Saint Mattia could feel the taste of blood spreading in her mouth.

　Had she cut her lip somewhere? Did the blood from her wound drip into her mouth? Or was it the blood of those around her who had protected her, who had risked their lives to shield her, splashing onto her tongue? Mattia stepped forward, letting out a breath of exhaustion.

　The battle within the city of Garouamalia was like a manifestation of hell for the heraldists.

　As soon as they entered the mouth of the city, the arrows came pouring in like a torrential downpour. It was expected, it was all in the forecast. No matter how many shields we put up to protect ourselves, there will be casualties. I used those victims as shields and moved forward. The streets in front of the city are now paved with the blood and remains of the heraldry.

　The taste of blood was strangely bitter, and Mattia spat on the ground. The mixture of the smell of blood and guts that constantly entered her nostrils would have made a weak woman faint.

　But that didn't stop Mattia from collapsing. She couldn't let her trembling legs collapse as her instincts dictated. Because she was a saint. Because I am a saint, because I am the standard-bearer of the heralds who follow behind.

　--Go-ooh-ooh!

　The shouts of the Guards and the Emblematics overlapped. The sound of spears being exchanged. The clanging of swords and shields. They played their own battlefield music and colored the darkness of the night with splashes of blood.

　The armies of the heralds are not inferior to the Guards. Their forces themselves are well matched. Although some of them were wounded by the arrows that were raining down on them, their fanaticism was not so low that it would lower their morale.

　One more time, the head of a Guardsman swallows the tip of a spear with gusto, and the arms of a herald spills ink of fresh blood on the ground.

　Some time has already passed since their collision.

　At this time, a thought began to form in Mattia's mind. The outcome of this battle.

　The main street in front of the Great Gate. The arrows raining down from the sky, and the soldiers attacking with their fangs bared. Surely both must be a threat. No doubt, but...

　Mattia read the situation of the battle from the waving of the flags around him, the shouting and the degree of advance. When the results popped into her mind, she slowly narrowed her eyes.

　If this is the best the opponent can do in this situation... I can win. At least, I can't lose. I'm not sure what to make of this.

　It is true that the damage caused by the arrows that still fall like thousands of raindrops on the crest holder's head cannot be ignored. But the momentum is slowing down now that we are in the thick of the battle with the guards.

　So, the only thing left for the Guards and the Emblematics to do is to match the quality and numbers of their respective troops. As expected, the heraldists are thin in numbers. I have to admit that. But Mattia's gut tells him that the quality, and more importantly, the momentum, is unbeatable.

　If the situation remains unchanged and the rivalry continues, we will surely take the banner of victory at the end of it. That's what Mattia's thoughts assured him.

　Yes, until that time comes...

"Saint Mattia, part of the front line has collapsed!　A squad is charging in!

　Largd-Anne's screaming words sounded strangely quiet to Mattia. The sound of her own breathing was also coming out of her mouth with no sign of agitation, even at a time like this.

　In the distance, I could see a glimmering white blade. As if following it, a flash of blood soars through the darkness of the night.

　Blonde hair that looked like gold. Mattia realized that the golden eyes were looking at me, even though they were still far away, so far away. It was enough to send fear crawling through her body, as if she had been cut in two from the top of her head down to her toes.

　It's coming here. It's coming.

　Even if you pile up thousands of corpses and use them as sandbags, that gold will devour you as an all-consuming muddy stream. That premonition existed as a heavy rock in Mattia's mind.

　What the hell was that?

　I don't understand. I can't imagine. There was no one like that in Mattia's calculations. There was no one like that who could single-handedly take a war situation and make it their own.

　Alone, Mattia felt his well-honed expression crumble. The hustle and bustle around her sounded distant. Her teeth clicked softly.

　Again, a herald stood before the gold, and in a few moments, his head flew through the air.

　No doubt. I'm going to die at the hands of that thing. Naturally, Mattia's heart accepted it. Strangely enough, she understood.

　Ah, so this is where it ends. A feeling of regret, like dipping her tongue in bitterness, and another feeling, almost like resignation, began to emerge in Mattia.

　Her life had been full of hard, heavy responsibilities. Ever since she was a child, she had lived with the name of "Saint", breaking through expectations and overcoming pressures. A life in which I knew my existence was being used for political purposes, but was not allowed to say no.

　My life was a life in which I was expected to be a saint wherever I went. My life was a life where I was only recognized by wearing the robe of a saint. The white blade approaches. It will be here soon. Whether the impatient heraldists shield themselves or not, the result will be the same.



