377. Forgiving Your Sins (1)
When humans gaze upon an incomprehensible being, they often forget even to gasp or exclaim in shock. The command of Phaeirn’s main force was no different.
As the frontline, which had been at a stalemate and then gaining the upper hand, began to retreat without any sign of recovery, the Phaeirn command remained silent.
At the point when orders ceased to be relayed, the soldiers were thrown into chaos. Messengers were rushing in from the frontlines, but no orders were being issued.
“Your Majesty… Count Bertolf has fallen in battle. We request the dispatch of a field commander for the 2nd Legion.”
“Your Majesty! A report from Marquis Paul von Bock! Our forces are being slaughtered!”
“From the 3rd Cavalry, a report to the main force! Prepare for a rear assault by the Pilgrim Knights. Cavalry Captain Eberwürgen has fallen!”
Amidst the flood of reports from all sides, only one word echoed in Zigismund’s mind: defeat. With trembling hands, he wiped his dry face and muttered.
“What on earth is happening…?”
It was a hollow question, one he had asked countless times. It was incomprehensible. This was not a battlefield where defeat was possible. Sure, there were some peculiarities, but how could an elite force of thirty thousand, carefully selected and trained, collapse so miserably?
And all in a single defeat?
Hearing Zigismund’s whisper, the generals of the command let out deep sighs. Whether they were the loyalists who had rolled up their sleeves for the revival of the royal family, the opportunists who had clung to the prince’s rebellion for survival, or even the minions who had fallen to the forces of hell and reveled in slaughter—it was too great a result to blame on individual incompetence.
“How…? Why is no one dying? Why?”
To be precise, it wasn’t that no one was dying. The battlefield was still voraciously sucking the lifeblood of the living. The problem was singular: it only seemed to crave the deaths of our own soldiers.
When people fight with swords, one side may die. It could be our side. But in this moment, with tens of thousands clashing swords, only our side is being sacrificed—this is clearly bizarre.
“Judgment… it’s judgment…”
A general muttered with a cracked voice. Zigismund glared at him with bloodshot eyes and growled.
“Judgment?! Who? Who dares to speak of judgment against my authority?!”
“The gods above… the wrath of the Temple of the Gods has descended…! For slaughtering the people and building your throne upon their blood!”
“You wretch!!”
Zigismund sprang to his feet and shouted. The general who had spoken met his gaze with calm eyes.
“What are you all doing?! Tear out that traitor’s tongue and behead him!”
“……”
No one dared to move at Zigismund’s command. Rats are always the first to sense a sinking ship, and most of the generals gathered here were just that.
Rats who sided with the rebel prince for a share of the spoils, and betrayers who abandoned their oaths and beliefs under the pretense of saving the nation. For them, defiance and betrayal were nothing unusual. Zigismund gnawed his lip as he glared at the silent generals.
The atmosphere in the room grew increasingly tense. Armed men fidgeted with their sword hilts, ready to draw their blades, while noblemen rolled their eyes, contemplating escape.
Zigismund tightened his grip on the bronze cup he was holding. With a creak, the cup cracked.
“So, this is what you all think, is it?”
Before his words could fully land, the armed men rose from their seats, hands on their sword hilts. They stared directly at Zigismund, slowly adjusting their stances.
“Our goal was one: the revival of our homeland. But look at us now. Even if the land’s corruption by magic was an accident, pushing the people into famine, drafting soldiers, and sending them on this distant expedition—only to face annihilation now!”
“……”
“Thus, our only duty is to bring these soldiers back to the embrace of our homeland. The war is over! You will be remembered as a mad tyrant, a cautionary tale for future royal families. We will no longer heed your words!”
As the generals drew their swords, the faces of the nobles uninvolved in the rebellion turned pale. Whether this rebellion had been planned for some time or not, it was clear their lives were now in jeopardy.
“Oh, so you’ll take my head and beg for mercy from Dane’s stable boys, is that it?”
“If we must.”
“Amusing. For the people? For the glory of the nation? Did you truly believe that?”
Zigismund threw the crumpled cup to the ground and stood up. A red, surging magic began to ripple beneath his eyes.
“You, who tortured and slaughtered women, burned dissenters at the stake? You, who left corpses piled so high there was no room to bury them, dumping them like trash in the fields? Did you truly do all that for the people? Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting!”
“That was all under your orders…!”
“Ah, orders! Just tools, were you? What a fine excuse! Then why didn’t you follow the former king’s orders during the last rebellion? Hahaha! You! Ernst! When you swore loyalty to me, you were just a low-ranking officer! Were you not a tool then either?”
The veins in Zigismund’s hands began to writhe like snakes. He glared at each of the armed men with blazing eyes and shouted.
“Heinrich, Walt, Artur! And all of you! You, who had no connections and languished in lowly posts, did you swear loyalty to me and slaughter the central nobles for higher titles and ranks—all for the people? Was that truly it?”
“Shut up, you fool!”
“Go ahead! Try to silence me with that sword of yours! Afraid to leave the stain of betraying two kings, are you? Disgusting creatures…! You, with no talent or ability, gilding your greed as ambition, wagging your tails like dogs!”
“Kill that madman!!”
-BOOM!
The armed men, trembling with rage, drew their swords and charged. The skilled knights unleashed a flurry of sword strikes, staining the command room with chaos. Blades flashed as they rained down upon Zigismund.
-SLASH!
But the blades stopped at Zigismund’s skin, unable to pierce further…
He couldn’t move. The blade grazing his skin made a metallic scraping sound and then stopped. Zigismund looked down at the blades scratching his body and curled the corner of his mouth.
“What is this…!”
