424 - Regressor of the Fallen Family

Chapter 424 "Sister, what do you think the Saintess looks like? They say she's like a real goddess." A round-faced, cute girl named Evelyn asked, prompting Cassandra to sigh and pinch her cheek. "Ouch! Sister!" "You're really something. How is it that even after becoming a knight, you haven't changed your attitude? Stop being curious about unnecessary things. We just need to follow Sir Victor's orders." "But I'm only curious... Sheesh." Evelyn pouted and plopped down on the spot, seemingly oblivious to the tension of being in the heart of a nation they had recently fought fiercely against. "Sister, you always pick on me..." Cassandra shook her head in disbelief. Evelyn had killed dozens of imperial knights at the southern fortress. "We need to stay on our toes, Evelyn." "Sigh... But isn't that exactly why I'm perfect for this mission?" "Well..." Cassandra couldn't deny that. This mischievous girl had, incredibly, awakened her powers within just three years, astonishing everyone involved. Outwardly, she was just a small, cute girl. Because of that, Cassandra, noticeably taller and more robust for a woman, was also chosen for this mission. She was the only one Evelyn would listen to and the only one who could control her. Of course, both being in their late teens to mid-twenties helped make the decision. "But I understand the plan, yet isn’t becoming the Pope’s maid easier said than done?" "It must be, since His Holiness said so. The important part comes afterwards. You’re ready for it, right?" "...Yes." For once, Evelyn’s playful demeanor vanished. The very day they become the personal maid of the Saintess and Pope, they must clear out all existing staff from her quarters. Even by force, if necessary. And the Saintess cannot know. The Holy Knights were conveniently scheduled to serve elsewhere under His command, but it was still enough to send chills down the spine. "Sister, what if we get punished by the gods for this?" "Don’t talk nonsense. The gods favor our Majesty. It’s His order." "But the rumors about His Majesty..." "Stop that! Don’t start silly rumors. He’s a hero given to us by the gods." Before Evelyn could mention the rumor spreading through the Empire, Cassandra silenced her with a stern expression. "R-right?" "Yes, indeed. Because of him, your life and mine have changed. Don’t forget. This is what we must do for him." "Understood!" As Evelyn resolutely nodded, Cassandra patted her shoulder and turned away. “Let’s get some sleep. Another long march starts tomorrow.” “...Okay, sleep well, Sister.” Cassandra lay down too, but her mind would not let her rest. ‘It has to be just a rumor.’ When she closed her eyes, memories returned to her, from the time she just joined the female army and met Eileen, the commander and current queen. Words spoken at that meeting haunted her. – Were you previously acquainted with Logan, Prince of Maclaine? – What? No, of course not. How could I have known a noble? Cassandra had answered truthfully, yet she was also surprised. When she had incidentally seen Prince Logan Maclaine, there had been an inexplicable sense of familiarity. Why did he feel so familiar and friendly? Back then, she thought she had fallen for the noble prince at first sight, before she came to know true love with her current partner, Sir Digrom. Even after realizing it wasn’t love, the familiar feeling persisted. Every time she saw him from afar, now the king, she couldn’t shake that sense of closeness. At times, she even dreamt strange dreams. In those dreams, she was older, and she and the king talked like old friends, bumping fists. – Cassie, don't die. – You too. Days of rough words exchanged to comfort one another, bodies and hearts scarred from endless struggles... ‘Hmm? Scars of the heart? Endless struggles? What are these about?’ Cassandra wondered at the strange feelings and forced herself to sleep with a bitter smile. It was probably just anxiety. Still, she had to prevail. She had to carry out the orders of the benefactor who changed her life. No matter what. * * * The carriage jolted wildly behind the galloping horses on the open field. If those inside weren’t knights themselves, mere motion sickness wouldn’t have been their only issue. This reckless journey had been going for three days. Meanwhile, a young man sat in the driver's seat with his eyes closed, seemingly at peace amid the chaos. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and spoke in a calm tone. “Will things go as planned?” His voice cut through the clamor of the horses and the carriage, reaching the middle-aged man beside him with clarity. Surprisingly, the man showed no sign of astonishment, a feat only possible for those who had made precise force control second nature. “But of course.” For beings like them, it was an obvious assurance. “Isn't the Grandmaster of the Holy Knights not supposed to meddle in the church’s politics at all, including internal affairs?” “Why are you asking that now?” “I wanted confirmation since we’re nearing our destination.” “...While I can't meddle, I can request. And currently, there’s no one in Noviens who would dare refuse me.” "What if they discover you’re not fully under their control?" “That won’t happen.” “Isn’t that underestimating the gods?” “Absolutely not. I’m trusting their inflated pride. They ‘never’ admit failure to others.” “What if the Saintess or the