Chapter 487: Almost There. (2)
While Ghislain was meeting with the nobles and attending to various matters, the Northern Army remained stationed near the capital.
During this time, the members of the Northern Army who had been separated from the Fenris Mobile Corps finally had the opportunity to meet Parniel.
Everyone was overwhelmed by her towering stature and imposing presence.
After staring blankly at her for a while, Alfoi asked,
"This… is the Holy Maiden? Not a giant?"
It was an incredibly rude remark, but no one bothered to correct him. After all, he had always been an insolent bastard.
Parniel simply gazed at Alfoi indifferently. She was accustomed to such reactions.
Claude, who at least had some sense, nudged Alfoi in the ribs.
"Ah, why are you poking me! This doesn’t make any sense! How can a Holy Maiden be like this?!"
It seemed that the Holy Maiden in Alfoi’s imagination was supposed to look very different.
Alfoi suddenly grabbed Piote by the wrist and dragged him over.
"Wh-what are you doing?!"
Despite Piote’s protests, Alfoi forcibly positioned him next to Parniel.
"Hmm…"
Everyone folded their arms and scrutinized the two.
Piote, his face flushing with embarrassment, stood in stark contrast to Parniel, who remained as expressionless as ever.
Piote undeniably looked more feminine.
"Puhahahaha!"
"Puhahahaha!"
Alfoi burst into laughter upon seeing Piote, clutching his stomach, while Claude, unable to hold back, joined in.
The two, who often found amusement in teasing Piote, simply couldn’t resist.
After laughing to his heart’s content, Alfoi suddenly pointed at Piote and declared,
"He’s the real Holy Maiden!"
"……."
Silence fell upon the group. Even Claude immediately sobered up and shut his mouth. Alfoi was crossing the line. The atmosphere grew tense.
Yet, Alfoi continued his antics without a care.
"Just look at him! He’s more delicate, more feminine! So from now on, Piote is the Holy Maiden!"
Indeed, based solely on appearance, that argument wasn’t entirely wrong. Piote had a pretty face and a petite frame.
On top of that, he was blushing furiously, making him seem even more ladylike.
But to say such nonsense right in front of the actual Holy Maiden…
Everyone clamped their mouths shut, sensing that agreeing with him would be a grave mistake.
"Why is everyone just standing there? You know I’m right!"
Despite Alfoi’s continued pestering, Parniel simply ignored him. She was far too disciplined to react to such trivial provocations.
If anything, it had been a while since she had seen someone act so foolishly in front of her. It was almost amusing.
Instead, she was more intrigued by the priest standing beside Piote, as she could sense a powerful divine presence emanating from him.
"I am Parniel, servant of Lady Moriana. I sense great divine power from you."
"I-I am Piote, servant of Lady Juana. It is an honor to meet you, Holy Maiden."
The two exchanged a somewhat awkward greeting. Seeing this, Alfoi began his antics again.
"From today onward, Piote is also a Holy Maiden! As the 'Man Who Defeated a God,' I declare it so!"
Parniel, who had ignored everything until now, suddenly turned her head.
A statement she simply couldn’t overlook had just been spoken.
Boom.
As she stepped forward, a suffocating pressure filled the air. Everyone instinctively stepped back.
"What did you just say?"
Alfoi flinched slightly but refused to back down in this battle of wills. He shouted,
"I said, he’s a Holy Maiden too!"
"Not that."
"Th-the 'Man Who Defeated a God'?"
"Insolent fool."
Boom!
Parniel advanced, raising her fist. Though she intended only to give a light flick on the forehead, to the onlookers, it seemed anything but.
A massive fist was descending upon him from above. The sheer force of it made Alfoi feel like he was about to die.
"S-Shield!"
Alfoi, whose mana control was among the best in the region, instantly conjured five overlapping shields above his head.
But his opponent was no ordinary person.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The shields shattered one after another, and Parniel’s fist struck Alfoi squarely on the crown of his head.
Boom!
"Puhek!"
With a heavy impact, Alfoi’s face distorted grotesquely, and blood gushed from both nostrils. He collapsed, unconscious.
"…Wow."
The onlookers gasped in awe.
Although his obnoxious personality often made people forget, Alfoi was a 5th-circle mage essentially on par with an elder of a magic tower.
While he didn’t know an extensive range of spells, his combat experience was second to none.
Yet, Parniel had knocked him out cold with a single flick of her finger.
