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“The greatest heretic birthed by the Cult.” Veronica wore a languid expression.

Was it languid, or should it be called ennui? A feeling that was hard to express in simple terms settled upon her face.

Her demeanor stood in stark contrast to the taut tension brought by the battle that was unfolding.

That infinitely serene attitude not only shattered everyone’s expectations but also dispelled any worries, even evoking a slight sense of absurdity.

“… Ha.”

A sigh broke through the suffocating silence.

The revolver grazed the side of her head. With the hammer cocked, ready to fire at a moment’s notice, Veronica placed the firearm casually against her temple.

“Freeze. Nobody move. I’m suffering a massive headache right now.”

The saint casually pushed aside her disheveled bangs. Although her attitude was frivolous, for some reason, her voice was sharp.

At Veronica’s suddenly expressed demand, Camila and Francesca’s eyes began to roll dramatically. A moment of unspoken communication passed between them. The embarrassment they could not conceal flickered between their blue and purple irises.

I too found myself equally flustered.

Where had she been hiding until now, only to appear and threaten us to stop fighting?

“… What’s the reason for the sudden saintly outburst?”

“… Even I don’t have that answer.”

Francesca remained silent, gazing intently at Veronica, while Camila cast a questioning glance toward her. An unspoken question of what to do now hung in the air.

“…”

The knight wielding the hammer was staring a hole through the silver bullet gunner. Though it was difficult to gauge his true intentions, we could vaguely sense that he had lost interest in us and had no intention to fight.

While I took turns glancing at the knight and my companions, I cautiously turned to Veronica.

“Veronica. What on earth is happening here?”

“For now, step back, Colonel.”

“Is that really okay?”

In response to my follow-up question, she nodded calmly.

A fleeting silence passed between us, and a multitude of conversations unfolded in that one glance. No words were spoken, yet we shared so much in that fleeting moment of eye contact.

She was urging us to retreat. Her gaze requested us to trust her just this once.

Keeping my eyes on her straightforward plea, I quietly gestured to my companions. Camila and Francesca, having sheathed their rune swords and dispersed their flames, took a few cautious steps back, keeping their eyes on the knight.

Thus, the battle reached a lull.

As Camila and Francesca withdrew, the knight also took a step back. Thud! The heavy hammer landed on the ground, sending dust and soot into the air. The knight, having set down his hammer, lowered his arms in a relaxed manner, signaling he had no desire to fight.

And then.

“… I received a message.”

The saint finally spoke.

“The message I received conveyed two things: to cease hostilities and withdraw, and to ‘treat the Knight of the Cedar Coffin with respect.’”

Click, as she pressed her thumb against the hammer, pulling the trigger caused the decocked hammer to return to its original position. Veronica holstered the decocked revolver by her thigh and crossed her arms with a huff.

Her eyes, resembling obsidian, sank low. In her slouched posture, she gazed at the knight.

Seemingly displeased, Veronica proposed in an apathetic voice, “So, why not disarm and follow me peaceably while things are good?”

***

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Veronica led us to a conference room somewhere in the facility.

The research facility where we had just been hardly seemed suitable for conversation, especially given the damage from explosions and Camila’s magic. There was also a command to cease hostilities and escort us respectfully.

The knight followed Veronica without a word. The saint led the way, followed closely by the armored knight, with the three of us trailing in their wake.

Camila and Francesca kept a close watch on the knight’s back as they walked, while the hammer and greatsword had vanished by this point.

Although the opponent had disarmed, it didn’t mean we could afford to relax our guard. In the heavy silence where a pin could drop, Camila and Francesca stood ready to take down the knight at a moment’s notice, moving forward behind Veronica.

“Let’s go in.”

Upon reaching our destination, Veronica gestured toward the conference room.

It was a clear signal to enter. After a slight bow to her, the knight stepped inside.

– Clatter, clatter.

Just after the knight’s armored figure completely disappeared, the conference room door slammed shut with a thud, an action taken by Veronica.

The saint, having closed the door, brushed her bangs aside.

“Phew.”

A monotonous sigh escaped her lips like a habit. Veronica leaned her back against the wall of the hallway, her demeanor unchanged from usual, yet her actions revealed a clear trace of emotion.

A nervous hand that swept up her forehead, a face soaked in ennui and lethargy, a sigh mingled with conflicting feelings.

In a tired voice, Veronica finally spoke up.

“Is everyone alright? No injuries?”

“Yeah. Thankfully, we’re fine.”

