The blood-soaked horse.
The one who had brought the horse was Phey.
The girl who had departed as a messenger to deliver a proposal to the Empire earlier had now delivered a message of mourning, and the people were murmuring in anticipation of the news.
A deep trust towards Regyn Solis could not easily dispel the confusion.
Even the mercenaries stepping forward to manage the situation were overwhelmed by a flood of questions, gloom, and unease.
When the mercenaries retreated into the castle, Regyn Solis and the traveling party remained inside the inner fortress.
Beyond the windows, glimpses revealed people filled with anxiety.
Regyn Solis, amidst this scene, gazed at the blood-soaked horse and muttered softly.
“Milia….”
At this sudden muttering, the traveling party looked at him, and he lowered his eyes with an expression not just melancholy but of utter despair.
“That’s the name of the horse. It belonged to my most trusted subordinate, who came from the plains of the South Empire. He was an excellent rider, and Milia was the horse he rode since he was young. Even in old age, it was intelligent and had great stamina.”
His words carried a bitter tone.
The aftertaste lingering in his mouth was the bittersweet reminder of someone already lost.
It was unclear whether his dry mouth was due to thirst or rising nausea.
After swallowing saliva for a long time, Regyn Solis managed to turn his head.
What met his gaze was a weapon lying on the table.
It was an exceedingly rare longsword.
Had the sword not been frozen and shattered, it would have been familiar.
It was the sword used by Sorel, his subordinate who rode Milia.
“Did you pick this up there?”
In response to the question directed at the blade,
“Yeah.”
Phey replied expressionlessly.
“At least six people died there. The horse was hidden among the bushes. It didn’t seem like it was left behind because we couldn’t find it, but rather because they saw no reason to kill it.”
And without emotion, Phey provided the information.
This information elicited a hollow laugh from Regyn Solis.
His reconnaissance team consisted of senior soldiers he trusted the most.
For all of them to be wiped out so cleanly, and for the blade that pierced them to freeze and shatter, left few possible culprits.
“The Veil of Benevolence.”
As Aslan muttered these words, Regyn Solis did not raise his head.
Regardless of the intention, everyone present understood that priests of the Veil of Benevolence were coming here.
Everyone’s expressions were gravely serious.
Some seemed to be assessing the danger, others calculating their chances, while still others struggled to mourn, squinting their eyes.
Among those mourning, one turned their gaze toward the one calculating the odds.
Aslan, upon receiving this gaze, spoke.
“The purpose of the Veil of Benevolence priests is the sanctuary.”
Sanctuary. This didn’t come as a surprise. Regyn Solis focused on Aslan, and Aslan continued.
“The name of the sanctuary above us is the Sanctuary of Eternity and Night. The barrier that even deities of malevolence like the Veil of Benevolence couldn’t cross began with her. Because her act of world creation became the most potent force in closing the world.”
This was widely known information despite the scarcity of knowledge about Eternity and Night.
Sorrow and Death merely completed the barrier; its origin being Eternity and Night was common knowledge to everyone.
Of course, even if they attacked the sanctuary and discovered something, given the nature of the Dark Ram, it was unlikely Geladridion would permit the veil to be breached.
But one could never be sure. If Aslan continued on this journey and violated the rules set by the Dark Ram, such an event might occur someday.
Thus, Aslan said,
“The priests of the Veil of Benevolence are coming to understand the principle of this barrier. That much is clear. They seek to uncover this secret to summon their mistress into this world.”
With a touch, the frozen sword crumbled, and Regyn Solis lowered his eyes.
That blade bore traces of having pierced a priest of the Veil of Benevolence.
After all, the hallmark of those who serve the Veil of Benevolence is that their entire body is replaced by the veil.
While the degree varies, a Specter Priest should possess enough veil density to achieve this level.
Reaching the same conclusion, Regyn Solis wore an expression of pain.
The word escaping his lips was “escape.”
“Could we hand over the sanctuary and retreat?”
The traveling party looked at him as if he were absurd, but Aslan understood Regyn Solis.
To him, ruin wasn’t unfamiliar.
If only he could save the people now, it would be fine.
Most of the people in this fortress were ordinary individuals unprepared, let alone capable, of fighting.
They were extraordinarily ordinary people incapable of enduring against the priests.
Meeting the priests would likely result in instant death, a fortunate outcome at best.
So, when the priests arrived, people would undoubtedly die.
Understanding this, Aslan raised her hand to silence any objections from the group and spoke.
