In the dream, the man’s face had been obscured, but his reverent presence and physique were unmistakable. That was how Ghislain had known for certain. And now that fate had brought them together, he found himself truly curious. Was this man really the founding king? After giving a brief introduction, Ghislain cut to the chase. “By any chance... are you from a noble family?” “I am.” “Would you be willing to share which one?” “I am a knight who has given himself fully to the goddess. My family name no longer holds meaning.” In other words, he had no intention of leveraging his lineage for advantage. Just like his appearance, the man’s personality was rigid and upright. Ghislain clicked his tongue and pressed further. “I’m just curious to know if it’s a family I’ve heard of.” “...The House of Radlan.” At those words, Ghislain’s eyes widened in surprise. He’d suspected it, but hearing it confirmed... Holy hell. He really is the founding king. Before Ghislain’s rebellion and conquest, Ruthania had been ruled by the Radlan royal family. So when the kingdom was established, he must’ve just kept the family name as the royal line. It’s not uncommon for new founders to create new houses, to set themselves apart as progenitors. But Lionel, for some reason, had retained his original lineage. Well, in the end he was still known as the founding king and patriarch of the royal family. Guess it worked out. Yet there were still puzzling details. — The founding king... was the Saintess’s servant. That’s what the former King of Ruthania, Berhem, had said. But no matter how he looked at him, Lionel didn’t seem like the type to serve anyone. Even now, he carried himself with noble dignity as a knight of the Church. Must’ve been distorted somewhere along the way. Or maybe things changed later. Just meeting the future king was an achievement in itself. Pleased, Ghislain extended his hand with a cheerful grin. “Let’s get along, shall we?” “...Understood.” As the two shook hands, the Pope spoke with a gentle voice. “Lionel is among the most gifted knights in the Holy Empire. I trust he will be of great aid in your journey. I hope you will place your faith in each other, and illuminate each other’s path.” “Of course.” “You seem to be of similar age. I hope this leads to strong camaraderie.” “I’d like that as well. I’ll make an effort to be friendly.” With the formalities concluded, the rest of the process flowed smoothly. As per the agreed terms, Ghislain’s group received a hefty fund to begin their mission. The imperial administrators even took care of their travel preparations. Additionally, Ghislain made sure to request a generous reward in exchange for capturing Ismoken: a trove of magical artifacts. He didn’t discriminate—anything containing mana was fair game. The Pope readily granted him a considerable number of valuable relics. Having secured funding and magical gear, Ghislain promptly left the grand temple. But strangely, he didn’t head in the direction of their stated destination. Noticing this, the newly joined Lionel cautiously asked: “Are we... not setting out right away?” “Oh, there’s something I need to take care of first. Also, you can speak casually. That’s how we roll around here. We’re probably about the same age, too.” “I’d rather not. This is more comfortable for me.” “But didn’t the Pope say we should form a strong bond? I’m not really into stiff relationships.” “...Very well.” True to his upright nature, Lionel shifted gears immediately upon hearing it was the Pope’s wish. He seemed easier to deal with than expected. Watching him, Ghislain beamed. Finally, he had a lead to learn about Ruthania’s founding. While Ghislain was clearly in good spirits, Osvald was eyeing Lionel with thinly veiled suspicion. Is he the youngest now? He must be, right? But... his vibe is serious business. Lionel radiated such holiness, it bordered on divine. And that made Osvald uncomfortable. Trying not to lose face, Osvald marched up to Lionel and put on a scowl. “Hey, you’re the rookie now. That’s how it works in mercenary groups. Just follow the lead of this great man, Osvald, and you’ll be fine. Got it?” Lionel turned to him with a frigid expression—entirely different from how he’d addressed Ghislain. Osvald flinched. The man wasn’t doing anything but looking... and yet, it felt like that gaze alone could slice him apart. After a tense pause, Lionel replied in a flat, emotionless voice: “I am not a mercenary. So refrain from speaking nonsense to me.” Unwilling to be cowed, Osvald tensed his stomach and forced a smile. “Oh. You’re not? Hah... would’ve been nice to mention that. I just assumed... new recruit, you know? Never mind, then. Heh...” He slinked away, thoroughly defeated, and made a beeline for Kyle. “Boss, that guy’s real full of himself. We should teach him a lesson. I’m with you all the way, Boss.” “......” “How about tonight? Sound good?” “......Just leave it alone.” “Wait... Boss, are