Chapter 68: The Path of the Holy Warrior

The Grand Cathedral of the Imperial Holy Academy.

A promotion ceremony was underway.

“‘O, our Most High Lord, I shall be your sword with this body, guarding your name,'” the Holy Knight instructor, presiding over the promotion ceremony, declared loudly, leaning on his longsword beside the altar.

Upon the altar, Holy Knight Jeanne knelt, head bowed, repeating with pious devotion: “‘O, our Most High Lord, I shall be your sword with this body, guarding your name.'”

“‘We bear your divine mandate, moving forward with no thought of retreat,'” the instructor continued to intone.

“‘We bear your divine mandate, moving forward with no thought of retreat,'” Jeanne echoed in the same solemn tone.

“‘We uphold our vows; beyond this, we possess nothing.'”

“‘We uphold our vows; beyond this, we possess nothing.'”

“‘May the glory of the sun endure forever, and may Holy Knights never fall.'”

“‘May the glory of the sun endure forever, and may Holy Knights never fall.'”

After the vows concluded, a female archbishop stepped forward, holding a silver ewer, and tilted it over Jeanne, pouring the sacred water—a secret elixir—over her head to perform the baptism.

At this moment, both the Holy Knight instructor and the female archbishop overseeing the ritual were on edge.

The promotion ceremony for Holy Knights was fraught with peril. If an individual not meeting the conditions for advancement underwent baptism, the sacred water would cling to their body and ignite, erupting into a scorching, brilliant white flame. Without immediate intervention, this could lead to severe burns and blindness; thus, they had to be prepared to intervene at any moment.

Advancement to the Seventh Order was a solitary endeavor, and subjective self-assessment could often be imprecise. Occasionally, a candidate might believe they met the requirements, only to discover they had not truly passed the trial when they felt the agony of the searing flames during the baptism.

This was especially true given Jeanne’s youth; she was still merely a student of the Holy Academy.

The vast majority of Holy Knights graduating from the Ivory White Tower of the Holy Academy only attained the Ninth Order, that of an “Iron Knight.” Only the most exceptional elites might ascend to the Eighth Order, becoming a “Guardian,” thereby earning a higher military rank upon their assignment to a knight order after graduation.

Yet, every so often, a prodigious talent, blessed with both natural ability, diligence, and fortune, would complete the Seventh Order promotion trial while still a student. It was widely known that most of the instructors teaching in the Ivory White Tower itself were only of the Seventh Order.

The sacred water, shimmering with a brilliant white light, flowed from the silver ewer. The secret formula for this sacred water was a closely guarded secret of the Church and the Imperial Family, known only to cardinals, members of the Saints’ Council, and a select few core members of the royal household.

As the sacred water cascaded over Jeanne’s head, it did not dampen her hair or clothes. Instead, it flowed down completely, as if falling upon fully waterproof oiled wax, leaving not a single trace of moisture.

However, as it descended, the white glow within the sacred water gradually faded, becoming dim. By the time it reached Jeanne’s feet, the sacred water had become utterly transparent and clear, indistinguishable from ordinary pure water.

The white light, however, remained upon Jeanne’s form, enveloping her and making her figure appear divinely radiant.

Then, the light receded, gathering into Jeanne’s body, where she felt a warm current circulate within her.

The Holy Knight instructor offered a gratified smile, and the female archbishop visibly relaxed with a sigh of relief.

This phenomenon signified that the promotion had been successful. Jeanne had successfully advanced from the Eighth Order “Guardian” to the Seventh Order “Holy Warrior.” After several years, a true genius had once again emerged from the Ivory White Tower.

“‘Child, I am truly proud of you,'” the instructor said, a benevolent and kindly smile gracing his features.

“‘Thank you for presiding over my ceremony with your sword, Instructor Dinua,'” Jeanne replied, raising her face.

“‘Go forth, then, and let everyone behold the figure of our future Saintess,'” the instructor laughed heartily.

“‘Please don’t tease me,'” Jeanne chuckled, bowing her head in a graceful curtsy before turning to depart the Grand Cathedral.

“‘Count Dinua, isn’t that proclamation a bit premature? She has only just been promoted to the Seventh Order,'” the female archbishop whispered, leaning closer to the Holy Knight instructor.

