I could’ve asked him to forgive my past life’s sins while I was at it for good measure, but I kept that part to myself. Instead, I chose my words carefully, so it would seem they referred only to what happened in Majaar.
Then I gave the priest a cold smile, the kind that said, “Like I said, we swore true love to each other, and only each other, and the goddess herself saw it through. So back off.”
His face went blank.
“Don’t you think you don’t belong here?” he said.
Oh, so you’re dropping the act, huh? Or is it that you twisted the Holy Emperor’s words, claiming forgiveness he never gave, and now you’re furious?
It had to be the latter, of course. His eyes were starting to fill with that kind of madness. The look of someone convinced that their belief is the sole truth in a sea of lies. It sent a chill down my spine.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, High Priest. Weren’t you here to mourn the fallen?”
I held my ground and touched the ring on my left hand as I said it. His eyes widened. Then he pulled out a knife, and without hesitation, slashed his own palm—the same hand he just extended toward me.
“Indeed! Just as His Holiness says, your very existence is a sin! If you won’t understand, then I’ll make you understand and—”
And just then, a massive black arm grabbed the priest’s wrist and ripped it clean off.
“Arrrrghhh!” A scream split the air. The sickening squelch of tearing flesh filled the air. Blood sprayed everywhere.
I couldn’t even scream. I just froze, stunned by the impossible scene of Lord Barnabash, the black dragon bound to Lucas, going completely off-script.
He looked down at the priest’s severed arm with total disinterest, then tossed it aside with a flick of his fingers. His voice was eerily cheerful as he spoke a chilling revelation.
“You pick a fight, but don’t wager your life? That’s a petty little move. Still, I gotta give credit where it’s due. The quality of that effigy was top tier! Even after I dismembered it, it still held human form for a while. That’s great. Now, where’s the real body’s hair hidden, hm?”
“Argh, L-Lord Black Dragon, please stop!” Even after having his arm torn off, the priest or…whatever this was, still struggled as it was restrained from behind. I could only watch.
The arm that hit the ground was slowly turning into a bundle of reeds.
The blood dripping from the priest’s pristine robes fluttered back into leaves.
“An effigy…”
An effigy was crafted by molding paper or plants into the shape of a person. It was a vessel embedded with magic and a piece of the caster’s body. If the technique and the materials were of sufficient quality, it created a doll nearly indistinguishable from the real person.
That’s why even when the arm was torn off, it still moved like it was human. I understood that much in theory, but seeing it in real life was too much. I felt dizzy.
Why would a priest use an effigy and cut himself in front of me?
And why would Lucas let Lord Barnabash do something like that?
There was too much to process, and when I staggered back, reeling from the shock, I stumbled right into the solid breadth of a familiar chest.
“I’m back, Cecilia. Sorry, I’m late.”
“Lukie?” There was the voice I’d been dying to hear, the golden eyes I’d been desperate to see.
I reached out without thinking and clung to him.
But his black knight’s uniform was sodden to the touch, and water dripped from its sleeves. Then I caught sight of what he had in his hand, and as I choked back a sob, I realized why he’d hurried back so frantically.
“Welcome home, Prince Lucas,” I straightened up and addressed him with the poise befitting my station as his wife, the second prince’s bride. “I’ve been waiting for your safe return with all my heart.”
I let go of his sleeve, stepped back, and placed a hand on my chest. I dipped into a curtsy. Lucas gave me a look of solemn regret, then turned to face the room with the expression of a knight.
“Forgive me for the delay, Madam.”
“N-no, it can’t be!”
His words and the sight of what he held—an arm and a greatsword—stole the breath from not just the marshal’s widow but from everyone present.
“My master fought until the very end.” His voice was calm as he lifted the thick, powerful arm still clad in a deep crimson sleeve. The gnarled fingers were wrapped around the hilt of a sword adorned with Barlefeldt’s magic stone… It was the marshal’s cherished blade.
Was he hesitating because of his mud-soaked clothes? Or because he didn’t want to show the arm?
Lucas stepped toward the marshal’s wife with the sword’s hilt in hand, his expression unreadable, while tears streamed down her face.
He stopped just short of her.
Drip, drip…
Drops fell from both her cheeks and his sleeves, spattering into puddles on the cathedral floor.
Then finally, her trembling lips curved into a smile. “W-welcome home, Andy. You never come back when you promise you will, do you? I can’t visit an empty grave, you know!” She cradled the frozen, battle-worn arm as if embracing her beloved, and finally let her grief loose.
Leon and Shireen stepped in to support her while I looked on, still unable to move.
Then suddenly, Lucas grabbed me by the wrist and hooked his arm around mine, snapping me back to reality.
When he confirmed that I’d steadied myself, he turned to the effigy that was just barely keeping itself upright, as Lord Barnabash toyed with him and delivered a cold, final sentence.
“You dare to appear, a mere effigy, at the state funeral of Bern’s prior Hero and raise a knife at the prince’s bride. There’s no need for a trial. Begone!”
“Yesss! Now then, fake priest boy, time to pull out your core!” Barnabash exclaimed gleefully. Then he plunged his hand straight through the priest’s chest.
“Arrgh! Gaah!”