Chapter 246

A streak of blood gently caresses the cheek.

Both arms tremble uncontrollably, and the shoulders burn as if scorched by fire.

Breathing heavily, the body feels completely drained, as if having sprinted at full speed for three days and nights.

It’s as if the bones and muscles have melted, flowing down to the ground.

Less than a tenth of the strength remains.

The broken Jin’s blade rolls on the ground, emitting a cold light.

“Cough…!”

Fresh blood rises from the throat and spills over the lips.

The weakened legs stagger, threatening to buckle.

Truly, the Empire’s greatest sword.

The strike, infused with his soul, carried a force that naturally evoked awe.

…

…

…

Yes.

Even after taking my slash, he’s still breathing.

“Kuh…!”

Marquis Valenstein, lifting his head, vomits blood like a fountain.

His wrinkled face contorts in shock and pain.

A spray of blood scatters into the air, like celebratory fireworks welcoming the fall of the Empire’s greatest sword.

Durandal, accelerated in an impossible manner, plunges faster than Valenstein’s attack can reach, slicing through his collarbone and ribs.

The speed was beyond comprehension, as if time itself compressed along the sword’s trajectory.

Desperately trying to deflect the attack, Valenstein attempts to block with his own sword, but the longsword shatters upon contact with Durandal, unable to withstand the immense force.

Thanks to his frantic defense, his body isn’t completely split, but it only prolongs his suffering.

His injuries are already beyond survival.

“Kuh…!”

Valenstein, pale as a ghost, lets out a deflated groan.

His left hand, stretched out in a final attempt, is severed in half, revealing the bone.

“How does it feel to be cut? Doesn’t it hurt your pride?”

Leaning in with a sneer, the mockery suits the old man who dragged countless others into his delusions.

“How…? Did you… see beyond the wall…?”

The wall?

To you, it was a wall. To me, it was different.

“There was no wall. All I saw was a half-open door.”

“Kuh…! A door…? Impossible…!”

The unexpected answer makes Valenstein’s eyes widen to the point of tearing.

No, they actually tear, as a stream of bloody tears flows from the corners.

“Guess you were too old to open it, huh?”

Kicking Valenstein’s stomach, I pull out the embedded blade.

The wound gapes wider, and hot blood gushes out like lava.

“Kuh…! Kuh…!”

Valenstein collapses weakly, convulsing as if struck by lightning.

The once-imposing figure now lies utterly powerless.

Sixty-nine years of his long life are finally coming to an end.

Compared to what he did and intended to do, this is a merciful death.

“Elpinel…”

As the blood pools beneath him, the broken old man looks up at the sky.

“Silent false god… I curse you…! Why did you toy with me until the end…?”

Who knows?

Maybe you just weren’t likable.

“Why don’t you go ask yourself? I can help you get there.”

Pressing down on his writhing body with my foot, I place Durandal against his bloodied neck.

The cold blade touches his throat.

“Kuh…!”

“I’ll send Isabella along too, so wait for her. The stench might be strong, but you’re both rotten, so you’ll manage.”

Just moments ago, I felt like collapsing, but now I can move a bit.

Durandal’s blessing still shines, filling me with vitality.

“There’s a lot I wanted to ask you, but…”

“Knights! Charge! Charge now! Save Marquis Valenstein!”

“…Unfortunately, there’s no time for that.”

From the direction of Ernst’s camp, a loud voice roars.

They never imagined the Empire’s greatest sword would lose in a one-on-one duel, and the cry sounds utterly panicked.

The knights, spurred by the command, whip their reins, and their startled horses begin charging toward me.

Rescue…?

What are they planning to do with a corpse?

It’ll take them at least several dozen seconds to reach here, no matter how fast they are.

I turn my head back to Valenstein.

“Your pitiful life ends here. Any last words? Something grand for the history books, maybe?”

His pale, lifeless eyes stare up at me weakly.

“…Elpinel… how long do you think she’ll stay on your side…? Someday… you too will be like me—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Before he can finish, a single stroke cuts across his neck.

His severed head rolls onto the pool of blood.

Nothing special, just a predictable last word. Not worth hearing more.

I take only the head and place a spark of flame on the lifeless body.

Isabella might be able to pull off some trick I can’t even imagine with this piece of meat.

The rising Up-hwa burns the headless corpse to ashes.

—

Leaving the burning trash behind, I mount my horse and raise Valenstein’s head high.

Let them all see clearly the final moments of this senile old man.

“Open your eyes and see! Here lies the head of the despicable traitor Valenstein, who betrayed his lord, bewitched by a witch!”

“Marquis Valenstein…!”