“‘I have great faith in her. Her talent, her character, and most importantly, her will. Her achievement of reaching the Seventh Order at such a young age is merely the tip of the iceberg of her potential. She will achieve even more astonishing feats in the future—far more remarkable than my own. Even within the Cardinal Council, there are those who admire her. I believe she will one day become a canonized saint,'” Count Dinua stated earnestly. “‘Duke Alençon’s discerning eye is truly extraordinary.'”

Jeanne stepped out of the Grand Cathedral, where numerous students were already waiting. According to the traditions of the Benevolent Holy Church, promotion ceremonies were not open to spectators; they could only await outside.

When Jeanne appeared, a cheer erupted among the crowd, and someone clapped vigorously: “‘Let us welcome the future Commander of the Knight Order!'”

Jeanne was something of a celebrity at the Holy Academy. She hailed from a commoner background yet held the status of the Duke’s adopted daughter. She possessed striking beauty and a gentle disposition.

In the eyes of the commoner students, she was approachable and lacked pretense. Among the noble students, Jeanne was Duke Alençon’s most admired adopted daughter and one of the most outstanding students in the Ivory White Tower, destined for an illustrious future. Her supporters had even formed a fan club within the Holy Academy.

Jeanne greeted the crowd’s enthusiasm with a composed smile, exchanging pleasantries with several familiar classmates.

“‘Today is a joyous occasion! I believe we should hold a celebration banquet,'” someone loudly suggested, immediately garnering widespread agreement.

“‘Your kindness is truly overwhelming, but regrettably, I have other arrangements shortly. My father wrote to say he would be arriving in the Imperial City today, so I must return home to welcome him,'” Jeanne politely declined.

Seeing this, the others did not press further. After all, no one dared to prioritize their own wishes above a grand lord of the Northern Marches, especially when he was Jeanne’s adoptive father.

Jeanne chatted with her friends for a few more moments before finding an opportune time to bid them farewell and depart.

“‘I say…'” a girl familiar with Jeanne whispered to her companion, watching Jeanne’s retreating figure. “‘Don’t you think Jeanne has been a bit… how should I put it? A little different lately?'”

“‘Ah? You think so too? I thought it was just my imagination. I just feel like she talks less and often sits alone, lost in thought.'”

“‘Is something bothering her? Should we ask her?'”

“‘No, don’t. Some things people will say when they want to. If they don’t want to, asking won’t help.'”

****

Jeanne left the academy alone. Near the main gate, she noticed the posted enrollment list.

‘Speaking of which, the admission list for the local Holy Academy has already been released this year,’ she mused.

As if forcing herself, she scanned the list for the Southwest Holy Academy.

Naturally, she did not see the familiar name. The student who ranked first in the theology major this year was a girl named Alice Liddell, who also appeared to be a high-ranking noble who had already inherited a title.

Not long after they parted ways that day, she heard news of the riot in the detention dungeon of Maplewood City’s public security office. Since then, she had been unable to uncover any information about Levi.

Although Viscount Dumpty, who had falsely accused Levi, died in the riot, there was no subsequent news of any trial for Levi, nor was Levi among the surviving prisoners transferred from that cell.

Ultimately, Jeanne had to accept the grim reality—Levi must have also perished in that riot, for at that time, he was nearly crippled and utterly incapable of self-preservation.

She had once contemplated retrieving her friend’s remains for burial, but the riot seemed to be connected to heretical activities. The Inquisition had been involved in the lockdown, and all the deceased, including Viscount Dumpty’s body, had been secretly handled by them.

In the end, all she could do was offer empty condolences and mourn her friend, powerless to do anything more.

‘If you were still here, if you had come to this place now, what would you say to me, who has just passed the trial?’ Jeanne wondered, lost in thought as she gazed at the notice board displaying the admission list.

Finally, she collected her thoughts, a sense of loss lingering, and departed.

Everything she had experienced in Maplewood City had made her taste her own powerlessness for the first time in her life.

“‘If you have the heart, just keep walking your path. Climb higher!'” Her friend’s voice still echoed in her ears.

‘Yes, as I am now, I can only live on, bearing my friend’s unfulfilled ambition.’

‘This unjust world, she must change it with her own hands!’