Apostle notices something odd about those two? You’re aware they’re not known for acting skills.” “That won’t happen. They don’t bother themselves with every single human. Except perhaps for your lord.” The man, who had partly embraced a god’s soul, spoke confidently. Relieved, the young man nodded and leaned his head back against the carriage seat, closing his eyes again. It was a pose that seemed out of place amidst the wild ride. There was no way he could actually sleep; he was merely pretending. Changing his hair and eye color with magic did nothing to disguise the astounding actions he was capable of—actions ordinary people couldn’t even dream of doing with such composure. His demeanor was more of a signal that he didn’t wish to continue the conversation. Yet, given the gravity of their mission, this silence was troublesome. Thus, the middle-aged man, Harmon, spoke up once more. “Can you really cut her down?” “…I must.” “Remember, she is no longer the Saintess but ‘something else’ now.” “I… understand.” His voice trembled slightly after a moment of quiet. Does he truly understand? It was his loss if not. They were at a point where every heroic hand was desperately needed. “Keep in mind that failing to deal with it could result in a river of blood—perhaps from hundreds of thousands of people—many of whom would be from your kingdom.” “…Enough with the nagging. Just watch the horses.” “Ugh!” The galloping horses momentarily faltered as Harmon’s attention was elsewhere. The silver aura from the whip swiftly redirected the horses' path, invigorating them. For a nonchalant directive about lying low... Victor sighed inwardly at Harmon, who was using an aura to control the animals and then closed his eyes again. When he closed his eyes, the image of a silver-haired woman kept reappearing, along with the words she said with a pale face. – If it really comes to that... please end me. His crossed arms trembled. It felt like blood was welling up from his bitten, chapped lips again. Can you truly cut her down? ‘It’s what I must do.’ Victor clenched his eyes tightly shut. If he didn't, tears could start flowing any moment. * * * Step, step. “Welcome back, Captain.” “I heard you were on a journey. How did it go?” “It’s been a while, sir!” As Harmon walked through the shrine, greetings came from his subordinates and attendants without cease. The tight security of the central shrine became acutely palpable. Moreover, he noticed for the first time how perspectives shift dramatically from a protector to an intruder. ‘Ultimately, all of these must be disposed of.’ The Holy Knights would obey his command. As for the attendants, the female knights of Maclaine, who had been strategically placed by the chamberlain, would handle them. The plan was to deal with the Apostle in the Pope’s now-empty quarters. Doing so would inevitably brand him as the heretic who assassinated the Pope. Yet... ‘It’s more crucial to prevent the meaningless sacrifice of tens, if not hundreds of thousands of lives.’ And frankly, there was a personal vendetta that couldn’t be ignored. Those who deceived the world with false appearances... If thwarting the god who tried to devour his soul dealt them a significant blow, the effort seemed worthwhile. Giving them a figurative slap after they had deceived him for decades. Even if the gods found it unfair, they could hardly complain. ‘In fact, I hope they do feel the sting of injustice and fury.’ The loathsome creature leeching onto his neck, Ricentia the demon, emitted another repulsive sound. Yet, no matter how divine they might be, they could no longer dominate him now that he had sealed away his soul with sheer will. This meant he couldn’t breach the ultimate boundary of greatness, a peak Logan had prepared himself to reach with a dazzling display. ‘In exchange, I’ll ensure your plans fail, Aria.’ Recalling the deity he had served all his life, Harmon smirked grimly. He accepted that his actions were tinged with personal revenge. Integrity, purity, justice, mercy, and ‘forgiveness.’ Many tenants of his life philosophy stemmed from Aria’s scriptures, but he no longer wished to adhere to her teachings. Perhaps his vehement insistence to King Logan had been motivated not by the prevention of unwarranted sacrifice but by sheer vengeance. ‘Well, none of that matters now. I've come this far.’ He would slay the Apostle and willingly become a heretic. Hence, his current audience was vitally important. He had previously dared not even to consider assessing the Saintess—or rather, the Apostle’s—combat prowess, but doing so would significantly bolster his chances of completing his mission safely. ‘If they feel wronged, let them inform Amunda of their failure, Aria.’ Unlikely, but the prospect was amusing. With his soul nearly half-consumed, Harmon had a good sense of Aria’s character. The goddess of sky and freedom, Aria, would never confess her failure to her companion. And because of that, Amunda, the god of the sea and transformation, would suffer a severe blow to his divinity after the loss of an Apostle. Though it wasn’t Aria, Amunda was still responsible for entrusting Ricentia to the Apostle. ‘They’re all in cahoots.’ Suppressing his bubbling vengeful feelings, Harmon wore a smile on his face. Shortly after... “His Holiness has permitted your audience.” With a mindset starkly different than before, Harmon met the incarnation of Amunda.