Chapter 32: Cecilia Everglenn (2)
“Shall we have a brief history lesson, Miss Everglenn?”
Rahma suddenly spoke without any warning, as though something had just come to his mind.
“People often say that this country is supported by three pillars.”
In the west, Valentin of the Scales.
In the south, Poas of the Eyepatch.
And finally, in the north, Everglenn of the Sword.
“It refers to the families founded by the last three knights who remained.”
When the Great Emperor founded the Empire, only five knights had remained at his side.
Among them, three swore to protect him until the day they died, and each became the progenitor of the families guarding the west, south, and north of the Empire.
“You must be proud, Miss Everglenn. Wasn’t your ancestor none other than the Dragon Knight, Siren Everglenn, who was said to roam the vast sky as though it were his own home?”
With a gesture exaggerated like a stage actor waving into empty air, he spoke a beat later.
“Having inherited that great bloodline, you should take pride, Miss Everglenn. You have every right to do so.”
“……”
“But perhaps this too is fate. The very brand of a demon you once tore apart with your own hands is now engraved upon the body of his descendant, centuries later… Hohohoho.”
At his words, Cecilia flinched and trembled.
The brand, the demon.
The brand engraved behind his eyeball.
She had been silently keeping her mouth shut, but unknowingly, she muttered out loud.
“…Cultist of the Evil God.”
“Hm?”
At her words, Rahma twitched his eyebrow, then nodded as though he understood.
“Oh dear, I just said something that could be easily misunderstood, didn’t I?”
“Urgh…”
Rahma spoke so as he lifted Cecilia straight into the air.
Her wrist was gripped tight, and when she was lifted, the pain made her feel as though her arm would be pulled out of its socket, twisting her face in agony.
“This brand is not of the demons.”
He spoke in a voice as calm and composed as if he were teaching a lesson.
“Nor of devils, nor of the Evil God. …It just so happened that the ones who understood it best and used it best were demons.”
After finishing, he cast a sidelong glance at the brand engraved on the back of Cecilia’s hand.
At that moment, she could clearly see an unusually turbulent wave surging in his eyes, which had always been calm and gentle.
It was the light of an obsession and greed so intense anyone could recognize it.
“Unfortunately, they were wiped out by the Wolpen Knights during the Great War. Those who remain are merely ones who only know of the brand. …It was truly a most regrettable loss.”
Still gripping her wrist, he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand—more precisely, across the brand.
It was a touch as cautious as if handling a fragile piece of art.
“I searched desperately for the one among the survivors who knew the most about the brand. And at last, I managed to find him.”
The fact that he was a Cultist of the Evil God was not all that important to me.
As though confessing, he muttered quietly.
“…Yes, that’s right. I entered into a temporary partnership with him. Just as fate willed it.”
At that point, Rahma suddenly made a face as if he had slipped up and shook his head.
“Ah, I’ve gone on with useless stories. This is why growing old is bothersome. Don’t you agree?”
“……”
“For someone sitting in the Archbishop’s seat to confess with his own mouth that he has ties to a Cultist of the Evil God… If others were to find out, it would be disastrous. Especially since, in such cases, if caught by the Executors, one would be executed on the spot without trial. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it? Hohohoho!”
At that moment, Cecilia realized that he had no intention of letting her live.
The only options left were to break free of this situation herself, or to receive help from someone else.
“Hhhmph!”
And the choice she made was the former.
Drawing the dagger hidden in her sleeve, Cecilia swung it without hesitation toward Rahma’s neck.
Though mocked by society as a dullard and a failing student, that was only because she couldn’t properly control mana or ride horses or drakes.
But in other things—at least when it came to the sword—it was different.
She was a member of the Everglenn family, the family known as the House of the Sword.
All her life, she had struggled tirelessly to be acknowledged as a member of her house, enduring countless hardships as if carving her bones.
Her swordsmanship, proving that truth, was sharper and more precise than any other.
The tip of her dagger sliced directly across Rahma’s throat.
However…
CLAAANG!
A sound rang out that no one could have believed came from a blade striking human flesh.
“Uh?!”
Startled, Cecilia gasped reflexively.
So much so that the pain of her torn palms, unable to endure the shock, came to her only belatedly.
But she immediately swung her dagger again.
The blade thrust forward as though being sucked into Rahma’s chest.
Exactly where his heart should be.
Yet once more, what she saw was completely different from what she expected.
Instead of embedding itself into his heart, the dagger literally passed through his body.
“This… can’t be…”
Rahma simply gazed at Cecilia in silence.
“Do you feel a little better now, Miss Everglenn?”
“Th-this is impossible… Ugh!”
In an instant, Rahma tightly seized Cecilia’s throat and lifted her into the air.
Watching her dangle and struggle in midair, he spoke with the same soft tone as always, as though advising a troubled student.
“If you were going to strike, you should have aimed for the eyes.”
Of course, had you done so, I wouldn’t have let you land the blow so easily.
He clicked his tongue as though regretful and muttered.
