Nyx spoke.
‘Annabella. My precious friend. The balance of the world is on the verge of collapse. It will be difficult, but there is something you absolutely must do.’
‘What is it?’
‘One of them, Annabella, my child, is something you have long desired. The King of Bers, Red Stone, must die without fail.’
‘…Thank you, Lady Nyx.’
It was something she had longed for, for so long. Even without the words of Nyx—her friend, her teacher, the object of her faith—Annabella had always intended to kill her “father,” no matter what it took.
She had never forgotten how her mother and her mother’s entire family had been branded with the crime of “treason” and exterminated. Though she had been only a child at the time, Annabella remembered it clearly.
Those memories had remained buried beneath her shadow, hidden from everyone, preserved until this very day.
‘The next is even more important. Annabella, my friend. You must save one person without fail.’
‘Who is it?’
‘It is…’
“Annabella! Annabella!”
At Garland’s shout, Annabella opened her eyes.
The promise with Lady Nyx came to mind not for any other reason. Killing her “father” was important, but there was something even more vital.
Beneath the collapsing underground ceiling as sand poured in from the arena above, Annabella looked at the King of Bers laughing like a madman. She grabbed Garland and fled into the shadows.
Fortunately, she could invite even Garland—who was cloaked in Elon’s blessing—into her “shadow.”
“Annabella? What on earth is this…?!”
“I’m sorry, Lord Garland. Please take care of my father—no, the King of Bers. No matter what it takes, please kill him.”
Garland did not ask what she meant by saying this now that they had come this far, nor did he accuse her of suddenly growing afraid or say it was too late to turn back.
The young holy knight of Elon simply tapped her shoulder lightly, silently encouraging her. It felt as though he were saying this was what a real father would have done for her if she had ever had one.
It was strange. Neither her mother nor Lady Nyx had ever told Annabella anything about her true father…
“I understand. Leave it to me. You have something you must do, don’t you?”
“…Yes.”
Overcome with shame, Annabella could not lift her head. But Garland told her it was all right and gently pushed her forward, urging her to do what needed to be done.
When Elon’s light enveloped Garland once more, the shadow could no longer bear it and expelled him.
Light that drove away darkness, shadows, night, and lies. Garland’s back was so radiant that Annabella did not have the courage to look directly at him.
“Go, Annabella. I will bring that man down. Without fail.”
Even if it was hastily done, it was still a contract with a demon.
Anastasia threatened the warlock’s life—though whether the erasure of a body still meant anything to one who had already surrendered his soul to a demon was unclear—and obtained what she wanted.
If Baimart lost, the deal would change: instead of taking his soul, the demon would claim hers.
The warlock tried repeatedly to persuade and reason with her, attempting to reverse Anastasia’s request, which bordered on a momentary impulse. It was useless.
Anastasia had something more important than her own life or soul. For Baimart’s sake, she had killed her father and all her legitimate siblings with her own hands.
Ascending to the position of Archduke Greenwood, infusing his weapons with a demonic curse—everything she had done to reach this point had ultimately been for him.
She could not let Baimart die.
“Even if there is no way to save his children, he must live. Because that is what I want.”
“…Understood. As Your Grace wishes.”
“There’s no time. Do it now!”
“Yes.”
At the archduke’s urging, the warlock hurriedly killed a nearby attendant to draw blood. Drawing the spell circle for sealing the contract with a demon using blood and death did not take long.
It was a spell circle made so hastily that it could not even compare to his usual meticulous preparations, but to Anastasia, it felt endlessly slow and frustrating.
At the end of the long wait, the spell circle was ready. Anastasia stepped onto it.
“Your Grace, this is your last chance. This is the only moment you can still turn back.”
For the final time, the warlock offered counsel to his mistress. It truly was the last instant in which she could withdraw her choice.
“My mind is made up. I hope Baimart wins, but if he loses, I will gladly die for him. Soul or whatever else—everything I am exists for him. What are you doing? Begin at once!”
“…Yes.”
The warlock infused the spell circle with malevolent energy and invoked the name of the “true” master he served. Foul power rose along the blood-drawn circle and bound Archduke Greenwood like chains.
.Kuh! She had expected it, but the demon’s touch reaching directly into her “soul” was colder and more horrifying than imagination allowed.
Was this what Baimart had endured for the sake of his children…?
Though she did not know what thoughts had gone through his mind when he accepted the demonic contract at the altar beneath the mansion long ago, Anastasia now understood that it had certainly not been pleasant.
She gazed at Baimart in the arena, entangled with Surabar and bleeding. If it was for him, she would gladly die—even if her soul burned eternally in hell.
It was regrettable that she could not be with him, could not build a family together, but Anastasia wished for Baimart to live.
‘Farewell, Baimart. I will never forget the time I spent with you, even in hell.’
Having looked at Baimart until the very end, Anastasia steeled her resolve.
The demonic power chaining her heart and soul grew gradually stronger… Wait, what is this?
Anastasia suddenly saw the black chains of the demon losing form and strength, and the warlock abruptly collapsing in place without any movement.
“…? What is happening? Why is it stopping…”
Her question was answered immediately.
Crack. Craaack… She saw cracks spreading across the glass of the VIP box, and then the roof of the colosseum collapsing down onto the arena where Baimart stood.
