The wind and snow swirled wildly at the edge of the plaza, yet they could not penetrate the grim space between Bishop Eisenhart and August.
The air seemed to freeze, with only the crimson single eye on the blade of the demon sword Ingrid spinning excitedly, emitting a grating, sinister hiss.
“Teacher…” Eisenhart’s voice carried a deep sorrow as he slowly raised the plain, even slightly worn longsword in his hand.
It was no divine weapon—just his most loyal companion throughout his years of exile.
The sword’s tip trembled slightly in the snow—not out of fear, but as if the battered body bearing the sword’s strength was screaming in agony. The wounds from the battle with Céloriel had yet to heal even to this day. Even if he burned his life away, this was the limit he could reach?
August, restored to his youthful prime, was terrifyingly strong!
“Heh, Eisenhart, my proudest student.” August—or rather, the “young” August in this moment—smiled coldly with a superior curve at the corner of his mouth.
He stretched out his strong arms, feeling the surging power beneath his skin, far beyond the peak of human ability—a intoxicating, near-immortal vitality.
“Look at you. How pitiful. Once hailed as the Star of the Holy Capital’s Tomorrow, now you’re like a candle flickering in the wind, unable even to steady your sword?”
He took a step forward; the stone slabs beneath his feet cracked silently.
The demon sword Ingrid emitted a sharp shriek, echoing its master’s mockery: “Exactly! Look at Old Man August’s perfect stance! Power! Youth! Eternity! This is the true pursuit! And you, Bishop Eisenhart, still clinging to that false goddess faith, reduced to this half-dead, pitiful state! This is the price of worshiping the goddess! Look at you now, even your breath reeks of decayed dust!”
Eisenhart’s gaze swept over the teacher’s young yet utterly unfamiliar face.
That face no longer held the expectation and passion of the stern, upright mentor who once taught him knightly virtues.
Instead, it was filled with bottomless ambition and greed for power.
This was no longer the August he knew, the one beloved by knightly disciples.
“I have… I have been studying swordsmanship,” August’s voice deepened, twisted with fanaticism, “for thirty years! A full thirty years! I exhausted everything, reaching the pinnacle humanity can attain! And then? What did I see?”
“Decline! Inevitable decay! My strength is slipping away, my reflexes dulling, my body betraying my will!”
“I began to fear! To dread the death that will surely come, to fear the eternal darkness! The goddess? She cannot grant me immortality! She cannot even stop this world’s fall!”
His voice rose sharply with accusation: “But Majesty Céloriel can! She is the true deity! She grants us power beyond the mundane, the hope to break free from death’s shackles!”
“She showed us the truth—the so-called goddess is the root of destruction! The Great Prophecy has already revealed that under her ‘guidance,’ this world will become scorched hell and be destroyed in future calamities!”
“Only Majesty! Only the path of following Majesty can save this world! Countless like-minded souls have pledged loyalty because they see this undeniable future!”
Bishop Eisenhart coughed violently, a trace of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale beard.
Leaning on his sword, he struggled to straighten his back, his weathered yet still clear eyes fixed on the fallen teacher: “Cough, cough… Even if… even if what you say is true… even if the goddess truly will bring destruction… is that your reason for slaughtering innocents at will, framing the saint as a witch, and pushing those who trust you into the abyss?!”
His voice was not loud, but every word struck like iron in the storm: “Teacher… the first lesson you taught me was ‘A knight’s sword must be wielded for protection’! You told me, ‘The righteousness of the means determines the purity of the end’! I once… was confused, once thought about sacrificing the few for the many. But I can’t!”
“Because I know, when your feet tread on the corpses of the innocent, when your hands are stained with the blood of the unjust, even if you reach the so-called ‘end,’ that end has long been corrupted by sin and lost all meaning!”
“If the process is wrong, the result is meaningless! This is not salvation, it’s… another form of destruction!”
“Obstinate fool!” August’s disappointment instantly turned to rage, his youthful and handsome face contorted into that of a demon: “I thought, with your intellect, you could understand Majesty’s greatness! See the truth of this world! But I was wrong! You and your false saint are both stumbling blocks blocking the birth of a new world!”
The demon sword Ingrid erupted in a shrill scream: “Those who don’t understand Majesty’s glorious greatness have no right to exist! Old Man August, send him and those filthy traitors to hell together!”
