Chapter 34

“Kill them all!”

At that very moment, when he dared to attempt to strip the eldest son of the House of Saxony twice, there was never any chance of survival to begin with.

Kill or be killed.

Fortunately, a considerable distance separated the two sides. Moreover, his forces held the high ground on the sloping hillside, possessing both a geographical advantage and numerical superiority. Above all, weren’t his men forming an encircling perimeter all around?

Searching desperately for any positive outlook, Baron Pucker raised his voice.

‘Just a few. A mere handful.’

Even if he wields an aura blade, his opponent’s only weapon is the single sword in his hand. He has no armor or shield, nor does he ride a warhorse capable of cavalry charges.

In contrast, we have fully armed knights and archers forming a battle formation!

This is a battle we can fight. This is a battle we can win.

“We can win! This is a battle we can win!”

Baron Pucker raised his voice, radiating a tear-jerking force of conviction.

“Archers, aim!”

On the hilltop, the baron’s men drew their bows in unison.

“Fools.”

Seeing this, one of the knights guarding Dale’s side murmured coldly.

Sir Veil of Baskerville.

The high knight who had assisted the Black Prince in battle that day, breaking the left wing of Baron Pucker at the very front lines. The black hound sworn to loyalty to Saxony’s young eldest son.

“Give your command, Prince Dale.”

At Sir Veil’s request, Dale spoke.

“We have already shown them one act of mercy.”

Unfazed by the arrowheads aimed at them from all sides.

“Any further mercy would be meaningless, I suppose.”

In a voice devoid of any emotion.

“Kill them all.”

“We obey your command.”

As Dale spoke, a hail of arrows shot forth from all directions, and the five ‘Oru Knights’ present bowed their heads in obedience to their lord’s command.

Whoosh!

After bowing, a whirlwind of sword energy swept through.

It was a shield of blades blocking the hail of arrows pouring down from all directions. Before the whirlwind of sword wind, the falling arrows held no meaning.

And as the volley ended, the Night Crow Knights were already charging forward, kicking off the ground.

They scatter in all directions and charge toward the bandit horde surrounding them.

The sword master’s one-against-a-thousand exploits bordered on the fantastical ‘chivalric literature’ even in this world. Yet, a skilled knight slaughtering dozens of soldiers was not an unusual sight.

The jet-black sword swung, and screams echoed.

“Aaargh, my arm! My arm!”

“P-please, please spare me… AAAAAHHH!”

Before he could finish speaking, a fountain of blood spurted from his severed neck. With each swing of the blade, arms and legs were cut off, and intestines spilled out in streams through the gaping wound in his torn abdomen.

“M-My lord! Please forgive me!”

Baron Pucker, who had long since lost his will to fight and collapsed to the floor, cried out.

“I, I beg you! I’ll give you everything I have! I swear lifelong loyalty! Please, please spare my life!”

He pleaded desperately.

“Please, show me the mercy of the Sister Goddess!”

The Sisters’ Mercy. Dale did not answer. He merely stared at him with emotionless eyes, while screams still echoed all around.

Some could not bear the pain and burst into tears, while others, unable to contain their terror, burst into laughter.

Turning his back on them, the ‘Black Prince’ tilted his head.

“Why me?”

Several days later.

No sooner had they left the Pucker Barony than they arrived at the ‘Next Domain,’ corresponding to the central part of the empire.

“Halt, you scoundrels!”

Another band of robbers appeared before Dale, disguised as a traveler, and his knights.

“Who dares to pass through Baron Grandel’s lands without permission!”

He is a Robber Baron who plunders those traveling through his domain. After all, even thievery requires strength.

‘Ah, damn it.’

Dale cursed inwardly as he watched the bandits threatening him with smug confidence.

As long as he concealed his identity, he was bound to be prey; yet revealing it meant he couldn’t be spared. Thus, with near-despair, Dale asked.

“Would you consider just stepping aside quietly?”

“Ha ha, you actually know how to crack a decent joke!”

“You’re telling me, Captain!”

“Could it be you’re wetting your pants?!”

The heavily armored noble bandit, Baron Grandel, burst into laughter with his men. Dale laughed along with them. Behind them, the Saxon swordsmen stood silent, awaiting their lord’s command.

After laughing heartily together, Dale spoke up.

“Funny?”

Several weeks passed, tracing the tributaries of the river that flowed through the central continent and converged once more into the North Sea.

Along the way, they passed through the domains of several robber barons and knights-errant, each time unleashing an irreversible bloodbath.

After that, they passed through the Imperial Free City of Amber, then crossed the continent by sea along the route known as the Amber Road.

Toward the land of the goddess, the Sistine Papal States.

That the offspring of a noble with power and status concealed his identity and walked humbly on foot. That was the very courtesy the ‘Black Prince’ sought to show the Church through his pilgrimage, and the atonement for the day the swords of House Saxon slaughtered the Goddess’s knights.

And since we are showing our sincerity here, the church will have no choice but to respond to Dale’s sincerity.

Papal States, Vatican City, Fucsel.