Garland gripped his sword. Elon’s light gave courage to the young knight. Before him stood the King of Bers.
The man who had started all this tragedy. The one who had corrupted his own father—who had been loyal to Mosul, the emperor, and the Human Empire—and forced Garland himself to commit unforgivable sins. The one who had dragged Surabar and Paramir into a pit of suffering stood right there.
I will kill him. And in doing so, I will wash away my original sin. Even if that sin can never truly be cleansed…
“Red Stone! In the name of Elon, I will take your life!”
“Take whose? Mine? In the name of Elon? Ahahaha! What a laughable performance! Do you see it? That! I have dragged a god from the heavens! That power is now mine!”
Whatever method he had used, the King of Bers had truly succeeded in pulling a god down to earth.
“Oh, dear son of Tolland! Behold this! Behold that great ‘god’! See how the heavenly gods have broken the promise they made to protect us pitiful mortals!”
The massive colosseum was collapsing moment by moment. No matter what mad words Red spouted, Garland had to kill him and return the descended Hokhma to its proper place.
…How? His opponent was the ruler of a nation who had succeeded in dragging down a god, while he himself was merely a weak proxy who had received only a tiny fraction of divine blessing.
‘Still, I have to do it.’
At first, the roof shattered and massive stones fell onto the arena and spectator seats. Soon, the VIP boxes where the great nobles sat lost their balance and began plummeting to the ground like dust from a boulder.
Garland summoned Elon’s power. The light cloaking his sword flashed and transformed into a gleaming net, catching the falling roof and stones.
Not stopping there, Elon’s light seized the people as well. Even so, many had already been crushed beneath the crowds or debris—too many to save.
Blood and death ran rampant, and sand from the arena along with all manner of rubble poured into the underground chambers from every direction.
“You said you would take my life, yet all you do is put on a little show. Is this the power of the Elon you serve? The mercy of that stag god? I will become something greater. I have no need for the lofty heavens where the proud gods dwell. I will descend eternally upon this land. I will become your true ruler!”
No matter what the King of Bers said or did, Garland had no leisure to stop him right now.
.Gruuuh…! Elon’s blessing strengthened Garland and protected him from surrounding threats, but at the same time, it acted as a poison that gnawed away at his life force.
Those who accepted Elon’s power and became holy knights—among even the most devout and highly trained of Elon’s priests—were granted this privilege and heavy burden by only a select few.
Becoming a holy knight of Elon meant gaining tremendous power while also having to disregard one’s own death as the price.
Some debated whether it was a blessing or a curse, but the problem was that Garland currently lacked the qualifications to fully become Elon’s holy knight.
The King of Bers before him was spreading his arms toward the silver owl devouring people and laughing like a lunatic.
The collapsing ground miraculously avoided the demonic spell circle drawn in human blood and the king standing at its center.
“You look like you’re in pain. Young holy knight, is Elon’s power too much for you? You’re already coughing blood and looking like you’re about to die from accepting only a ‘portion’ of it… And that is precisely why you must submit to me! Hokhma! Your era ends now! I, Red Stone, will become the new god in place of your incompetence!”
“What do you… Cough!”
A human becoming a god?
Goosebumps rose across Garland’s skin. This was far more horrific and terrifying than what his own father had done in declaring rebellion against the Human Empire and His Imperial Majesty.
Something unimaginable—yet the King of Bers had already carried it out and seemed on the verge of completing it.
The transcendent being called Hokhma, a silver owl with wings, body, and eyes formed of stars, was pecking at the people desperately trying to escape the colosseum and inhaling the souls of those dying meaningless deaths in the chaos as easily as breathing.
“Lord Elon…”
Garland could see in real time the flesh and souls of those passing through Hokhma’s beak melting away.
A mad god’s banquet. Red Stone’s plan to disturb the silver owl’s mind had hit the mark perfectly.
Standing at the exact center of the blood-drawn spell circle, the king reached toward Hokhma and chanted an incomprehensible, malevolent incantation. Massive chains then bound Hokhma’s wings, body, talons, and beak.
Startled by the suddenly appearing shackles, the heavenly god cried out—Hoo!—but the chains did not fall away. Red Stone was truly trying to become a god!
“Behold this, lowly servant of Elon. I am now reborn as an existence equal to the heavenly gods you unquestioningly worship. Haha! I can feel Hokhma’s power. I can feel the true dream god that travels the Milky Way!”
What should I do? How can I stop Red Stone? Faced with the King of Bers truly becoming a god, Garland could only shudder at his own powerlessness.
Even extending a hand of salvation to save at least one more person from being crushed, buried, or devoured by the real “god” falling upon the colosseum was already too heavy a burden for Garland.
…Would it have been better if Sir Paramir had accepted this power in my place? But he is not here.
He must be risking his life in battle against the one-eyed Cedmos.
Paramir had his own fate, and Surabar had his. Annabella had left—for a duty more important than this, one Garland did not know.
There was no one to lean on.
‘…No, there is.’
Swallowing back the blood surging up his throat, gritting his teeth, and raising his sword toward Red Stone, Garland realized something.
He would no longer rely on others. There was someone else he should lean on, depend on, and beseech.
Garland prayed.
“Lord Elon, please grant me strength…”
Once more, Elon’s light enveloped Garland.