Only then did Regyn Solis realize what he had said and, ashamed, lowered his eyes.
“I understand. If I were in your position, I would have said the same. But… it won’t happen that way. Such terms are only possible when the parties are equal or when the opponent finds us bothersome.”
“What do you mean…?”
“To the priests, we’re just pests. It’s like asking someone to deal with pests nesting in their home. No one would bother.”
Regyn Solis understood this and, comprehending fully, hung his head in despair.
And he fell silent.
Sunlight seeped into the silent office.
Under the pallid sun, the shadow of the Fake Knight stretched long.
Seeing this, the traveling party recalled many people.
Those who abandoned the fight just before battle.
Those who submitted to the priests.
Thus, they thought they might have to stand alone once again.
But suddenly, Regyn Solis spoke.
“What happens if the sanctuary is taken?”
“Eventually, the world will end. All life will freeze, the seas will become icy wastelands, and the skies will collapse. There will be no way for humanity to counteract this doom.”
“So many will die, then.”
“No, all humans… all life will perish.”
Regyn Solis lifted his head. His expression was desolate.
He looked at Phey.
When Phey blinked at his gaze, he asked,
“I’ve heard that the priests of the Veil of Benevolence can walk the skies. You may not know this, but the sanctuary is in the sky. What do you think are the chances of ascending there?”
Upon hearing this, Phey recalled the rippling void she’d seen amidst the blood and death.
It was a trace of space frozen.
“Undoubtedly, they’ll ascend to the sky too. Definitely.”
“Hmm.”
Though Regyn Solis spoke quietly, Aslan clearly believed it was possible.
Ordinary priests might not know the location of the sanctuary, but priests born from specters might.
Certainly, the priests would ascend to the sky.
On the other hand, it was unlikely they would leave the ground unattended.
If they came only from the sky, repelling them would be simple, so instinctively, Aslan felt they would split their approach to make defense difficult.
Especially with the unknown number of enemies.
If their numbers were even slightly large, they would need to defend both the sky and the ground.
While pondering how to divide the group amidst looks of concern, Regyn Solis suddenly spoke.
“Do you think you can defeat the priests?”
Aslan looked up at the question, and the Fake Knight asked,
“Aslan, I know you’re called the Priest Slayer. I’ve heard rumors tied to that title. They said you’re a true veteran who has slain over a thousand priests. Is that rumor true?”
“…Though somewhat different from the rumors, with our current strength, we should be able to handle multiple priests.”
“Hmm.”
Regyn Solis closed his eyes at Aslan’s hesitant answer and then opened them with a smile.
“Good.”
He immediately asked,
“Can an army defeat the priests?”
Aslan caught the intent behind the question.
“Regyn Solis.”
“Answer me.”
The Fake Knight pleaded with his gaze. Aslan bit her lips at that gaze.
“We cannot win. Rather, abandoning the fortress and retreating to the sanctuary might be better…”
“The sanctuary is too small, and we are too many. Evacuating only the people would be difficult. Not everyone can ascend, and we can’t select who goes. We cannot abandon the people.”
Seeing the trembling hands and the knight who wouldn’t step back despite sensing fear, Aslan looked at him.
He was a mercenary.
Not just any mercenary, but one renowned and skilled enough to survive in this land until now.
Such a mercenary couldn’t be unaware of the fear of priests.
He must know the power that destroyed an entire kingdom.
Thus, Aslan observed the genuine knight struggling to breathe heavily.
He steadied his breath, resolved, shook his head, and asked.
“Can an army defeat the priests?”
To Aslan, who was about to reply negatively, his gaze remained fixed as he continued.
“Even at the cost of death. To protect what must be protected.”
Gripping his fist tightly,
“Even if it means climbing over the sacrifices of comrades to stab the enemy with spears and swords… Can we win?”
He asked thus.
Aslan understood the words and was astonished, yet Regyn Solis concealed his barely contained fear with burning black eyes, and smiled with relief.
Thud! A banner landed on the table.
“Place it on the highest spire of the fortress. It will connect to the sanctuary.”
“Regyn Solis.”
Aslan’s expression suggested she thought assigning part of the group was necessary.
Seeing this, the real knight guessed her thoughts and shook his head.
“Aslan, your group must save the world.”
Standing tall and hiding his fear with a smile, he said,
“We will save ours.”
Aslan’s expression didn’t change as the knight stepped forward.
“I’ll stay.”
