Chapter 81

Chapter 81

Chapter 81

Chapter 81

The main metropolis of the Kingdom of Britannia was consumed by fire.

Guiding the offensive was Lady Scarlet, a highly prestigious veteran belonging to the Red Tower and a respected seventh-circle crimson sorceress. Wearing their blood-red attire, the red mages unleashed their devastating mystical power without any restraint.

They were known as the Purifiers, the elite armed wing of the Red Tower.

Having no further need to hide, they proudly displayed their scarlet robes while currents of red magic danced around them.

“Become ashes.”

“Become ashes.”

The practitioners of the mystical arts, unified in the same purpose, chanted their incantations simultaneously. The flames fell upon the territory with the firm promise of reducing all existence to mere dust.

Hellfire.

The precursors of the unification conflict, the deities of battle, the executioners under the orders of the Empire.

Such were the red mages of the Red Tower, and from the heights, they made hellfire rain down.

The devastation composed a scene identical to the end of times.

And the only individual capable of containing such a cataclysm, the mystic of light of the seventh circle, Archbishop Thomas, had already left the world of the living.

The city was being consumed in the fire.

Clinging to a desperate resistance, the troops and the inhabitants of Britannia stood their ground until their last breath, but every attempt proved to be in vain.

The city’s fortifications collapsed and the Empire’s armies broke through relentlessly.

Although not all of Britannia’s defenders had fallen, the absence of the Saint and the Archbishop, the fundamental pillars of the nation, transformed any sacrifice into something sterile.

Facing Lady Scarlet, the order of holy knights, and the superiority of the Empire, no effort possessed real value.

Once again, the metropolis burned, wailings flooded the surroundings, and, in the midst of the chaos, the order of the militias vanished completely. Looting, outrages, and burning: a scenario of absolute torment was configured.

In the midst of that horror, a broadcast resonated.

“Inhabitants of the royal city of Reims! In the name of Charles VII, I speak to you at this moment!”

Coming from the distant royal fortress, the proclamation of Charles, intensified by magical means, rumbled with great power.

“We, the Kingdom of Britannia, will fight with integrity until the end and will perish with dignity!”

It was a manifesto of unwavering will.

“His Majesty Charles…”

Aurelia muttered weakly upon perceiving those words. The conflict appeared lost at that point. However, that inconstant Charles was crying out with anguish in defense of sovereignty.

Even trapped in that ordeal, he remained unmoved, risking his integrity to instill courage in the citizens of the capital.

“How blind I have been…”

She reproached herself internally for having broken down for a moment. She should have maintained blind trust in her monarch.

Just at that moment, Dale intervened.

“Do you truly hold that belief?”

The individual who harbored such deep resentment toward the Empire, ironically, became the tool to materialize its plans.

“I have a reality to reveal to you, Saint.”

Moments later.

In the vicinity of the imperial settlement that surrounded the capital of Reims.

With the city’s fire at his back, Dale remained motionless at the site.

Inside an imposing tent set up for the “supreme commander” of the Empire’s militias, he took a seat, emulating a sovereign inspecting the combat territory.

“Following your directives, we have captured Charles VII.”

A combatant gave the report, acting in a coordinated manner.

“Bring him before me.”

“Understood, sir.”

Shortly after, they brought an individual before Dale. He presented a deplorable appearance, devoid of any monarchical bearing.

“Well, Your Majesty Charles.”

Dale called him directly, causing Charles VII’s features to twitch in anger.

“You, how dare you…! You have deceived me…!”

“I let you know in advance.”

Showing disdain for Charles, who was trying to break free, Dale uttered a taunt.

“If you desire peace, prepare for war.”

As if he considered the situation the most ridiculous act in existence.

“There is no element more illusory than the truce guaranteed by the Empire.”

“…!”

“Look at yourself now, what a pitiful appearance.”

Dressed in rags, without bearing any trace of a respectable golden diadem.

“The patrols intercepted him attempting to escape aboard a transport packed with ostentatious goods in the middle of the siege.”

A subordinate detailed.

“That happened?”

Dale let out a cold laugh, demonstrating that it had been within his expectations from the beginning.

“So the proclamation of resistance that was heard throughout the capital was…”

Only a ruse intended to gain valuable minutes to flee.

“You condemned the entirety of the capital’s inhabitants in exchange for saving your own skin.”

“And so what!”

“Do you consider that to be the conduct of a monarch?”

Dale inquired.

“Ha!”

Charles VII let out a laugh laden with cynicism.

“This nation, this crowd, what value do they have to me!”

It did not cause him the slightest interest.

“From the beginning, this territory and the crown lacked meaning for me!”

Charles VII exclaimed.

“That deceitful woman claimed to possess a mystical message and forced me to take the throne!”

“And despite that, you put so much effort into retaining power.”

“Because this region, this domain, could well have belonged entirely to my dominions!”

Overcome by the panic of losing his position, Charles fell straight into Dale’s ambush. His own delusions of persecution pushed the Saint and the head cleric toward ruin.

“I, Charles, could have risen as the absolute sovereign of this island of Britannia!”

“And for that reason, you abandoned your own to escape?”

Dale interrogated him once more.

“Is it that the Kingdom of Britannia and its inhabitants lacked value for you?”

“If that detestable woman had not come with lies about celestial messages…!”

Charles VII nodded with evident desperation.

“May this sovereignty and the royal throne sink into the abyss!”