I raised my intact limbs in response. Veronica let out a small laugh.

“No need to emphasize that. I do have my eyes on you, you know?”

With a half-hearted smile, Veronica quenched her thirst at the water dispenser in the hallway.

As thirst struck, encountering a working water dispenser brought a wave of relief. Camila and Francesca, having loosened their constricting capes, huddled around the dispenser, chatting casually.

“Are there any paper cups?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Guess there’s no choice. I’ll just drink it straight.”

Leaning down, Camila turned her head away, looking like a high school boy rushing for the water dispenser after a soccer game.

Though born into the upper class, her experience in medical service in war-torn regions had clearly not been lost. Discovering a clean water dispenser, Camila scooped water into her mouth as if paper cups were insignificant, gulping it down.

Francesca, however, seemed to have a different perspective, having been raised in a household of magical nobility. With her hand resting on the water dispenser, she searched for courage with a reluctant gaze.

“Here you go.”

“Oh, thank you.”

I removed a canteen from my gear and handed it to Francesca.

After confirming that fresh water filled the canteen up to the rim, she cautiously tilted it to moisten her fingertips, of course avoiding the part where someone else’s lips touched.

She quenched her thirst with the canteen I provided.

Only after resolving her thirst did my mind start whirring again. Veronica, glancing at the state of my companions, opened the conversation.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but I’ll take them one at a time. Does anyone have any inquiries?”

Questions? Naturally, there were plenty.

“I think you should explain the situation first. While ordering us not to fight is one thing, what on earth does it mean to treat them ‘respectfully’?”

I lifted my head after washing the soot and dust off with the remaining water.

Camila and Francesca’s eyes followed, seemingly relieved to have someone ask the itchy question. All three pairs of eyes were now focused on Veronica.

With an expression that conveyed no hidden meaning, Veronica shrugged.

“Literally, it means to not fight and treat them nicely.”

“A vampire?”

When has the Cult ever treated the undead in a humane and gentlemanly manner? But Veronica’s demeanor remained unchanged.

“Yes, but I think there’s one thing I need to correct.”

Leaning against the wall, adopting a slouched posture as she crossed her legs, Veronica responded with weary vibes.

“That knight isn’t a vampire.”

Veronica’s attention turned back toward the conference room. The solidly closed door stood at the edge of her sight.

Two people turned to follow her gaze, locking eyes. After exchanging glances, Camila and Francesca threw their gaze in my direction. I somewhat guessed the answer, yet the puzzled expressions lingered.

I subtly nodded my head, as if to show I had expected it.

“I could tell that the attacks had no effect on him. Holy water, blessed bullets, and magic were all in vain. Even armor-piercing rounds barely left a mark.”

While we had a record of hunting demons, that was only when we were fully prepared and supported by the army.

The scholars and clergy meticulously selected by the Cult and Al-Yabd were unable to halt the knight, and even the Order of the Holy Knights, well-versed in handling the undead, had been rendered powerless. Even with Camila, Francesca, and I flanking him, we couldn’t finish the battle with a decisive blow.

This was clearly an odd situation. Given that our weapons imbued with demonic energy, seals, barriers, Camila’s magic, and Francesca’s runes all failed, suspicions ran high.

Sure, it’s true that the gap between us and the knight was enormous, but given Camila and Francesca’s skills, we should have managed much better than the current outcome.

Thus, we could narrow the conclusions down to two possibilities.

First, the opponent was stronger than the demons we faced in the North.

Or second, the opponent was not inherently evil and malicious from the get-go.

I felt the second option was more likely. Veronica’s subsequent answer only solidified that assumption.

“He wasn’t a vampire. We initially made a wrong assumption.”

This meant that everyone’s guesses were incorrect. Veronica, who claimed to have received a message from the Cult, explained that the knight was not a vampire.

Then what on earth could he be? I, worn out from questions reminiscent of a game of twenty questions, asked, but she couldn’t provide a definite answer.

With a sigh mixed with resignation, Veronica shook her head.

“The letter I received didn’t mention anything about that human’s identity. It’s even questionable if we can call him a human in the first place…”

“Wasn’t the Holy See supposed to have found out something leading to such a command? I mean, they gathered all the ancient texts to interpret them last time, right? If they found something, wouldn’t there be a conclusion?”

“The letter didn’t come from the Holy See.”

Everyone’s face turned to an expression of confusion upon hearing the unexpected source of the command.

Wait, who gives commands besides the Holy See? Saints are the ones you can’t treat lightly, not even archbishops and bishops.

