episode_0060

“Bradamante?” “…Unnie?”

Following the man named Sargon, I encountered Bradamante in the opposite corridor. And…

“You are safe, Sir Kara.”

Even Talfinus, who had lost sight in one eye. Bradamante and Talfinus. My comrades, who had returned to their respective cities upon our return to the Empire, were back. But…

“Where is Astolfo?” Astolfo, who had headed to Mirjam with Talfinus, was nowhere to be seen.

“……” As soon as he heard those words, Talfinus’s expression was tinged with sorrow.

“…I apologize.”

It was an apology with very ambiguous meaning. An apology whose meaning was entirely unclear, whether he was dead or alive. But as I was engaged to Astolfo, I understood why he was apologizing to me of all people. Whatever had happened, it was clear that something terribly bad must have occurred.

Perhaps that was why… *Clench.*

As soon as I realized that Astolfo was the only one absent, a hatred began to bloom from deep within my heart. A hatred I had always held, but which was too vast and venomous to erupt, instead quietly remaining like embers.

Astolfo. The eldest son of Impurity. The maddeningly hateful man who had tried to commit all sorts of indecent acts on me simply because he was my fiancé, and who had nearly killed Agapé by aiming a spear at him.

Because of the hatred that began to burn frighteningly fast with those memories, I unknowingly yearned for his death, unfitting for a hero’s reputation. ‘Please, I hope Astolfo died.’

The hateful eldest son of Impurity, the future of Impurity who had tormented us. Please, may he have met the most terrible end at their hands.

Hoping that this was why Talfinus had apologized to me, the heroes, myself included, continued to follow Sargon.

But. It was strange. I had thought we would be heading to the reception room or audience chamber in the imperial palace since the man called the Creator was supposedly waiting for us. Instead, we were turning towards an increasingly strange place.

“…Where are we going now?” “You’ll know when you get there.”

Sargon did not give a proper answer. Because there was no need to. None of the heroes present here could possibly not remember the appearance of ‘this corridor.’

“Why on earth here…” Danoa trailed off, bewildered.

*Thud.*

Because this was.

“We have arrived.”

The very terrace where we had welcomed hundreds of thousands of crowds during the Numellaora expedition ceremony.

*Creak—* “Ugh…”

As soon as the door opened, dozens of Black Knights and the rising sun beyond the terrace greeted us. And.

-It’s the heroes! -They really were alive! -Are all the heroes truly alive?

Although not as many as during the expedition ceremony, a comparable number of crowds looked up at us from the grand plaza. But the difference was that they were no longer looking at us with eyes full of admiration and hope as before. Sorrow, despair, and anger. In the short time of less than a month since the expedition ceremony, they were looking at us with such gazes.

“What on earth… is this…” Maugrius also froze on the spot. Danoa, with her excellent intuition, tried to grasp the situation with her unique sixth sense. Bradamante, unable to endure the gazes of the countless crowds, hid her small body behind me.

-Answer us!!!! At that moment, someone with a booming voice shouted towards us. -Did the siege of Numellaora truly fail?!!!

Hearing the despairing news, completely unexpected and unimaginable. ……… We on the terrace, every one of us, listened to those words speechless and remained frozen for a long time.

“…What?” Danoa’s single word was the first to break the silence.

-Please answer us! -Did you truly fail to subjugate the Death Legions? -Is Sir Orlando truly dead? -Then what happened to the other heroes who went to Numellaora?

More questions than a downpour poured onto us through various voices. Each one was sharp and piercing, keen enough to pierce our chests as our minds gradually grew hazy. Even though it was us who wanted to ask the questions, not the crowds, they, as if we knew everything, gradually grew agitated and showered us with questions.

Those questions caused me, and us, more pain and fear than facing the endless Death Legions.

“Hah… Hah…” Bradamante gasped for breath, cowering even further behind my back.

At the same time, she gripped my collar, which she had already held tightly, even tighter, and with unfocused eyes, she shed tears, looking as if she would leap off the terrace at any moment.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay…” With trembling hands, I tried to calm Bradamante. Not just her, but all the heroes were engulfed in chaos and couldn’t escape it, but I started by calming Bradamante, who was closest within reach.

As I continuously mumbled words close to a monologue, telling her it would be okay, it would be okay, and stroked Bradamante’s head, I eventually felt gazes on me from my surroundings.

“Sir Kara…” Maugrius.

“……What should we do about this….” Talfinus.

“……” Danoa.