“The game is over now. It’s still early, but the time to match the rhythm has passed.”
Human flesh can never be stronger than steel. Yet, the blade couldn’t cut through Zigismund’s skin. A shadow slowly fell over the faces of the shocked officers.
With the sound of a glass shattering, the magical lights inside the command center exploded one by one. The magic swirled, creating a rough wind sound. And then—
– Whoosh!
“Ahhh!!”
Flames snaked up the arm of the officer holding the sword, twisting like a serpent. The sizzling sound of flesh cooking and the horrific stench spread throughout the tent.
The smell of rust and sulfur spread faster than the shock. Even though it was a heavily guarded command center by the king, it wasn’t completely sealed. Yet, at this moment, darkness fell inside the tent, blocking even the midday sun.
The only light source was the yellowish glow of the flames spreading around Zigismund. Amid the flames, Zigismund continued in a hissing voice.
[Your foolishness and incompetence disgust me. You should have done this after fully subduing the east… Well, whether it’s early or late, it doesn’t matter now.]
“A, a monster was wearing the prince’s mask!”
[Don’t we all wear someone’s mask?]
– Crunch!
A red hand appeared from the flames, grabbing the head of a nearby officer and crushing it. The headless corpse quickly burned, leaving only blackened bone fragments as it rolled noisily on the ground.
A thick, pillar-like leg emerged, crushing the pile of bones on the floor. The nobles watched in horror.
In the spot where Zigismund had stood, a massive, muscular figure with red skin and large horns pierced through the darkness. It rolled its burning brass-colored eyes and looked at the nobles.
[Will this make you feel better? All of you were destined to die. Once your usefulness ran out.]
The demon laughed with a sound like grinding iron, raising its hand. The screams came half a beat later.
* * *
“Oh.”
Fernandez, supported by Vicente, suddenly stopped and let out a short exclamation. Vicente looked at him, tilting his head.
“What’s wrong?”
“They used a bolder move than expected.”
“Because of your magic? That makes sense. The tide of the battle is turning.”
Vicente was still in the midst of enemy soldiers, but the number of soldiers rushing at him had significantly decreased. It was partly because he had slaughtered so many enemies, almost piling up corpses, but more so because the enemy troops were in disarray.
The Phaeirn army was in chaos. Even as a knight thrown into the frontline rather than a commander overseeing the battlefield, he could feel it. There’s a flow to the battlefield, often expressed through the atmosphere and the situation.
Vicente instinctively felt that flow shifting. And rationally, he realized the enemy’s command structure had collapsed. The officers who should have been rallying and leading the soldiers were disappearing one by one.
“But a bold move? Do they have any better option than retreat or surrender now?”
“There’s one more. Borrowing the power of a transcendent being.”
“A transcendent being…? Surely not the gods of the Temple of the Gods. Haha, are you saying the demons of hell have appeared?”
“Who else could help them?”
With that, Fernandez snorted briefly. He straightened his back and started walking again.
“They can’t help the king of Phaeirn either.”
“That’s why it’s ridiculous. To summon demons in front of the descendants of the giant slayer and the Inquisition Officer—how foolish.”
“Hmm, I need to correct that.”
At Fernandez’s words, Vicente shook his head with a hearty laugh.
“Not the descendants of the giant slayer or the Inquisition Officer. Correct it to ‘in front of two Knights of the Round Table.’ With two voting members of the Council of Swords, how dare they think some demonic minions can turn the tide now.”
As he spoke, Vicente swung his sword. A pale-faced soldier trembling as he thrust his spear was struck by the flat of the blade and rolled to the ground.
“You’re not killing them now?”
“After hearing your words, I realized these men are just the king’s puppets. In war, what malice or intent can a soldier have? The malice of the battlefield is synonymous with the malice of the sovereign. They can be defeated, but they shouldn’t be hated.”
“But wouldn’t that be too troublesome? Wasting energy incapacitating each one as we advance.”
Fernandez said this with a playful smile.
“Though I am a member of the Round Table, if I set aside my secular status, I am also an ordained priest, Your Majesty.”
“Are you going to convert them with a sermon?”
“There’s a more certain and peaceful way. One we sometimes use in the monastery I belong to.”
After a brief pause, Fernandez shouted sternly with a fierce expression.
“Make way, sheep of the Temple of the Gods!! Your war is over, and only the time of judgment under the Lord’s justice remains! Lay down your arms and repent, and your sins will not be held against you, for your debt belongs to the king!! Open the path and step aside!! I am Albert of Sernerd, the Inquisition Officer!!”
His shout echoed loudly. Timid soldiers instantly fled in panic, and even those stubbornly holding their ground hesitated and retreated.
The path to the command center opened. Vicente stared blankly at the scene for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“You should’ve been a priest instead of a knight!”
“My brothers call this the North Wind and Sun tactic, Your Majesty.”
“Of course, I’m the sun?”
“As a priest, I must say, isn’t the light of the heavens solely the light of the Temple of the Gods?”
Diemonica is not skilled in interrogation or persuasion. They prefer faster, more direct methods, and Diemonica never needed to hide their identity. Covertly investigating heretics was the job of the Heretic, while Diemonica was only deployed to exterminate demons.
Thus, when Diemonica orders civilians to disperse, they simply shout with the authority of the church. Sergio once called this method the ‘North Wind and Sun tactic.’
It’s an absurdly simple and childish naming convention. But Fernandez, who had half-assimilated into their way of thinking, casually said it and suddenly felt like despising himself.
“Then I should show you the North Wind.”
But Vicente seemed to like the name, chuckling repeatedly as he confidently walked down the now-open path.
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