If it’s not from the Pope, who exactly sent the letter?

“… So where did it come from?”

Veronica pulled out a case, opened it, and brought out a cigar. Placing the slender cigar between her lips, she pulled out a lighter and ignited it, lifting her gaze.

I could see irritation mixing into her obsidian-like eyes. Repeatedly expelling smoke, Veronica began to scratch her head.

And finally, the saint spoke her answer.

“From the High Priest.”

The saint of the Cult gazed up at the ceiling, clouds of smoke swirling above her.

“It was a letter sent by the oldest elder of our Cult.”

*

The days of the church’s authority being unassailable have long passed, yet religious organizations remain one of the ruling groups in this area.

The existential threats represented by demons, undead, and dark sorcerers are often treated as mere legends.

Those positioned as the antithesis of faith paradoxically serve as a driving force for people to believe in god.

Faced with hardships and adversity, humankind yearns for salvation, and the clergy, endowed with divine powers, strive to enrich the world. Thus, the rise of religious power becomes destiny and inevitability.

While I might not have deep-seated faith, I possess nearly unfathomable knowledge about mainstream religious organizations. Conflicts between political power and religious authority have long been a bitter struggle proven by human history.

It is only natural for the government to check against the growing religious influence, and it is inevitable for the state’s watchful gaze to fall upon the clergy. In modern states, surveillance generally runs through intelligence agencies. Therefore, it is nearly as preposterous to claim that a military intelligence agency officer knows nothing about religious organizations as it is to say that an information command officer is inwardly oblivious to reds.

“… The High Priest.”

An abstract murmur slipped from my lips.

Few people don’t know about the High Priest, even among those not working in intelligence. A clergyman who has lived for hundreds of years is shrouded in mystery merely by his existence.

Besides being historically recognized as the most exceptional heresy investigator and exorcist, the reputation of the High Priest has endured over a long period.

How could the clergy of the Cult not refer to the High Priest as the “Father of Heresy Inquirers and Exorcists” in new tales?

The Cult’s crowning heresy investigator and exorcist.

If we have “Archmage” Alexandra Petrovna, Duke of the magical society, and the Priest of Al-Yabd, conversely, the “Father of Inquirers and Exorcists” exists within the Cult.

“Are you saying the High Priest contacted you?”

“Yup.”

Veronica removed the cigar from her mouth and nodded. In her delicate hand rested a piece of antiquated letterhead.

Just as the Roman Catholic Church has its insignia, so do the high priests of the Lateran Cult. To put it simply, it’s an emblem. Similar to the symbols that noble families would display in Medieval Europe, the high priests’ emblems served as identifiers.

The forms and designs of these emblems differ from priest to priest, with notable examples being Veronica and Lucia’s emblems. Though both are saints standing on equal footing, they possess different styles of emblems.

Even the bishops and archbishops regarded as ‘old farts’ by the saints carry a similar distinction. Emblems serve as proof of the owner’s identity, so even when holding the same position, there will inevitably be differences.

“Hm….”

The emblem printed on the letterhead bore a form I had never seen before. More precisely, it was one I had never seen in person.

Well, that’s understandable, as the last time this emblem became public knowledge was decades ago. The old emblem, which could only be seen in museums or history books, simply indicated that the sender of this letter was the High Priest of the Cult.

I lifted my gaze from the letter and spoke.

“Is this really a letter from the High Priest? This is something you only read about in history books.”

“Same here; I haven’t seen it in years. Or rather, it’s probably been a decade or so since I last saw it.”

“When was that?”

“It was when Lucia started to assist me.”

It seemed Veronica had past experience receiving letters from the High Priest.

While I was puzzled as to why the High Priest would send a letter related to Lucia, that was not what mattered right now.

What truly piqued my interest was something entirely different.

“It’s baffling that the busy priest would send a letter, not to mention the content is profound.”

The message contained in the letter was strikingly straightforward: cease battling the knight and treat him with respect. The elegant and luxurious cursive expressed matters related to the knight. Considering he was someone from older times, the archaic structure of the words aside, the more I chewed on the contents, the more profound it felt.

First of all, the timing of the letter’s sending stood out.

“I heard that the High Priest had been missing for decades, but how is it that he sent you a letter?”

Well-known for having vanished decades ago, the rumors spoke of everything from going on a pilgrimage, taking on a journey to protect the weak and perform good deeds, health issues, or even growing weary of the Church.