Before the words had finished, August’s figure vanished in an instant! All that remained was a deep crater crushed by immense force and a spreading shockwave!
Fast! Beyond the limits of human vision!
Eisenhart’s pupils contracted sharply, his decades of battle instinct kicking in.
Almost simultaneously with August’s disappearance, he poured the last of his remaining strength into the longsword.
The blade hummed under the unbearable strain as he angled it diagonally upward to block!
Clang—!!!
The deafening explosion ripped through the wind and snow!
The ground beneath Eisenhart shattered and collapsed like a spiderweb! He felt as if he’d been hit not by a sword but by a burning, hellish steel mountain!
Unimaginable pain spread instantly from his arms to his entire body!
He could clearly hear his arm bones groan under the strain, even his internal organs rattling from the horrendous impact!
Blood gushed uncontrollably from his mouth and nose!
“Ugh—!” he let out a suppressed roar of pain, his body flying backward like a broken kite, crashing heavily onto the cold Judgment Tower foundation stone before sliding onto the ground, leaving a glaring blood trail.
The longsword in his hand was bent and deformed but not broken, dull and lifeless.
August appeared where he had stood before, the demon sword pointing down with its tip dripping blood not belonging to him.
Looking down coldly at Eisenhart curled in a pool of blood, gasping violently as if his life might extinguish at any moment, there was no pity in his eyes, only icy mockery and a lingering… anger born of betrayal.
“Do you see it now, Eisenhart? This is the gap!” August’s voice was like frozen ice, “How can a dying ant struggling shake a newborn giant? Your persistence, your faith—it is so laughably fragile before absolute power!”
Bishop Eisenhart lay in the cold pool of blood, his vision blurry.
The biting cold and tearing pain eroded his will. He struggled to lift his head, through blurred vision stained by blood and sweat, to see that ominous young figure wreathed in black flames amidst the snow.
Fragments of memories surged uncontrollably: the elder who meticulously corrected every move in the training ground, eyes stern yet hopeful; the mentor who pinned the knight’s badge on him at the ceremony, patting his shoulder and saying, “The faith to protect is stronger than life itself”; the elder who laughed heartily in the tavern, recounting youthful adventures with knights…
You were supposed to be… the glory of knights… the star we all looked up to… why have you… become like this?
An endless sorrow and heartbreak eclipsed even the physical pain.
August took step after step closer, the demon sword dragging on the ground, cutting through the snow with a rustling deathly sound: “Fear of death, pursuit of power—is there anything wrong with that? Majesty has bestowed us with grace beyond the mundane! A ticket to the new world!”
“Eisenhart, I’m giving you one last chance. Put down that futile stubbornness. Embrace this true power! Join me in pledging loyalty to Majesty Céloriel! You will find everything you once cherished is so small and laughable in the face of eternal strength!”
Bishop Eisenhart struggled to move his lips; blood kept flowing.
He looked at his teacher advancing steadily, at the demon sword exuding malevolent aura, at the malicious single eye on the blade… despair, like a cold tide, threatened to engulf him utterly.
‘Is it over… after all, have I… failed everyone’s expectations… Régirive… Rosvith… and Miss Erin… what comes next…?’
Just as his consciousness was about to sink into the abyss of darkness, a voice thundered deep within his soul!
It was not the goddess’s voice, but his own—the one from over a decade ago, when he drew his sword to protect the infant saint, charging at the False Pope!
The self who swore countless nights by the campfire during exile to expose the truth and cleanse the defamation!
He still remembered the image of the baby in his arms reaching out to grasp his index finger during their flight, remembered sending her away and revealing the truth to her, the five-year-old girl’s painfully mature eyes—
Over ten years of neglecting his own daughter, yet when he needed her, she unswervingly drew her sword for him! How could it end here without making up for the lost years?!
A holy radiance pierced the darkness, illuminating Eisenhart like a golden armor.
He suddenly opened his eyes wide! For a moment, his gaze met Rosvith’s, who was confronting Heinrich on the platform!
A brilliance erupted in his murky eyes, brighter than stars and fiercer than flames!
It’s not over yet!
A roar, unlike any human voice, as if drawn from the deepest depths of his soul, echoed through the sky!
Within Eisenhart’s shattered body, a long-dormant sun was forcefully ignited!
It was no holy light but the most primal, desperate force born from the burning source of life, the fire of the soul!
