Knights excelled at fighting other people, but were somewhat less adept at exorcism. They could not wield holy power. The absence of holy energy was a tremendous weakness. To make a living as a combat specialist in a world teeming with Demons, one absolutely needed some means of fighting them.

Holy water was a common choice. Yuri was no exception. She had secretly coated her blade with holy water of the highest grade to fight White Horn. Fortunately, he had not noticed. As she carved wounds all over his body, she had worked the holy water into them.

Now the consequences were manifesting. When she pulled the trigger with her aura, all the holy water absorbed into Maphel’tan’s body seethed. Demonic energy clashed with holy power, causing an unending series of explosive reactions.

Yuri immediately put distance between them. She could not afford to be caught in the backlash. Within the blast radius, a frail human body would vanish without a trace.

She stepped back and watched him. Black smoke billowed into the sky, and a pool of pitch-black blood collected on the ground. Corroded chunks of flesh dropped into it. Maphel’tan shuddered in agony.

“Kuh, haaagh!”

He was clearly dying. A faint relief crept over Yuri’s face. As expected, the highest-grade holy water was extraordinarily effective. The higher a Demon’s rank, the more holy water proved its worth.

Yuri wiped away her cold sweat. She was truly glad she had obtained it. With the world growing so dangerous lately, she had risked giving offense by asking the saintess for some, and that decision had paid off handsomely. Without the holy water, she would never have survived.

She made the holy sign.

“Saint Marziel. This humble lamb gives thanks for your boundless grace.”

Maphel’tan dropped heavily to one knee. His wings were in tatters, and his left eye was closed. Even the light in his remaining eye flickered feebly. Apostle or not, White Horn would struggle to recover now. All she had to do was finish him off.

Yuri approached White Horn cautiously. Suddenly, a languid voice reached her ears.

“Well, now. She certainly got you good.”

Yuri immediately turned her head, tension returning to her face. She had forgotten about Hakain. He was still seated by the castle gate, smoking his short pipe.

She addressed him.

“White Horn is finished. You should leave too. Go quietly, and I will overlook your apostasy.”

She was not confident she could handle Hakain. She sincerely wanted him to simply leave.

He gave a languid smile.

“Our lady knight seems afraid of me.”

Yuri scowled.

“I merely wish to avoid an unnecessary fight.”

Hakain tapped the ash from his pipe.

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of getting involved. I agreed to stay out of this unless things got truly serious.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?”

Hakain pointed at Maphel’tan.

“It’s not over until it’s over. Never heard that saying?”

Yuri looked at Maphel’tan. Her expression slowly froze.

“W-what is...”

His body was restoring itself. The pooled blood flowed back into him, and new flesh grew across his torn wings. His dim eyes gradually regained their color, gleaming red once more.

Maphel’tan straightened his torso. He opened and closed his fists, checking his body.

'That works remarkably well.'

This was the work of his power, Soul-Fueled Restoration: an ability that shaved away his soul to restore his body. It was also why Yohan had survived being impaled by the holy spear Espada before.

The power had awakened quite some time ago, but this was Maphel’tan’s first time using it. He was more than satisfied with its performance.

'Though it must have shaved off a little of my soul.'

The side effect would probably be a loss of humanity. He would need to use it carefully, though he could not feel any effects yet.

Maphel’tan looked at Yuri, the corners of his mouth lifting.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Yuri could not hide her dismay. She wanted to deny that he had revived.

“I poured all that h-holy water into you. How?”

Maphel’tan chuckled.

“If mere holy water could kill an Apostle, you people wouldn’t have had such a hard time five hundred years ago.”

However young, an Apostle was still an Apostle. A lone ordinary knight, not even a holy knight, could not vanquish one.

Despair colored Yuri’s face. She still had a few tricks left, but none would work against the Apostle before her.

“... Damn it.”

Was this the end? Both her fists trembled.

Maphel’tan spoke calmly.

“You did well enough. I have a fair idea of what a first-rate knight can do now.”

The experience from this battle would be a valuable asset. He had learned quite a few things. It was not over until it was over. He must always keep his opponent’s last resort in mind.

'That was dangerous.'

To think she had worked holy water into his wounds. It had never even occurred to him. He would not fall for the same trick again. Making that resolve, he strode toward Yuri.

Yuri gripped her sword hilt tightly. The outcome was all but decided, but she had no intention of giving up. A knight must never submit to a Demon. Her eyes blazed with renewed fighting spirit, and she leveled her rapier at Maphel’tan.

“... I will resist you until I die. No, even after death.”

Maphel’tan shook his head.

“No. Your part is over. Rest a while.”

At that instant, a heavy impact rang out. The fell spear he had hurled away returned and struck Yuri in the back of the head.