Countless conjectures followed behind, yet none of them carried confirmed information.

I could hardly hide my astonishment that the High Priest had sent a letter. While I could assume he had contacted through the Holy See, how could a letter from the High Priest reach a saint isolated in a sealed underground?

“Is there a means of communication?”

Veronica brought forth the messenger who personally delivered the High Priest’s letter.

That messenger’s true identity was…

– Puyo!

I was stunned.

“…You’re saying the hawk is a means of communication?”

With not a hint of hesitation, Veronica nodded in affirmation. I stared incredulously at the hawk trapped in its cage.

What era are we in that they’re still delivering letters by hawk? Has the hospice grandpa and grandma lived long enough to forget how to use mobile phones?

A memory popped into my head of Duke Alexandra, who once sent a letter to Francesca via an owl. It seems that the elderly around here might consider this the norm for sending letters.

The hawk in the cage, a creature so large it resembled the upper body of an adult, was pointed at with effort by Veronica.

“Don’t let its size fool you; it’s reliable for delivery. It’s not just any ordinary bird but a divine beast. It seems it even found its way here through the cracks in the rock.”

“I see.”

Without realizing it, I furrowed my brow slightly. The sharply-eyed hawk paused its preening and locked eyes with me, seeming to say, ‘What? You’ve never seen a hawk before?’

Only Camila dared to look directly at that bird.

“A hawk…”

She approached the cage, her bright eyes observing it with curiosity as the hawk began to retreat with little steps.

Well, if that guy delivered the letter, I guess it’s alright. I cautiously skimmed through the letter and continued my questions.

“The content is rather unsettling. ‘Do not fight, treat him with courtesy,’ it says. Specifically, it mentions ‘Knight of the Cedar Coffin.'”

It sounds like they know something about the knight.

Why would the Inquisition Officer and exorcist High Priest be so favorably disposed towards it? Do they perhaps know each other?

“Given that it’s written ‘do not fight’ because it’s not a vampire, it seems like they might have some insight…”

“With no further explanation, it’s awfully frustrating. Would it kill them to provide a little more detail?”

It was reminiscent of the elders’ warnings. They’d tell you not to do something but forget to explain the reason why.

Essentially, this is all the content of the letter. Not a vampire. Don’t fight. Treat him politely.

It sounded less like an order and more like a polite request. But who in the Cult could refuse the request of the High Priest?

Even Veronica, who would sneak away to gamble while avoiding clergy eyes, stealing sacred items and selling them on the black market, found it difficult to reject the High Priest’s request. And indeed, that was the case.

“Ah, for crying out loud. What on earth was the elder thinking, tossing out such requests out of the blue?”

The very Veronica referred to the High Priest as ‘the elder.’ Thinking back to the time when even the Pope was treated like an old fogey made for a grand sight. It made one wonder if she had always been this respectful.

The truth is, she wasn’t someone who lacked manners. She had dedicated over a decade to her clergical duties, not to mention her noble heritage before that. It isn’t that she didn’t know etiquette; she just skipped it out of sheer annoyance. Skipping it too much was the real issue.

In any case…

“What do we do? It’s not like we can refuse an elder’s request.”

“I never would have guessed you’d show respect for an elder. You’ve always been attacking old folks relentlessly…”

“Do you want to keep babbling nonsense? Just give me the answer already.”

“You think I’m some kind of machine that spits out answers when you push a button?”

“So, is there really no way?”

…It’s not like there’s none.

I rolled up the High Priest’s letter and opened my mouth.

“Get ready, Veronica.”

*

The High Priest’s explanation was quite unhelpful. Thus, there wasn’t much information gleaned from the antiquated letter.

With the lack of information, it was hard to fathom the High Priest’s intentions, but it wasn’t the only means to gather information.

I decided to visit the Knight of the Cedar Coffin with Veronica.

“…….”

As soon as I opened the door to the conference room, a standing figure in plate armor caught my eye.

The knight was surveying the conference room, as if sightseeing this ancient structure like a tourist.

The moment we entered, he turned his helmet toward us, his gaze shifting as if responding to our presence. While I settled into my chair, Veronica closed the door behind us.

“Please have a seat.”

I gestured to the chair opposite him, inviting him to sit.

I wondered if it was even possible to sit down in full armor, yet the knight managed without issue. It seemed he had never encountered a wheeled chair before, as his gaze lingered confusedly on it for a moment.

While Veronica and I prepared to engage with the knight, Camila and Francesca decided to wait outside. More precisely, I suggested that.

