Elliott’s grip on the Holy Sword tightened as it began to emit a white smoke, only to shift to a reddish-brown hue, crumbling to pieces before his eyes.
Emily stood frozen in despair at the sight unfolding before her.
—No way… This can’t be true! The Holy Sword… Why? How could this happen!?
A silent scream echoed in her mind, a torrent of questions swirling without answers.
“Why… what does this mean…? The Holy Sword…?”
“Did the Holy Sword lose…? Melt? Why?”
The murmurs from those around her mirrored the confusion raging in Emily’s thoughts. The king, the prime minister, the nobles, and even the common folk all raised their voices in a frenzy of bewilderment. As Holy Knight Elliott was engulfed by an unknown liquid wave, their gazes turned toward Emily.
“Saint Emily… what on earth is happening…?”
A voice, trembling with panic, asked a question she could not answer.
“I-I don’t know… even if you ask me…”
The words barely escaped her lips, hoarse and strained. There was no way she could provide an explanation. If anyone should be asking questions, it was her. She had no idea who to turn to or what to ask. Elliott was far away, his form barely visible now. All she understood was that something truly terrifying was happening, and she trembled with fear.
“Ha ha, ha ha ha ha!!! So this is all the power of the Goddess amounts to, is it?”
Suddenly, a maniacal laugh erupted from nearby, and Emily turned in shock. Dylan Agreas Jiemeld stood there, a wide grin on his face, laughing as if he found the situation utterly delightful.
“Why… are you laughing?”
Emily asked hesitantly. Agreas’s laughter grated on her ears, stirring a feeling akin to anger from the depths of her fear.
“How could I not laugh, Saint Emily?”
With that, he returned to his usual demeanor, dramatically turning to face the king and prime minister, who were huddled on the floor, and directed a smile at them.
“Tell me, why did you all call her ‘Saint’ in the first place?”
“W-What are you suddenly saying…? Have you lost your mind, Dylan Agreas…?”
The king’s voice was laced with confusion.
“Ha ha, well, we were deceived by her up until a certain point, weren’t we? It’s hardly surprising.”
Agras spoke with an incredulous expression, tinged with disdain, causing Emily’s face to flush with embarrassment.
“D-Deceived? What do you mean? I haven’t done anything!”
“Indeed. You haven’t done anything at all.”
Agras wore a look of mock sympathy, his expressions shifting like a jester’s.
“She is merely a Cleric Apprentice. ‘Her achievements on the battlefield’? It seems she merely snatched the glory from the clergy just before they could finish their tasks.”
“N-No, that’s not true! I was just trying my best…”
“Ah, so you were unaware of your own actions. Thanks to that, the knights were foolishly deceived, and your reputation became that of the legendary Saint. We, too, were led to believe it for a time. Truly a pathetic tale.”
As Agras exaggeratedly cradled his head in his hands, Emily felt as if he had just articulated her own unawareness of her actions. She found herself unable to retort. The heat rising to her face was a mix of anger and overwhelming shame. Only now, as his words echoed in her mind, did she realize the implications of her past behavior, and her legs felt unsteady beneath her.
“Ah, but now I finally understand. I was puzzled as to why you were so easily manipulated. If you had been a bit stronger and more cunning, you might have noticed the oddities. I see now, you were completely unaware…”
His feigned pity grated on Emily’s nerves, igniting a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and shame, leaving her voiceless in her predicament.
“Moreover, since prayer is invisible, it made things all the more troublesome.”
He continued, almost as if speaking to himself, exhaling softly.
“What do you mean? What have you been saying all this time?”
“There was never a ‘Saint’ to believe in. I’m merely exposing that fact, Your Majesty.”
Agras’s calm voice resonated ominously.
“…B-but, praying isn’t in vain… because…”
Emily sank to the ground, struggling to breathe as tremors wracked her body.
“I-I never claimed to be a Saint! I never said it even once! Everyone just called me that, so I tried my best to pray… But now… this… this…”
Her voice trembled as she offered excuses, burying her face in her hands.
“Yes, that’s right. You were called a Saint and elevated, yet you never denied it. You simply went along with it. You are not at fault.”
Even his comforting tone sounded like mockery to her ears.
“Lord Agreas, what is your purpose? Why now, of all times…?”
The prime minister’s voice broke through the chaos.
“That’s a good question. I merely wished for everyone to witness the ambiguity and fragility of the Goddess’s power, and then come to understand the existence of truly valuable power.”
With that, Agreas drew the sword at his waist. Though he was the captain of the knights, it was a ceremonial blade, elegantly adorned. He pointed its tip at the king.
The royal guards stationed behind the king immediately drew their swords, rushing to strike Agreas, severing his wrist in one swift motion. Agreas remained utterly still, as if he had allowed it to happen.
“…Agras… what is that…?”
The king gasped, and a chilling silence fell over the nobles in the VIP Seating, as if time had frozen.
The severed wrist rolled away, leaving a sinister thread trailing behind it, as if time itself were rewinding, pulling back toward Agreas’s arm.
“Isn’t it magnificent? This is the most equal and unwavering miracle of power.”
His satisfied smile was serene, yet it brimmed with madness.