Dunmel was perched at the highest point of the castle belonging to the Red Rose Count. Denmoju, a land covered in lush green fields, was as abundant and beautiful as Nadium, barely looking like a town that had just endured an enemy raid.
Dunmel had finished the task Loyal had assigned him on the first day—uncovering the secrets of the Johnstein family, the drug Zookhla, and the peculiar religious practices of the townspeople. Naturally, no one had managed to detect Dunmel’s presence while he accomplished all this.
Even after gathering all this information, Dunmel did not leave Denmoju. Though significant events were unfolding in Normant, he chose to wait.
What he was waiting for, he himself didn’t know. Loyal had not merely asked him to stay for verification purposes. His friend, inept at expressing his own emotions, probably hadn’t fully explained the situation. Dunmel felt that something Loyal couldn’t explain was the reason he should stay here.
‘Let’s wait one more day.’
That’s what Dunmel decided, anxiously awaiting the morning light.
As dawn broke, the villagers began to stir. Those who had been hiding in fear of war emerged from their homes and gathering halls to converse with the survivors. Although Dunmel couldn’t hear the conversations from his high vantage point, he could sense their unease.
The villagers approached the castle, kneeling before its gates as if mourning the deaths of the guards killed in the recent battle.
‘Is it the death of the soldiers that saddens them? Possibly, these could be young men from their neighborhoods, or even their own sons. Or perhaps they’re lamenting the fall of their lord’s fortress. The Count Johnstein is said to be quite popular here.’
The distance was too great for Dunmel to read their lips; what prayers or lamentations they offered remained unknown to him.
‘If Loyal is correct, they might also be mourning Latilda’s abduction.’
Once the mourning was complete, half of the villagers returned to their homes while the other half went towards the forest behind the castle. Holding candles and lanterns, they moved with the somber air of a funeral procession into the cave where Zookhla was cultivated.
Almost simultaneously, the Red Rose Count’s army arrived in Denmoju. Considering the time of the attack, their response was extraordinarily swift. Neither the Black Lion Count’s forces, who had attempted a counter-attack while their base was under siege, nor the Red Rose Count’s forces, who managed to return to their domain in just two days, lagged in mobility compared to any other army. If these two Counts were to join hands, the Kingdom of Camort, currently considered a minor nation, would not need much time to reclaim its former glory.
Upon their return, the army immediately began repairs on the castle. The bodies had already been removed by the castle’s servants, but other damages were promptly handled by the soldiers. The broken gates were voluntarily repaired by the townspeople. Aside from the loss of life, material damage was minimal.
The army of the Black Lion had cleanly retreated after fulfilling their objectives. They neither burned the fields nor destroyed the village. Whoever led them had exercised remarkable restraint, something Dunmel couldn’t help but genuinely respect.
The Black Lion Count had calculated that he couldn’t defeat the surprisingly strong army of the Red Rose Count with his current forces. Hence, he abducted the daughter to force a surrender. He chose not to burn the fields not out of mere chivalry but out of fear that an enraged Count Johnstein might not discriminate in his counter-attacks. Had they intended to destroy everything from the get-go, they would have killed the Count’s daughter as well.
If the Black Lion Count has a strategist who’s calculated all these angles, a long war would not favor the Red Rose Count. Although the Rose Knights had won the Battle of Drupho Plains through sheer qualitative strength, the strategy had favored the Black Lion army. Now that both sides understood the power of the Rose Knights, neither would find themselves overwhelmed.
If it turned into a long-term conflict, the White Wolves would have no reason to stay in Normant. They’d have to leave. And the King of Camort would eventually have to choose a side.
‘This isn’t our concern. But we need to keep an eye on it. This won’t simply end as a war between two nobles.’
Night had fallen again. Another batch of reinforcements for the Red Rose Count had arrived, but they took only a brief respite before departing. Still, over two hundred troops remained in the castle, standing guard.
As the night deepened, those who had earlier retreated to the underground of the castle were followed by the rest, all moving in a group, torches in hand. Dunmel descended from the tower and followed the procession. Blending seamlessly into the crowd, he went unnoticed.
Dunmel observed the conversations around him by reading their lips. It was difficult to catch every word in the darkness.
“…the lord said… it’s not a big deal…”
“More importantly, if what we did… becomes a problem…”
“Don’t know. It’s not our fault… if it’s really as it appears, this is a significant matter. Even the Count would… not take it lightly.”
