“Damn it…”
The words slipped out before Cory could stop them, and he quickly covered his mouth.
This wasn’t the time for such talk.
He turned back to the strange characters, studying them carefully. Somehow, their shapes stirred a strange sense of familiarity within him.
Why did these symbols, which he had never seen before, feel so oddly intimate?
“Myeong…”
Muttering the syllable, Cory suddenly looked up.
Everyone else had read it that way, but something about it didn’t sit right with him. To pronounce that word properly, it seemed to require a vocal structure unlike a human’s.
He tried reading the characters again, experimenting with different sounds.
Gradually, the sound began to take the shape he hoped for.
It wasn’t perfect.
But Cory didn’t give up. He repeated the process over and over.
At some point, he felt a resonance—a connection between meaning, sound, and mana. Yet, he still couldn’t grasp how to unify them completely.
So, with a desperate heart, he spoke the word aloud.
Myeong (命).
As Yuri faced off against Gert, she suddenly noticed the fierce light in his eyes dimming. His movements slowed.
She peered into the realm of the soul.
The core, once scorched and lifeless, now flickered with sparks of flame again.
Had Cory succeeded?
But just as wet kindling refuses to catch fire easily, the core, already consumed by darkness, did not fully regain its light.
Yuri lifted her gaze.
“Gert.”
She called his name.
For the first time, Gert looked at her.
Heat flared again from the characters etched into his core.
“Do you remember what I said?”
Gert’s body was a wreck.
His shattered frame creaked as he forced himself to move, cracks spiderwebbing across his bones, dust falling from broken joints. His ribs, once shielding the core, lay in ruins, exposing the fragile heart within.
Even the mark on his core, revived by Cory, was faint.
He bled a dark, reddish light as he spoke to Yuri.
[Yes, I remember.]
“Good.”
[It’s true.]
“Of course.”
Yuri slung her sword, Guilty, over her shoulder.
“All the words I spoke were sworn truth.”
It would be ideal if they could both survive and return together. Maybe she could even count a formidable skeleton as a friend. Having a Death Knight ally against the Empire would be reassuring.
But such a future did not exist.
Just as Gert’s life had not ended as the tale of an honorable knight victorious over dark magic, this time was no different.
“So, Sir Gert,”
Yuri said, her eyes fixed on the demonic flower that had crept close.
“Leave it to me now.”
Gert stared quietly at her.
Then, stepping closer, he grasped her wrist and pressed it against his chest.
Guided by him, Yuri touched Gert’s core.
It was hot.
And at the same time, cold.
She realized that Gert had fulfilled his promise first.
As he turned away, the image of a steadfast knight, cape billowing, overlapped in her mind.
Back then, Gert had silently walked alone toward the Grand Library.
‘Sir Gert, you must retreat.’
‘It’s dangerous!’
‘Fall back first…’
But he did not stop.
The demonic flower had fully taken root in the Grand Library. The rumors of it devouring people were no longer mere whispers—it openly ensnared hearts, mechanically stealing life.
With every life it consumed, the flower grew stronger.
The army attacked, but only made things worse.
The flower had become so powerful that even the most skilled knights were mentally controlled, walking as if entranced, offering themselves up.
It had become an uncontrollable monster.
Its acrid scent spread across the entire nation.
No one could keep their wits about them.
Adelvine stood on the brink of ruin.
The king summoned Gert.
He was preparing for the final battle. Though not a saintly ruler, the last king of Adelvine possessed enough virtue to command Gert’s loyalty.
‘Gert, my most faithful knight.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘I have a command for you.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry to give you such an order.’
‘I will obey gladly, whatever it is.’
‘Stop anyone who approaches the demonic flower.’
‘They…’
‘May be killed.’
The king clutched his head.
‘I must stop that evil from growing any further. So…’
He rose from his throne, helped the kneeling Gert to his feet, and embraced him.
‘On a day I must give such an order, will you forgive me?’
His voice was calm, as if already resigned to fate.
Gert simply placed his hand over his heart and replied.
‘I swear.’
Gert led the knights, circling the demonic flower.
He cut down the endless waves of humans drawn to it. Even as people fell right before them, the others did not stop.
The more blood stained his hands, the darker Gert’s heart became.
This brutal tactic worked. Since Gert’s massacre began, the demonic flower gradually weakened.
But no one could kill people forever.
When the flower was deemed sufficiently weakened, the king led the army to the Grand Library to destroy it.
A long battle ensued.
They were defeated.
Gert crawled to where the king had fallen.
The king blinked weakly.
Gert tried to lift him, but it was too late. A large hole gaped in the king’s abdomen.
With fading eyes, the king whispered to Gert.
‘Gert, my most faithful knight.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. It’s me.’
‘You must stop it.’
‘Yes.’
‘You must stop it…’
He could say no more.
Before the king’s eyes closed for good, Gert bowed his head and spoke one last time.
‘I swear.’
The king’s head fell.
After the war ended, the cycle repeated. Survivors walked back to the demonic flower, becoming its nourishment.
