The Knight’s Oath and the Coming Darkness

Beyond the town, within a derelict church, Ilivy, the Rose Knight, entered alone.

As her gaze swept over the ancient, unadorned stone walls and the pervasive decay born from years of neglect, she slowly closed her eyes, sensing the profound presence of holy light elements within the sacred space.

At the very front of the crumbling church, where an altar should have stood for a priest’s prayers, a simple mound of earth now rose.

Unlike the shattered remnants of the surrounding stone walls, direct sunlight streamed through broken louvers to illuminate this spot, where a stone cross was encircled by verdant grass, and countless wildflowers bloomed upon the small, green hillock.

“Even in a forest tainted by miasma, the light here remains unconsumed,” Ilivy murmured softly.

She walked to the hillock and knelt, her eyes tracing the inscription carved into the base of the cross, confirming this was indeed the resting place established by Bishop Rhys and his companions.

The persecuted saintess, Livia, rested here in eternal slumber.

“Saint Livia, may you rest in peace,” Ilivy uttered, her gaze shifting to the bouquet of flowers placed before the stone tablet.

She recalled the wildflowers the shepherd boy had given her, but as she drew them out, she froze.

The wildflowers before her were imbued with an intense holy light, a radiance that seemed to pulse with life.

“This power doesn’t originate from beneath the grave… these new grasses, the blooming flowers around here… this life force stems from—” Ilivy reached out to touch a flower imbued with the divine aura.

The moment her fingers made contact, the petals, as if sculpted from sand, abruptly dissolved into light and scattered into the air.

Simultaneously, the single flower she held, the one given to her by the shepherd, began to emit a similar glow.

This light dispersed before her, yet ultimately converged, flowing into her own being.

“…So, this is how it is?” Ilivy watched the scattered light on her hands, understanding it to be a form of divine blessing, a holy light enchantment.

It was a blessing bestowed by the shepherd boy she had met only once.

Recalling his demeanor now, she understood most of what had transpired, and a profound joy blossomed within her heart.

It was not regret for having missed him, but rather a deeper, more exhilarating realization.

“He exists… he truly exists.” A tremor ran through Ilivy’s voice.

Discovering a definitive answer to a long-held question always brings immense elation, and she felt it keenly now.

Ilivy immediately rose, preparing to depart, when the long blare of a horn pierced the air, accompanied by an extraordinary, potent aura.

“…Hmph.” A grave expression settled upon Ilivy’s face as she perceived that aura.

She knew precisely what it signified, having encountered it countless times on battlefields, in places where one was driven to scream and descend into hysteria.

“They are coming.” Ilivy sensed the encroaching tendrils of evil.

She returned to her horse, retrieved her communication crystal, and began to record:

“[The Holy Child exists. I saw him, but I also missed him. This information must be confirmed and preserved. To any of my kin who come here and hear this recording, I implore you: find him. A golden-haired shepherd. He is the Holy Child.]”

“Now… I must fulfill my duties as a knight.”

“This is a record from Ilivy Asya, Holy Knight of the Rose Knights.”

Having spoken, she mounted her warhorse and, with a brief command, galloped towards the other side of the forest.

She knew the outpost could no longer be defended, yet she sensed a dense magical aura emanating from a nearby village, and a faint holy light lingering in the air there.

This indicated that the Holy Child had been active in that area, and she should search for him there, but first, she had to perform her immediate duty.

From the village, the clang of alarm bells echoed—a desperate plea for aid.

At this moment, everyone was likely fleeing; the city would certainly not dispatch troops to defend this obscure, peripheral village.

Yet, someone would answer the call.

“…Even if no one expects Holy Knights to defend their lives and livelihoods anymore, a knight’s oath never fades.

When duty calls, we face the battlefield without hesitation, shedding fear, and forging ahead without a second thought.”

****

“I didn’t expect them to actually ring the alarm,” Mula remarked, watching the townsfolk pull the bell ropes, a playful smile touching her lips.

“That thing probably won’t summon any reinforcements; instead, it’ll just attract more legions of the living dead.”

“But it’s necessary,” Tikka interjected, walking closer.

Mula shook her head.

“The city won’t send any real reinforcements. I already have intelligence; the city commander will only dispatch a group of messengers to run around. No large army will come.”

“So what?” Tikka asked.

“Do we really need to defend this place to the death?” Mula replied naturally.

“Just with a few militiamen, a squad of battered soldiers, and an old mage… we should be able to leave, shouldn’t we? At least retreat to the city.”

“Abandon the people here? Many can’t leave; this crisis came too suddenly,” Tikka countered.

Mula stared at him.

“Ultimately, do we need to put ourselves in danger for these natives?”

“…Your way of thinking is deeply flawed.”

“Remember, they are no different from us.”

“Don’t always think of yourself as superior; moreover, those with greater ability have a responsibility to bear danger for those who do not.”

“This is our principle here.”

“To be frank, these are just rules the council set for themselves.”

“Even abiding by them… is meaningless.”

Watching the two young people argue, Eric was on the other side, helping the villagers set up a警戒线 (TL Note: A defensive perimeter or cordon).

The village chief looked at him for a long moment before speaking.

“You’ve been a great help all this time, Master Eric.”

“Oh, what’s this? Are you starting to thank me now? You old scoundrel who never invited me to Old Jack’s banquets.”

“…Was that my fault? Anto told me not to invite you, saying you’d get drunk and cause trouble, alright? But in the end, didn’t I still save you a bottle of wine?

Thank you for everything, and for being willing to stay at a time like this.”

The village chief looked at the two arguing figures.

“They seem to be at odds.”

“Well, that’s just how it is. Our thoughts as Otherworld Travelers are always a bit different; many are selfish even as they seek freedom,” Eric chuckled.

“But it doesn’t matter; they’ll have to stay in the end.

This village is a good place.

I’ve lived here for over ten years; I’ve grown fond of even the outhouses.

To just leave, it’s not that simple.”

“If I were younger, I probably would have just left,” Eric said, stroking his white beard with a sigh.

“But I’m old now.

Old men can’t run, and there’s nowhere to run to.

I’m old, and I’ve become stubborn.”

He gazed into the distance, where the encroaching darkness loomed, yet he showed no fear.

“The more stubborn one gets, the more foolish things one does.”