No one who was there would move a finger. The soldiers of the city of Philos, the soldiers of the heraldry. All of them refused to move their bodies as if they were crucified by their own shadows, only letting out quiet yet hot breaths.

　Maybe none of them could move.

　--So, who was going to kill me, huh?

　A cold, lukewarm breeze stroked my cheeks. It's as if the voice is chilling my very guts. Everyone felt something crawling on the ground, a shiver rising from their toes up their spine.

　I'm not sure if you've seen this before, but I'm sure you've. The first thing you need to do is to make sure that you have a good eye contact. No, not just their minds, but their souls as well. And now they can't even move a finger.

　What a mess. How is this possible? To have one's voice drowned out.

　Roseau's heart is neighing and telling him. Well, it's not evil or vicious. It's the enemy. It must be a brilliant enemy of yours.

　Eyes wide and eyelids withered, Roseau burned the image of Lugis into his mind's eye. What welled up in his chest was an ugly emotion that he dared not even speak of. It's not something I can say out loud. It's not something I can share with anyone. I have what I would call an aesthetic, albeit a fragment of one.

　Instead, Roseau said, with such force that heat rose from his lips. Teeth bared, hands trembling, only the color of his eyes remained calm.

Birth and death are the duties of man. As long as a man is a man, there is no such thing as immortality. Gentlemen, spears forward!

　Spears forward! That was the signal that had been given to the soldiers of the city of Philos.

　If the soldiers of the heraldry do not respond to our mercy at all and give in to the vicious ones, then we have no choice but to give them the last mercy with our spears. Their deaths will be the only atonement.

　So kill them all. That's the signal.

　In truth, the number of soldiers in Philos far outnumbered the heraldic soldiers. As Roseau said, if we just thrust our spears forward, that should be enough to take care of most of the battle. It would not be completely without damage, but it would not be too difficult to kill them all.

　The numbers easily outnumber the strength of the individual. No matter how evil Lugis is, he cannot resist the overwhelming majority. That is a logic that even a child can understand.

　But if such logic could move people's cowering feet, the world would move more simply.

　Even after listening to Roseau's signal and voice, the legs of the Philos Urban Soldiers cowered and refused to move. All of them were frozen in place with expressions as if they were facing a fierce beast with fangs bared. Their heads, which should have been filled with the fervor of faith just now, were sadly awakened.

　What was stirring in the hearts of the soldiers of Philos was unmistakable, pure fear and war.

　There was no doubt that they had the upper hand. The enemy is completely surrounded, and one more step and the tip of the spear will bite into their flesh. We could easily take their lives. It should be.

　But there's still a stain in the back of my mind. A stain that grows larger and darker as time goes on. That stain is a doubt.

　Isn't that Lugis really impossible for us to kill?

　He couldn't be killed even with a huge army of the Great Saints. Not even with the army of God. Then where's the proof that we can kill him? Maybe it really is an evil dragon or something. If so, it would be a foolish act to thrust a spear or sword at it.

　The seeds of doubt and fear, once they have sprouted in the chest, gather their own nourishment. Facts turn into delusions, and the possible into the impossible. Nothing flows more easily than the heart of a person who once cowered and ran away. No matter how hard you try to hold it back, it just rolls off the cliff.

　Not everyone can be a hero. It is those who cannot fight who make up most of the world. A world where most people can fight through their own fear would be a world of fear itself.

　Therefore, for most of us, what we can stifle is just another fear.

"Autonomists. Do you want to be immoral? Of course, I don't care either way.

　Roseau's voice, spoken in a much more relaxed tone. The tone of his voice was so piercing that it sent shivers down the spines of the soldiers of the city of Philos.

　Immoral. It is a stigma greater than death. The only thing that comes after that unholy name is life, only to be trampled upon. In the minds of the city soldiers, the image of Philos-Treit, bound in chains and beaten with sticks until he passed out, comes to mind.

　Now that Philos-Treit had been disqualified, it was no longer an exaggeration to say that Roseau was the one with the greatest authority in the city. And with a pact in place with the High Priestess, the stigma of immorality is at his fingertips.

　And so, says Roseau. He who opposes the heraldry and does not take up the spear is no different from a traitor.

　The eyes of every soldier in Philos will flicker. We've come to a point where we can't go back. Everyone realized this at last, albeit belatedly.



　In their impatient hearts, the city's soldiers made up their minds. To crush the heraldry, to crush the vicious. And to protect themselves. They clenched their hands tightly and took a half-step forward to thrust their spears.

　--That moment. At that moment, the head of one of the unfortunate ones in the lead exploded with a splash of blood.

　Something hard and heavy gouged out his skull, bit into his flesh, and chipped away at his life. As the cold wind blew, the warm blood spurting out shook his white breath.

　The thing that took the life of the city soldier was called a throwing axe. The axe, thrown with great speed, ripped open the skull of the soldier and struck the ground with a heavy thud.

　The city soldiers, the heraldic soldiers, and even Roseau widened their eyes and stopped speaking. The neigh of a horse and a single voice swept through the air.

"Oh, I guess I aimed too hard.

　A woman clad in steel armor emerged from the street as if to say it was a threat. In her hands, she was playing with several other throwing axes. Behind her, you can see her leading cavalry and several wagons.

　At the sight of him, all the soldiers of the city of Philos wondered if there was some mistake.

　Looking at their steel-clad appearance and the people they were leading, they were probably not heraldic soldiers. Rather, they are more like mercenaries than regular soldiers.

　If that is the case, they should naturally be on the side of the Great Patriarchate. Mercenaries are always well paid and always on the side of the strong. If you don't get on the winning horse, you won't get paid, and if you help the First Order, you're more likely to lose your business.

　That is normal. It should be a universal truth. So why are those mercenaries on the side of the heraldry? And at a bad time like this.

　Isn't there some kind of mistake?

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I'm not sure what to say. We have come under the command of the heraldic religion. I'm sure you'll forgive me, Lord Lugis.

　It was a clear voice under the cold sky.