Spiderweb-like cracks spread instantly over all his exposed skin—arms, neck, forehead!
Veins swelled beneath his skin like molten lava, about to burst! His originally withered hair rapidly turned stark white before the eyes! He looked like a porcelain vessel about to shatter, yet radiated a terrifying, earth-shaking aura!
Golden flames erupted one last time from his exhausted body!
Ignoring the cries of his bones and the agony of ruptured organs, he stabbed the bent and deformed longsword fiercely into the ground, using it to support himself—he stood up!
Boom!!!
An invisible, overwhelming wave of pure life force exploded from him! The snow on the ground instantly cleared away, rocks flying in all directions! This shockwave was not an energy attack, but a willful, soul-shaking impact with a scorched-earth resolve!
August, about to deliver the final blow, was violently pushed back by the sudden surge of deadly will, his movement abruptly halted!
On his young, powerful face appeared shock and disbelief for the first time!
He seemed to see a vengeful soul clawing its way back from hell!
“Teacher…” Eisenhart’s voice was hoarse like sandpaper, each word bloody yet ringing like a great bell, echoing deep into August’s soul, “You… have fallen… you have betrayed… the knight’s oath… You fear death… yet you have already… killed… your own heart first!”
His bent sword tip trembled but pointed unwaveringly at August once more!
“I, Eisenhart… in the name of the goddess… in the name of the knights… even if this broken body… burns to ashes… will never… let you… desecrate this path… even one step further!!!”
That burning light of life flickered on his broken body, like the only torch lit in boundless darkness—tragic, brutal, but carrying a will so unyielding it would move even devils!
Far away, Erin, desperately maintaining the “Miracle Weaver,” witnessed this brutal scene.
Her golden pupils suddenly contracted, an indescribable shock and sorrow clutching her heart.
Although she had long expected this battle would be Eisenhart’s last given his condition…
Was this too cruel for Régirive? To know at last her father, once executed years ago for rebellion, was still alive—and that he had always walked the righteous path?
To reunite father and daughter at last, to finally give the story a chance at a perfect ending, this sacrifice was something Erin could not accept!
But what could she do now? What could she do?
Sweat slid down Erin’s forehead; the Miracle Weaver’s effect was already on Bishop Eisenhart—only because of it could his flickering body hold on this long! Yet Erin herself was nearing her limit!
She didn’t know how Serena’s situation was, but the battle in the plaza looked grim. She had underestimated Heinrich’s strength, and never imagined the demonized paladins would wield such power!
At this rate, the worst outcome was inevitable!
‘If only I had the power to fight…’
The thought flashed briefly in her mind, gripping her heart tightly. If only she didn’t have to watch them fight like this…
As she thought this, Erin suddenly felt the heavy pressure on her vanish, as if the chaotic battlefield before her receded far away.
She saw an endless starry sky, the moon shining brightly, the Milky Way glittering.
A cool evening breeze blew straight at her, stirring her silver hair. She saw herself standing atop a mountain peak, gazing at the vault of heaven.
“You have already reached the pinnacle of magic. Beyond that lies detachment from the mundane, the realm of miracles.”
A voice came from the horizon.
“Miracles?”
Erin heard her own voice, filled with indescribable weariness and calmness, golden eyes overlooking the cities below the mountains, as if seeing another world.
“It’s just that your body is entangled with too many karmic threads. If you forcibly call upon the power of miracles…”
The voice warned her.
“Only the power of miracles can save that child, right? Although I don’t even remember her face, my heart feels empty, as if something important was lost but I can’t recall what…”
The voice continued: “Have you really decided? You still have a long road ahead—perhaps even a chance to climb higher…”
“But she has no time left. Moreover, cleansing the soul’s impurities is a prerequisite for triggering a ‘miracle’!”
Erin heard herself speaking with faint sadness and resolve: “If I can’t save her, then what has all my effort over the years been for?”
She saw herself begin to chant, light flickering as countless images appeared before her eyes.
They were all future visions, branching out like the roots of a great tree, each leading to a different future. Erin could see all the choices now, the massive amount of information almost overwhelming her.
Yet some strong will supported her.
“Then choose this future…”
‘Choosing the future’—this was the true power of the Miracle Weaver! A force beyond all magic, directly summoning miracles! Denying all unwanted worlds, reshaping imperfect realities into the ones she longed for!!
The vision of the starry sky faded away—
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