the belief that everything is my fault, bearing everything alone.

He convinced himself that this was better than a single cutting pain.

“My sin is….”

Thus, having sinned.

“My sin is deceiving myself…”

Lord Jericho’s eyes squeezed shut. Hot tears ran down his cheeks.

“…Now, I will seek absolution.”

To that Lord Jericho, Professor Antorelli softly said.

“Lord, you have confessed and now, in the sight of the Lord, grant him absolution.”

“…….”

“Jericho Warren Valeguge. From this moment, you will follow my words.”

Forgive us our trespasses, and deliver us from evil.

Lord Jericho slowly brought his hands together. His calloused, hard, and unrefined hands slowly came together.

“Forgive us our trespasses… and just…”

Following Professor Antorelli’s words, for some reason… hot tears.

– Don’t leave me behind. P-Please…

Those tearful memories he thought could never emerge again.

“All, evil… deliver us, please…”

Those tears flowed forth as if the river were flooding.

It wasn’t new tears. It was simply…

“Deliver us from evil… deliver us from evil…!”

It was merely the tears he had hidden so long ago.

“Deliver us from evil…”

That simply broke free.

“…Enough.”

Professor Antorelli’s firm voice struck Lord Jericho’s ear. Jericho’s jaw trembled.

“For the next month, every morning you wake, perform that prayer. This is the absolution I offer to you.”

“Y-Yes….”

“You need not say a prayer of contrition.”

“Cough, sniff…”

“Bow your head.”

Lord Jericho did as he was told. Over the top of his greatly bowed head, Professor Antorelli’s gentle hand came to rest softly.

– Whack—!

And what appeared was a golden hue.

It was not light from a candle. It was not the autumn morning sunlight of dawn seeping through the striped window of the confession booth.

Even with his eyes closed, he could see the light, and he could perceive it even without looking.

‘That’s a flower….’

A primordial light of five petals blossomed in Professor Antorelli’s left hand.

To Lord Jericho, who stared blankly at it, a low, settled voice drifted.

“The merciful Father in heaven….”

Through the death and resurrection of the Son, reconciling the world to Himself and sending the Holy Spirit to forgive sins.

Through the duties of the Church, grant this parishioner forgiveness and peace.

“Benedict, the servant of the Lord, also, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, forgives this parishioner’s sins.”

“Ah, ah….”

“The Lord is merciful. Let us praise Him.”

“…The Lord’s mercy is eternal….”

Even after Professor Antorelli’s warm hand left, Lord Jericho’s head did not rise. This wasn’t because the weight of sin bore down on him as before.

Simply, it was another shame.

“Go in peace.”

A person who was almost sacrificed in the twisted atonement born of his guilt and oppression. Professor Lucio Antorelli.

He could not dare meet the softly glowing flame of the candlelight behind him, shrouded in embarrassment.

– Thud.

Lord Jericho slowly took a step. The academy courtyard, now breaking dawn, was becoming softly illuminated by the morning sunlight.

And there, a person stood, basking in the bluish dawn light.

With a ponytail tightly tied back, appearing somewhat weary, she held an umbrella, still dripping wet even after the rain had stopped.

“Senpai.”

Nina von Valdek stood, staring blankly in front of the chapel.

Lord Jericho looked at her in a daze. It was a fleeting moment, but her figure, illuminated by the dawn sun, struck him.

“Nina.”

“…Let’s go back. Us.”

Her tone, usually so uniquely hers, her mannerisms, and her gentle voice threw him back to a certain fond remembrance.

– So, I’ll be relying on you from now on, Jericho.

Lord Jericho did not deny that thought, missing someone dearly.

“…Let’s go back.”

“…Yes.”

Even though the rain had stopped, Lord Jericho did not fold the umbrella Nina had given him. Under the large umbrella, the two shared warmth and slowly moved forward.

Toward a world no longer engulfed in flames, but a world after the rain had stopped.

The sky above that world was truly clear.

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