The Vanity Knight’s Gaze

“The deceased was Kasha Hein, a fourteen-year-old female. According to preliminary investigations, her cause of death was attributed to thermal dysregulation—deemed a natural passing.”

Ross listened idly to the report from the Enforcer under his command. After a casual wave of his hand, he spoke, “Since there’s nothing suspicious, everyone can head back.”

“How can you just do that!”

A middle-aged man, his hair nearly half-white, glared fixedly at Ross, who was about to lead his team away. His bloodshot eyes burned as he rasped, “My daughter died because of a Heretic!”

Ross’s expression turned markedly impatient. His gaze, cold and sharp, fell upon the father who had just lost his daughter. “And so what? Do you have any evidence? We are incredibly busy. Are you suggesting we waste several months chasing a Heretic who doesn’t even exist, simply based on your word?”

The man instinctively flinched under Ross’s piercing stare, his demeanor growing timid. He stammered, “It’s not like that… Her body was always healthy… How could she have died from cold…?”

Ross no longer bothered to engage with the grief-stricken father. He coldly delivered his final words: “Winter is coming. What’s so strange about a poor wretch like you dying from freezing?”

He led his squad out of the old wooden house. Just as they were preparing to return to the Church, a hearty laugh suddenly echoed through the air: “Was it truly appropriate to say that just now?”

Ross halted, his gaze sweeping across the surroundings until it settled on a simply dressed blond man. His eyes then drifted towards a carriage parked nearby, lingering specifically on the rose crest—the exclusive emblem of the Michelle family.

He frowned, his eyes fixed coldly on the blond man. “You look unfamiliar. Are you a guest of the Michelle family? Regardless of your origin, does the Holy Church need your input on how it conducts its affairs?”

The blond man chuckled softly, casting a meaningful glance at Ross. He spoke in a gentle tone, “If the local church doesn’t wish to handle this, may I take over?”

Ross couldn’t help but scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “You? Manage it if you wish. Let’s go.”

The blond man watched the Enforcers depart, a slight raise of his eyebrows betraying his amusement. He then walked to the carriage and said softly, “I’ll remain here for now. You all should proceed to the Michelle family estate.”

He walked alone towards the dilapidated wooden house, where the old father inside was still sobbing uncontrollably by the bedside. The blond man cleared his throat at an opportune moment, and once he had caught the father’s attention, he smiled gently and said, “I am Arthur Haim, a Holy Knight from the Holy Church. Would it be possible for me to examine your daughter’s body?”

As he spoke, a ball of white light rose in his palm, confirming his identity to the old father.

The father stared blankly at the white light in Arthur’s hand, his expression and movements becoming quite reserved. “Yes! Of course, you may!”

Arthur offered a faint smile, then moved to the bedside, his sightless eyes appearing to sweep over the corpse. His initial assessment confirmed it was indeed death by thermal dysregulation.

Arthur took a deep breath, drew the longsword from his waist, and plunged the blade straight into the ground. He knelt on one knee, gripping the hilt with both hands. This was the customary way Holy Knights of the Holy Church prayed to the Holy Light. Arthur Haim could no longer recall how many times he had performed this ritual, but this particular instance, his prayer was not directed at the Holy Light.

‘Cannot be gazed upon, cannot be touched, cannot be heard. O Great Lord, immersed in blindness and idiocy. Please forgive this humble unbeliever. With the power You have bestowed upon me, a power perfectly suited to Your wicked humor, I beseech You to lend me a fraction of Your authority.’

His silent prayer, spoken only in his heart, was almost jocular. In truth, Arthur Haim himself did not know how to offer a proper prayer to such an entity. Yet, even if he did, he would still choose such a jesting manner.

[I permit it.]

Arthur’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t expected the entity to actually respond. There was no time to ponder; the vast energy within him rapidly depleted. What he gained, however, were eyes that shimmered faintly with starlight, replacing the hollow darkness of his sockets.

He was a Heretic, the Knight of Vanity. The authority he wielded allowed him to crown himself with false glory. He could slay dragons and gods, omnipotent in his delusion. At this moment, a lofty entity lent him a portion of Their authority. Where his gaze fell, the true visage of the world was revealed.

And so, he saw.

A golden thread extended from the crown of the corpse’s head, disappearing beneath the pillow.

Arthur’s body suddenly sagged. He struggled to support himself with one hand as his vision gradually darkened. The old father beside him was instantly terrified, losing all composure. Just as he was about to rush over to help, Arthur cried out sharply, “Don’t come closer! I’m just exhausted!”

He gasped for air, waiting for his strength to return before slowly rising. A bitter smile slowly spread across Arthur’s face. He was not a host to a Heretic; the unspeakable entity had directly bestowed power upon him, meaning he was the Heretic itself.

The power of a Heretic was almost limitless, yet it operated under restrictive conditions. In this state, their output was limited, and energy replenished slowly. Yet, after Arthur borrowed a fraction of the unspeakable entity’s authority, a single glance had completely drained him, leaving him unable to even maintain his physical form. Had the old father been any closer, he would have seen Arthur’s hollow eye sockets again.

Fortunately, such a great cost had yielded a reward.

From beneath the pillow, he pulled out a small booklet. Its cover depicted a little girl in a red cloak walking along a forest path, with the silhouette of a wolf in the background. The story’s renown was universal. Arthur quietly “gazed” at the title, murmuring softly, “Little Red Riding Hood?”

He carefully flipped through the booklet. However, the story recorded within was exactly the same as the one circulating among the common folk. Arthur narrowed his eyes. With his current vision, it appeared to be a perfectly ordinary children’s fairy tale book.

He suddenly remembered Reyn’s words and muttered, “Are all fairy tales lies…?”

Perhaps he needed to find the original version of Little Red Riding Hood.

“Sir Knight, did that last sentence have some special meaning?”

Arthur turned to look at the old father, who seemed to have something to say. He smiled gently. “No, it had no particular meaning. Is something wrong?”

The old father hesitated, his voice raspy. “When I was young, old Uncle Chris used to say the same thing to us.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s a gravedigger at the cemetery to the south. However, he’s always been quite ill-tempered with nobles, and he might offend you, Sir Knight.”

“It’s fine. I never concern myself with such things.”