Chapter 62

Saint Matia felt the taste of blood spreading in her mouth.

Perhaps she had cut her lip somewhere. Maybe the blood from her injuries had dripped into her mouth. Or perhaps it was the blood of a comrade who had shielded her, even at the cost of their life, that had splattered onto her tongue. Matia, letting out a faint breath, took a step forward.

The battle within the city of Galuaria was a scene that seemed to manifest a single hell for the Emblem Cultists.

The moment they entered the city, arrows rained down like a torrential downpour. Everything was as expected. No matter how many shields they raised to defend, there would be casualties. Using the fallen comrades as shields, they moved forward. The main street in front of the city gate was now paved with the blood and bodies of the Emblem Cultists.

The taste of blood was strangely bitter, and Matia spat it onto the ground. The mixture of the smell of blood and entrails constantly entering her nostrils would have made a weak woman faint.

But Matia could not afford to collapse. She could not let her trembling legs give way. Because she was the Saint. She was the leader of the Emblem Cultists who followed behind her.

——Gooooo

The roars of the guards and the Emblem Cultists overlapped. The sound of spears clashing and swords and shields ringing out. Each of these battlefield sounds played their own music, coloring the night with splashes of blood.

The army of the Emblem Cultists was by no means inferior to the guards. Their forces were evenly matched. Although there were injuries from the arrows, their fanaticism was not so weak that it would lower their morale.

Another guard's head was swallowed by the spear tip, and an Emblem Cultist's arm spilled fresh blood onto the ground.

Some time had passed since the initial clash.

At this moment, a certain idea began to form in Matia's mind. The conclusion of this battle.

The main street in front of the great city gate. The arrows raining down from the sky and the troops attacking with fierce fangs. Both were certainly threats. But.

Matia read the situation from the movement of the flags, the roars, and the degree of the advance. When the result appeared in her mind, she slowly narrowed her eyes.

If this, if this current situation, was the best they could do. They could win. At the very least, they wouldn't lose. Matia's cheeks, which rarely showed any obvious expression, curved upward for the first time in a long while.

Indeed, the damage from the arrows raining down on the Emblem Cultists like thousands of raindrops could not be ignored. But the intensity had weakened as they entered the melee with the guards.

If the situation remained unchanged and the fighting continued, they would surely claim victory. Matia's thoughts had become a certainty.

Ah, until that time.

"Saint Matia, part of the front line is collapsing! A unit is charging!"

Lalgu-d'An's voice, which sounded like a scream, reached Matia strangely calmly. Even her own breathing, in such a moment, was expelled from her mouth without any sign of anxiety, maintaining an unusual calmness.

She saw a gleaming blade in the distance, and a flash of blood rose in the night. The golden hair, which could be mistaken for gold, and the golden eyes, even though they were still far away, seemed to be fixed on her. Just that realization sent a wave of terror from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

It's coming. It's coming here.

Even if they piled up thousands of corpses to use as a levee, that gold would consume everything, including her, like a muddy flood. This premonition existed in Matia's mind like a heavy rock.

What is that?

She couldn't understand. She couldn't imagine. In Matia's calculations, there was no such person. No one who could single-handedly control the battle and make it their own.

Her composed expression began to crumble, and she felt it alone. The surrounding noise seemed distant. Her teeth clicked softly.

Again, a single Emblem Cultist stood before the gold, and in a few moments, his head flew through the air.

There was no doubt. She would die at the hands of that gold. Her heart had accepted it naturally. She understood it strangely.

Ah, is this the end? A bitter regret and a feeling close to resignation began to surface in Matia's mind.

It had been a hard, heavy life. Living as a Saint since childhood, breaking through expectations, and shaking off the pressure. Knowing that her existence was being used politically, yet not being allowed to say no.

Her life was one where she was always wished to be a Saint. A life where she was only recognized when adorned in the robes of a Saint. The blade was approaching. It would soon be here. Even if the desperate Emblem Cultists tried to shield her, the result would be the same.

I'm sorry, Bishop. I'm sorry, believers. I'm sorry, Father, Mother. I couldn't become a Saint. She whispered her final confession in her heart.