Truly befitting of a Holy Maiden of War. Her strength was unfathomable.
Belinda, who had been watching, shook her head before grabbing Alfoi’s unconscious body and dragging him away.
"Ugh, when is this idiot ever going to grow up?"
‘I had felt this for a while, but he was really a handful. I hadn’t dealt with someone this troublesome since Ghislain was a child… No, with Claude and Kaor around, there are quite a few of them.‘
Ereneth let out a small chuckle as she watched Alfoi being dragged away. It felt oddly satisfying.
Then, she suddenly froze in shock.
‘Wait, did I just laugh?’
Impossible! She, who had always lived with dignity, suppressing her emotions, had actually laughed because of that fool?
Ereneth quickly regained control of her expression. She couldn't accept it. The fact that she had laughed at such a fool was a severe blow to her pride.
But Claude, having caught sight of her laughter, immediately started teasing.
“Oh! The Great Chieftain laughed!”
“I did not.”
“You totally did! I saw it! That idiot made you laugh? Have you just been so bored living in the forest? That was funny even to you? What’s up with your resistance to laughter? Puhaha!”
The atmosphere instantly turned sour. Wendy swiftly covered Claude’s mouth.
“……”
Ereneth shot a cold glare at Claude. Noticing the shift, he quickly backed down.
“M-Maybe I saw something wrong.”
Claude averted his eyes. He didn’t want to keep provoking her and end up like Alfoi.
At least in terms of awareness, Claude was better than Alfoi.
Thus, after a slight commotion over meeting the new recruit, the Northern Army remained stationed near the capital for a few days.
This was because Ghislain was participating in the reorganization of the Kingdom Army and the Allied Forces.
Though their numbers had significantly decreased, they had captured nearly fifty thousand prisoners from their battles.
Discussions were ongoing about how to integrate them into the existing forces and divide the legions. After several days, the meeting finally concluded.
“You’ve all been waiting long enough. It’s time for us to move.”
At Ghislain’s words, Claude asked,
“What’s the plan?”
“As soon as the Kingdom’s Army finishes restructuring, we’ll advance south with the Allied Forces. It’ll take some time, but we need to do this properly.”
It was inevitable that moving and reorganizing troops would take time. They couldn’t just reshuffle everything haphazardly.
The Northern Army planned to set up camps along key routes, resting, resupplying, and preparing for the next campaign.
Ghislain grinned and continued,
“And once everything is ready, we’ll launch a simultaneous assault on the south. Pass word to the Western Army to prepare in advance. Until then, we rest and recover properly.”
No other force had fought as fiercely as the Northern Army. After such relentless battles, it was time for some rest and reorganization.
‘We’re almost there.’
Things were different from his past life. Back then, Ghislain had fought alone. Now, he had countless allies standing by his side.
Of course, dealing with the ducal family wouldn’t be the end. The Salvation Church also had to be eradicated from the continent, and the Rifts needed to be closed.
But Ghislain was confident.
‘It will all end soon.’
Yes, the end was near. Once a fully reorganized army encircled the south, the ducal family would have no escape.
‘This time…’
Ghislain’s eyes glowed with a murderous light.
He had failed in his past life. There had been too many unpredictable variables, too many hidden elements constantly surfacing.
But not this time. He had become the variable against the ducal family, meticulously stacking the pieces according to his plan.
So, this time—
This time, he would claim victory.
* * *
The room was dark and silent, lit only by a few flickering candles.
It was a vast and luxurious chamber, but the darkness obscured its grandeur.
Lying on the massive bed in the center was a frail old man.
“Fenris… Count, you say…”
The old man’s voice trembled, as if he were at death’s door.
Beside him, a middle-aged man lowered his head slightly and responded,
“Yes, Your Majesty. He successfully held back the entire army of Duke Delfine.”
The old man was none other than Berhem Ladran II, King of the Ritania Kingdom.
And the one attending him was Viscount Domont, the royal chamberlain.
Viscount Domont was the most trusted and favored aide of King Berhem. He had served as the chamberlain for years and was the only person with whom the king conversed freely.
Berhem, unable to move properly, relied entirely on Domont to hear news from the outside world.
“I see… There is always someone who emerges to protect the royal family in times of crisis… Just like her, long ago…”
“…Your Majesty…”
Berhem’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling madness. He continued speaking, his words tinged with bitterness.
“But Count Fenris… Is he not simply another of Marquis Branford’s men? What use is a noble who does not pledge loyalty to me…?”
