Hope

Neil absently readjusted his grip on the club in his hand.

Though he had swung it for decades, the club had felt awkward in recent years.

“Captain Neil. May God's blessing be with you. You are our last hope. We must strike at the rear before the northern wall collapses and the enemy links up with its reinforcements.”

Nelson's hoarse voice cracked.

Bishop Nelson, who had remained hale even past the age of seventy, was gradually starting to look his age as the war progressed.

“I shall obey your orders.”

Yet everyone here knew.

Their last hope was terribly fragile.

Neil looked around at those standing behind him.

The inquisitors who had followed him for years, and the elite soldiers who had survived.

Most of them would be lying on the cold ground by the end of the day.

Even so, he—and they—had no choice.

“Men! Raise your heads! Yes, those vicious Lumidian bastards are trampling our land! The fortress will fall soon, and there are no reinforcements. But rather than wait helplessly for death beneath that banner, I would rather send the first signal of victory from the enemy's heart!”

Neil felt various gazes turn toward him.

Some were grim, some had given up on everything, and some were taut with tension.

“We are now launching a counterattack toward the enemy's heart. Our odds of success are slim. But our attack is not a desperate last stand! It is the final flame that will burn forever, proclaiming that we are still alive on this desperate battlefield! Our target is the enemy commander's head. In this meaningless defensive battle, our deaths will surely leave behind a clear meaning. Follow me! We march.”

The plan was to strike the enemy from behind while they were distracted by the fortress that was about to fall.

It was barely worthy of being called a plan—one that gambled everything on the enemy's carelessness, the weakness of their rear forces, and their failure to notice them.

He had rallied his comrades with that plan and drawn them into it.

The time had come for the hands that had been stained with the blood of countless heretics to be stained with the blood of their comrades.

Neil rode toward the southern gate with the soldiers.

This battle would be the final fight in which he would wager everything.

The forest to the right of the enemy encampment, which they reached after several hours, was utterly silent.

“Captain Neil! We can see the enemy encampment ahead! It's about ten minutes away. The tents are arranged in a cross behind the central standard. The command tent appears to be the third one east of the standard.”

The scout sent ahead had returned.

The moment of the final battle was almost upon them.

“Fortunately, we were able to reach this point without a single loss because we encountered no one along the way. Now is the time to show our resolve! May God's blessing be with you all!”

Everyone began driving their horses hard.

Dozens of hoofbeats followed behind Neil, shaking the earth.

The enemy's rear forces began to appear ahead.

Perhaps distracted by the battle taking place atop the walls, they were utterly careless.

“All inquisitors, fire your crossbows!”

Neil extended his left hand forward.

When he pressed the metal piece attached to his left hand with his right, both limbs of the crossbow sprang open.

“Purify those blocking our path.”

The bolts flew fiercely toward the enemy, white flames catching on them.

“Fire arrows! We're under attack from the rear!”

The panic-stricken enemy formation began to collapse.

Neil put away the crossbow and brushed his left hand over the club he held in his right.

The club blazed fiercely.

It would burn everyone standing before him until nothing remained but ash.

As soldiers rushed within arm's reach, he swung the club by instinct.

Beside Neil, Ethan roared like a beast as he swung his ax.

A tearing shriek, no longer human speech, burst from his mouth.

Calling out the names of his lost family, he cut, cleaved, and crushed everything blocking his path.

His fury spread to everyone on the battlefield.

They pierced the Lumidian army's thin defensive line like flaming arrows.

Kicking off the ground slick with blood and mud, they pushed deep into the enemy ranks.

At last, they saw the enemy commander's tent shining opulently in the distance, all alone.

“Men! The high ground is right before us! Charge!”

Then something strange appeared in Neil's field of vision.

The tent roofs heaved inward simultaneously, and a hazy radiance shone through every gap.

The faint hope that had begun to flicker was cruelly shattered.

All the surrounding tents were thrown open at once.

No one who looked like a commander was there.

The area was simply packed with knights clad in gleaming steel armor.

Their faces bore neither confusion nor fatigue, but a hunter's smile.

The cold smile of a hunter gazing at delicious prey caught in a trap.

It was a trap.

“Damn it…!”

Taking Neil's curse as a signal, a holy knight wreathed in brilliant light led the charge toward them.

A white blade shot toward Neil's horse.

With strength enhanced to its utmost by holy power, the blade flew at a speed comparable to an arrow.

Neil leaped from his horse before the blade could pierce it.

An armored leg came for Neil's head as he rolled across the ground.

There was no way to avoid it.

At the moment he accepted death and resolved to immolate himself,

The flaming club slammed into the leg.

