Fyord Vaistark, High Holy Knight and Commander of the Holy Knights of the Kingdom of God's Light, Renia. Given the highest honors and authority in the southern province of the former Quolia, this knight—his expression utterly ravaged, a stark contrast to his former dignity and vigor—listened intently to reports from his subordinates.
"It was Sector 4 in the lay believers' district. Junior Holy Knight Beek and candidate Franco, we believe."
The location was the knights' headquarters. A temporary command post had been established in the great hall for this series of murders targeting the order.
Documents bearing all manner of information were plastered across the walls and floor. Knights and clergy, their faces grim, were scrutinizing the intelligence. The Holy Knights of the southern province, along with their subordinate soldiers and priests, were fighting a battle on which their very prestige now depended.
The man at the forefront of this, serving as the sleepless sentinel attempting to consolidate all information, ground his teeth in a grim clench despite his desperate efforts, another tragedy having occurred.
"I see... Is there any information regarding their remains? What has Ceanmach, the Medical Bishop, said?"
"Sir, as before, they were consumed entirely by flame. However, compared to previous instances, desecration such as facial damage was not observed. The Bishop's assessment is that the perpetrator's sole objective is likely purely the act of murder itself."
The killings of the knights were not over. The enemy continued to claim the lives of God's warriors through an unknown method, slipping from shadow to shadow.
Despite lofty declarations to the saintesses, the only constant in the order's current reality was the inexorable rise in victims.
"Sole objective... Are they trying to whittle down our numbers? Yet to be overwhelmed so completely even with multiple knights on patrol... what about witnesses?"
The young holy knight questioned shook his head quietly. Instead of further words, he added "However," and glanced down at the report in his hand to confirm its contents.
"Upon questioning residents in the area, several reported hearing a man's altercation late at night. This is likely the time of the murder."
Determining the time of death was comparatively easy. It was consistent each time.
But for some reason, witnesses were entirely absent. It spoke to a certain skillful precision, yet the complete lack of any precursors was unnervingly strange.
"Information on any suspicious persons would do. Were there any anomalies during that time, anything at all?"
"Unfortunately, no. Furthermore, rumors of an entity harming our knights are spreading among the populace. With the district priest independently issuing a nighttime curfew, intelligence regarding this case will likely be even scarcer than usual."
More than a dozen Holy Knights, including those of established name and skill, had already fallen victim. The murders, sometimes carried out brazenly in broad daylight, should by all rights have been preceded by some sort of warning.
There were no traces whatsoever before or after the killings. Even with the full might of the Holy Knights, tracking down the perpetrator under these circumstances would prove nearly impossible.
Its behavior was almost inhuman, and so it came to be named by common consensus—
"The Renea freak? And the glorious Holy Knights are reduced to this. How pathetic."
Fjord let out a small sigh, sensing the dead end.
He had aged remarkably of late.
More than the physical toll, it was the spiritual burden that weighed heavier.
He sighed once more.
Having made such bold proclamations, he could not now turn to borrow the strength of the Holy Maidens.
Fjord was, one might say, the very model of an upright and devout holy man.
But his body was not made of stone, nor his heart of porcelain.
He was a man through and through—someone who wept, laughed, raged, and rejoiced just like any unknown soul somewhere in the world.
And because of that, he could not shake off the same sense of shame that any person would feel, and could only watch as the situation dragged itself further toward ruin.
Under normal circumstances, mastering such weakness of one's own was perhaps the very quality expected of a Holy Knight.
And yet, there was no human who never erred.
Perfection—in word and deed alike—was the sole province of God.
Fjord Veisterk was nothing more than an ordinary man whose heart happened to be a little stronger than most.
"Lord Fjord..."
Seeing Fjord wracked with anguish, the Holy Knight who had been delivering the report also wore a pained expression.
The members of the Holy Knights were only human as well.
They understood that Fjord's judgment was wrong, and yet they could not bring themselves to tell him no.
Beyond the fierce camaraderie of wanting to support their respected Knight Commander, there was also the fear of the glances and responsibility that would be thrust upon them when making such suggestions, and the desire for self-preservation. That is precisely why they could only avoid each other's eyes and say nothing, and why they too had dragged themselves here like this.
Normally, to avoid such problems and correct the course, there are systems for confession and penance. Unfortunately, there were no lazy and idle clergymen left to hear those confessions of sin, nor were there clergymen whose hobby was hoarding wealth to cover up the misdeeds of their own and guarantee that glory would remain untarnished. A corpse lay at their feet.
The dead say nothing. Therefore, there was no one left anywhere to relay the role they had surely been playing.
In the end, their investigation was not progressing at all. They merely dug holes aimlessly, then, with a sense of defeat, replanted the dirt. They repeated this seemingly pointless, ascetic-like exchange numerous times, and precious time was consumed in vain.
Even though they knew with certainty that an enemy existed.
The answer remained shrouded in a dark veil and refused to show itself. In the meantime, their comrades were being burned one after another.
“…Fire?”
After churning the contents of the report in his sluggish mind for a while, Fjord murmured the word almost without realizing it. The Knight Corps members were all killed by fire. Of course, this fact was known to every member, and holy defenses against demonic flames had been prepared.
Furthermore, sending them on patrol in groups did increase safety, but more than that, it was intended so they could flee and inform their comrades. In this case, the plan was for Holy Knight Beek to confront the monster from Renea, while the Knight Candidate Beek would flee to call for help.
