Chapter 766

Chapter 766

A savior shall emerge to conclude it all! A warrior who shall drench conflict and existence in the hues of dusk! We shall name him the Knight of the Conclusion! He who shall bring every matter to a close! A champion to terminate the strife!

Zoraslav listened to the melody, a composition preserved through spoken word in the hamlet for ages. A handful of youngsters sang it like a psalm outside his casement. Throughout the land, the legend circulated as “The Knight of the Truce” or “The Knight of the Finality,” carrying nearly identical tunes and verses.

Some referred to him as the Knight of the Truce, while others called him the Knight of the Conclusion. In certain territories, he was known as the Knight of the Gloaming. The primary lyrics had faded from memory long ago. In various locales, the titles—Truce, Conclusion, and Gloaming—were used as synonyms within the song.

To the people, this was far more than a simple tune. The “Knight of the Conclusion.” Or the figure hailed as the Knight of the Truce. Such a personage was a pillar of the myth that a protector would one day shield them.

“Do you truly hold the conviction that this man is the Knight of the Conclusion?”

The “Conclusion” mentioned in the verses alluded to the cessation of the world. And that “world” signified the Demon Realm. Essentially, a warrior destined to orchestrate the downfall of the Demon Realm. There were those who read the signs that way—though it wasn’t a confirmed certainty.

Zoraslav scanned the individuals gathered around the expansive desk. It was the council chamber of the town hall. More than a dozen people—over twenty eyes—were locked onto him. Zoraslav was a man of logic and facts. Until this moment, he had maintained a specific perspective:

“It is merely a melody that gives voice to longing.”

From a pragmatic outlook, this hymn was a creation born of desperation. What is the most vital element for a human to endure? Food, attire, and a roof? A person might persist even if one of those was absent. But once the spirit shatters, that is the true finish.

Why continue in this manner?

For those who begin to harbor such thoughts, even sustenance, clothing, and shelter lose their worth. Does existence require a justification? Must one go to the extremes of becoming an Eroded just to persist? Is it truly necessary to live in this fashion?

If the question were posed, only one response remained. Naturally, they desired to live. He vividly recalled a day he witnessed a youngster beam as if tasting a delicacy while sipping a thin broth made from withered, desiccated turnips. He remembered with clarity the day that child entered the world.

Though their days were not easy, tranquil, or plush, even within those hardships, they discovered the grace of being alive. They could wander and observe the shifting of the seasons. They could converse with those beside them and cherish one another. They craved life to savor all these experiences. Even if it required living in misery.

And one of the instruments to maintain that existence was hope. What people required most to endure was hope.

Thus, in Zoraslav’s view, that ancient, orally preserved song was simply a mechanism designed to pump optimism into the collective. That one day, a champion would arrive to end their agony and usher in a superior life? That was the supposed Knight of the Conclusion?

The lyrics made such claims, but he had never put stock in them. At least, not until this hour. Persisting by leaning on the charity of demons—that was the harsh truth they inhabited. That was what Zoraslav had clung to until now. He looked that truth in the eye and embraced it, rather than some dusty ballad.

“I am convinced. That man truly is that figure.”

A companion who had always expressed more resentment and skepticism toward their lot in life now spoke with eyes that shimmered. Those eyes, which had been ignored, cast aside, and forsaken, were now vibrant with expectation.

A man who struck down the icon of the Demon God without a second thought. Who butchered the encircling predators and beasts, then walked away without lingering for a bounty. A man who stepped into the Demon Realm without seeking a single thing.

Even to Zoraslav, he bore the likeness of the Knight of the Conclusion. To a populace that had never even tasted the crumbs of optimism, a hand draped in benevolence had reached out. Could they turn it away?

No. They could not. Because they, too, hungered for a better existence. Everyone in the hamlet offered prayers. For the man who had stepped into that darkness.

Teresa took her place upon the modest, cramped platform she had constructed. She had not unsheathed her blade. It wasn’t required at this moment.

“You take in a female who knows only the art of combat, and she can’t even show appreciation?”