　I'm sorry, bishop. I'm sorry, faithful. Sorry, Father, Mother. Mattia could never be a saint. She murmurs her final confession in her heart.

　Yes, if being a saint was the only thing worthwhile in life, then she should be a saint until the end. At least, that is what I want to see in the eyes of those who slaughter me. She is undoubtedly a martyr.

　Her hands naturally formed the shape of a prayer.

"Saint of the heralds, are you sure?

　Unexpectedly, the golden voice was gentle. It might be fortuitous that the voice of the Grim Reaper was so gentle in the end.

　Mattia nodded his head in prayer, as if no words were necessary.

　In a moment, her golden knees shook, and the white blade became the Reaper's scythe, glinting on the saint's neck.

No, no, don't act like a saint at a time like this. Praying at the end of your life is like raising your hands in surrender.

　In that brief moment of time. Such a sarcastic voice reached Mattia's ears. At the same time, the sound of steel joining steel echoed around her.

　Unable to endure the unending execution, Mattia slowly raised his head. There, the dull silver light catches the white blade that still shines in the dark night.

"Being graceful in the end doesn't produce anything. Let's just do our ugly best.

　Reflecting the moonlight on his two knives, the shadow shrugged lightly. He in green. Just a collaborator. There's no need to risk your life for him. Mattia's eyes blinked in disbelief.

　The adventurer who called himself "Lugis" was there.

　I'm sorry.

　The reason why I came back here, even if I had to step over my humiliation. The reason why I came back here, despite the humiliation, is still undecided.

　But, but... It wasn't to step on anyone's toes. And certainly not to trample on those who have been trampled on and disrespected, like I once was. Then it's the same. Just like the people who used to cut me down.

　I can't accept that.

　I'm sure Kalia would laugh at you for being such a fool. I'm so fed up with myself that even the shadows running on the ground seem to be mocking me. I'm a fool.

　But it's okay, I'm okay with this. I don't care what the right choice is in terms of reason. The only right choice for me was to take the hand of the sigil, Saint Mattia.

　Behind me is Saint Mattia. In front, the hero Held Stanley. So now my colors are clear. It's as simple as that.

　But of course, if I could, I would have given my hand to a more powerful force.

I really didn't expect you to come here, Lugis-san.

　I'm not sure what to make of that. It's a good idea to take a look at the actual information on the web. A bad premonition flashed through the corner of my mind.

I agree with you. I didn't think I'd be standing here until just now. Sorry to keep you waiting.

　I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said in a light tone, turning the knife in his hand. Strangely enough, it felt good in my hand. It would be able to handle a little scrambling.

　The clamor of the battlefield has calmed down for the moment. The guards were stopped by Heldt, their leader, and the heralds were stopped by me, an intruder who had caught the white blade that fell on the saint.

　It was a distorted space. It was a distorted space. The battlefield, which should have been a space of motion, was now turning itself into a space of stillness.

"No, not really. But there was something I wanted to ask you.

　Herdt spills out the words one by one while seamlessly readjusting his double-bladed sword. The air that exhaled from his lungs felt strangely cold.

I've thought about it a lot, but there's one thing. Mr. Lugis, are you my enemy or my friend?

　It sounded like a strange question.

　Not many people on the battlefield would question whether they were friend or foe to an opponent who had just turned on them. It is a rule on the battlefield that you can dismiss them immediately and not be blamed for it.

　But when asked, I will answer. With a clear mind. I assure you. A feeling of a slight lump on my chest. The words went up and down my esophagus a few times.

"...... It's obvious, the enemy, without a doubt. You're on their side, and I'm on ours. What could be more obvious than that?

　He said it as if he were saying it to himself.



　Of course, a visceral hatred for the owner and an obsession with his shining talent still reside in a large part of my heart. If I open the lid even a little bit, those throbbing emotions will come crawling out at any time. There's no doubt about it. But there's something about today, well, those feelings are quiet.

　I hold my knives at the ready, stomp my feet and let the sand fly. Despite the strange quietness in my chest, the excitement itself is still there somewhere in my heart. It was such a strange feeling. As if in response to the arousal in my chest, I felt a vague, hot feeling in the back of my body.

...... I see. I'm sorry. I don't know why, but I'm very, very sorry.

　The white blade gleams. A quiet, strange silence pervades the battlefield. Herdt's voice echoed, as if he were letting out a breath.

Then, everything will be done in the style of the battlefield.

　The stances of both men were aligned. No more words were needed.