Naturally, everyone was aware of this, and no one disagreed that gathering information was the top priority. However, in reality, all those countermeasures had failed to function.
"The opponent is unknown, and escape is impossible. They bypass our surveillance and vigilance to... burn everything to ashes unilaterally. How could they—"
But...
Fjord felt a slight sense of unease.
He was overlooking something. Or rather, there was a feeling of wrongness he couldn't shake.
He didn't know what it was.
In truth, he had been secretly informed by Erakino of the terrifying possibility that the Demon Lord of Ruin, Takuto Ira, still remained in this world.
He was also told that it was highly likely these recent events were the malicious work of Takuto Ira.
That was precisely why the strange sense of wrongness growing stronger by the day filled him with such anxious frustration.
Perhaps they were making some fatal mistake. But he didn't know what it was.
The hand of evil was already right before their eyes, yet they had no means to perceive it.
That fact, the helplessness of being unable to avenge his comrades, was more frustrating than anything.
"I will take a short rest. I also intend to pray, so please, no one enter if possible."
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Fjord stood from his seat, hoping to clear his head.
He wanted to organize his thoughts. He believed that by praying, he might be able to dispel this headache-like sense of wrongness.
Perhaps he could find the answer to this strange feeling of being like someone other than himself.
Fjord harbored this faint hope once again.
"Understood, Great Knight Fjord. Well, for a while, we can manage the command here if you—"
"I'm sorry. I'm relying on you."
Unable to even offer a proper response to the young holy knight's awkward support, Saint Knight Commander Fjord left the command post.
………
……
…
The door shut with a flat finality.
The back that had seemed so broad now appeared small, and the lone Holy Knight shook his head lightly as if to shake off his own thoughts.
"Alright. Let us retrace the movements of the deceased. There may have been oversights. I will also dispatch orders to the soldiers to conduct another round of investigations among the citizens. This time, it may be necessary to reveal some of our circumstances. What are your thoughts?"
To fill the void left by Fjord, the Holy Knight mustered his meager strength and began the consultation.
With yet another companion gone, his support was also needed.
Furthermore, new countermeasures were necessary. They couldn't leave everything to Fjord alone; at the very least, he wanted to prepare plans that could aid him now.
He stoked his own fighting spirit, but just as he did, the door burst open with force, cutting off his momentum.
"Pardon the intrusion!"
It was a common soldier belonging to the knightly order.
Based on his attire, he seemed to be primarily a messenger, but he was unusually out of breath and flustered.
His demeanor drew everyone's gaze.
The messenger soldier, caught off guard by the stares of Holy Knights far above his rank, flinched and muttered in a small voice.
"Um, from the capital... an envoy has arrived."
This time, it was the Holy Knights' turn to be stunned.
The thought "It's finally come" crossed with the wish "I had hoped they'd leave us alone a bit longer."
The capital meant an envoy from the Holy Kingdom of Quolia.
The subject of their visit was undoubtedly an inquiry regarding the recent secession and the founding of a nation—in other words, a questioning about the Holy Kingdom of Renea.
In the current situation where they already had adversaries within their borders, dealing with Quolia was fraught with problems. If the truth were to leak, it could lead to interference in their internal affairs.
If that were to happen, the so-called traitorous members of the Holy Knights would face a miserable end, and with them, the Kingdom of God's Light, Renea. They absolutely had to cover up this problem. For that reason, there was one most crucial matter.
"Then... who has come to visit?"
Once again, the knights' eyes widened in surprise. There stood Sir Fjord, the very commander who had supposedly just retired to his chambers.
"Lord Fjord! You just left for your room—are you quite alright?"
"Ah, it seems this is not a time for rest. You there, let me hear what you have to say."
The knights couldn't deny the secret sigh of relief that escaped them. They simply did not have the experience or the nerve to make any decisions independently in this situation. More than that, they had no such authority; sending for Fjord was an inevitability. In a sense, it was like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.
The knights watched the proceedings in silence. The identity of the person sent by Quolia would indicate how deeply they intended to intervene in this matter. Depending on who it was, their own connections might still hold some sway. If palms could be greased, that would be for the best.
But contrary to the knights' interest, the messenger seemed to hesitate, struggling with his words.
"What is it? We need to know who has arrived so we can prepare accordingly. I understand the surprise, but try to remain calm."
"It is... his Lordship," the man stammered.
"Hmm, forgive me, but could you please say that a little louder?" His voice was too quiet. Even knights with superior physical abilities wouldn't be able to hear it, their hearing dulled by fatigue.
Tilting his head in puzzlement, Fjord asked again. The trembling messenger finally steeled himself and this time shouted so clearly everyone in the great hall could hear.
"I-I-it's Saint Ritrain=Nerim=Quolia!!!"
A murmur rose from the Holy Knights and soldiers watching the situation.
The worst name imaginable had been uttered.
Contact from the Saint of Quolia, under these circumstances.
It meant that they, already struggling with their predicament, would be dragged even deeper into the mud.
The helm would require even more difficult navigation from now on.
One wrong move and the ruin of their nation was unavoidable. Such was the adversary.
While the Holy Knights all wore expressions as if they'd bitten into something bitter at this new turn their homeland faced, the Senior Holy Knight praised in the southern provinces, Fjord Visterk, also furrowed his brow...
And without anyone noticing, he smirked silently.