X
“What do you mean, defecting to justice… What is this person talking about?”
Xiluo’er’s chuunibyou declaration only caused Shadow to frown even more deeply.
A joke, truly. How could the High Priest’s hidden chess piece possess the right to choose?
The poison was merely an additional safeguard. Xiluo’er herself was a dagger—a sharp blade clutched firmly in someone’s hand.
While a dagger could certainly kill, the power to decide *who* it killed never rested with the blade itself. It belonged solely to the one wielding it.
Yet now, this dagger presumed to speak, attempting to dictate its own target?
Shadow gazed at the dagger pointed directly at them, feeling nothing but profound confusion.
Shadow even sensed a kind of ignorant fearlessness emanating from Xiluo’er, as if she were utterly oblivious to the consequences of betraying the Chaos Cult so easily.
‘Did she truly believe that merely killing me, taking the antidote, would be the end of it?’
However, Shadow had no time to dwell on such matters. Tonight marked the most crucial step of the Cult’s plan, and they could not allow Xiluo’er, this unexpected variable, to disrupt it.
“Then, there is no need for further words. Since you have made this choice, you must also consider whether you can bear the cost of that choice.”
Shadow spread their hands wide, facing Xiluo’er.
“You don’t actually think you can easily defeat me, do you? Even if you are the High Priest’s—”
Shadow’s words were cut short. A cold glinting dagger struck simultaneously, one aimed at their face, the other at their neck.
“Who taught you it was acceptable to chat during a fight?”
Xiluo’er’s tone was exceptionally cold.
Unlike the timid loli often suppressed by Eve, Xiluo’er, when serious, was indeed a sharp, cold-gleaming dagger.
A dagger, after all, does not speak. It only kills.
****
Rona watched Serol sit opposite her, then begin to undress.
Rona was a proper, serious girl—at least, unlike her good friend Eve. So, with polite deference, Rona simply closed her eyes.
But she quickly realized her action was unnecessary.
Serol had only unfastened a part of her clothing, revealing only her shoulder and a portion of her arm to Rona’s gaze.
“This is…”
Rona froze, staring at Serol’s body before her.
No wonder. No wonder Rona had never seen Serol wear short sleeves or thin clothing during their two years in Kana City. Serol was always clad in her heavy knight’s uniform.
Rona had initially assumed Serol was simply meticulous about etiquette. Now, it was clear that wasn’t the case at all.
Serol merely wished to conceal the anomaly of her body. Purple-black, wildly spreading patterns were starkly visible across Serol’s skin.
Though she couldn’t see the complete design, Rona noticed that these patterns seemed to originate from the area around her heart.
“Do you remember what I told you before, Rona?”
Serol redressed, her voice tinged with weariness.
“Many years ago, during the Vanceti Kingdom’s civil war, my body sustained a hidden injury that has never fully healed, even to this day.”
“But what I didn’t tell you was that the injuries I suffered back then nearly cost me my life.”
Rona was stunned. She knew Serol’s health had always been delicate due to a chronic ailment, but this particular detail, Serol had never once mentioned.
“Serol… Madam, what happened?”
Serol sighed, then gritted her teeth, pressing her hands to her head, her expression contorted in pain.
She felt it—that voice resonating in her mind once more, seemingly attempting to prevent her from speaking further. Yet, Serol forcefully endured.
She didn’t care. Things had progressed to this point, and she no longer minded telling Rona the truth.
“Regarding the civil war, you younger generations truly know very little.”
“For instance, the rebel army in the civil war wasn’t simply a common rebellion.”
Though the Vanceti Kingdom’s civil war had ended long ago, some mysteries remained unsolved to this day.
For example, the origin of the rebel army’s overwhelming power, mighty enough to assault the capital itself.
Kana City wasn’t just where the civil war ended; it was where the rebel army first launched its uprising.
They fought their way from Kana City, advancing almost to the capital’s doorstep.
Logically, the Vanceti Kingdom was no small nation. As a great power named after “Order,” it should have possessed the strength to suppress a rebellion.
The Vanceti Kingdom’s military strength was not poor. As the monarch’s sword and the common people’s shield, its knights formed the nation’s most formidable defense.
For example, the renowned Cross family’s knight order, famous throughout the Vanceti Kingdom, was stationed near the capital as its personal guards.
However, as the rebels advanced with devastating force, the unprepared Vanceti Kingdom realized that this rebellion was far from simple.
The rebel forces were not numerous enough to overwhelm the defenses of every city, yet the strange power that almost every rebel could wield undeniably accelerated the Vanceti Kingdom’s collapse.
Behind the rebels, there had to be some other force assisting them—this was the unanimous opinion of the capital’s high-ranking officials at the time.
But as city after city fell, and the rebels approached the capital, they still hadn’t uncovered which power—another organization, another nation, or perhaps some cult—had provided the rebel army with such strength.
It was as if, just as the rebels’ slogans proclaimed, a deity had truly bestowed power upon them.
As this burgeoning, formidable rebel army reached the very walls of the capital, the high officials grew frantic. The palace erupted into a chaotic frenzy.
Then, someone appeared in the royal palace. Iron boots echoed heavily on the smooth, polished marble floor.
Serol stood beneath the throne, drawing her knight’s sword. The blade, like a knife through tofu, effortlessly plunged into the ground before her.
In that moment, the previously clamorous palace fell silent. The noisy politicians all fixed their gaze upon the fully armored knight.
“Your Majesty,” Serol began, her young eyes holding their usual calm.
She declared, “This sword will sever the head of the rebel leader.”
A long silence descended upon the palace. The one on the throne did not speak, and naturally, no one else dared to utter a word.
Serol merely rested her hands on the sword hilt, looking up at the monarch on the throne.
“Good,” the monarch on the throne finally nodded after a moment. “I trust you, Serol.”
“Then, let us prepare a banquet to celebrate General Cross’s triumphant return.”
“There is no need, Your Majesty,” Serol replied, pulling out her sharp sword and turning to leave. “It will be soon enough when I truly return victorious.”
Thus, in the vast, empty hall, everyone watched as Serol walked out of the palace step by step, the sound of her iron boots on the ground even and powerful.
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