“I had hoped to request your cooperation if possible, but seeing such fiery resistance, it seems that would be impossible.”
“Ugh!”
As Rahma’s grip tightened, Cecilia thrashed violently while hanging in the air.
She clawed with her nails and struck with her fists, but his arm didn’t budge in the slightest, like solid iron.
“Urgh… Khhhk…!”
“Since you’ve been so cooperative until now, I’d ask you to endure just a little longer. Please, I beg you, Miss Everglenn.”
Saying that, he glanced behind him.
There, at some point, stood a stone altar.
An altar.
Seeing the intricate and beautiful patterns carved into it with such care made Cecilia’s skin crawl with dread.
“Normally, I would have treated you with more courtesy, Miss Everglenn. Now that it comes to this, I can only apologize for acting so rough.”
Cecilia tried desperately to shake off his grip, but his strength was far too overwhelming.
Rahma spoke as though it didn’t matter, muttering his own story.
“…There was a slight error, Miss Everglenn. A trivial error. At first, I dismissed it as coincidence.”
“When I realized the simple truth that the absence of a single small pebble could bring down a painstakingly built tower, it was already too late.”
Rahma slowly nodded his head.
Unlike Cecilia, who struggled desperately to escape his grip, he appeared utterly calm and composed.
“Yes… That’s right. When Duval, that boy, was exposed and killed, I should have prepared myself. But I failed to do so. The timing of the ritual had already been set, and with decades of results shimmering before my eyes, my vision narrowed.”
Rahma muttered quietly.
“More than half of the cocoons I had arranged in advance were burned, and the professors outside moved immediately the moment the ceremony began, as though they had been waiting. As though they knew everything. As though they knew everything…”
Who on earth?
How?
Because of that, he said in a hollow voice, the ritual had failed.
“…But what can I do? This too must be the great will of Lord Ilionel. I can only be grateful that through His care I managed to achieve even the bare minimum of my goal.”
With those words, Rahma slowly drew a dagger from his robes.
Cecilia no longer had the strength left to struggle.
“And so, I offer my gratitude to you as well… Though I am lacking, I promise to pray every night for you. To praise your sacrifice and pray for the repose of your soul.”
He whispered.
“Do not worry, Miss Everglenn.”
Why was it?
It wasn’t her brother, the general of the north.
It wasn’t her sister, the vice-commander of the Dragon Knights.
Not her family, nor her kin.
‘Ah.’
The first face that came to her mind.
It was the figure of someone she had only known for a few days.
It was something she couldn’t even understand herself.
“It will not hurt.”
He whispered softly.
And she too whispered softly.
“…He, lp me.”
She recalled the person who had said that if she ever needed his strength, he would help.
“Help, me. Someone…”
Ignoring her plea, Rahma raised the dagger high without hesitation.
In his mind was only the thought that he must cut open her chest and take out her heart.
It was a mistake he would not have made under normal circumstances.
And because of that, his reaction came a beat too late.
[Of course, Cecilia.]
From somewhere, a voice clearer than any other resounded.
[A friend’s request must always be answered.]
[You know that, don’t you?]
[Because we are friends.]
[My.]
[Our.]
[Cecilia.]
Countless voices.
And then, something burst from the ground and devoured Rahma’s arm whole.
There is no existence as veiled in mystery as spirits.
Spirits.
Spiritual beings said to dwell not only in mountains, rivers, and trees, but also in all things and all beings.
They exist in everything, in every place, and there are countless spirits.
From those so weak they fade away on their own, to those so powerful they are revered as gods—the range of their strength is immeasurable.
Perhaps that is why.
The attempts to subjugate such mighty spirits and wield them like one’s limbs had continued since ancient times—it could even be called a natural phenomenon.
And here, the greatest characteristic of spirits comes into play.
Affinity.
Affinity.
The source of power to sense spirits, who are beings of nature, and to govern them.
Unlike mages, knights, or priests, a spirit master could never succeed by effort alone.
It was entirely dependent on innate affinity, in other words, talent at birth.
That was why renowned spirit masters were so exceedingly rare among humans.
For very few were ever born with affinity for spirits, and even then, it was often faint.
Even in the legendary Wolpen Knights, there had not been a single member renowned as a spirit master—proof enough of how rare they were.
And so, the current situation was something even Rahma had never anticipated.
“This… impossible…”
A turtle formed of dripping mire.
A wild hound made of roots and humus.
A female figure formed of ice and snow blossoms…
And many more spirits took shape and revealed themselves, showing him their open hostility.
He swore that in all his long years, he had never seen so many, nor such powerful spirits gathered in one place.
It was a sight so overwhelming he forgot even the pain of losing his arm.
[At last.]
One of the spirits spoke.
A voice heavy with such power that his entire body stiffened upon hearing it.
[The time has come for our patience to be rewarded.]
And then, a force so overwhelming crashed down upon him that it was beyond resistance.
Like a tidal wave.
An overwhelming power no human could possibly withstand.