Whether for interrogation or questioning, more people inevitably create a chaotic atmosphere. This imposes significant psychological pressure on the subject, which is why organizations like the FBI limit the number of staff entering interrogation rooms.

I learned that technique during a company tour of American intelligence agencies many years ago, while drinking with an investigator.

I took the lead in speaking first.

“I have a few questions.”

I opened the conversation gently, while Veronica sunk into her chair, a cigar in her mouth.

“Let me introduce myself briefly. I am Frederick, a diplomat dispatched from the Kingdom of Abas.”

I casually indicated Veronica.

“This is Veronica, the 58th Saint of the Cult.”

Though I introduced her as a saint, Veronica remained unyielding to my expectations—her demeanor was as rebellious as ever.

With a sulky expression and suspicious eyes, even after receiving the High Priest’s letter, she continued to regard the knight with disdain.

Just as I was about to ask what the knight was doing, the heavy voice echoed through the silence, breaking it.

“Are you the current owner of Altiora Cathedral?”

The knight’s first words were a question directed at Veronica. The visor of his helmet turned toward her. Frowning a bit at the sound that seemed to resonate in her head, Veronica addressed the knight in a monotonous tone.

“That would be correct.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I ask how many have held this title before you?”

His politeness was astonishing. The gentle yet resonant voice carried a peculiar quality as the knight inquired about how many owners had come before.

Though now limited to religious figures or in formal settings, the term ‘owner of Altiora Cathedral’ had historically referred to all saints regardless of gender.

One saint per era.

That had been the tradition maintained until Lucia’s appearance, meaning that there could only ever be one person referred to as ‘the owner of Altiora Cathedral’ throughout all ages.

“I am the 58th owner.”

“The 58th owner, is it? Quite some time has passed then. How many years have gone by while I was asleep?”

Probably 800. After hearing my reply, the knight fell silent for a moment—not looking particularly shocked.

“The passage of time seems to have far exceeded my expectations.”

His calm voice emerged from behind the visor. There was no hint of surprise; instead, it carried a tone of indifferent acceptance. One could almost perceive an air of nonchalance about it.

The fact that the knight had engaged in conversation after his earlier silence made me think positively of the situation. It meant he was willing to communicate.

Seizing the opportunity, I posed my next question.

“Do you have any idea where we are?”

“I don’t know. Other than the fact that this place is underground. I surmise, based on the energy of the earth, that it may not be a desert.”

“Does the energy mean it is something related to magic, or is it linked to the concept of the mysterious? Like spirits, perhaps?”

“Mysterious. I do not understand what the mysterious you speak of, but if the magic or spirits you describe aligns with what I think… it might be that.”

It was an oddly formal manner of speaking.

What should I call this? It felt as if someone from a more advanced civilization was trying to explain themselves to someone from a lower one.

“It seems you wield a certain special power; what kind of power is that?”

“It is not mine. Merely a talent granted to me for a brief time.”

“Whom did you receive this permission from?”

“…….”

The conversation faltered. I waited for the knight’s response, but it was in vain.

Was he avoiding an unfavorable answer, or was he reluctant to disclose that part? Perhaps the ominous shadow that had emerged from the Cedar Coffin was what the knight referred to as ‘talent.’

After selecting a few topics from which I could gather some answers, I moved on to the next subject.

“We retrieved the coffin that you were resting in and brought it here.”

The next topic concerned the vampire.

“Initially, after discovering the coffin, we judged your identity to be that of a vampire.”

“Is there still a vampire remaining?”

“Officially, the last vampire was Count Erzsebet, who was eliminated hundreds of years ago. The Order of the Holy Knights succeeded in that eradication. It was the Knights’ efforts that led to your discovery as well.”

“May I ask where you discovered it?”

“The official name is the Port of the Dead Whale, colloquially referred to as ‘Necropolis.’”

The knight responded that he was unaware of where Necropolis was located. That was only to be expected; Necropolis was a city born after the establishment of the Magic Tower, specifically for the exiles.

A city less than a hundred years old. A knight presumed to have been asleep for 800 years. It was only natural that he would be ignorant of Necropolis’s existence.

But the issue wasn’t that.

“You and the Cedar Coffin were in the possession of cultists when found. Do you have any knowledge of the organization known as ‘Al Kair’?”

The knight replied, “It derives from a term in Ubram, if my memory serves me correctly, symbolizing ‘night.’”

