Night is. The night adorned with stars and the moon is a time of mystery. It is the hour when specters weep, and also when secret wisdom flows. Thus, night is the time of mages.
Yet, witch hunters and Inquisition Officers always throw themselves into the deepest darkness of the night. They have no allies except themselves. Even in the heart of the Temple of the Gods, they always assume the worst of the worst.
“Huu…… Hoo……”
The Saintmetal Greatsword, dripping with bl**d, hung limply. The greatsword that pierced the mage’s heart gleamed coldly under the moonlight. Pascal gasped for breath.
His lungs were damaged, and the wind whistled through them. bl**d gushed up and flowed down his throat. He spat out saliva and coughed for a while. With trembling hands, Pascal pushed the mage away. The mage’s body rolled lifelessly on the ground.
Yet, the skeletons surrounding him did not disappear. During the battle, he realized. This mage was not the mastermind of this situation from the beginning.
“Palace Mage Antaen. This court sentences you to d*ath.”
“Kruk, kuk, kkuk.”
The mage who bombarded the battlefield, cloaked in robes, was Antaen. Pascal frowned and looked at Antaen, who was chuckling. With a bloodied hand, Antaen pointed beyond the sky above Pascal’s head.
“Under that night sky, everyone is a sinner. Sentence them all to d*ath for their sins.”
“May the Temple of the Gods grant us protection.”
-Crunch.
He twisted the blade and pulled it out. The old mage’s body collapsed. His mind was a mess. Where did it all go wrong? The discovery and accusation of heretical circumstances happened almost simultaneously. Someone was plotting.
Who dared? Who dared to incite the Inquisition Officers with dark mages and heretics? Pascal thought as he struck down the approaching skeletons with trembling hands.
The Empire. Palace Mage Antaen hailed from the capital of the Empire. And the noble who accused the heretical circumstances was a count of the Empire. Was this a method to plot against the Duke? Did they dare, dare to involve the Church in their nation’s politics?
-Crunch!
The blade that struck down skeletons and severed specters trembled but did not dull. Still sharp. Still keen. Pascal crushed the specter’s skull and panted.
“Saint…… Brother……!”
With a breath that seemed about to break, Pascal cried out with a heart full of bl**d. His operation. His advice to ignore the Empire’s accusation. There had been secret contact with the Pope, hadn’t there? Then, he must have been investigating this matter.
I was foolish. I was the one who interfered. Pascal bit his lip. He thought he had been incited by strange words, but it was himself. He had to correct the mistake.
The limit of his stamina was near. But the limit of his will was not yet. Where did it all go wrong? Worrying about this was already too late. Where should he start fixing? It was time to ponder this.
From where, who, how.
Should he burn them?
The witch, the heretic, the demon……. If they used the Church for their own worldly affairs, then they themselves were the heretics.
He crushed the skeletons and began to run as fast as he could. Not towards the safe frontline guarded by the Duke’s forces. But towards the Duke’s palace.
Kirhas wrinkled her nose, concentrating. What is this smell? Indeed, the knights on the battlefield usually had the unique scent of sweat and excitement, and it was hard to find anyone in this outpost who didn’t, so relying on her sense of smell was reaching its limit.
Everyone reeked of a terrible smell. Tension, excitement, fear……. The unique smell of the battlefield. No, the smell of war. A sharp killing intent mixed with burning anger.
Yet, amidst it all, a familiar smell wafted. Familiar, somehow. A smell she had encountered before……. If smells had colors, this one would be purple. That kind of feeling.
‘Where have I smelled this before? What is this smell?’
In truth, she was merely sitting solemnly in a chair, lazily watching the battle unfold, with no greater role. If she could dive into the frontline and wreak havoc, that would be great, but Fernandez’s orders were not about the victory of the battle but the safety of the Duke.
So, she had taken on the role of a guard. Saying it like this sounded self-deprecating, but she was trying to find some role for herself in the chaos of this battlefield. At least a way to pass the time.
After all, this battle would end at dawn. If the Duke remained unharmed by then, it would be our victory. Her master had said so, and she had never doubted it.
‘A disturbing smell……. Hmm……. The ocean. No, not the ocean……. Something similar…… similar…….’
A sticky smell. Mixed with a metallic tang. Close to the smell of iron. Iron could be found anywhere on the battlefield, and the smell of bl**d was similar to the metallic tang, so it was easy to miss.
What is this smell? What…….
‘The Dawn of Melisildur.’
Upon hearing that victory in war would come when the sun shone, that magic suddenly came to mind. The moment when a miraculous light swept through the port.
Magic? The port? Why did such words come to mind suddenly…….
‘Is it the smell of elves?’
Elves smell like the ocean. They have the salty tang of the port. They’re also salty in personality. Grumpy, complaining, and yet arrogant. Annoying creatures. Pointy-ears!
‘Hmm. Similar, but not quite…….’
Not the smell of elves. It’s more of a gloomy smell. Similar, but both are salty. There’s a metallic tang, closer to the smell of iron…….
‘The smell of iron is similar to the smell of bl**d.’
The smell of bl**d. The metallic tang. Similar to elves. The port. The Dawn of Melisildur. Dragons……? No, Abel smells good. Not dragons.
“Vampire!!”
Kirhas screamed and jumped up. The knights around her, who were checking their gear and preparing to return to the battlefield, were startled. Kirhas’s eyes quickly scanned the surroundings. Who…