Why was that memory surfacing now? It dated back to the period when everything had been pledged to the bishop of the sect. A time when her reality had been draped in nothing but soot and shadow.

That was when she encountered Enkrid. And for the first time, she discovered delight in wielding a blade that previously held no purpose.

“I shall struggle and struggle again to validate my existence.”

That had been the reply she offered Enkrid when he inquired how she would choose to live if granted a second birth. Every detail from that instant remained vivid in her consciousness even now. The breeze of that day. The warmth. Every single thing.

There was a burning, ascending breath. And there was the version of herself who felt remorse for the past while gazing back. Consequently, Teresa of the Cult perished and was reborn as the wandering Teresa. She had attempted to conceal herself behind a small guise, but quickly understood how futile that was.

“Ultimately, I will engage in the fight.”

That wasn’t a statement made for the sake of the giant’s ichor coursing through her heart. It was for the person she had been, and the person she intended to be tomorrow. Besides, combat didn’t always necessitate throwing fists or shedding blood.

Teresa had battled her former self. She had embraced a new deity and studied the tenets of the Holy War. Standing on a tiny stage fashioned from a shield, she turned her head slightly to look behind her. The champion who had rescued her was observing her directly. She parted her lips as she met his gaze.

“Ah—”

A gritty vibration came from her throat, and regardless of how it was perceived, it sounded alluring. She looked forward once more. At the horrors leaking fluid as they neared. At the stronghold in the distance, vibrating with wails. And she commenced her singing.

Her tone acquired peaks and valleys. It glided and fractured, even her inhalations mimicking musical intervals. Thus, she initiated her melody. Soon, a psalm honoring the holy rose toward the firmament and rattled the ground.

Triggering divinity was a gift bestowed only upon a rare few. And the aptitude to stir others with one’s singing—that too was granted only to a rare few. In other words, awakening divinity and correctly executing a chant demanded completely distinct sets of talent.

If someone by some miracle was born with both, and if they committed themselves with relentless labor, they could command the divine through music. In the Holy Knight Order, such individuals were addressed as “Sacred Singers,” a title spoken with both honor and awe. Some referred to them as “Holy Cantors.”

Audin had caught a glimpse of the seeds of such ability in Teresa, and had steered her toward her awakening. When Enkrid had set out for Zaun, Lua Gharne had remained to aid her—for that very reason. She was skilled in a peculiar war melody called the Frog Cry, and her shout influenced everyone in her vicinity. In certain ways, it functioned on a theory similar to a chant.

The half-giant wedged her shield into the earth, fashioned her own little platform, stepped up, and began to chant. Her voice glided with the tune—exquisite and crisp. When she shifted to a higher pitch, it echoed as if scrubbing the heavens clean.

“Ah–ah!”

Simply listening to it made a person feel revitalized.

“This…” Enkrid whispered.

In synchronization with Teresa’s melody, something started to manifest in front of her. Witnessing it caused his jaw to drop of its own accord.

“Ah–ah…”

A song without syllables—Teresa’s very breath was woven into the music, and it sent shivers down the spine. It is said a talented minstrel knows how to handle instruments, and a legendary minstrel knows how to sing as well. Her notes possessed depth; her resonance was vast. Epic, comforting, and peaceful.

The atmosphere, despite being located in the center of the Demon Realm, clung to Enkrid and the others with a softness that was difficult to fathom.

“May the Lord shield us,” Audin breathed a plea.

That tranquility—it wasn’t merely a sensation. Though her voice wasn’t booming, her words merged with divinity and materialized, creating a rampart that obstructed the ghouls’ path. The barrier didn’t rise as tall as Teresa, who was perched on her shield, but it surged well above the eye level of a normal man and radiated a white glow.

The ramparts of ivory light expanded to the left and right, shoving back the gloom of the Demon Realm. That image alone was breathtaking.

“She mentioned she hit upon the concept by observing the Company Captain.”

“Ah.”

Enkrid released a brief sound of wonder. So the wall of iron displayed when they halted Azpen’s legions had been her spark of creativity. Back then, Enkrid had also saturated his voice with Will—evidently, that had made an impression on her as well.