A figure emerged under the descending sunlight, her white hair gleaming softly with gentle eyes.
It was Ereta.
Before Regyn could ask, Ereta spoke.
“I’m practically outside combat anyway. I can use healing magic, wield axes well, and command fire. I can also block the death spread by the priests of the Veil of Benevolence. Taking me along would be beneficial, wouldn’t it?”
“Hmm, do as you wish.”
Regyn Solis made an uncomfortable expression before leaving the office first, and Ereta followed.
“Asreta.”
As Aslan called out to the retreating woman, she smiled faintly and walked away silently.
In the silent corridor, bathed in pale sunlight where the white hallway cooled, Ereta and Regyn walked.
“Are you really okay with this?”
“If I’m not okay with it, what else is there? I used to be a priest myself. Don’t worry about me.”
Ereta said this with a relieved expression.
Regyn, thinking it was a joke, twitched his eyebrows and turned his head, but
They headed toward the armory.
Inside the armory, Regyn Solis’ subordinates were already gathered.
All of them were mercenaries.
The mercenaries of Regyn Solis, busy gathering weapons, now looked at their commander who had just entered.
“Morgan, open that barrel of wine sitting there.”
Discarding his usual knightly demeanor, one of the mace users quickly rose from the barrel, using his elbow to break the lid.
“Trion, pass around the cups.”
The ax-spear wielding mercenary brought a large number of cups, filling them with Morgan, the mace user, and distributing them among the mercenaries.
Exactly 32 cups were needed.
“I’ll pass.”
Ereta declined, leaving Regyn and the 32 others holding their cups.
Regyn raised his cup and said,
“Our messenger informed us that the priests are coming here.”
The subordinates flinched, but he continued,
“We don’t know how many there are, and they’re the infamous priests of the Veil of Benevolence. Our reconnaissance team of six has already fallen to them.”
Looking around at his subordinates, he said,
“Six of our brothers are already dead, and next will be us and everyone in this fortress. They intend to crush us like insects. There’s no room for negotiation.”
The mercenaries’ eyes tightened with tension as he observed them.
These weren’t knights.
He wasn’t a knight either.
They and he were merely ordinary mercenaries.
Without Diel, they would have been doing mercenary work in another country—skilled but nothing more.
Their focus was money over faith, and profit over honor.
But it was here in this fortress that they could become knights.
Because they had something to protect.
“Let me say this beforehand: anyone who wants to leave, leave now.”
Regyn declared,
“The warriors who can match the priests and their companions have gone upward to guard the sanctuary and save the world. Only Lady Ereta remains to help us.”
Ereta frowned at being called “Lady,” but he smiled slightly and continued,
“We will probably die.”
Despite saying it lightly, it was a heavy statement.
“Even if we survive, keeping all limbs intact will be difficult.”
The mercenaries listened silently, seemingly frightened.
Regyn, seeing his frightened brothers, spoke confidently,
“So at least I intend to die here.”
Fear would surely linger within himself as well.
To shake off that fear, he spoke louder,
“But I won’t die like some common mercenary, stabbed in the back.”
Thus, his subordinates looked at him.
“I will die as a knight.”
As if understanding what he meant,
“At Sir Diel’s side, I swore. To protect the weak. Territory, lords, honor—all that matters little. I will protect only the weak!”
His shout echoed loudly but strangely didn’t feel noisy.
“I’ve discarded all that trivial nonsense. I swear to fight for the traitors who couldn’t die with this kingdom. I swear to take up arms for these weak traitors who lack even the strength to die alone!”
As the shouting ended, his voice softened.
“All this time, I’ve killed people for money.”
As he stepped forward, the mercenaries watched him.
“And monsters for profit.”
The hunters who killed monsters not out of goodwill but for gain looked at him.
“Yet these weak traitors called me a knight.”
He raised his cup, and as the gazes followed, he declared,
“Now, it’s time to become a real knight.”
The mercenary drank deeply.
When the empty cup rolled across the floor, the knight spoke,
“Whoever wants to come with me, drink. And rise as a knight.”
The mercenaries, withdrawing their gazes from him, looked at their own cups and their neighboring comrades.
Smiling faintly, they drank.
As the liquid flowed down their throats, they dropped their empty cups to the floor.
The simultaneous clinking of 31 cups sounded, and the knights looked at Regyn.
“Rise, knights.”
He took the helmet strapped to his waist and placed it firmly on his head.
“Let’s go fulfill our oaths.”
And the knight of the traitors drew his sword.