“Your Majesty, they are all devoted to you.”
“Lies… Marquis Branford wields power as he pleases, ignoring me… And now, his successor, raised by her…”
Berhem lay there, continuously spewing out curses that were barely comprehensible.
Viscount Domont remained silent. He could understand the king’s frustration.
Since childhood, Berhem had been too frail to properly govern. As he aged, that weakness grew, twisting his personality beyond repair.
To make matters worse, all power was concentrated in the hands of Marquis Branford. It was only natural for the king to be resentful.
But what could be done? A king who lay bedridden, merely waiting for death, could not be entrusted with the affairs of the state.
As Berhem continued to babble to himself, he suddenly grasped Viscount Domont’s hand tightly.
"The only ones I trust are the commander of the Royal Knights and you... I trust no one else. You two are my only loyal subjects..."
There were only two people who remained by the king’s side. It was no surprise. Domont looked at Berhem with eyes filled with pity.
Born as a king, yet never once able to wield true power. Too weak to accomplish anything on his own.
Berhem murmured to himself, his eyes hollow.
"The Royal Faction, the Ducal Faction... Aren’t they just fighting for power amongst themselves, excluding me...? Who, exactly, are they fighting for...?"
His trembling hand reached for the necklace around his neck.
It was a simple and unadorned piece, a small crystal pendant hanging from it something entirely unbefitting for a king.
And yet, he handled it with the utmost care, as if it were a precious treasure.
"I know... what the Duke of Delfine wants... the one who helped build this kingdom..."
Viscount Domont remained silent. He had heard this story at least a hundred times before.
He was probably the person who knew the most secrets of the royal family.
Speaking with the king every day made it inevitable. For the king, conversations with the only person beside him were his sole source of solace.
Berhem continued staring at the ceiling, talking to himself.
"It has been too long... The stories passed down through the royal family and the ducal house... most of them have been forgotten... They’ve all forgotten the promises between the two houses... even their origins..."
His ramblings were incoherent, much of it incomprehensible. Yet, Domont did not ask him to clarify.
After all, the king was half-mad.
At first, enduring his daily madness had been agonizing, but now Domont had grown numb to it.
But today, something different slipped out.
"The Salvation Church... was it? The ones working with the Ducal House..."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Domont answered.
"They say... even if their bodies are severed... even if they are wounded... they heal quickly..."
"Yes, they are said to possess such power. That is why they are incredibly difficult to kill."
"And yet... they have been declared a heretical sect..."
"Yes, the Four Major Temples and Marquis Branford..."
"Those fools... they did so without even seeking my approval..."
Berhem’s body trembled as he spoke, his voice laced with fury. Domont quickly grasped his hand.
"Your Majesty, please calm yourself. If you so desire, these matters can always be reversed at your command."
But that was a lie.
In the feudal structure of the Ritania Kingdom, even the king had limitations on what he could change at will.
And with the Four Major Temples involved, how could the king’s word alone undo it all?
Domont was fully aware of that truth, yet he lied to soothe the king’s wrath.
After panting in anger for some time, Berhem muttered in a hushed voice.
"I envy the priests of the Salvation Church... If their heads remain intact, they cannot die... To possess such power..."
"Your Majesty..."
It was certainly an enviable ability at least, to Berhem. To him, the label of heresy meant little.
What did it matter, whether they were heretics or not, to someone who might die at any moment?
Suddenly, Berhem fell silent. He seemed deep in thought, and then, as if making up his mind, he firmly grasped Domont’s hand.
"I have a favor to ask of you..."
"A favor? It is not necessary to ask. Command me, Your Majesty."
"Promise me that you will grant this request..."
"I swear upon my life to fulfill it."
Berhem tightened his grip on Domont’s hand and, with great effort, parted his lips. His eyes gleamed with an intense, unreadable desire.
"Bring me a priest of the Salvation Church... One who possesses that power... I want it for myself..."
Domont’s face hardened.
The king was making an extremely dangerous request.
Bringing a priest of the Salvation Church was already a monumental task, but even if he succeeded, Marquis Branford would never allow them to meet.
If discovered, Domont would undoubtedly be executed.
And yet, it was not entirely impossible. He only needed to convince one person.
A man of unwavering loyalty, Domont wanted to grant the king’s wish.
For the pitiful ruler who had suffered all his life.
"I will... carry out your command, no matter what."
Domont rose from his seat, his gaze filled with unshakable determination.