“We don’t have to worry about that. If anything happens to our lady…”
Soon another person signaled the two to halt their conversation. They stopped talking. Once inside the cave, Dunmel concealed himself in the darkness, moving with a sound that would be impossible for the ordinary ear to detect.
Within the cave was a room filled with people addicted to Zookhla. The villagers approached them, asking if they were alright and offering comfort, but the addicts seemed not to recognize anyone. The crowd moved deeper into the cave, passing through a large stone door carved with a heart pierced by a sword, surrounded by veins. Nearly everyone in the village wore a simplified silver necklace version of this symbol.
They opened the door and entered in an orderly fashion. Dunmel waited until the last moment to slip in just as the door closed. No one noticed his presence.
It was less dark inside than he had expected.
☆ ☆ ☆
“So the ultimate goal of the Excelon Knights was Carnelock?”
Kassel asked sharply.
Falcon shook his head.
“The explanation might get messy, but this is something that can’t be glossed over.”
After taking a sip of water provided by Janie, Falcon continued.
“It’s commonly believed that the Excelon Knights are divided into ten groups of thirty knights each.”
“I’m aware.”
“That’s a lie.”
“What?”
Kassel furrowed his brow.
“It’s a façade. A sham hierarchy created just for convenience from above.”
Holding up three fingers, Falcon continued.
“Actually, the Excelon Knights are divided into three parts. There are those like me, capable but lacking connections to join the royal knights. Then, there’s the sort of rehabilitation team that the previous captain, Welch, created from skilled criminals.”
“Criminals, you say?”
“Surprised?”
“It’s the first time I’m hearing this.”
“It’s not something to be proud of. I don’t exactly have a past to be proud of either, but those guys were truly scum—murderers, rapists, arsonists. They didn’t even have names. The previous captain treated them like criminals and trained them harshly, to the point he didn’t care if they died during it.”
“So the original captain of Excelon wasn’t Welch?”
“Victor. A knight unknown to those who weren’t part of the Excelon Knights. I met him only a few times. One day, he suddenly handed all his authority to Welch and created a so-called ‘First Knight Brigade’ under him. I heard it was because he lost an arm, but I don’t know the details. It’s not important.”
Falcon gestured dismissively before continuing.
“Anyway, saying the Excelon Knights’ aim was Carnelock feels off, given the speed of the campaign. It didn’t feel like a final goal. I stayed in Camort, so I didn’t experience what happened later, but didn’t the Excelon Knights head to Aranthia after conquering Carnelock?”
The defeat of the Excelon Knights by the Aranthia Wolf Knights was such a dramatic turn of events that it became the stuff of legend among wandering poets. However, historians rated their battle with the Dragon Knights even more highly. In that conflict, all the dragons defending Carnelock had perished, and the Excelon Knights suffered substantial losses. Many historians argued that it was this inability to recover from those losses that led to their defeat at the hands of the Wolf Knights.
As Kassel found himself momentarily lost in such thoughts, Fiorendino chimed in.
“So, you’re saying that Lontamon’s aim wasn’t the conquest of Acrand?”
“Lontamon’s aim was indeed the conquest of Acrand. It’s not wrong to say that what started as a battle for pride, for Lontamon to be recognized as an empire by all nations, later escalated. However, what I felt from the Excelon Knights was clear: they were preparing for something beyond Lontamon’s army. After all, didn’t their First Knight Division mysteriously disappear after the battle with the Dragon Knights? Rumors say they went to the Sky Mountains, but there’s no way for me to confirm. Wait, there’s another odd thing.”
Falcon took out a leather pouch from a box.
“Let’s see, I didn’t throw it away, where could it be?”
He emptied the leather pouch, which was full of old accessories, and picked up a silver necklace.
“Here it is. For some reason, we were obligated to wear these necklaces.”
Kassel took a look at the necklace and smirked. It was neither specially designed nor expensive. With a puzzled look, he asked,
“This is just a cross with a bead on it. This isn’t the Excelon insignia, is it?”
“Correct. But we were told to wear this necklace.”
“Is it some sort of religion?”
“That’s what they said. It’s so long ago that I hardly remember… but it was probably a popular religion at the time.”
“Don’t remember what religion it was?”
Kassel asked, and Falcon shrugged.
“Things were chaotic back then, with dozens of religions proliferating. Just from what I heard, there must’ve been over a hundred gods, with soldiers separately worshiping gods of swords, spears, and shields. I don’t have a memory good enough to remember all that.”
Fiorendino passed the necklace to Janie for inspection, and she quickly recognized it.
