Treatise Of A Failed Knight

"Haaa..."

Calmness slowly washes over Seth.

One would expect him to grow even more agitated at this point, yet a strange sense of serenity can be seen on his visage.

Why is this the case?

Well, maybe that’s because he remembers something.

It’s something in the shape of a small disk that was handed to him two days earlier.

A C Grade Auxiliary-type Communication Armament.

It’s a one-way channel, naturally.

Its range is quite long, but the delay in recorded messages is rather low, and it requires a lot of charge to function. It also cannot remain active for too long.

Still, it is quite useful.

In cases of emergency, one can send a one-way message to whoever this device is connected to.

The message can be delayed, but it will surely arrive.

Seth smiles.

He knows who is on the other side of the communication signal, after all.

"You’re making a mistake, but I don’t pity you," Seth says, loud and clear, ensuring the Armament picks up every word.

The Bishop’s expression shifts to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I’ve recorded everything you just confessed, and I’ll make sure to ruin this cathedral if it’s the last thing I do."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Father Gerome sighs, but uncertainty creeps into his voice.

"Well..."

It is at this point that something miraculous happens.

Reality tears open.

One moment, the Holy Sentinels block the doorway in their perfect formation.

Next, a new figure stands among them, having appeared from nowhere.

His A Grade Armament, Golden Dawn, is already drawn and blazing with radiant light that fills the chamber like a miniature sun.

"You..." Javier says, his voice colder than Seth has ever heard it.

His gray eyes fix on the Bishop with an expression of absolute contempt.

Several of the Sentinels stumble backward from the sudden appearance and overwhelming presence. Their hands move to their weapons, but none seem eager to engage someone radiating such obvious power.

"A-ahh..." Father Gerome’s face drains of what little color remained.

His grip on Seth’s wrist loosens fractionally in his shock.

"Lord Javier," he stammers. "This is... this is a Church matter. Internal discipline. It doesn’t concern—"

"It concerns me the moment you laid hands on my friend," Javier interrupts, his voice cutting like a knife through the Bishop’s excuses. "I was going to overlook the Church’s corruption for the sake of further cooperation, but I had a feeling something like this could happen, which is why I handed over that Armament to Seth and sneaked into this place a few days ago."

He takes a step forward, and the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.

"Let him go."

The command is simple, quiet even.

But in that quietness, Seth hears the promise of violence barely restrained.

The certainty of consequences if the Bishop refuses.

The Holy Sentinels shift nervously, looking to their High Priest for guidance. Their commander looks to the Bishop. Everyone seems frozen, uncertain how to proceed against someone holding an A-Grade Armament who has just appeared out of thin air.

The Bishop’s hand remains locked around Seth’s wrist. His expression cycles through shock, fear, calculation, and settles on desperate defiance.

"You don’t understand," the Bishop says, his voice taking on a pleading quality. "Seth is special. The Church has invested years—decades—into his development. We have rights. You can’t just—"

"Rights?" Javier’s laugh is sharp and utterly devoid of humor. "You dare speak such drivel in the presence of a Leviathan?"

Golden Dawn’s light intensifies, casting stark shadows across the chamber walls.

The Bishop seems to shrink under that radiance, but his grip on Seth doesn’t loosen.

"I’m going to say this one more time," Javier says, each word falling like a hammer blow.

"Let. Seth. Go."

***********

The chamber holds its breath.

Taut.

Ready to snap.

I tighten my grip on Golden Dawn, feeling its power surge through me like liquid fire. The Bishop’s hand remains clamped around Seth’s wrist, and the Holy Sentinels block every exit with weapons drawn.

They actually think they can stop me.

How foolish.

"I’m going to say this one more time," I say quietly. "Let. Seth. Go."

The High Priest commanding the Sentinels steps forward, his own Armament—a blessed mace that glows with pale light—raised in what he probably thinks is a threatening manner.

"Lord Javier, you are trespassing in sacred space. These are internal Church matters. Stand down, or we will be forced to—"

I don’t let him finish.

WHOOSH!

I Trace to the nearest Sentinel, appearing beside him before his nervous system can even register my movement. Golden Dawn sweeps through his armor like it’s made of paper, the A-Grade Armament utterly overwhelming his D-Grade protective equipment.

He’s dead before he even realizes it.

The other Sentinels react with admirable speed—for normal humans facing normal threats.

I can’t help but develop some respect for their bravery.

But my patient has run out.

I Trace again, appearing behind another guard. Golden Dawn finds the gap between his helmet and gorget. Another corpse.

"STOP HIM!" the High Priest roars, finally understanding the threat.

Three Sentinels converge on my position, their enhanced weapons coordinating in what would be an effective formation against most opponents.

Unfortunately, they are dealing with me.

’I would have handled all of this immediately with Frontflow, but since I am currently on Tracing, I’ll have to work a little...’ A sigh leaves my lips as I coordinate my body perfectly.

’Such a pain.’

SWOOSH!

Their strikes move through the air while I flow between them like water.

Golden Dawn sings as it cuts through steel, flesh, and bone with equal ease.

One Sentinel manages to activate his Armament’s special ability—a shield of solidified light that should deflect mystical attacks.

Golden Dawn cuts through it like morning mist.

The High Priest finally engages, his mace blazing with concentrated holy energy.

It’s actually a C-Grade Armament, I notice.

