367 - Regressor of the Fallen Family

**Chapter 367: The Night When Even the Moonlight Holds Its Breath** In an overly spacious and ornate room, ill-fitting for the ascetic quarters meant for priests, someone's steady breathing echoed. **Whssshhh.** Through a slightly ajar window, the sound of a single breeze permeated the profound silence, loud enough to seem almost amplified. The wind lingered by an antique bed and soon took on a transparent form, only to transform into a black blade that struck directly down onto the bed. **Thud.** **Splash.** A geyser of blood spurted, staining the pristine white sheets a deep crimson in an instant. However, the source of the blood was not the area beneath the black dagger embedded in the sheets. “Gah!?” A masked figure dressed in gray, suddenly revealed in mid-air, clutched the shoulder from which an arm had been severed, retreating rapidly. Yet, the silver aura that burst from the dagger’s point denied him a clean escape. **Slash!** With a long, deep cut across his abdomen, the mask-wearing figure collapsed powerlessly, lifting his head to glare at his adversary. An officer of the imperial special inspection unit of Aris Empire, commonly referred to as "the Ghost," was forbidden from prattling during missions. But he couldn't help but utter a word. It wasn’t fear of death. “Sir Jerome? Why you?!” The one who should have been an ally had shown up as an obstacle. Responding to the astonished voice, the one-eyed knight answered calmly. “Why, indeed. Is it not natural for a knight to protect his lord?” “Are you out of your mind!?” Daring to defy the emperor’s decree? “How do you plan to deal with the aftermath?” The truth that rose to his throat, he had to forcibly swallow, fearing someone might hear. “Haha. A madman. Abandoning glory to descend willingly into hell’s pit.” “……You've become rather chatty, Number One.” **Cough.** “Because of you, even the Duke of Dicaide will face ruin.” Cathartically spewing out blood, Number One uttered his curse-like words from beneath his mask. Yet the knight, resolute in his decision, simply chuckled softly. “That’s unlikely. My uncle is still around.” As Number One could bear no more and slumped down, a brilliant white light burst from the previously pitch-black area beside the bed, and a young man with jet-black hair stepped forward. “……Well done, Sir Jerome.” “I merely did my duty. I am only sorry for not informing you sooner.” As Jerome knelt on one knee and lowered his head, Baros offered a bitter smile and shook his head. “No, no. I am well aware of the sacrifice you’ve made. I can’t even fathom how to repay you.” To this, Jerome shook his head with a resolute expression. “I simply upheld a knight’s honor.” Jerome, with determination blazing in his solitary eye, recalled two days prior. The prince had perceived the emperor's orders and summoned both him and Leos. — Only the ghosts follow the Emperor’s blade. If I… What he had attempted to say with all his courage was, at best, a strenuous confession. Yet, the prince had interrupted his confession with unexpected words. — Haha, don't say such things. If you were that blade, wouldn’t I be as good as dead already? — If a fool works tirelessly to turn someone untrustworthy into his ally, wouldn’t he die so easily? The unwavering gaze meeting his own eyes, unabashed by what it knew to be true, settled Jerome’s long-standing deliberation. But that decision now burdened the prince with deep contemplation. “I am grateful, Sir Jerome, for your loyal service despite knowing it may go unrewarded. If I survive, I will ensure you are compensated.” “No, Your Highness. More importantly, you should hurry. As I mentioned, Number One wasn't the only ghost tailing you.” “……You're right. I should.” “Will you proceed as planned?” “……I have no other choice.” Survival was paramount. Leos had completed his preparations and was waiting not far from them. And then…… “I will forge the way, Your Highness.” A knight who had pledged to carve a perilous path on his behalf stood behind him. He couldn't afford to display any weakness. “I rely on you.” “Yes, leave it to me.” At the instant they departed, as anticipated, the assault commenced. **Swish.** The sudden emergence of a black dagger in the pitch darkness was unnerving regardless of how many times one saw it. Yet at his side, there remained a superhuman with the "absolute sight" to foresee everything. **Slash.** The silver aura had already slashed through the air before the black dagger had fully manifested, and blood cascaded in torrents along with severed body parts that emerged from the void. “With this, it's five. All spirits directly mobilized in the operation have been dealt with. I will go after the remaining ones now. You must follow this path, Your Highness.” “Understood.” “Please take care.” “You, too, be careful. If silencing all the ghosts isn't possible, then perhaps…….” Baros faltered, cutting himself off mid-sentence. Perhaps what? Ask him to kill him if it comes to that? “Silly thoughts.” Unable to hide his grim expression, Baros merely bit his lip before turning away. “No, forget it. Let’s meet again, on a good day, in better circumstances.” Would such a day ever come? Though uncertain, the speaker's certainty wavered. “Yes. Certainly.” The respondent’s voice rang with conviction. Caught between the painful disconnect, Baros quickened his pace as he turned away. “You're slightly late, Your Highness.” “……Verbose, aren’t you? You’re not in a leisurely situation yourself.” “True. But Your Highness is something I must not overlook. Haha.” Referring to him as "something"—even at Tracy’s blunt remark, Baros took no offense. The ancestry that served as the foundation of his lifelong pride now sought his life; he had to seize whatever he could for survival. ‘Even if that means holding the devil’s hand.’ While Baros reignited his resolve to persevere, they arrived in a deserted corridor. Following Tracy's gesture, the seemingly solid wall gave way to reveal a staircase leading underground. The stairs, plunging into pitch-black darkness, resembled a chasm eager to swallow him whole, causing Baros’s face to harden with resolve. However, “Hurry along.” Baros moved towards the darkness without a trace of hesitation. “Follow me... Oh my, you're quite enthusiastic. Very well, let's proceed.” Tracy's steps were light as she led the way, surprised by how things had unfolded. The wall, which had swallowed them, restored itself to a smooth, seamless white facade, erasing all traces of their passage as if the stairs had never existed. Meanwhile, not far away, two significant figures of the temple stood over the motionless form of the pope, who appeared dead. “Fortunately, he's merely asleep.” “He won't be able to act as he did before, though?” “Yes. It will likely take a significant period...” At Ilia's words, Harman ground his teeth in frustration. “To know that the perpetrators of this horrendous act are going unpunished, it just makes me sigh.” “We have no choice, Commander. Capturing them now would only offer the Empire a pretext.” “But it's the Empire that orchestrated all this...” “Which is precisely why we must let them go. They'll remain an ongoing thorn in the Empire's side.” At the saintess’s words, Harman had no choice but to turn his head in resignation, biting his lip. Ilia sighed as she looked at him, then lifted her gaze to the sky. The night was black as pitch, but a thin lunar glow peeked through the clouds, brightening the darkest night with its soft light. To her eyes, it reflected the current state of the Holy Nation. Naturally, a particular face surfaced in her mind. ‘Thanks to you, the worst was averted, Your Majesty Logan. How can I ever repay this favor...’ Breathing a sigh of relief, Ilia offered a prayer of thanks, out of habit. Although her prayer was usually directed to her deity, today, there was another to whom she owed gratitude. Perhaps that’s why. **Flash.** In her mind’s eye, she perceived her deity, seeming to speak of that person within the luminous realm of her consciousness. — Red eyes... %@#$... lion, divine will... @$^%. A faint voice, yet a touch clearer than before. Though still unworthy of the title of saintess for her imperfect reception of divine words, she felt a degree of pride in this gradual improvement. And if red eyes were mentioned... ‘I suppose it’s praise for His Majesty Logan.’ With that thought, Ilia turned to her deity and responded. — I will convey the divine praise to King Logan. As your humble servant, I'll repay his debt to ensure I don't bring shame to my faith. The deity’s form, more distinct than before, loomed large as Amun, the god of sea and change, answered her voice by striking his chest. His frustration seemed palpable, perhaps due to her incomplete understanding of his divine words. — ...I will strive continually, until I can fully hear the voice. Acknowledging her imperfections, Ilia once again offered a prayer of penance. --- “The prince has vanished?” “Yes. Unidentified individuals are said to have abducted the prince.” “With the Special Inspection Unit and Jerome present?” “The ghosts, uh, well... The Special Inspectors are all dead, and Sir Jerome is recovering from serious injuries.” “What...” The old man, Tris Honsby, turned to his peer with a bemused expression. “What do you make of this, Gallen?” The platinum-haired mage, youthful despite his similar age, replied without hesitation. “It's peculiar, indeed. Yet, if the Kassel Tower had resolved to intervene, this might be possible.” Tris slightly furrowed his brow. ‘That can’t be it.’ The fact that those meant to kill the prince were the ones dead instead, including Jerome, was suspicious. But he couldn’t openly speak of the emperor's covert plans. If revealed, the truth might taint the emperor’s reputation. This secret was one that even the mage of gale winds before him was not permitted to know, being an utmost secret. ‘Could it be that boy...?’ Tris considered the character of his disciple, though time didn’t allow him to linger on suspicions. “Well, regardless, we will proceed with the plan.” “What about the prince?” “...Report this to the imperial family and await their command, but continue with the original operation.” “When it comes to this mission, I suppose it's better.” “What did you say?” Tris's tone hardened at the seemingly flippant comment. Gallen Dicade, a self-absorbed mage of the gusty winds, was known to conduct himself carefully before the emperor and Tris. Moreover, Jerome, now wounded, was not just his disciple but also a grand-nephew of the Dicade family. ‘Did he say this was a good thing?’ Tris stared incredulously at him, but Gallen met his gaze without a flicker of remorse. “Isn't this a favorable outcome? With the prince gone missing within Noviens, it's a stronger alibi than simply having someone like Max die.” Gallen's logic, undeniable in its pragmatism, forced Tris to concede the point—an unexpected revelation offering clarity. “...Indeed. Haha, so it is.” Perhaps it was for the best. An enigmatic disappearance was far preferable to his disciple dirtying his hands with the emperor’s blood. It spared his protégé any mental scars and was clean in its conclusion. Of course, it meant... ‘The missing second prince must never reappear. I need to deploy the spirits thoroughly.’ It required some additional effort, but it was a burden he was willing to bear for peace of mind. “Very well. We proceed with our advance into Noviens. Announce to the Holy Nation that we hold them accountable for Max Ilea’s death and the prince's disappearance!” Tris's voice boomed across the camp. The imperial central army, and the elite forces of the Honsby and Dicade families, ten thousand strong, began to accelerate their march toward the sacred capital.