“I’ve seen this before. One of the people in our village is a follower of this religion. I hear there are quite a few believers these days. Even in that wretched village. When I asked if it was a strange religion, they angrily demanded an apology, claiming it had a significant number of followers in other countries as well.”
“Do you know what religion it is?”
Kassel inquired. Janie shrugged as she set down the necklace.
“The nature of religion is that the followers themselves often don’t fully understand it. When I asked them about it, they didn’t really know. They did boastfully claim that their doctrine is about obtaining eternal life from a god who governs the undying.”
“Eternal life? Doesn’t sound like a very special doctrine, does it?”
Kassel queried.
“The goal is not to find peace for the soul, but to actually avoid dying,” Janie awkwardly explained.
“That’s both incredibly simple and quite radical,” Fiorendino laughed. But Kassel’s eyes shone with curiosity.
“The undying?”
He thought of the Black Knights who resurrected after their armor shattered. Kassel went through the instances when the Black Knights had appeared. Taken individually, their appearances were erratic and nonsensical. However, when viewed from a broader perspective, there was one person who coincided with all their appearances.
“Where is that person from? The one from the wretched village?”
Kassel asked, half-hoping for a different answer.
“No, they’re from Denmoju,” Janie replied, shaking her head.
☆ ☆ ☆
Dunmel waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness after the entrance door to the fortress of Denmoju had closed behind him. The place was not man-made; it was a natural cave that used existing, uncarved rocks as its walls. The door was merely fitted to size, and the path leading downwards was rugged and treacherous. Although there were occasional steps, the path remained perilous. They descended cautiously, relying solely on a single torch.
Though he had scoped out the area when it was empty, it felt like an entirely different space with people filling it. The cave was wide and deep, yet strangely warmed by a circulating draft. Dunmel stuck to the walls to avoid being noticed as he trailed behind the villagers.
The villagers were huddled in the center of the cave.
The center was punctuated by large, round rocks, and a shallow stream flowed at ankle height. At the end of the stream, a dark, bottomless pond awaited.
Almost all of the villagers were gathered on the damp stone floor, and a few of the Count’s soldiers were mixed among them. One wall of the cave showcased a larger rendition of the carving he had seen earlier at the entrance. The air was a mixture of the nauseating scent of something burning and the smell of blood.
An old man in long white robes stood in front of a flat stone that served as an altar. Behind him, the same carving was etched into the rock wall. After bowing deeply toward the wall art, he addressed the villagers.
“We are not defeated. Our Lady will return. Our duty is to hold faith and defend this place. Our choice was not wrong. Do not bear the burden of guilt, everyone. Perhaps greater calamity was averted thanks to our faith.”
Dunmel couldn’t hear the words, but he felt the old man’s voice reverberate throughout the cave.
“A servant who was with our Lady is here today. Liza, her sacrifice today will protect our faith and hasten the return of our Lady.”
The bald elder gestured with his staff for someone to approach. A young woman, wearing nothing at all, stood unashamedly before the assembled villagers. She staggered, as if intoxicated, toward the flat stone and knelt before the old man. He muttered something and lifted his staff from her head. The villagers held their breaths, gripping their necklaces tightly as they prayed.
Dunmel sensed that the ritual was eerily quiet. There was no boisterousness, no screaming fanatics, and no music to enchant the crowd. Instead, a mysterious atmosphere enveloped the entire cave, making even Dunmel feel somewhat dazed.
‘Zookhla fumes. I shouldn’t stay here too long, or it might be dangerous for me.’
As the naked woman lay down on the altar, the villagers knelt in unison. The bald elder opened his mouth again, and Dunmel moved closer to not miss a single word.
“The previous gathering failed because Anna had no intention to meet our Lord, and people lost faith and fled. But this faithful child today has offered herself as a testament to our faith. Therefore, today we will not use the blood and heart of a pig.”
The villagers bowed their heads multiple times; some even began to cry. A silver blade wrapped in white cloth was presented before the old man. The woman lying naked on the stone closed her eyes, her face serenely calm. No signs of fear were evident. On the contrary, the elder conducting the ritual seemed more nervous.
The pointed blade targeted the slightly swollen chest of the woman. The old man closed his eyes, looked up at the ceiling of the cave, and began to chant.
Dunmel only thought that these ignorant villagers were about to commit a horrific sacrifice for a misguided faith. Just then, something entered the cave.
‘Something’s here!’