Audin had always maintained they shouldn’t fret over Teresa. But he hadn’t anticipated she would achieve something of this magnitude.

“It isn’t flawless. They are slipping through the cracks.”

Lua Gharne shifted her large eyes and remarked. And she was correct. One ghoul was squeezing its frame through a breach in the holy wall. Its skin sizzled and emitted smoke as it crossed the white radiance, but it succeeded in getting past the obstruction.

Thud—

It fell to one knee and dug its gnarled digits into the dirt, dragging itself forward. And directly in its path, it met a man wielding a short blade without the slightest hesitation.

Slice.

Monsters also possessed meat, skeleton, and sinew. Jaxon, who was an expert at stabbing and slicing at the ideal trajectories, found killing these beings effortless. But their conduct after being wounded was aberrant.

Blorp.

A sickly yellow fluid began to distend at the cut surfaces. It occurred once more—yellow pus swelled at the severed edges.

Pop.

The fluid erupted with a wet, squelching noise. Ordinarily, the explosion would spray infection spores in every direction, but Teresa’s holy energy suppressed the spores and wiped them out. As her voice rose in pitch, white radiance congregated and bore down on the shattered ghoul.

Audin went into action as well. There were numerous apertures. As his feet struck the earth, he appeared to be in three locations simultaneously. It was a phantom image produced by immense speed—nimbleness unthinkable for a man of his bulk. Moving in that fashion, he effortlessly lunged with his fist, and the ghoul craniums caught in his strikes burst again and again. The fluid-filled sections distended like bloated pig bladders and then detonated once more.

Audin didn’t need to lean on Teresa’s assistance. He couldn’t perform sacred chants, but in regards to manipulating divinity, he was her superior. He reached out over the skull of the ghoul he had just obliterated. A white shimmer radiated from his palm like a mantle and descended. The eruption of pus could not penetrate that radiance.

Thud—

It created only a muffled impact.

“Quite a remarkable gift.”

Lua Gharne remarked in admiration, drawing her lash. Her weapon was longer than a blade—designed for intermediate range. It was also a relic that naturally sparked into flame. A plague ghoul that had just barely forced its way through the wall was lashed by her burning whip and had its skull shattered.

The weight at the tip of the lash was crafted from dense gold, and the whip itself was woven from the hide of beasts. The swifter the whip moved, the more powerful the blow—there was no need to describe the kind of energy that would generate.

Crack—! Crack—!

The lash cut through the atmosphere and burned the heads of the ghouls to ash. One required at least the timing of a knight to track its path. The ghoul’s heads and torsos erupted with fluid, but even that merely served as kindling for the blaze.

Then Ragna entered the fray. With his relaxed stride, steps directed toward no obvious target, he drifted toward the plague ghouls. At some point, he had unsheathed his greatsword, and it radiated a soft red light. Even as the sun began its descent, there was no shortage of illumination here.

Ragna swung his massive blade like a laborer harvesting grain with a blade. He shortened the sword’s swing, relying entirely on the snap of his wrists and his positioning. A series of basic, constant motions.

Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.

Instead of grain, plague ghoul heads rose into the air and tumbled to the soil. Even those cut down by Ragna started to swell with yellow pus at the gash, but the accumulation was significantly smaller.

Psshk.

They didn’t even erupt properly.

Sunrise purges the tainted. Titled for the sun it carries.

A legacy passed through the Zaun bloodline. This was precisely the sort of utility it was crafted to provide. The quantity of foes was massive, so many were still finding ways through. At this stage, it was almost as if Teresa were purposefully allowing them to pass.

She then concentrated the remaining holy energy and incinerated the bulk of the plague ghouls in divine fire. The ones with their lips stitched shut couldn’t even shriek. Observing the ghouls being cleared away, Rem flashed a smirk and spoke.

“Listen, you two really need to stay in sync with my tempo here.”

He was addressing Rophod and Pell. Teresa’s holy song had established a divine wall, but it wasn’t going to shield them from the sky.

Screech!

So, that left the massive avian creature plummeting down from the heavens. But would that truly be an issue?

Likely not.