A few days earlier.
“The crest of a Holy Knight? Why did you suddenly think to ask about that?”
Cecilia, lying with her head on Rita’s lap, opened her eyes just a sliver, gazed at Rita’s huge treasure chest, then closed her eyes again.
Rita raised her index finger and scratched her own cheek. “Well, everyone says that Holy Knights with a crest are really powerful. But what exactly is this crest?”
“You haven’t even passed the assessment yet, and you’re already thinking about such far-fetched things? Is it because I considered making you my Personal Knight?” Cecilia stated calmly, exposing exactly what Rita had been thinking in her heart.
“W-Well, that’s part of the reason,” Rita mumbled.
Personal Knights and Holy Knights with crests are basically one and the same. Since Cecilia had assured her she could become a Personal Knight—well, not a real promise, just a chance at it—Rita felt her odds were pretty good.
“Alright then.” Cecilia rolled over and sat up from Rita’s lap, shifting a bit on the bed to sit face-to-face with her. “A so-called crest is a special authority granted by the royal family, using the golden blood within their bodies as the medium, bestowing it upon their knights.”
“What do you mean?” Rita’s mind struggled to process it.
“It’s fine, once you get to the royal capital and witness a Holy Knight with a crest for yourself, you’ll understand.”
Maggie swung her greatsword, fighting desperately among the swarm of beetles. After finally clearing some space, she quickly glanced toward Angus, who was battling the Lord of Night.
“Old man, you holding up?”
Though burly, Angus’s size was no match for the Lord of Night. He hefted his greatsword to block a powerful strike, but his army boots dug a massive hole in the ground. One look was enough to tell things weren’t going well.
Angus roared, stepped forward, and with brute strength managed to bat away the Lord of Night’s forelimb.
“Don’t come over. As long as I’m here, it won’t get away!”
But anyone who’d experienced this fight could tell—Angus was already moving much slower than before.
Victory on the battlefield doesn’t come from brute strength alone.
Although that giant gate had temporarily stabilized, it probably wouldn’t last for long.
After all, that unsettling blood-red sheen hadn’t faded yet.
The Lord of Night’s will echoed in everyone’s minds.
[Humans, your efforts are wasted. Become our food, surrender your home to us.]
“Ptui.”
Maggie spat a mouthful of blood. Her greatsword whirled like a cyclone, scattering the regrouping beetles, but exhaustion made her miss a few of the slower ones.
When Maggie’s sword finally dropped, several beetles pounced, their claws ripping through her armor, drenching it in even blacker blood.
“Maggie!” Angus tried to assist, but the Lord of Night refused to let him go, launching a series of rapid attacks while Angus struggled to block. He wasn’t injured yet, but he was getting slower.
[Humans, you are at your limit. You cannot stand against me.]
Claws slashed down. Angus blocked again, but his sword reached its limit before he did.
A sharp talon pierced his greatsword, sending iron shards slicing across his cheek, blood gushing out.
But the strike halted just before his stubbled chin. Angus had no chance to reclaim his sword; he could only smash it into the ground, pinning the Lord of Night’s spike.
Meanwhile, the half-severed giant claw Rita had cut earlier crashed down.
Angus bellowed and caught the Lord of Night’s massive claw with his bare hands.
But the Lord of Night’s enormous head was already descending on him.
“Damn it! Damn it all!” Maggie roared, hurling her greatsword at the Lord of Night’s head. It lodged in the beast’s carapace, but failed to halt it.
The Lord of Night’s colossal jaws descended over Angus.
No one could change anything now.
Thud.
A dull thud sounded as the Lord of Night’s enormous body was thrown impossibly high, rolling twice before slamming hard into the stone gate. The defensive enchantment on the gate shimmered to its utmost.
“Whew! That thing really flew.”
A cheerful woman’s voice rang out, so vibrant it nearly drowned out the clang of a giant warhammer hitting the ground.
“I’ll leave the rest to you!”
“No need for your reminder.”
A cold, glacial voice followed, sharp as the northern tundra. A flash of silver-gray sword light sliced by, and before the Lord of Night could rise, its thick shell caved as if struck by a giant claw, foul fluids spurting everywhere.
[Humans, you…]
“Shut up.”
A twisted one-handed sword swept down, slicing off the Lord of Night’s massive head, which crashed to the ground like a pile of sludge.
Angus and Maggie stared wide-eyed at the scene in utter disbelief.
In just an instant, the Lord of Night that had troubled them for so long was now nothing but a corpse.
“You two…” Maggie’s brow furrowed tightly.
But the answer was already clear.
A massive warhammer. A twisted longsword. These weapons were obvious signs.