Dunmel stared up at the ceiling in astonishment. Nothing was visible. Either everyone was too busy praying or they simply took such intrusions for granted. He couldn’t tell whether others felt what he did or not, but the ritual continued uninterrupted. Clearly, the elder conducting the ceremony seemed unaware that he had summoned something.
Gripping his dagger tightly, Dunmel was a man who had never feared an opponent he could see. But this—this felt different. In his world, where no sound existed, nothing was more frightening than an invisible entity.
He remained motionless, his body tense. For the first time, he felt an uncomfortable chill just from the entity’s mere presence.
‘No, it’s not the first time. I encountered a being with a similar aura in Normant.’
Narrowing his eyes, Dunmel continued to watch the elder’s actions closely.
‘Loyal, is this what you were trying to tell me?’
The elder halted his chanting and gazed at the tip of the blade resting against the woman’s chest. “All according to the Lady’s will!” he shouted, finally plunging the knife downward.
☆ ☆ ☆
The black horse unfurled its wings once before halting in front of Loyal and folding them back.
In a defensive stance, Loyal held his sword out, placing Latilda behind him. The horse snorted menacingly, taking another step forward.
From the mouth of the Black Knight came an incomprehensible, eerie sound that soon transformed into human speech.
“Step aside.”
His voice echoed off the walls of the quiet houses, its sharpness almost painful to the ears.
“You step aside. You cannot take Latilda in that form.”
Loyal responded icily. Latilda merely listened to the conversation between the two men.
‘Loyal knows who this Black Knight is!’
Latilda took a step forward, but Loyal extended his hand to block her.
“No, Latilda!”
As if Loyal was a hindrance, the Black Knight reached out his enormous hand. Darkness began to cluster in front of his palm.
Loyal abruptly leapt to the side. The barrier that had been Loyal between the Black Knight and Latilda vanished. Their altercation was indecipherable, unfolding too rapidly in the darkness.
Loyal’s sword flew through the air and clattered to the ground. Loyal himself tumbled back, rolling some distance before coming to a stop. He didn’t get up.
The black horse took another step toward Latilda. Surprisingly, she was now able to look straight into the eyes of the Black Knight. In her dreams, the mere sound of hoofbeats had made her tremble like a quivering leaf, but now she was unafraid.
“I see.”
In a dejected tone, Latilda spoke.
“If I’m trapped here, the first one to rush to my aid would not have been Loyal.”
When the people of Denmoju hailed her like a goddess, in the delirium induced by Zookhla, everything had seemed beautiful to the ecstatic Latilda. But once the drug wore off and the delusion dissipated, she saw what was really surrounding her.
It was black smoke tainted with death.
The black smoke that enveloped the Black Knight dissipated, revealing her father standing there. The man who, appearing young again, had saved himself from death. The image of her father standing in the center of the cave as the Black Knight.
That was the true face of her nightmare.
The Black Knight extended his hand. It wasn’t a threatening gesture. Though unspoken, she knew what he wanted to say.
‘Come, Latilda.’
“Father.”
Latilda started to extend her hand but pulled it back.
“You attacked me back then, didn’t you? Sacrificed everyone but me for the pretext of war. How many have you killed wearing the guise of the Black Knight?”
Latilda didn’t wipe away her flowing tears. The “puddle” that Loyal had spoken of was not something she had lost; it was something she had discarded. She had severed her own heart to avoid facing this truth.
Once the fear disappeared, all Latilda felt was sorrow.
“My real father passed away six years ago from illness. You may have borrowed some other power to keep pretending you’re alive, but you were not my father.”
The Black Knight withdrew his outstretched hand. Latilda wept like a child. A dry well within her burst forth, overflowing like a flood. Tears that had been tightly sealed away flowed freely.
Latilda cried.
Real tears, suppressed for six years, finally poured out.
“Who are you?”
Visions of her father’s feeble and sorrowful smile, as he handed her a rose, flashed before her eyes. She remembered him lying on his bed, his face pale, always telling her he loved her as he faced death.
Latilda collapsed to her knees and wailed.
“Where is my dad?”
Before Latilda’s tears, the Black Knight stood still, holding only his horse’s reins. The darkness that enveloped her gradually lightened.
Latilda lifted her head. Beyond the Black Knight’s helmet, she saw her father’s face wearing a sorrowful smile. This was different from the nightmares. No horror came to pass. She didn’t even think the white light flying over the knight’s shoulder was aimed at her.
“Latilda!”