Its course altered, the leg plunged deep into the ground.

“Captain! Are you all right!”

But the price had been exceedingly high.

Though steel had struck steel, it was the club that shattered.

A spearhead burst from Deputy Captain Haas's chest as he smiled faintly at Neil.

An ambush that exploited the opening created when he lost his weapon and was left defenseless.

“I shall return to God's embrace.”

After murmuring briefly, Haas gripped the shaft that pierced his chest and leaned his body backward.

Using his body as kindling, the flames roared and melted the knight who had targeted him along with his armor.

The knight tore Haas away with a desperate scream, but once they took hold, the flames did not go out until the knight drew his last breath.

Neil did not miss the opening Haas had bought with his life.

A brief silence passed between the holy knight and Neil, but it lasted only an instant.

Neil swung his club daringly at the head of the helmetless holy knight.

It was an attack that exploited their difference in reach, leaving behind a trail of white flames.

But the holy knight was already moving faster, ducking his upper body and charging forward.

The hard ground split violently apart.

As an inquisitor specializing in fire, Neil could not move faster than a holy knight.

As a veteran seasoned by countless battles, Neil knew that all too well.

Kicking off the ground, he sprang backward and threw a flaming dagger.

With his free hand, the holy knight knocked the dagger away.

The dagger, thrown off course, scorched a sprawled corpse.

However, the dagger had slowed the holy knight's charge considerably.

A thrust optimized for maximum speed shot toward the holy knight's brow.

Giving up on withdrawing his left hand, the holy knight rolled across the ground instead of blocking.

At that moment, Neil kicked up a cloud of dust with his foot.

Taking advantage of the holy knight's obscured vision, Neil changed the club's trajectory and brought it down.

The club struck his cheekbone squarely.

Behind the clear sound of shattering glass came the faint wet crack of flesh.

Blood sprayed in every direction.

It was a victory made possible by the holy knight's careless armor, born of overconfidence in his own skill.

But not everyone was like him.

By then, the allies around them had dwindled to a number that could be counted on two hands.

The operation had failed.

The enemy commander had vanished as if he had evaporated, while their losses had spiraled out of control.

“Retreat! I'll make an opening!”

“Without the commander's head—”

“Ethan! Live and wait for the next chance! Advancing any farther would only be a pointless death!”

Determination flashed in Ethan's eyes.

Seeing that resolve, Neil threw his club forward.

The club pierced through a knight's chest.

“I shall return this misguided flesh to God's embrace.”

The vast reserve of holy power that had elevated him to the rank of captain was depleted in an instant.

At first, there was only warmth.

The wind brushing his cheek suddenly grew hot, and his skin seemed to melt upon contact with the air.

His arms, his legs—even his breath—caught fire.

Every time his boiling blood passed through his veins, his entire body twisted.

For a moment, even the excruciating pain melted away, leaving Neil consumed by the sensation of dissolving.

After staring at his burning arm for a moment, Neil hurled himself straight forward.

The knight whose arm Neil had seized burst into white flames from head to toe.

The knight's upper body vanished when he collided with Neil.

Neil did not look back.

He simply ran relentlessly forward.

That was when it happened.

A strange sensation, as though the air around him had changed.

The blades that had been flying toward him had all vanished.

Something. Something enormous was approaching from beyond.

His field of vision gradually narrowed.

The time limit was drawing near.

Then a gigantic hammer appeared before him.

The air folded once and unfolded.

There was no time to dodge.

The shockwave created by the brilliantly shining hammer crushed the armor of the surrounding knights, and blood gushed like fountains.

Neil's field of vision turned upside down.

There was nothing above his pelvis.

For a fellow servant of the same god, it was an absurdly overwhelming power.

During those few seconds as he fell toward the ground, decades flashed through Neil's mind.

The fervent prayer of his youth, when he first donned pure white priestly robes and swore to bring glory to God.

The reform proposal for the corrupt church that had been dismissed in the cardinal's study beneath the glow of a blazing fireplace.

His lonely back as he stood in countless villages, resigned to everything, with burning homes at his back.

And finally, the face of a girl who had always despised him.

‘… With this, at least, I can atone.’

Thus, the only trace that Neil had ever existed was a handful of ashes.

Watching the scene from afar, Ethan clenched his teeth.

He could not let the opportunity Neil had bought with his life go to waste.

Without hesitation, he shouted toward the few soldiers who remained.

“Retreat! Do not let the captain's will be in vain! Survive and go for the commander's head next time!”

Ethan did not look back.

The ash clinging to his shoes trailed behind him like a line of footprints.

Neil's weight remained in Ethan's footsteps, like ash.