I presented him with some doctrines and information regarding Al Kair that we had obtained from Necropolis. The knight answered that he didn’t know of it, but there was a nagging feeling deep within me.

It felt as if he was hiding something he had knowledge of, or at least had some suspicions about.

Producing further information, I asked, “Originally, a group called ‘Shamir’ was entrusted with the protection of the Cedar Coffin, but it seems they were stripped of that by Al Kair. What’s your relationship with them and that tribe?”

“…….”

In response, the only thing awaiting me was silence.

I glanced subtly at Veronica. After stubbing her cigar for a while, the saint turned her gaze away, seemingly lost in thought, before speaking.

“You know, keeping silent like that won’t do you any good.”

“Are you claiming that the Owner of Altiora still suspects me of being a vampire?”

“Without clarification, that suspicion is likely to solidify.”

With a calm demeanor, Veronica bluffed. It was a subtle threat—an indirect display of her fangs.

The letter from the High Priest clearly stated that the knight was not a vampire, but only four of us had read that letter. So, Veronica was using the information gap as leverage.

However, the knight showed no sign of disturbance at all.

“Truth reveals itself to those who seek it. One who doubts will even question that tomorrow’s sun will rise. Even if you argue against my being a vampire, your doubts won’t simply vanish. Trust is inherently like that.”

“…….”

Veronica’s eyebrow twitched. I sensed something might be up, but she waved her hand dismissively.

Casting a bored glance at the knight, Veronica suddenly interjected into the conversation.

“The seals don’t work, and the barriers are disregarded. Blessed Ammo doesn’t even pierce you, while Holy Water and bombs fly right by you. The sacred relics of the Cathedral can pierce a demon, yet your armor remains unscathed.”

“…….”

“You, are you really human?”

Waving the High Priest’s letter between her fingers, she gestured it towards the knight and spat out, “Someone seems to know your true identity. Are you really intending to keep dodging?”

At that moment, the knight’s voice changed slightly.

“…Are you saying someone knows me?”

There was something peculiar about that inquiry—an emotion tinged with intrigue. Veronica nodded.

“Who would that be?”

“There is indeed someone. An elder who seems to enjoy wandering around.”

He remained elusive, with scarce contact and activity. Though we knew he existed, no one really understood what he was doing. Like the wind that comes and goes, then vanishes into smoke. And that was the High Priest.

Sighing deeply, the saint of the Cult expressed her complaints. “If he’s alive, he should at least say something. The Pope is also unaccounted for, and that’s just ridiculous.”

Where on earth could that plump hawk be wandering?

While I thought that, the knight interrupted Veronica’s musing.

“Is that hawk, by any chance, a massive bird with golden pupils?”

Veronica, who had been muttering for some time, finally turned to the knight.

“How do you know about that?”

“I know it well. It is the companion of an old friend.”

He spoke those odd words with a calm voice, beginning to describe the High Priest’s divine beast.

“Golden pupils and mighty wings. When spread, they could easily encompass an adult male. Once it takes to the sky, it won’t come down until sunset or later.”

And that was not all.

“Does it still have its nest at Altiora Cathedral?”

“…On the third-floor room close to the spire, beside the fireplace.”

“Of course! That is its favorite spot. Taking the sun while grooming its feathers is pure joy. If one doesn’t open the window beforehand, it will peck at the glass in a cranky tantrum.”

“It seems you know quite a lot about Casion.”

At Veronica’s inquiry, the knight shook his head.

“That’s the name of the place where it emerged from its egg. Its name is…”

“Aquila.”

She stated.

“On the day it broke free from the egg, a thunderclap shook the earth, and with its first flap of wings, it soared through the storm. The divine beast flew among the thundering heavens, next to the sun, a temperamental creature.”

“……”

“Aquila’s birthplace is known only to a select few within the Cult.”

No sooner had that sentence left his lips than the knight began to nod solemnly.

“It seems you are indeed the owner of Altiora.”

When the knight spoke, the saint followed up.

“Perhaps now is the time for you to reveal your true identity, Sir Knight.”

The visor shifted, and the knight raised his head.

Locking eyes with us both, he stated.

“We have been referred to by many names; created beings, beings of freedom and wisdom, winged beings shaped by fire and light, couriers, aides, and armies.”

And,

“When we first came upon you, Paul referred to us as such.”

Light erupted.

A soft glow radiated with a red hue. Dark clouds parted as a ray of light descended, forming a halo above the knight’s helmet.

The red aura.

“Angels,” it said.

 

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