“Is that your position?”

Dale validated the comment with serenity. He subsequently added:

“That is how things remain.”

“…!”

From the rear section of the canvas, a figure materialized, emerging from the shadows.

“Ah, ah, ah…”

Charles VII’s face lost its color immediately upon seeing her.

Impostor, disloyal, evil sorceress, courtesan of the Empire.

Saint Aurelia was standing in that corner.

“Was everything based on lies?”

A dense silence covered the space. In the midst of that stillness, Aurelia expressed herself.

“Demanding that I fight for the sovereignty of the territory, while I dedicated myself to the divine directive.”

Her tone of voice showed a subtle vibration.

“To make a solemn promise to rescue the souls suffering under the oppressive yoke of the Empire…”

“N-no, this represents a misunderstanding!”

“Was everything based on lies?”

Saint Aurelia inquired once more. It was at that instant when Charles shook his head frantically, gripped by panic.

“What was the motive for your escape?”

Saint Aurelia demanded.

“To use your servants, the inhabitants of the territory, as living defenses against the Empire.”

As if she were unable to process the logic of such an action.

“Why did you decide to preserve your life alone, in such a dishonorable way?”

Her words sounded cold, clean of any trace of warmth.

“S-Saint! I beg you to forgive my lack of righteousness!”

Charles began to plead for mercy.

“I make an oath in the name of the divinity that I will admit and purge my faults! Please, I beg you!”

Dale calmly drew a small dagger from his belt. He changed his grip on the hilt and extended it to Saint Aurelia.

“Please, grant me forgiveness…”

Held by the bindings of the mages of light, prevented from making the slightest advance, the Saint clutched the handle of the weapon.

The blade of the dagger began to emit a faint shimmer.

A blinding golden clarity covered her completely.

Clang!

The restriction enchantment of the white mages, designed to keep her captive, broke and vanished into the air. The intense golden brightness began to cover Aurelia’s steel and protections, imprinting her purest convictions onto her weaponry and her own being.

The golden tone shone while a shadow filtered through its gleams.

Once a defender of redemption, now betrayed by the territory and its monarch, the living reflection of the Saint.

A mystical warrior dressed in dark-toned protections and golden glints stood firm.

As shadowy as twilight, but emitting an intense radiance.

Simultaneously, Dale’s mystical domain covered the surroundings. That space no longer corresponded to the imperial camp located near Reims.

It transformed into an environment of wintry darkness, snowy and dark. A dimension created with the sole purpose of housing “three people.”

On the whitish surface of that frozen night, Charles VII remained trembling. The warrior in dark armor and golden glints was positioned on the same plane.

“Please, grant me forgiveness…”

Upon perceiving the plea, Aurelia turned her gaze toward Dale.

“Determine it by your own means.”

Dale expressed, using a tone of elemental instruction.

“That which you long for, what you truly pursue.”

Ceasing to be a simple instrument manipulated by the heights.

“Even if the future is not under our control.”

“……”

“That does not imply that we must renounce our determination.”

Dale stated, causing Aurelia to increase the strength of her grip on the dagger’s hilt.

The lady of war covered in darkness and golden glints took a firm step. She directed herself toward Charles VII, who remained prostrate, begging for his existence.

“Please, I implore you! Appealing to the mercy and indulgence of the deity, grant me life…!”

“I profess contempt for you.”

Aurelia replied.

“I despise you, and I harbor contempt toward the Empire.”

The edge of the weapon embedded itself with force.

Thump!

It was not the measured strike of a skilled combatant. It was an uncontrolled onslaught, guided by pure resentment, causing the steel to lodge in Charles VII’s belly with unleashed rage.

Thump!

“Ah, ugh…!”

The steel was withdrawn, vital fluid splashed the surroundings, and immediately after it penetrated again.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The internal organs remained exposed, the bloodstream gushed in abundance, but the Lady of Blood did not show the slightest agitation.

Covered by the fluids that slid over her dark protections, the maiden marked by the wound turned her face.

“However, what I despise most by far…”

The space between both reduced suddenly. In the blink of an eye, the tip of the Lady of Blood’s dagger remained pressed against Dale’s torso.

“It is natural that you harbor a grudge against me.”

“Do you not experience fear?”

“Revenge is a process that requires patience, isn’t it?”

“……”

“I also share the contempt for the Empire.”

Dale added.

“I loathe this nation so much that I can barely contain it.”

The sovereign, the Bloody Duke, those individuals who led his previous incarnation to this outcome.

“However, the Empire does not lack strength, warrior.”

“……”

“Shub.”

At that precise instant, Dale resorted to the “Book of the Black Goat.”

“Oh, what a pitiful scenario.”

“…!”

The Lady of Blood held her breath. The aberrant and repulsive agglomeration of appendages that Dale had shown her on a previous occasion manifested. That same aberration began to surround him with its extremities.

The appendages distilled a dark and thick component, similar to pitch, offering him a reception worthy of an intimate bond.

And those same appendages began their advance toward Aurelia.

“There is no reason for fear.”

Immersed among the creature’s extremities, Dale expressed himself in a subdued tone.

“It possesses a more receptive nature than you might suppose.”

“…!”

“Allow me to guide you and assimilate your true desires.”

Similar to the whisper of a malignant entity, tempting a sacred figure.

“Regardless of how dark and terrifying it may manifest.”

Chapter 81