A room in the Apostolic Palace, facing St. Mary Magdalene Square.

“Your Eminence, Cardinal Nicolai.”

One of the twelve clergymen standing at the pinnacle of the Goddess Cult, a white mage who had reached the realm of the Sixth Circle.

A worthy opponent for the ‘Black Prince’ who had walked upon the Goddess’s land. That was none other than Nikolai Makia, Elder of the White Tower and Cardinal Bishop.

“I hear much blood was shed in that day’s battle, young prince.”

Dale of Saxony. The tower master of the White Magic Tower and the Black Magic Tower bearing an indelible stain, son and heir to the Black Prince.

Nikolai was well aware of the reputation of the ‘Black Prince’, renowned as the empire’s greatest genius. He knew the cruelty and infamy that accompanied that name.

“The brothers of St. Magdalene were exemplars of faith, and their sacrifice was truly regrettable news.”

“Due to my excessive competence, it led to more sacrifices than necessary.”

‘I was too good at killing.’

“……”

He was the worst possible match for the Church, from start to finish.

“I too deeply regret the outcome of the black-and-white rotation.”

Yet that very opponent now bows respectfully before him.

A native of the northern lands, deemed barren ground for the Goddess Cult, and moreover, the son of a Grand Duke holding one of the empire’s most prestigious positions.

‘Could he truly have endured such suffering solely for atonement?’

Nikolai asked himself.

No matter how brilliantly gifted he may be, he is ultimately an eleven-year-old child. The horrors of the battlefield, where men kill and are killed, could well have instilled some sense of guilt.

Like the young heirs of noble houses who cannot bear the trauma of battle and seek refuge in the goddess’s embrace.

‘Then it’s all for the best.’

Guilt, or rather, the sense of debt owed to the divine, is a powerful force in religion.

“I too am deeply concerned about the young prince’s cruelty, it is true.”

Thus Cardinal Nikolai continued with his kind smile.

“But the goddess’s mercy is open equally to all, young prince.”

“……”

“For there is no sin in this world that cannot be washed away.”

It can be washed away. It can be forgiven. Just as Cardinal Nikolai was about to repeat that sweet whisper.

“Did you say there are no sins in this world that cannot be washed away?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.”

Nikolai nodded, and Dale spoke.

“──So you sold the Goddess’s realm to the Empire?”

He sold the kingdom. For a moment, Cardinal Nikolai’s face turned deathly pale.

“When the previous pope who rejected the Empire’s annexation treaty was assassinated…”

Dale continued unperturbed. The truth known to only a handful across the entire empire.

“His Eminence the Cardinal was also present at that meeting.”

Just before the forced annexation treaty between the Empire and the Church State was signed. The White Mage Tower Lord and King of the Church State, the former Pope, expressed his will to resist until the very end. And as a result, he was eliminated by the Empire’s hound, the Hero from Another World.

Based on the betrayal of twelve bishop-level cardinals, including Nikolai.

“Did the Goddess forgive His Eminence the Cardinal for the sin of selling his own country?”

“Eh? How could you know about that day’s events…”

The white mage of the Sixth Circle, gauging the situation, could not hide his agitation as he unleashed pure white magic. Yet before the swirling light magic, Dale’s expression remained utterly impassive.

He paid no heed to the fact that the Saxon knights were not immediately at his side.

“Do you truly believe killing a mere proxy of His Grace the Duke will serve as a meaningful silencing?”

It was a lie.

The Duke of Saxony could not even begin to imagine what was unfolding here. But Cardinal Nikolai had no way of knowing that truth.

As proof, the swirling light magic vanishes without a trace after spinning idly several times.

‘Is that truly the form of an eleven-year-old child?’

Even seeing it, he couldn’t believe it.

The fame of the Black Sage, which people talked about endlessly, far surpassed his wildest imagination.

Even epithets like the empire’s foremost genius or the duke’s prodigy felt laughable in comparison.

“…What is it you desire?”

“Your Grace, the Duke, has not come specifically to inquire about the Church’s shortcomings.”

Cardinal Nikolai hesitated before speaking, and Dale answered. As the one acting on the Saxon Duke’s will, after all.

“Rather, I came here to swear silence about the truth of that day.”

Presenting his actions as the will of the Black Duke behind the scenes.

“What the House of Saxon desires is a very small price for silence.”

The price of silence. Nothing in this world comes free.

“Beneath the deepest depths of the Apostle Palace, there is a secret library where the Church’s forbidden books are imprisoned, is there not?”

“……!”

At Dale’s continued words, Cardinal Nikolai’s expression once again turned to utter horror.

A forbidden place permitted to only a select few within the Church.

“No, surely not…!”

“Grant me permission to access the ‘Library of Hell’.”

The Library of Hell. That was the alias for the vault in the lowest basement level of the Apostle Palace, where the church sealed away its confiscated ‘forbidden grimoires’.

The Book of Black Goat.

The most dreadful grimoire in existence, penned by an ancestor of the Saxon family, lay dormant within.