And if that weren’t enough, the platinum and golden crests—one bearing a wolf’s head, the other a boulder—shining behind them made their identities clear.
“Lady Dolores, are you ready?”
Rita stretched her gold-imbued arm, asking Dolores with deliberate seriousness, hands together as she yawned.
But the moment her hand touched the golden glow, it felt like plunging into boiling hotpot. She instantly let go, whipping her head around in disbelief to look at Cecilia.
“Hot! Hot hot hot! Lady Cecilia! What is this?!”
“Rita, the power granted by golden blood is especially effective against demons,” Cecilia added matter-of-factly.
“Lady Cecilia, why didn’t you say so earlier!” Rita wailed, looking at a small charred spot on her palm. “Wait! Didn’t you think about this when you gave it to me? What if I was burned to death?”
“I knew you’d be fine,” Cecilia answered solemnly.
“This isn’t fine at all! I can’t even touch it myself!” Rita shrieked, waving her hand.
“Then don’t touch it? Relax, Dolores’s magic circle can’t touch it either—these are all demonic powers,” Cecilia tried to comfort her, but her next words were anything but comforting:
“You got the power of a crest, but that doesn’t mean you can beat Dolores. I told you to destroy this place, not to defeat her.”
“What?! Why didn’t you say so earlier!” Rita’s expression froze; less than half a minute ago, she’d been boasting to Dolores, and now Cecilia was saying this.
Crushed.
“Well, now I’ve told you. Good luck.” Cecilia gave Rita a big thumbs-up.
Their exchange finally made the silent Dolores curl her lips in annoyance and say coldly,
“Fourth Princess, you sure know a lot.”
As Dolores spoke, several ice lances shot out from the shadows, streaking toward Cecilia.
Cecilia was the real brain. As long as she was taken out, there were countless ways to deal with Rita.
But Cecilia didn’t move a step, watching calmly as the ice lances were twisted to dust by a powerful force.
Naturally, that was Rita’s doing.
“Right back at you, huh?”
“Tch.” Dolores lifted her hand, and seven-colored magical auras condensed like meteors, launching one after another at Cecilia.
Rita swung her black sword, now glowing with golden light. Black and gold swirled around her, blocking every glowing orb.
Dolores kept flinging orbs of every element, ever more dense, but not one could breach Rita’s sword barrier.
Cecilia stood beneath her invisible umbrella in the storm, face calm as she watched each deadly attack barely deflected by Rita.
“You trust this dream demon so much?”
“I never trust dream demons. I only trust Rita, who’s been by my side all this time.”
Sword and magic clashed on and on. Sweat began to bead on Dolores’s brow.
“That’s a shame. She’ll disappoint you soon enough.”
“She won’t.”
Even as Dolores ramped up the pace, Cecilia remained steady.
“No, she will—because I’ve already won.”
Dolores curled her lips in a smile, tapped her heel, and vanished in a magical shimmer from in front of Cecilia.
Cecilia’s brow creased instantly. An enemy disappearing right before her eyes via some magic—never a good sign.
At that moment, Rita made a simple gesture.
The hand not holding her sword, nor enveloped in golden glow, suddenly filled with thick pink mist. The mist condensed into the shape of a sword, which she gripped tightly.
Rita raised her hand, the misty blade elongating instantly, stabbing toward Cecilia.
Yet Cecilia still didn’t budge.
She calmly watched as the sword of mist grazed her cheek, the wind ruffling her hair.
“Blah blah blah, what are you babbling about? Lady Cecilia said I wouldn’t let her down—are you deaf?”
Rita grinned, revealing sharp little fangs.
But her face was anything but relaxed.
After all, what had just happened was rather bizarre.
Dolores, who had suddenly appeared behind Cecilia, reached out and grabbed the sword of charm energy Rita had handed her barehanded. In Dolores’s palm was a thin but tangible layer of strange magic.
It was similar to the charm aura Valfys used to wrap herself, yet completely different.
And what made Rita’s heart sink further: the wound she’d made in Dolores’s palm earlier had completely vanished.
“Lady Dolores, you really do love to surprise me.”
“Do I? Your power hasn’t given me any surprises at all.”
Dolores replied, sweeping her sleeve.
Bang.
Rita grabbed Cecilia by the waist with one hand, yanking her behind herself so that Cecilia spun like a top and landed with a thud.
At the same time, Rita swung her gold-wreathed sword, meeting Dolores’s sleeve—now transformed into a blood-red magical aura like a claw—head-on.
Rita sniffed, watching as the tiny flash of crimson was shattered by her crest’s golden glow.
“Lady Dolores, this power… It’s not something you could ever learn from demonkind’s techniques, is it?”