Elliott and Lloyd were attending a meeting at the Knights’ headquarters.
A few days prior, the resignation of Lionel Orias Viniadel as the Commander of the Royal Knights Order and the appointment of Dylan Agreas Jiemeld as his successor had been announced. Initially, this news had caused considerable confusion within the order, but now a sense of calm had returned.
The longstanding support from the Duke Ziemeld Household for the knights had evidently played a significant role in this stabilization. Many knights, even those not born as heirs in noble families, felt a deep sense of gratitude for being personally acknowledged by the proud duke who commanded the northern knights.
Reports of sporadic sightings of Undead Beasts along the banks of the Ureri River had begun to surface in the northern part of the kingdom.
“If we only reward the Holy Knights for their exploits, the morale of the entire order will become skewed. This is a perfect opportunity to honor the other knights who rarely see the light of day,” Count Agreas stated, and the chancellor and knights present nodded in agreement. The familiar faces of the senior knights were filled with excitement at the prospect of showcasing their own valor.
After the meeting concluded, Elliott and Lloyd returned together to their chambers in the Royal Castle. Although Elliott currently held the nominal position of vice commander, Count Agreas had encouraged him to rest and regain his strength, ensuring that he would not need to appear in public for the time being.
“That man’s eloquence is truly remarkable. Both Marcus and Richard were eager to seize the spotlight… Well, it’s true that they are more than capable of handling a single Undead Beast,” Lloyd remarked lightly, and Elliott relaxed his shoulders in agreement.
“Now I can finally have some time to think about what to do next… By the way, have you mentioned the Holy Sword to her?”
“No, not yet… I just can’t bring myself to tell Emily that the Holy Sword was damaged because I lacked the Vessel,” Elliott replied, his voice heavy with reluctance.
Even though he understood that it was a trivial pride, the immense value of what he had lost made it terrifyingly difficult to voice. The uncertainty of whether he could ever reclaim the Vessel only deepened his hesitation.
“I see… I heard she’s been fervently praying in the Sacred Hall every day lately. I thought perhaps you had confided in her,” Lloyd said.
“Emily is very perceptive. She might have sensed something… She always did, even on the battlefield.”
As he spoke, Elliott allowed a gentle smile to escape, recalling how Emily would rush to him at the first sign of any injury, her radiant smile accompanied by healing and purification.
“Haha… You’re quite the romantic. It’s not like the Holy Knights were anything special,” Lloyd muttered, his voice fading into the air.
“The wedding is in a month and a half, right? I can understand not wanting to burden her with worries until then… It must be something special for women, after all. You might be accustomed to it since it’s your second time,” he added lightly, as if engaging in a casual conversation among friends. However, Elliott found himself unable to respond with a smile or a nod.
—Second time…? No, there was never a first time…
He couldn’t articulate it. A sudden wave of guilt washed over him.
Memories long buried began to resurface, one after another, as he fought to suppress them.
It couldn’t be helped. The sudden deployment order had left him no time. At that moment, he had no choice but to give up. He had thought that if he survived and returned safely… But such promises had vanished unfulfilled. She had been sewing a dress, working late into the night after finishing her tasks. What had become of that dress, which would never be worn?
He shook his head as if to resist the memories and words that flooded his mind. He repeated to himself that these were things he had sacrificed in exchange for his glory, that they were matters of the past, yet the rising nausea felt akin to self-loathing for having forgotten.
What he had distanced himself from in his intoxication with glory would never return.
Casting a glance at the closet in the corner of the room provided to him in the Royal Castle, he quickly averted his gaze and looked down. Inside lay the sword with its chipped blade, wrapped in cloth. He could not bear to look at it directly and remain sane.