“They’re approaching from the west, sir. No enemy movement detected from other directions.”
“Their eyes?”
“All confirmed open, sir.”
Amidst the thunderous cannon fire, the knights’ despairing sighs hung heavy in the war-room air.
“We must mobilize the regular army! The church’s knights alone cannot withstand this siege!”
“And if even one soldier becomes Corrupted? Then it’s humans slaughtering humans. One misstep would result in utter catastrophe.”
“Then we execute the Corrupted without hesitation. I concur that civilian forces must be deployed. Surely it’s merely a matter of avoiding the Bahamuts’ gazes? With proper instruction, they’ll manage. The beast’s massive size makes combat possible without meeting its eyes.”
“The eyes are its vulnerable point, you dolt! How does one strike what one cannot look upon?”
The knights attending the strategy council unleashed a barrage of conflicting opinions. Philip massaged his temple, his eyes narrowed. The younger knights fidgeted with palpable anxiety born of inexperience, while the empty commander’s seat loomed like an accusation. If only Mecklenburg were here in this darkest hour…
“There is an option that doesn’t involve fighting at all.”
A new voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
A hush fell over the assembly. All eyes pivoted toward one corner where Leon stood leaning against the wall.
“We can evacuate Karta entirely,” he added, without even bothering to face them. “Fortunately for us, the southern passage remains clear.”
The current assault came from the west. With the city not yet encircled, the southern gate leading to the wilderness remained their one unobstructed escape route.
The knights exchanged meaningful glances. Had anyone but Leon—the man who had always stood at the vanguard of every hopeless battle—suggested such a course, they would have dismissed it as cowardice.
“I propose we engage the enemy to divert their attention while evacuating civilians through the south gate. This strategy will minimize casualties in the long term. Yes, venturing beyond the walls carries its own perils, but Karta is already a dead land—the landslides destroyed even our farmlands. If we remain here, we will all die. By starvation if nothing else.”
He finally turned toward them with a sardonic smile playing at his lips. Though his mouth curved upward, his eyes remained cold and assessing as they methodically scanned each knight’s face. They flinched beneath the former vice commander’s penetrating gaze, feigning disinterest with awkward coughs. Though he stood apart from their table, every man present knew Leon Berg. Most knights of higher rank now lay entombed alongside Mecklenburg, and Leon possessed more battlefield experience than anyone else in this tent.
In the weighted silence, Philip finally opened his mouth. “Sir Goeben, what is your opinion on this matter?”
The sole elderly knight among the younger men cleared his throat. His face had been twisted with particular discomfort throughout the proceedings.
“Sir Berg, perhaps you’ve been swayed by those treasonous whispers circulating among the common folk?”
“Which whispers do you refer to, Sir Goeben?”
“This nonsense about the wilderness being the true Holy City, or that Karta’s divine protection has abandoned us…”
“Ah, you consider such matters mere fantasy, then?”
Leon straightened, his ostensibly innocent question barbed with steel.
The old knight, visibly rattled by the pointed response, clamped his mouth shut. Leon studied the man’s face with unsettling intensity before continuing with deliberate slowness.
“I thought most of the knights gathered in this chamber must have known it to be true already.”
A silence so profound descended that even breathing seemed sacrilege. Around the long table, some knights comprehended Leon’s implication, while others simply looked bewildered.
Every man present bore the blood of Kaisenmier’s highest nobility, even if their domains were beyond Karta’s walls. Since hearing Veronica’s theory, Leon had come to the conclusion that if the wilderness was truly the Holy City, the entire aristocracy would have to be in on the secret.
“Or was I mistaken?”
No answer emerged from any quarter. Even Philip maintained his silence, rubbing his exhausted eyes. A hollow laugh escaped Leon’s throat. He felt as though he’d finally glimpsed the true faces behind the nobles’ elegant masks.
Leon had spoken of it as “an option without fighting,” but that salvation applied only to the common folk. Holy knights, with divine power coursing through their veins, were inherently unable to survive the wilderness for extended periods. Their fate bound them to Karta.
In other words, the Holy Knight Order would perish here.
“‘Nobility carries obligation.’ This was Commander Mecklenburg’s favorite admonition, as you’ll recall,” Leon continued, his gaze sweeping across his fellow knights.
Somehow, the tent now seemed crowded with the ghosts of fallen comrades from Tyran, leaving scarcely any room to breathe.
“I have no intention of hiding behind such lofty platitudes. Noble honor and sacred purpose ring hollow when faced with imminent death.” Leon’s voice dropped to a grave whisper as he regarded the young knights. “It is merely a matter of time before every one of us, without exception, dies on this consecrated ground. Conscripting civilians might buy us time, but the final outcome remains unchanged.”
The nobles would die in the paradise crafted by their own privileged hands. Perhaps the Divine had dispatched the Bahamut specifically to cull their corrupted bloodlines.
“When that moment of judgment arrives, will you face your fallen brothers with an unburdened conscience? Will you stand before the Almighty with conviction of your innocence? Will you declare that the Bahamuts alone slaughtered the citizens, that you bear no responsibility for their deaths?”
No one dared speak.
“As I’ve said, I’m not trying to force you to sacrifice yourselves. I don’t command you to die—merely to determine how you wish to live in these final hours.”
His meaning was clear: don’t condemn the civilians who might yet survive.
The tent fell silent as a tomb. Not even the sound of swallowing or exhaled breath disturbed the stillness.
Leon regarded them with an impassive countenance, then offered Philip the slightest nod when their eyes met. With that acknowledgment, he pivoted and strode purposefully from the tent.
The cacophony of explosions swelled momentarily as he lifted the flap, then receded into distant thunder. Death’s percussion sounded paradoxically both imminent and remote.