you scared of the newbie?” “......” Without a word, Kyle raised a fist. Osvald bolted. Kyle didn’t exactly come to Osvald’s defense—but truthfully, he wasn’t too fond of Lionel either. There was something smug about the way the guy carried himself. Like his every movement was silently screaming, I’m not like you. Tch. Show-off. And to be fair, he kind of was. A noble by birth. A rising star of the Empire. A direct subordinate of the Pope himself. Totally different from Kyle, who’d grown up in the countryside. Even his looks were top-tier—classically handsome and refined. Anyone would call him a hero at first glance. And that grated on Kyle’s nerves. Still... I’ve got the edge in skill. Probably. He’d undergone Ghislain’s brutal training and survived more battles than he could count. He was hardened like a weed growing between cracks. No way he’d lose to some hothouse flower raised in luxury. He couldn’t. Perhaps sensing Kyle’s long, burning stare, Lionel turned around. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Then Lionel turned away again, expression unreadable. That bastard... That look—like he was being ignored—made Kyle grit his teeth. There are people you clash with from the first moment. For Kyle, Lionel was that kind of person. They were simply cut from different cloth. And both of them knew it. Meanwhile, Julien and Deneb were being much more welcoming. They worried that Lionel might feel out of place in their rough-and-tumble group, so they tried to engage him, keep him included. Ghislain’s mercenary corps was notoriously rowdy and disheveled, after all. Watching them, Kyle scoffed. Ha. No matter how nice you are to him, that guy sees us as beneath him. He’s only being polite because the Pope told him to. To be fair, Lionel wasn’t openly rude to anyone. But the distance he kept was palpable. At least he showed a measure of respect toward Julien—who was the commander. And he treated Ghislain, the one who negotiated with the Pope, with appropriate formality. But Deneb? He wouldn’t even look her in the eye. In fact, Deneb seemed to be constantly on edge around him, flinching every time he was near. Understandable, really. Lionel was a knight who directly served the Pope. While Deneb was a mere rural novice priestess—she didn’t even dare to meet his gaze. And Lionel? He treated her like she didn’t exist. Seriously. To him, she’s not even worth acknowledging. It wasn’t just Lionel. Even those who had met with the Pope directly didn’t seem to care much about Deneb. To them, she was irrelevant. Or worse—an embarrassment. A no-name priestess tagging along with a band of mercenaries, tarnishing the Church’s name just by association. And so, Deneb was treated as if she didn’t exist at all. The other mercenaries had noticed it too. But this was a matter of church hierarchy—none of them could get involved even if they wanted to. It had been easy enough to ignore the priests at the Grand Temple; they wouldn’t see them again. But now, even Lionel, who would be accompanying them long-term, was openly showing such disdain. That made Kyle’s blood boil. Arrogant bastard... Acting like he’s some god’s gift. I swear, I’m gonna teach him a lesson one of these days. Kyle’s lips twitched as he stared daggers at Lionel’s back. His honest impulse was to beat the smugness out of him. Lionel exuded a kind of quiet authority—almost oppressive—that hung heavily over the group. The other mercenaries had started feeling uneasy around him too. But Ghislain wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Let him do what he wants. For now, Lionel was practically the Pope’s informant. Ghislain was more interested in observing him: how he ended up fighting alongside the Hero, how he came to found Ruthania. He planned to watch closely before acting. Ghislain led the group toward their destination: the Temple of Serahna, located in the most secluded edge of the imperial capital. “Whoa...” The group gasped in awe as they saw it. Towering black stone walls stretched toward the sky, and a massive gray sanctuary stood without a single window. It gave off a silent warning, as if telling the living to turn back. A heavy, gloomy silence surrounded the temple. Even breathing /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ seemed burdensome in the air here. That oppressive quiet inspired a sense of reverence and dread. Osvald shuddered and whispered to a fellow mercenary, “Ugh, this place is like a haunted house, not a temple. Don’t you think?” “You scared?” “A man fears nothing. Except ghosts. I mean, you can’t stab a ghost, right? That’s just unfair.” “...Sure.” The high-ranking priests of Serahna greeted them with expressionless faces. “Welcome. I’ve heard you intend to stay here briefly?” Ghislain put on a pious expression and replied, “Yes. Before our journey, I’d like to offer prayers to Lady Serahna and reflect on the sins I’ve committed.” “...Here? Of all places?” The priest’s