So, if her life had value only in being a Saint, she would remain a Saint until the end. At least, she wanted to be seen that way in the eyes of the one who would slay her. She was, without a doubt, a martyr.

Her hands naturally formed a praying gesture.

"Saint of the Emblem Cultists, is there any mistake?"

To her great surprise, the golden voice was gentle. A gentle voice from the Grim Reaper might be a final stroke of luck.

Matia, still in prayer, nodded slightly, as if to say that words were unnecessary.

In an instant, the golden knee trembled, and the blade, like the Grim Reaper's scythe, flashed at the Saint's neck.

"No, no, don't keep up the Saint act even at a time like this. Praying at the last moment is like raising your hands in surrender."

In that brief moment, a sarcastic voice reached Matia's ears. At the same time, the sound of metal clashing echoed around her.

Unable to bear the delayed execution, Matia slowly raised her head. In the darkness, a gleaming blade was being stopped by a dull silver light.

"A clean end doesn't create anything. At least, let's struggle a bit more."

Reflecting the moonlight on two knives, the figure shrugged lightly. The green-clothed man. Just a collaborator. Someone who didn't need to risk his life. Matia's eyes widened in surprise.

It was Rougis, the adventurer who had introduced himself.

*

Here, the reason I returned, even at the cost of humiliation, is still undecided.

But, but. It's certainly not to trample on anyone. Especially not to abandon those who, like the former me, have been looked down upon and trampled. That would be the same. It would be no different from those who abandoned me in the past.

How could I accept that?

Karia would probably laugh and call me a fool. I'm thoroughly disgusted with myself, and even the shadows running on the ground seem to mock me. Truly, I can only be called a fool.

But it's fine, this is fine for me. Rational and correct choices are not my concern. For me, the only correct choice was to take the hand of the Saint of the Emblem Cultists, Matia.

With the Saint Matia behind me and the hero Helt Stanley in front, my position here is clear. It couldn't be more straightforward.

Of course, if possible, I would have preferred to lend a hand to a more powerful force.

"I didn't really think you would come here, Rougis."

Helt, who had missed the Saint, showed no sign of anxiety on his face. Rather, his tone suggested that he had at least considered the possibility of my arrival. A slight, unpleasant premonition crossed my mind.

"I agree. I didn't think I'd be standing here just a moment ago. Did I keep you waiting?"

While speaking lightly, I spun the knife in my hand. It felt strangely familiar. It would probably be enough to put up a bit of a struggle.

The battlefield's noise had momentarily calmed. The guards had stopped because their leader, Helt, had halted, and the Emblem Cultists had stopped because I, the intruder who had intercepted the blade aimed at the Saint, had appeared.

It was a distorted space. The battlefield, which should have been a place of movement, had momentarily turned still.

"No, not really. I just had a question."

While readjusting his dual blades without a gap, Helt spoke word by word. The air he exhaled from his lungs felt strangely cold.

"I've thought a lot, but there's just one thing. Rougis, are you my enemy or my ally?"

It was a rather strange question.

On the battlefield, it's rare for someone to ask if an opponent is an ally or an enemy. The battlefield's rule is to cut them down immediately without any hesitation.

But since I was asked, I would answer. With clear intent. I would state it firmly. A slight lump in my chest. The words rose in my throat and fell several times.

"...It's obvious, an enemy, without a doubt. You're on that side, and I'm on this side. Could anything be clearer?"

It was a way of speaking that seemed to be convincing even myself.

Of course, the burning hatred for those who possess and the obsession with their shining talent still occupied a large part of my chest. If I opened the lid even a little, those emotions would spill out. There was no doubt about that. But today, for some reason, those emotions were calm.

I readied the knives in both hands and stepped on the ground, scattering sand. Despite the strange calmness in my chest, there was a sense of excitement somewhere in my heart. It was a rather mysterious feeling. The excitement in my heart resonated, and a vague heat spread from deep within my body.

"...Is that so? I'm disappointed. Why, I'm very, very disappointed."

The blade gleamed. A strange, almost eerie silence covered the battlefield. Helt's voice, like a sigh, echoed.

"Then, let's settle everything according to the rules of the battlefield."

Both of us readied our stances. No more words were needed.