The charging knights falter.

Confusion and fear fill their expressions.

“To cut off the head of a defeated duelist and flaunt it… how barbaric!”

One of them gnashes his teeth and shouts.

There were some who were present.

…They naturally raised their heads, but it seems the Empire didn’t have this kind of culture.

I was slightly flustered, but it wasn’t a big deal.

Among the approaching faces, the number of those showing anger wasn’t even significant. Even though their supreme commander had lost his life.

It’s a good sign, I’d say.

It means, as planned, their morale has hit rock bottom.

“Your rebellion is over! Lay down your weapons and surrender! In the name of Wittelsbach, I swear, if you surrender, you will not be charged with treason!”

“Medium Cavalry, advance! Follow the descendants of the 12 Knights! For the peace and prosperity of the Empire, annihilate all resisting rebels!”

Right on cue, Leopold and Ludwig’s voices echoed.

“For the Empire!”

The cavalry lined up at the front of our forces responded in unison and charged forward.

Heavy warhorses clad in armor kicked up dust as they galloped. The cavalry lances raised toward the sky gleamed in the sunlight.

Numbering three thousand six hundred.

Even including thirteen masters, it was Leopold’s elite force.

A crack formed in the enemy’s formation. Not just the charging cavalry, but the entire enemy force.

You could say the gamble-like strategy worked well.

Now, they were no longer an army of tens of thousands, but a disorganized rabble that could scatter at the slightest trigger.

Sitting on my horse, I catch my breath and soothe my tired body.

I’ll need to step forward at least once more, so I should recover some stamina for now.

I tied Valenstein’s head to the side of the saddle. Just in case it might come in handy.

For his age, his hair roots were quite healthy, so even tied by his hair, it stayed surprisingly secure.

“I say this one last time! All you will gain from this rebellion is a dishonorable death! Lay down your weapons and surrender! Follow what your hearts cry out! Will you perish under the stigma of being witches’ pawns, or rise anew as knights of the Empire!”

Leopold shouted once more.

Following that, a pure white holy light enveloped the battlefield. A miracle of blessing unleashed by Lacey and the military priests gathered together.

The radiant light descended upon the Medium Cavalry.

Their swords. Their steel armor. Even the warhorses clad in armor.

The charge of the glowing white Medium Cavalry displayed a majesty as if the army of gods had descended.

The approaching cavalry’s steps slowed even further.

Would they remain loyal to their lord, or follow the path of true justice?

Their conflicted steps made their dilemma painfully clear.

=====[Pheros]=====

“…So Valenstein is dead. Unexpected. There aren’t many techniques as specialized in escape as his Ghost Sword.”

The ruins of an old temple, little more than rubble.

A man sitting on the collapsed foundation muttered while looking at the sky.

“Is this alright, Pheros? Those who glimpsed beyond the wall are valuable talents. He could have risen to become the Ninth Apostle.”

The giant knight standing beside Pheros, as if guarding him, looked down and asked.

Even in their organization, those who reached the pinnacle of mastery were rare, so losing Valenstein so soon was a significant loss.

However, Pheros’ expression was anything but worried. It was utterly serene.

Valenstein’s death was no loss to him.

“I’ve retrieved his soul. That should suffice.”

Pheros calmly replied, opening his right hand.

– Oooooooh.

On his palm, a semi-transparent gray sphere swirled chaotically, letting out a mournful wail.

That sphere was Valenstein’s soul.

The soul harvested as the price of the contract.

Even after losing his body, the resilient specter, still retaining its ego, screamed soundlessly at Pheros.

—

Long ago, Pheros made a contract with Valenstein.

In exchange for teaching him the reason he couldn’t advance beyond the wall—the truth of the world.

‘The limits of this era, the wall created by false gods. I’ll teach you the truth. In return, can you lend me your strength?’

Valenstein agreed. He thought lending strength meant becoming a member of Pheros’ organization.

A grave misunderstanding. Pheros’ words were far more direct and fundamental.

The First Apostle. The Soul Summoner, Pheros Haransior.

He possessed the power to summon the souls of the dead to this world and bind them to his will.

Thus, the contract to lend strength meant, quite literally, handing over one’s soul after death. Valenstein never realized this until the end.

Of course, by the contract, it was still “borrowed strength.”

A soul that would eventually have to be returned.

However, with no repayment period specified, when to return the borrowed strength was entirely up to Pheros.

At least for now, he had no intention of returning it. And likely never would.

“One must be cautious when making contracts with sorcerers. I’m glad you’ve come to realize this, Valenstein.”

Looking down at Valenstein’s trapped soul, Pheros smiled with satisfaction.