The Burdened and the Beloved

“……Alaiya.”The Father, sword in hand, looked at her, then moved to one side:

“Death is the ultimate end for us all, without exception.

Corvin… he made his choice.

This is a truth we must all confront.

Though we have lost comrades, those of us who remain must bear their will and press onward; this is our sacred mission.

Do you recall our vows?

We carry the will of the departed.

We gaze into, and stand against, the abyss.

We are the purifiers, the watchers, and the burdened.”

“……Father, could you… could you give me a little more time?” Alaiya pleaded softly, slowly kneeling on one knee.

She closed her eyes, clutching a memento of a fallen comrade in her hand, utterly silent.

The leading priest stood by her side, clenching his jaw, and continued:

“Do not let sorrow consume your spirit.

We cannot allow negative thoughts to fester within our hearts, for they will only render us more vulnerable.

And they… they will seize upon that weakness.”

With unwavering resolve, they guarded this land, standing firm against the dark abyss.

These Black Monks had not always been a cohesive group.

They were a fellowship forged from the surviving friars who had endured the most brutal stretches of war, the remnants of the fiercest border assaults.

Death and sacrifice, the wilting of fragile lives, the vanishing of comrades, the creeping tendrils of sorrow, the burgeoning of hatred—all these burdens weighed heavily on the hearts of the survivors, instilling within them a profound sense of culpability.

They forsook their homes, choosing instead to encamp in the harsh borderlands.

There, they spontaneously organized vigilance outposts at the very rift between the Demon Realm and the Human Realm.

With their sharpest blades and Holy Light, they resisted the demons of the Demon Lord’s Army and the Legion of the Undead who sought to cross into the Human Realm.

For them, this was a form of atonement.

They shunned the safety of outposts or city fortresses, becoming ascetics self-exiled to the frontier between humanity and demons.

They monitored the abyss’s encroaching corruption, ever ready to step into its depths themselves.

This burden of guilt led them to dye their crosses black, for they no longer upheld a faith of pure benevolence.

Instead, they bore the will of the fallen.

They were the Black Cross Monastic Brotherhood, also known as the Black Church.

Observing the dark figures upon the ice plains, someone in the distance lowered their telescope.

They drew a deep breath, then, clad in a nun’s habit, walked step by deliberate step towards them.

****

Half a month earlier, in the Royal Capital of Draynes.

“Wow, you’re looking lively today, brother!”

“You too, brother! Hey, check out this wound on my arm.

I got it two days ago from that wild boar runt; such a huge gash, I honestly thought I’d lose the arm.

But look at it today, it’s already healed this much!

Good heavens, Sister Antolia herself treated me; her Holy Light is truly—so gentle.”

“Wow, I’m so envious! I wish Sister Antolia would treat me too…

But you don’t even need to be injured.

Just the day before yesterday, Sister Antolia was distributing bread in the slums, and they were shaped like cute little cats!

My daughter got one, and I’ve placed it right in the most prominent spot in our home, practically revering it.”

“Wow, such a treasure! And you stole your own daughter’s bread, you animal!”

“Hahaha, what can I do?! Sister Antolia is our light!”

“Hear, hear!” someone shouted, raising their mug.

“Sister Antolia is our light!”

“Sister Antolia is our light!!!”

Everyone raised their mugs in unison, offering blessings to the diligent and gentle nun who toiled in this harsh land.

Such scenes unfolded every evening.

Unlike the aloof nobles or knights, Sister Antolia was a tangible presence in their daily lives.

Each morning, people would watch the gentle, beautiful nun walk through the streets.

Anyone who approached her would receive a kind reply.

During conversations, Sister Antolia would attentively note others’ words and needs, making time to help whenever possible.

Her popularity was especially profound in the slums.

To the common folk, she was like an angel descended from heaven, offering warmth and comfort while blessing everyone with her abilities.

“So, it’s no wonder you’re utterly captivated by her.”

At that very moment, in a corner of the tavern, a casually dressed young bard, cloaked in a cape adorned with star-shaped ornaments, held a lute.

He sat at a side table, where fresh beef and beer awaited him, strumming his strings while gazing forward.

“It’s been less than two months, and already Draynes seems to have gained a goddess of the common folk, my dear Prince Iliran.”

As he spoke, the man opposite him, dressed in what he considered simple attire, frowned.

He looked at the bard before him.

“Don’t reveal my identity here, you idiot.”

“What’s the harm?

No one pays attention to a conversation between two people in a tavern corner.

However, since I’m your guest, living under your patronage, I suppose I must obey your demands, haha.”

“I consider you a friend, Randall.”

“And I consider you an ATM, Prince Iliran,” the bard retorted with a laugh, his words brazen.

“I’m always better at being a drinking buddy than a confidant.

If you’re looking to cause trouble, I’m your man; I particularly enjoy misbehaving.

But for you to ask me to prepare for your confession… how should I put it, that doesn’t sound like a very interesting endeavor.

More importantly, are you sure about this?

Confessing your feelings to her, the common folk’s goddess of all Draynes?”

“Yesterday, Pierre’s brat went to the church,” Prince Iliran stated at that moment.

“Leveraging his father’s connections, he stubbornly stayed there to ‘help’ for an entire evening.”

“The day before, Young Master Erman, under the guise of donating gold coins, managed to have her listen to his ‘sins’ for half an hour…”

“Hold on, why are you so privy to all this, Your Highness?

Could it be that…”

“I just know,” Prince Iliran replied, his expression grave.

“Just assume the Only Benefactor revealed it to me in a dream.”

“They’re all making their moves, every single family, sending gifts to the church left and right, all just to get close to her and exploit her!”

“Pure Miss Antolia is still too naive, and Rhys hasn’t been protecting her properly, which is why…”

“Alright then, are you not planning to exploit or approach her yourself?”

“I want to protect her!” Iliran declared earnestly.

“From the moment I saw her at the banquet… she stole my heart.

That is the truth of it.

To have the honor of sharing a dance with her, it filled me with an immense sense of glory.

When her delicate, slender form rested against mine… damn it, do you even understand what that felt like?”

“I can’t say I fully grasp it, but judging by your expression, it must have been an exquisite sensation—”

“It was magnificent!” Iliran exclaimed.

“So… I don’t want to give up.

These past few days, I’ve been secretly visiting the orphanage in disguise, observing her life, witnessing her tireless efforts.

I feel… she truly is an angel.

She’s unlike any girl I’ve ever met, truly.

I truly want to…”

“To possess her exclusively?” the bard said blandly.

“To steal away everyone’s little angel?”

“No… I merely wish to be… a little closer to her.”

Prince Iliran whispered, “Just a little closer.”