Loyal clenched his teeth and ran forward. Between alleyways, nearly twenty archers silently aimed at Latilda and the Black Knight. By the time Loyal burst into the scene, the arrows had already been released.
Risking it all, Loyal shielded the space between the archers and Latilda, swatting away the incoming arrows. A storm of arrows flew by. There were too many arrows he couldn’t deflect; so many that even if they’d flown toward his own head, he couldn’t have stopped them.
Loyal glanced back. The Black Knight too had unfurled his cloak in defense as the arrows approached. Four arrows lodged into his horse, a few bounced off his armor. Only one arrow broke through the two human barriers, piercing Latilda’s chest.
“Ah, no…”
Loyal couldn’t look away, his eyes widened in shock. Just then, the Black Knight dismounted and extended his hand toward Loyal. With an unseen force, he gripped Loyal’s neck. Loyal was lifted into the air and tossed aside without any resistance.
Loyal’s head hit a wall as he fell. A bright light flashed. For a moment, he was paralyzed.
“I thought you’d be on the opposite side of the fire.”
Someone spoke. Loyal didn’t recognize the face. Archers around him reloaded their arrows and aimed at the Black Knight.
Though the man’s face was steeped in fear, his voice brimmed with strength.
“That woman deserved to die. How dare she insult me like that…”
The Black Knight reached out his hand. The next moment, a scream pierced the air.
The calm dawn air seemed to boil as the Black Knight’s cloak billowed. Every torch held by the soldiers extinguished simultaneously. Archers, who were reloading, screamed and dropped their bows. Another volley of almost twenty arrows scattered aimlessly; some flying back toward Latilda and the Black Knight. This time, the arrows fell harmlessly to the ground, failing to reach him.
The Black Knight spoke.
“I saved your father’s life solely to bring him under me.”
Like unraveling threads, thin streams of dark smoke coiled around the soldiers. Unable to resist the formless smoke, they were bound together.
The Black Knight pulled one soldier dressed differently toward him. Gripping the man’s face with one hand, he spoke in a voice as if boiling magma.
“It was my mistake.”
The Black Knight clenched the man’s head. It shattered to pieces. Soon after, the other soldiers, bound by the dark smoke, disintegrated. Only lumps of meat that resembled freshly slaughtered beef remained on the ground.
The Black Knight turned back to Latilda, kneeling on one knee beside her. The arrow lodged in her chest throbbed with each heartbeat.
Loyal slowly stood up. Barely able to keep his balance, he knew he couldn’t afford to remain down.
“Don’t worry, Latilda. You won’t die. Through my power…”
The Black Knight was about to pull out an arrow when Latilda extended her hand, gripping the knight’s iron gauntlet. With her small hand, she softly caressed the gauntlet and smiled.
“Ma-, make everything…”
Latilda said.
“…go according to my will.”
The Black Knight froze for a moment, his hand stopped in its motion. Loyal, too, halted in his steps upon hearing her voice.
Latilda closed her eyes slowly in the embrace of the Black Knight.
“Let me die… as I am now.”
And then she drew her last breath. The arrow that had been beating like a pulse stopped. Blood trickling down her chest began to stain the Black Knight’s arm that held her up.
The Black Knight stood there for a while, an unfathomable sense of loss emanating even from his inscrutable helmet. Despite his massive frame that seemed capable of shattering mountains, the Black Knight looked frail holding Latilda, as if he might collapse at any moment.
“Latilda.”
Loyal approached from behind the Black Knight and called her name. She didn’t respond.
“Put her down.”
Loyal spoke to the Black Knight.
“Put Latilda down.”
The Black Knight didn’t turn around at Loyal’s repeated command.
“If you can kill me, then kill me. But you can’t kill me with your strength.”
The Black Knight spoke with a voice that was icy and terrifying.
“So what does it matter? Neither you nor I could protect this child. Everything was for her, and now it’s all in vain.”
Loyal unsheathed his sword and asked,
“What will you do with Latilda?”
“What would you do?”
The Black Knight left the question unanswered. He then mounted his horse, Latilda in his arms.
“Go to Normant, Loyal.”
And he left another enigmatic message.
“Something unstoppable will happen unless it’s the White Wolves who intervene.”
With a powerful stretch of its wings, the black horse leapt several meters high onto a rooftop. The Black Knight, holding Latilda in his arms, gently stroked her red hair once more. The black horse roared like a wild beast and soared into the sky.
Loyal collapsed to his knees on the spot. The figure of the Black Knight vanished into the dark night sky, soon becoming indistinguishable.
–TL Notes–
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