Chapter 17: A Fleeting Dream

His brother’s horse had died.

To be precise, his brother had personally put it out of its misery the previous night.

It had been exhausted from the relentless escape, and its hind leg appeared to be broken. The skin hung loose where the bone had shattered, and it couldn’t walk much farther before collapsing. Leaving it alive would only prolong its pain.

It was the right thing to do—letting it rest before that point.

It had been a fine horse, one his brother had raised by hand since it was a foal. Even while panting from the agony of its broken leg, the smart creature had stopped struggling when his brother approached with his sword, as if it understood the mercy about to be given.

His brother ended its life with a single, clean blow. Then, sheathing his sword, he bowed his head in silence for a moment before turning away without lingering. He didn’t look back once.

Digging a grave was a luxury they couldn’t afford.

Following behind, Lema glanced at the horse he had been riding.

—Brother, let’s just let this one go.

—…

—We’ve come quite far anyway. We almost reached the border overnight, so they won’t catch up soon.

Lema had been on the run with his brother for quite some time. Days and nights passed in the saddle without rest.

Their pursuers were no ordinary men—there was no room for carelessness. The riders’ tension had seeped into their mounts, and the horses too must have been burdened with constant strain.

Lema’s horse was still uninjured, but if this life continued, it would soon meet the same end.

Without waiting for an answer, Lema dismounted.

He stripped away the saddle, bridle, and other tack, then stroked the horse’s forehead several times. He had been prepared for farewells ever since they left the mansion, but that didn’t make the moment any easier.

—It’s a smart creature. It’ll find a new owner soon.

—…Yes.

His brother’s reply was dazed, his gaze elsewhere. Normally, he would have refused, but perhaps the loss of his own horse—raised like family—had taken the fight out of him.

Once the horse had wandered far enough away, Lema fell into step beside him.

There was only so much brightness one could force. As they trudged onward, a miserable heaviness began to creep in.

His brother, fresh from a life-and-death escape, seemed hollowed out.

Lema had to keep his own mind steady.

—I never thought they’d go that far. How long have we served the Lord?

—…

—And now they call us heretics. There must have been a mistake. Once things settle down, we have to clear up the misunderstanding somehow.

—It’s already over.

His brother’s voice carried a resignation unlike the man who had always stood so reliably ahead of him. Lema understood—he had seen more than Lema had, and up close.

—It couldn’t be helped that the retainers turned their backs… The apostle’s words are absolute. But there must still be people who believe in us. We have to find them first and—

—Lema.

—Yes?

—Will our parents come back to life if we do that?

Lema froze. His brother’s spirit seemed dangerously diminished, to say something so pathetic.

—That’s why we have to clear their names even more, don’t we? That’s the only way to regain our honor. If we stay like this, it’s just a dog’s death!

He couldn’t understand.

How could the Valkite name be thrown aside in a single moment?

Worse still—the charge of heresy had come without a clear reason.

And yet… something about it gnawed at him.

Such things were not entirely unheard of.

He couldn’t voice it—saying so would be doubting his own parents—but it was possible. In rare cases, those accused truly were heretics.

The children or retainers might never have known.

Accusations between relatives did happen.

But Lema himself was innocent. He swore he had never worshipped any god but Luxlon, nor committed any immoral act against the doctrine. And as far as he knew, the head of their family had been incorruptible. That was why he didn’t truly believe the charges.

Still… in this situation, choices were few.

The hard road—clearing the family name together.

Or the easy one—admitting their parents’ guilt and fleeing with his brother.

Lema thought his brother must be wrestling with the same two paths.

—We…

His brother let out a long sigh before speaking.

—We’re going to find the Shadow Knights.

—Are you crazy?

Lema grabbed his brother’s shoulder and turned him around. The hood was pulled low over his head, hiding most of his expression, but the tight set of his jaw was visible. His once-golden hair—once praised as the very image of a holy knight—had been dyed a dark color during their escape.

Even the heart that had been firm in its devotion to Luxlon was starting to crack.

In truth, could he even be called a holy knight anymore?

Not only had he been officially dismissed, but even the apprentice knights who had trained with him had already turned their backs.

—Brother, if we go to them, we can’t turn back. It’ll be as good as admitting we’re really heretics. We have to clear up the misunderstanding.

—…

—Brother!

—What I want is the truth.

—Pardon?

—Lema, what I want… is the truth.

What was that truth? Was it more important than regaining their faith and honor?

Lema searched his brother’s face for an answer, but none came. Now he thought—perhaps his brother hadn’t known either.

In the end, Lema never got an answer.

Even at the very last moment.

—Run away.

They had hidden from the pursuit team for longer than expected, but it hadn’t lasted.

Blocking the path of their pursuers, his brother clearly intended for at least Lema to escape.

Without listening, Lema drew his sword.

He wanted to protect his brother’s back.

Wouldn’t it be better to die fighting?

They were branded heretics, but they were innocent. If they died fighting like this and went to the side of the Supreme God, wouldn’t the true God know?

—If you die, you become nothing. So hurry up and go!

When training as a holy knight, he had never feared death. He’d always believed that if he died in this world, he would return to the god he served.

But seeing his brother shout like that, Lema finally realized—

If you die, you become nothing.

His brother had already been doubting the Supreme God. Ever since leaving the domain, his strange behavior had only been the surface. Inside, he had lost the faith that had been his truth for his whole life.

—Lema!

In that moment, his brother’s voice rang out clear.

Blocking the path of the pursuers, his eyes shone more sharply than ever.

—You must survive! You must!

It was the moment Lema’s own beliefs cracked.

All his life, he had thought that was the truth.

Then what had he been following all this time?

He ran desperately, like a rat—but the brand carved by the apostle had made him a cripple. Looking back now, it might have been better to be caught and executed then and there.

No one had given him an answer.

In the end, Lema too began to doubt the Supreme God.

While being mocked as a heretic, falling to the bottom of the bottom and crawling…

And in that state, he met someone—

No, something.

—Do you need an answer, Lema? There is no god.

Hah…!

Lema shot upright.

The cramped, windowless room of the slaver’s den came into view, washed in vulgar red lighting.

The bed beneath him was still damp with the bodily fluids he had shed overnight. Of course, no one had come to change it.

Fortunately, clothes had been left for him: plain travel wear, a leather belt, and boots.

As he dressed himself with no difficulty, a sense of reality returned.

It wasn’t a dream.

All his fingers were attached. He flexed his hands, finding the tendons intact. The apostle’s brand was gone.

For some reason, his body felt lighter than it had in years.

The jewels he had worn the night before were gone, too. A relief—it would have been a burden to wear them again.

Where is my master?

It was he who had overslept, not his master. That was a punishable offense.

Hurrying to finish dressing, Lema cautiously opened the door and stepped into the hall.

The carnage from yesterday had vanished.

He heard movement and followed the sound without thinking. The women who had survived were cleaning the mess, their faces far brighter than when they had been sold as slaves.

Lema’s eyes swept the room, searching for the white hair.

The white, light-like, sparkling hair of his master—Belmias.

Bel stood silently, observing.

Lema approached quietly, but she sensed him first and spoke without looking at him.

“Lema, you’re awake.”

“Master, I woke late. I apologize.”

“Yes. I should get ready to leave now.”

“Yes, I will also prepare.”

Only then did Bel’s black eyes turn toward him.

“I will not be taking you with me.”

His heart sank.