Receiving their gazes, I soon realized. ‘…Ah.’

If Uncle Orlando was dead. If the greatest hero, the Knight Commander of the Shahlnu Stellarum, had truly died. Then I was the only one left to lead the heroes, the only one to represent them.

That I had to endure the countless barrages of questions from the crowds and bear their angry emotions all by myself. *Tremble.*

That I was no longer the Vice-Knight Commander, but the Commander of the Shahlnu Stellarum. Receiving the gazes of my comrades, I finally realized it.

‘I…’

I had to represent them, to face the anger of the enraged crowds without knowing why, and explain our situation. Like Uncle Orlando, the hero who was always unwavering. Like Orlando, the Sword Emperor, the strongest on the continent, who was as if invincible.

‘I…’

I stepped forward to the railing of the terrace. And so, the sight of the crowds expressing their anger towards us in the grand plaza became even more visible, even more vividly felt.

‘I…’ What should I say? I’m not Uncle Orlando. I’ve never stood before countless people and conversed, reading the crowd’s hearts, like Uncle Orlando, or even like Sir Nemo. How should I bear this immeasurable anger?

‘I’m not ready yet.’

It was terrifying. Like the first time I faced the Death Legions. The sight of the immeasurable armies, intelligently confronting us in formation. The sight of those monsters who would charge even when their vital points were struck, and would try to take even one more life even if their limbs were severed.

It was so terrifying, but now, it was even more so.

‘Agapé…’ In the end, despite having grown older. Despite becoming a proper adult, a hero to save the continent. I began to call out the name of the hero who had always saved me, the name I had habitually called out during my youngest and weakest days.

“Agapé…”

Agapé. The name of the beloved hero who had always saved me. The name of my great knight.

“A…gapé…” Save me.

*Bang—! Bang—! Bang—!* Dozens of Black Knights struck the ground with their massive halberds. Louder than beating drums, more intensely than firing cannons. Their created sound pierced through the terrible noise of angry questions clamoring, instantly silencing the chaos of the grand plaza.

…… At the same time, a presence was felt behind us.

*Thump. Thump.* The regular sound of shoe heels made by neat and consistent strides.

*Rustle. Rustle.* The soft rustle of fabric, and very faint footsteps that could only be heard if one strained their ears.

And. *Thud. Thud.* Even the sound of footsteps that conveyed a refined weight, originating from a heavy mass and massive physique.

At the presence of three figures, small but impossible to ignore, we all naturally turned around.

“Here he is… the ancient hero. The chosen one of the tree… the golden tree. Yes… he has returned. Here.” As he uttered the most bizarre language, all our gazes first turned to him.

‘Is that… a human…?’ Could such a thing truly be called a proper living creature? The face of the being, clad in a wizard’s attire and a leather robe with diamond-shaped stitching, was like a distorted image; as soon as one face appeared, it would constantly shift to different faces, unable to maintain a stable form.

The appearance of that being, as if chaos itself had taken form, was so eerie and chilling that it made the hair stand on end even for us heroes who had cut down legion commanders with incomprehensible power.

“It seems we are late.”

Next to be seen was an ordinary-looking old man. White hair and a white beard, dark eyebrows, and purple eyes that seemed to pierce through everything. Unlike Danoa’s purple eyes, these mysterious eyes also had a subtle grayish tint, and he walked with light steps, hands clasped behind his back, at the forefront of the three.

And the towering knight standing on the far left, whose extraordinary appearance was no less striking than that of the being seemingly wrought from chaos.

*Thud. Thud.*

Unlike his massive body that easily exceeded two meters, he was the most silent of the three and had virtually no presence. As if he were merely an illusion.

‘…The Knight in Golden Armor.’

During the battle in Mulfen, he had wielded a sword that seemed to embody death, appearing like a grim reaper. Unlike the great fear he had instilled in me back then, he now gave off no presence at all, to the point where he seemed like an illusion, making him as strange as the ‘being’ who spoke the unknown language.

“……” As before, without a single word, he passed by us and followed behind the white-haired old man.

*Tap.*

The old man, who had reached my side, glanced at me. Then, after a brief, faint smile, he lowered his gaze and looked at the grand plaza, where silence had settled.

His unique aura, and his composure. As soon as I saw his appearance, I was certain. This was the very person Sargon had referred to as the Creator.

“Children of the navigator, living through a turbulent age.” Embodying a divinity surpassing that of a consul, he began a long speech to the crowds.