Even knights who once resisted on their own could no longer fight.
But Gert resisted the temptation.
When he fled the Grand Library and stood among the ruins, he suddenly realized he was already dead. His heart had stopped, his body rotting. Perhaps it was the prolonged exposure to dark magic.
Yet he did not die.
One thing kept him moving.
The command.
Though dead, yet not dead, he carried out his duty.
He killed anyone who approached the demonic flower.
It was obsession, perhaps. The only thing driving the knight who had lost everything was the will to obey the command given to him.
At the end, he collapsed.
He could no longer maintain his body or resist the magic the flower spread.
Everything was worn down.
But one thing he never forgot.
The scene of Adelvine’s destruction, and the single command given to him before death.
Stop the demonic flower.
Even if it meant annihilating all life that approached.
He leaned on his sword to rise, but fell again. He kept rising and falling.
In that struggle, he repeated the command over and over.
Now, Gert was nothing more than a corpse without form.
Then, someone appeared before him.
Red scales.
Vast wings.
Bright yellow pupils.
The being spoke.
“You’re insane.”
It was not a human voice. Something was different.
“I thought maybe, but here you are—a madman struggling.”
“Life, annihilation…”
“Humans are such clumsy, fascinating creatures.”
The being stood there for a long moment, watching Gert.
“Yes. That’s what drives you. Myeong (命).”
“Life, annihilation…”
“Very well. Then guard this land.”
And a miracle happened.
The power of the Word of Authority: Myeong (命).
His shattered body began to heal.
Broken bones reassembled, rusted sword sharpened, the extinguished core reignited with light. The armor and helmet he had lost long ago returned to his gaunt frame.
And on his core, a single character was etched.
Gert rose.
His crumbling body and faltering mind were held together by the character inscribed on his core. And what sustained that character was the relentless, obsessive will welling from his soul.
He moved again.
He wandered for a long time.
He cut down every living thing that approached.
Starving the demonic flower that destroyed Adelvine, enduring an eternal weariness.
At the end of that path, he met a group of humans.
They claimed they could slay those bound to dark magic.
It was hard to believe, but Gert had no strength left. Even the miracle granted to him was fading. Only a short time remained.
So he demanded a vow.
The humans swore gladly.
Thus, Gert passed on his memories to them and launched a final assault.
All of this flashed through Yuri’s mind in an instant.
“Gert!”
She shouted.
Already, Gert was cutting down every resistance thrown at him, advancing toward the heart of the demonic flower.
There was no time to dwell on the memories Gert had shared. Yuri gripped Guilty and followed him.
She could almost see Gert burning himself out.
His body was collapsing in real time, his core losing light. Bones crumbled to dust, scattering into the air.
But every time it seemed like the end, the character ‘Myeong’ blazed brightly from his core.
And he took another step forward.
Yuri and the others watched in stunned silence as Gert fought on, following the path he carved deeper into the demonic flower’s core.
Inside was a massive heart.
With every beat, blood-like liquid spread in all directions.
It was a greedily vast vitality.
And then, in Yuri’s eyes, something else appeared.
A chaotic hellscape where humans, swallowed whole by the Devil’s Flower, were fused together, screaming in agony. Mouths tangled with mouths, eyes with eyes, all groaning in torment.
So many lives had piled up that even overlapping wasn’t enough. The mass had become nothing more than a shifting, black-and-red lump.
Standing before it, Gert looked at Yuri.
He had burned his last ember to guide Yuri here.
And now, he was asking.
“Can you really cut through this?”
Yuri laughed.
Had he known something so absurd awaited him here, he wouldn’t have spoken so easily.
But what could he do?
He had already sworn.
He lifted Guilty. From Yuri’s chest, the Soul Piercer raged wildly, thrashing like a mad dog encountering its mortal enemy—ready to leap forward and tear into it.
Yuri calmed it.
Now, even Gert’s body was beginning to merge into that heart. The madness and obsession he had built up over all those years were feeding the Devil’s Flower.
If left any longer, it would truly become an uncontrollable monster.
Yuri gripped Guilty tightly.
The sword hummed.
Though the scale of sorrow before him and the weight of countless souls pressed down like a crushing force, Yuri stepped forward.
“Your Highness, it’s dangerous to get any closer,” Roland warned, but Yuri took another step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Now, Gert was fully absorbed into the heart.
Yuri’s eyes turned pale white.
He saw something else again.
A knight with a tattered cloak and a cold expression knelt on one knee. From the mass of lives—victims of Adelvain—an old man’s head emerged.
The knight bowed his head, and the king placed his hand upon it.
They stayed like that for a long while.
Yuri lifted his gaze.
Above those two figures, other faces appeared—ones he didn’t recognize.
All the scenes of Adelvain were there: crying, laughing, grieving, rejoicing.
What he had to cut down was the entirety of Adelvain.
It was too much.
Yuri clenched Guilty.
All these souls.
All the hearts they had carried.
So vast, so immense, it was almost impossible to face.
And yet—
Yuri swung his sword.