The most powerful weapon in the room besides my own.

But—

"It doesn’t matter."

I parry his strike with casual ease, feeling the impact of our weapons connecting. For just a moment, white light struggles against Golden Dawn’s radiance.

Then my blade wins, shattering his mace into glowing fragments.

His eyes widen in shock. "Impossible! That weapon is blessed by—"

"Don’t care."

I Trace behind him and drive Golden Dawn through his spine.

’Seven down. Three remaining.’

The last three Sentinels finally show some intelligence and break formation, spreading out to make themselves harder targets. One rushes toward Seth and the Bishop—probably thinking they can use my friend as a hostage.

I Trace directly into his path, appearing from nowhere, and remove his head with a single stroke.

The final two exchange glances.

I can see the calculation in their eyes.

It’s too bad.

It’s all rather pointless.

Even without my Conception, these people would be no match for me.

In fact, without the help of Golden Dawn, I am still a High Rank Knight. The church does not have nearly the power to face me.

But this is the thing about faith—it creates martyrs.

"RARGHHH!"

They attack together, coming at me from opposite sides with blessed swords raised high.

If I could activate Frontflow right now, I would swap my Second Layer with my Minute Layer.

These people would freeze in place from my perspective, moving so slowly they might as well be statues. Then, I walk between them leisurely, studying their terrified expressions before executing them both with precise strikes to the heart.

When I would finally release Frontflow and time resumed normal flow, their bodies would simply collapse, dead before they could process what happened.

Unfortunately, I can’t do that.

Instead, I use Tracing to teleport behind them and deal fatal strikes before they can turn back.

It’s almost as easy, to be honest.

Thirty seconds.

That’s how long it took me to slaughter all ten Holy Sentinels and their commanding priest.

The Bishop stares at the carnage surrounding us, his face ashen, his grip on Seth’s wrist finally weakening from pure shock.

"You... you murdered them," he whispers. "In the house of God, you committed such blasphemy..."

"There is no God here," I reply coldly, echoing Seth’s earlier words. "Just corrupt old men playing with powers they don’t understand."

I point Golden Dawn at him, its blade still dripping with the blood of his guards.

"Now let Seth go."

’If it were left to me, I would simply kill him, but I have a few things to consider...’

The Bishop’s hand trembles, but doesn’t release. "I... I can’t. He belongs to the Church. We paid... the price was so high... we can’t just..."

"Fine."

I Trace forward, closing the distance in an instant.

WHOOSH!

Golden Dawn flashes once, and the Bishop screams.

His hand—the one gripping Seth’s wrist—separates from his arm at the wrist.

Blood sprays across the stone floor as the severed appendage releases Seth, finally freeing my friend.

"Guahh!" Father Gerome collapses backward, clutching his bleeding stump, his screams echoing off the chamber walls.

Seth stumbles away from him, staring at the severed hand still loosely gripping his wrist.

He shakes it off with a look of disgust, then turns to me.

"Javier..."

I can see the conflict in his eyes. The war between what he was raised to believe and what he now knows to be true. Between the boy who loved the Bishop as a father and the man who understands he was nothing but property to this institution.

I make the decision for him.

Walking over, I press Golden Dawn’s hilt into Seth’s hands. The blade is still warm from the blood it’s spilled, still radiating with divine—or perhaps unholy—power.

"Your choice," I say simply. "Do what you want."

Seth’s hands close around the hilt, feeling its weight.

The Bishop looks up through tear-filled eyes, still cradling his maimed arm.

"Seth... my son... please... I raised you... I loved you..."

"You loved what I could do for you," Seth replies, his voice empty of emotion. "You loved having a gifted Diviner to advance the Church’s interests. But me? The actual person? You never cared about me at all."

I don’t know about that for sure.

It’s very possible that Father Gerome indeed cared for Seth, but also wanted to advance the Church’s plans by using him.

Cognitive Dissonance exists in many ways, and this is just one of them.

Of course, I don’t let out my thoughts.

I simply watch.

My friend raises Golden Dawn, and Father Gerome’s eyes widen in terror.

"Seth, please! God will forgive you! God will—"

"There is no God," Seth says again.

Then he brings the blade down.

It’s not a clean death.

Seth isn’t trained in combat like I am. His first strike misses the heart, cutting deep into the Bishop’s shoulder instead.

The old man screams.

Seth strikes again.

And again.

Each blow carries emotions that consider the many memories that are likely playing in his head.

When it’s finally over, when the Bishop’s body lies still in an expanding pool of blood, Seth just stands there. Golden Dawn hangs loose in his grip, dripping crimson onto the stone floor.

He’s not crying.

No tears stream down his face. No sobs shake his shoulders.

"My tears dried up when I read those documents," Seth says quietly, answering the question I haven’t asked. "Now, that I know who he truly is... I have no more tears left for the monsters of this world."

He hands Golden Dawn back to me, his hands steady despite everything.

"Thank you," he says. "For coming when I needed you."

I smile.

"You’re welcome."

Then, in a quick flicker, I vanish to store my Armament and then return without it.

We stand in silence for a moment, surrounded by corpses, in a room that smells of blood and sizzling gore. I held back from using Golden Dawn’s full power, but it was still overkill.

After basking in the dreary atmosphere for too long, I finally break the silence.

"What do you want to do now?"