In the ruined arena, the remaining scaffolding barely held up as the senior knights huddled together, their faces pale with fear. They were at a loss for words, still reeling from the events that had just unfolded before their eyes. Holy Knight Elliott, wielding the Holy Sword, had always been their beacon of hope, promising victory no matter the circumstances.
Yet, they could not deny the gnawing sense of inferiority that lingered, as if their very existence was being belittled. Still, it was Elliott who had turned the tide of the protracted battle against the Undead Beast, bringing them a sense of pride and serving as their mental pillar.
But now, that pillar had shattered before their eyes, too easily.
Faced with the incomprehensible existence of the Undead Iron-Eating Slime, a knight armed with a sword was at a disadvantage. Even if they thought it was inevitable, despair still clung to them.
In the midst of the chaos, they could do nothing as Elliott was consumed by the liquefied Undead Slime. Cornered and confused, they too were on the brink of being engulfed, their armor slowly decaying in the thick, viscous slime.
Suddenly, a voice reached them, one that should not have been audible from their position. It was Dylan Agreas Jiemeld, speaking from the VIP seating on the distant northern rise. His voice resonated directly in their minds, as if carried through the very Undead Slime itself.
The words he spoke deepened their despair even further.
“…No way, we… Emily is a Holy Maiden…”
A faint whisper from Marcus echoed nearby.
Richard, one of the senior knights, was now painfully aware of his own foolishness. Perhaps it was due to the premonition he had felt since the recent incident, but he could only think, “I knew it.”
Who had first called Emily a Holy Maiden? No one could be blamed for that; it was they who had agreed to the title. In a war-torn land devoid of entertainment and lacking in healing comforts, they had all cherished the sight of her gallantly running about, her adorable figure bringing them joy. If a Holy Maiden truly existed, she would surely resemble her, and what had begun as a light-hearted jest had gradually taken root.
It became a daily source of amusement, a balm for their weary souls, and eventually, it had ignited into fervor. When so many began to call Emily a Holy Maiden, they had come to believe it was the truth, no longer questioning it. When had that conviction taken hold?
“…It was us who elevated her without any basis…”
He uttered this as if in confession, but it fell on deaf ears. Even now, realizing they had only seen the surface, it was far too late for regrets.
“Perhaps the disappearance of the Holy Sword is our fault…”
With no strength left to resist the Undead Slime, Marcus spoke those words as he was swallowed whole.
“…I remember, Agreas once told me that the Holy Knight and the Holy Maiden must be protected… I thought that meant he acknowledged her existence…”
Richard recalled a fragment of memory, voicing it as if to share the burden with Marcus and the other knights. He did not believe that shifting the blame to Agreas would lighten his guilt. He merely wished to convey that he had been manipulated by his own foolishness.
Agreas had once been a figure of respect to him. Until just a moment ago, he had been a nobleman of high standing, a member of a prestigious family. Most of the knights were not direct heirs, some even coming from lower nobility or commoner backgrounds. The proud Duke Jiemeld Household had always recognized the achievements of those knights who might otherwise remain in the shadows, offering their support. The trust and respect he had felt had just been shattered.
“Ha… equality? The power of miracles? What are we protecting by becoming monsters…?”
The remnants of his knightly pride rejected Agreas’s words, but even that denial faded into the abyss of despair, unheard by anyone.
As the waves of slime engulfed him and his armor began to dissolve, Lloyd forced his body to move, grabbing Elliott’s shoulder as he sank into the Undead Slime. He struggled to pull him up, searching for solid ground.
“Elliott…!! Stay with me…!!”
Elliott was in a daze, seemingly aware but unresponsive.
“Elliott… listen to me. I owe you an apology. I was one of those who was used. I followed Agreas without thinking, and as a result, I’ve pushed you to this point.”
His strained voice was uncertain if it reached Elliott’s ears.
“I envied you. Why was it you who received the Holy Sword and not me? I’ve wrestled with that question for so long. We both come from the same baronial family and have trained together. What was the difference between you and me? Jealousy clouded my judgment.”
As he spoke, he dragged Elliott toward the last remnants of solid ground. In Elliott’s right hand, only the hilt of the Holy Sword remained, barely clinging on. Lloyd knew well that it had never truly been the Holy Sword, but the sight of its pitiful state filled him with a nausea akin to self-loathing.
Now that he understood Agreas’s true intentions, Lloyd found himself in an irretrievable situation, yet he continued to struggle. The disgust he felt for being manipulated would not fade. There was no value in seeking atonement now. But he could not bear the thought of being a pawn in Agreas’s game any longer.
However, he could think of no way to deal with the approaching Undead Slime. Before he knew it, the waves of slime had risen to his waist once more. In his panic, he scanned the surroundings.
To the south, opposite the VIP seating, there was a gate through which the Undead Beasts had been allowed to enter for the spectator subjugation. From beyond that dark, gaping portal, a covered carriage appeared, an incongruous sight for the scene unfolding before them.