One of the holy spear Espada’s secondary traits remained even now that it had become a fell spear. Like Espada, the fell spear Turabak returned to its master of its own accord.

Struck by the fell spear, Yuri crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Hakain rose to his feet.

“I’ll go deal with the rest now.”

Yuri was not the only member of the Royal Guard. They would have to subdue them all.

Maphel’tan nodded.

“Do it without causing a commotion.”

The remaining guards were in the village, where there were plenty of watching eyes. Yohan had emptied the castle, but he could not drive out the villagers too. He could hardly make them sleep in the hills in the middle of the night.

Hakain said, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it quietly.”

He could be trusted with the task. Maphel’tan headed straight into the lord’s castle. Depending on how things were going, he might have to help Ilea.

* * *

Maphel’tan immediately took back that thought. The battle between Ilea and Gawain was far beyond his ability to intervene. He realized it the moment he opened the castle gate.

The castle’s interior had been utterly transformed. Every staircase was destroyed, and separate floors no longer existed. A vast opening stretched from the ground floor to the rooftop. Rubble kept raining down from somewhere, accompanied by the endless sounds of things breaking and shattering.

Far above Maphel’tan’s head, brilliant light flashed again and again. Holy power and mana were clashing. His skin prickled painfully.

He stared up into the air. Something kept darting about, but he could not catch even its afterimage. He let out a disbelieving laugh.

'I can’t even perceive them.'

He had thought he had grown a little stronger. He had been mistaken. Compared to those two monsters, he was utterly weak. As he was now, there was no way to help Ilea. He would only be a burden.

Maphel’tan turned back toward the gate. Just as he was about to leave, a piercing rush of air rang out, as though space itself were being torn apart. He turned his head and saw a flash of light. The instant he registered it, something was right in front of him.

“... White Horn.”

It was Gawain. His face contorted with fury, he threw a punch. A pure-white fist came hurtling toward Maphel’tan. He had neither the means nor the ability to dodge. The moment it struck, he would vanish without a trace.

Dismay overwhelmed him. His life flashed through his mind. The approaching fist seemed to slow.

'... What?'

It was not merely his imagination. Gawain really had stopped in midair. It was as though time had frozen. Maphel’tan could not make sense of what was happening. As he stared in confusion, a familiar, melodious voice reached him.

“I forgot to tell you. You must not open the castle gate for the next few hours.”

A mass of blue light snatched Maphel’tan up and soared into the air. An instant later, Gawain’s fist slammed into the wall. Shattered stone flew in every direction. Time was flowing normally again.

Gawain looked up. Ilea and Maphel’tan had landed atop a chandelier. His face twisted like an evil spirit’s. He immediately kicked off the ground, but could not leap. Mana tangled like a spiderweb held him fast: a binding spell to keep him in place for a little while.

Maphel’tan looked at Ilea.

“... What do you mean, I mustn’t open the gate?”

“I’ve separated the castle’s interior from the outside world. Opening the gate will keep distorting the barrier.”

Only then did he understand why the castle had been so quiet. It was now an entirely isolated space. None of the noise or impacts generated inside could escape. Such precautions were essential when facing Gawain. Without the barrier, the surrounding Miyatro domain would have been laid to waste.

Maphel’tan swallowed a groan.

“I had no idea the gate was the barrier’s anchor. That was careless of me.”

Ilea shook her head.

“No, I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Please just leave quickly. There’s no time for a long conversation.”

Maphel’tan had to get out of the castle before the spell binding Gawain ran its course.

“Are you all right?”

Ilea was utterly exhausted. Her usual composure was nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t worry about me. I won’t let you down.”

Maphel’tan was worried about her, but there was nothing he could do to help now. It would be better to get out of her way as quickly as possible.

He leaped off the chandelier and flew toward the gate.

“I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Ilea smiled faintly and waved.

“See you in a little while.”

Maphel’tan left the castle at once.

* * *

A considerable time passed. The sun had already risen. Yohan sat motionless opposite the castle gate. He had thought about so many things through the night, and those thoughts still occupied him.

“... Ha.”

It was hard to shake the crushing sense of helplessness. Just as he clicked his tongue, his train of thought broke off.

The castle gate opened with an aged metallic groan. A figure trudged out of the pitch-black interior. Yohan sprang to his feet.

The figure that emerged, drenched from head to toe in blood, was none other than Gawain. Had Ilea actually lost? He could scarcely believe it.

As Yohan tightened his grip on his spear shaft, Gawain slowly raised an arm. Terrible tension coursed through Yohan’s entire body.

Then Gawain’s movement abruptly stopped. He crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

Another figure emerged from the ruined castle.

“You’ve been waiting a long time, haven’t you? That gave me more trouble than I expected.”

Ilea was forcing a weary smile. A moment later, she too collapsed.