expression showed a flicker of surprise. Serahna was the goddess of death. Though one of the four pillars of the faith, her temple was treated differently from the others. The worship of death was often seen as taboo, and many people avoided even setting foot here. So someone requesting to pray here was... unusual, to say the least. Ghislain smiled gently. “Other places are fine, too... but it’s rare to find somewhere this peaceful and quiet.” “...That’s true.” The priest nodded. Serahna’s temple had the fewest followers, and unlike other sects, its priests didn’t focus on evangelism. They devoted themselves to silence, meditation, and inner cultivation. Outside of overseeing funerals, they had almost no contact with the world. In the ever-silent sanctum, they pursued only the truths of the end—completely detached from life’s chaos. It was, in truth, the perfect place to clear one’s mind—if you could withstand the heavy, unsettling atmosphere. The priest spoke again, still expressionless. “Understood. I’ll provide a place for you to rest. You requested a large space, correct?” “That’s right. Somewhere that can hold at least a hundred people, if possible.” In reality, only Ghislain would be praying. The others would wait at the temple’s guest quarters. The request for such a large space was curious, but the priest didn’t question it further. Here, detachment from worldly concerns was a virtue. They didn’t even question Ghislain’s identity. After all, he carried documentation personally approved by the Pope—and more importantly, was accompanied by the famed knight Lionel. As they followed the priest’s guidance, the mercenaries murmured among themselves. “Why are we here again?” “Who knows what the sub-leader’s thinking? Don’t try to figure it out—your head’ll just hurt.” “And what’s with this ‘repentance prayer’ nonsense? He’s the last guy who’d regret anything, even in hell.” “Crazy people say the craziest stuff. It’s probably just another one of those things.” “Exactly. Don’t overthink it. If we dwell on it, we’ll go nuts too.” Hearing all this, Lionel couldn’t help but feel unsettled. What... kind of man is this Ghislain, to be spoken of like that by his own people? He’d been prepared to quietly observe the man entrusted with the Pope’s mission. Sure, Ghislain seemed a bit brash, but that was tolerable—so long as he accomplished his task. But this? Even his own followers seemed convinced he was unhinged. Lionel stayed silent, overwhelmed with doubt, as the others dispersed into their assigned quarters. None of them paid Ghislain’s actions any mind. Ghislain, meanwhile, was escorted to a place called the Chamber of Silence. It was deep within the temple—a dark, isolated space even the priests avoided. No windows. Just stone walls and pillars stretching like shadows through the vast chamber. There were no decorations. No idols. Just cold, bare gray stone. Left alone in that bleak emptiness, Ghislain grinned and reached into his subspace. He began pulling out corpses—fallen knights he’d collected—and magical items filled with mana, gifts from the Pope. “The energy in here is pure in its own... grim way. I think I can make some lovely new friends.” Though Serahna governed death, her essence was still divine. This place was not meant for the dark, twisted rituals Ghislain had in mind. But that didn’t stop him. He immediately began crafting Death Knights—profane creations of necromancy. Right there, in a sacred temple to a holy goddess, he was raising unholy beings. One day passed. The priests of Serahna, normally absorbed in silent meditation, began to stir with unease. What is this? Why do I feel so... off? Did I sleep wrong? Or am I just lonely? Maybe all these years of isolation have made me angry inside... It almost feels like... a demon has descended. Unaware of what was really happening, they simply tried harder to calm their thoughts and regain their usual serenity. But after another day or two, that was no longer possible. By the third day, they began to feel a presence—a distinct, foreign energy that prickled like needles across their skin. It was... like divine power, but warped. Twisted. They couldn’t ignore it anymore. Who’s releasing this energy during meditation? Are they okay? Is it... black magic? No, maybe it’s our own energy just behaving strangely...? Ugh, now I’m confused. No way. No lunatic would dare cast black magic in a holy temple. That’s unthinkable. It must be a misunderstanding. Our divine aura’s always been a little grim, anyway... Desperately clinging to their doctrines, the priests tried to calm themselves. Then— Grrrrraaaahhh... A guttural, distant wail echoed through the temple. It sounded like something rising from the abyss. That was the final straw. The priests stopped their meditations, rising to their feet. They had to find the source of this growing corruption. All eyes turned to one place—The Chamber of Silence, where Ghislain resided.