The Amber Knight Swears His Love on the Saintess’s Left Hand - Chapter 28

Five days had already passed since Quill first immersed himself in the Betzyraft volumes within the dim archives.

Sascha visited the archives every day. His dependable friend had spent a great deal of time studying these forbidden texts, and thanks to him, Quill’s understanding progressed rapidly.

The records were like fairy tales, vastly different from the history Quill had been taught. He knew that the only reason he could wonder if there hadn’t been a better solution was that he had been born centuries later.

From these histories, he could see the limitations of sorcery—specifically the existence of the “sixteen-year void,” those gaps in the divine protection. If the contract of souls were perfect, the King would have calmed the magical beasts the very moment a new Saint was born into the world.

He also understood the fear of the unknown that comes with reincarnation. Sealing the King within the Holy Sword was likely the best choice available to the people of that era.

But. As a result of all those accumulated choices, Lynette was now bearing the burden alone. The reality of it sat heavy in Quill’s chest.

Since the day Lynette returned to the Cathedral, the movements of the beast hordes had slowed. They reportedly prowled the perimeter as if wary of the front-line units the Knights had established.

The pilgrimage must have begun. It was easy to imagine what Lynette was being forced to endure right now. It was unbearable.

Sascha wasn’t the only one who knew about the Holy Sword and the Saint. The Royal Family, the high-ranking officials of the Cathedral, the Marquis houses and Quill’s own father and brother.

The fact that all the people Quill admired were part of this conspiracy only deepened his gloom.

He closed his tired eyes and pressed his fingers hard against his temples.

“Hey, Quill. Do you want it? Sorcery.”

“…I want to master Dispel, at least.”

The Betzyraft books recorded a history of refining their craft. That small nation had been close to the Aschefallen Mountains, a hornet’s nest of magical beasts; they had lived in symbiosis by taming the frenzied creatures.

The word “command” never appeared. Instead, the word used frequently was “Harmony.”

It was written that this Harmony was known to the Betzyraft blood itself. Whether it was different from sorcery or not, the books didn’t explain how to handle the technique. Instead, the volumes were dedicated to records of using sorcery to interfere with souls for both attack and healing.

There was almost nothing written about Dispel. Just as his father had said, users of that power must have been rare.

A single sentence:

Bind the blood, and think of another.

That was his only clue.

The Dispel inherited from his mother, Olga, was already inside him. The sorcery used for mental interference cast over the shrines—Quill had shattered the magic that sealed Lynette’s emotions without even realizing it.

—The daughter shall be with the King’s soul for eternity.

—As long as the daughter’s soul is with him, the King shall calm the beasts.

If he could Dispel the contract, he could set Lynette free.

But at the same time, the King, released from the contract, would summon the hordes to the capital. As long as the King held the Betzyraft souls he had devoured, the contract could not be easily undone.

“What if we just destroy the Holy Sword?”

“And if his soul takes root in a single speck of dust? It would be worse if we lost track of where the soul actually is.”

“…Souls are a pain in the ass. Are they even real? Is it possible everyone is just being fooled?”

“Because there’s no way to prove it, no one has been able to touch it until now.”

It was precisely because it was invisible that it was so troublesome.

As Quill sank into thought, Sascha pressed his fists against both of Quill’s temples and gave them a playful grind.

“You know, maybe if we break the contract, things will just work out? The Commander says the ‘gaps’ in protection have been much milder recently compared to ancient records. Maybe those Betzyraft souls have been slowly leaking out and finding peace on their own?”

Quill laughed at his friend’s optimism and closed the book in front of him. He looked up at the dim ceiling of the forbidden archives and exhaled.

“We can’t rely on ‘maybe.’ It’s the Black Knights who have to deal with the beasts if we’re wrong.”

“I’d tell you not to worry about us, but you’re Quill, so that’s not gonna happen.”

Sascha laughed with a hint of exasperation as he returned Quill’s closed book to the shelf.

“Well then, how about ‘Commanding’? You become a beast-tamer just like the Great Demon King. Sounds tempting, doesn’t it?”

“That’s only useful if I get lucky in a crisis. Unless I can seize control of every single beast by myself, I won’t be much help in an actual extermination.”

Back when he faced the Orthos inside the capital, Quill had certainly brought it to heel. But against a swarming horde, he wouldn’t have the luxury of taming them one by one.

“…That decisiveness of yours. That’s classic Quill.”

“Sascha?”

His friend’s tone felt different than usual.

Quill pulled the lantern closer to illuminate Sascha’s face. Leaning against the shelves in the shadows, Sascha narrowed his eyes against the light.

“I think I might be able to use Transference.”

“That’s a secret art meant only for the King of Ringdell, isn’t it? There’s no guarantee it was passed down through the bloodline.”

Sascha gave a wry smile and pulled out the chair next to Quill to sit down.

“I’d just be hosting my troublesome ancestor’s soul inside me.”

“You mean you would have the King transfer into you? Is that it?”

With a mischievous, boyish grin, Sascha gave a great stretch.

“Apparently, the Demon King is quite obsessed with bloodlines. The higher-ups think that if there’s even a distant relative with his blood available, he’ll probably jump at the chance to move house.”

He pointed his index finger toward the ceiling. Sascha’s gesture indicated the upper echelons of Eiklant—the Royal Family.

“If that happens, he won’t be able to command the beasts anymore, and he won’t be able to lay a finger on Lady Lynette. I’ll handle him.”

Quill instinctively grabbed Sascha’s arm.

Sascha just patted Quill’s hand and continued as if it were nothing.

“If my will or my soul loses and gets taken over, the Commander or you can just kill me, right? I figured that’s a fair trade. Though, I can’t take responsibility for what happens after I’m reborn.”

Always carefree, bright, and sociable Sascha Barchet. For the first time, Quill was seeing the true face of the friend who had stood beside him for ten years.

This man, who called himself a pawn of the King—how long had he been frequenting these forbidden archives?

Quill had only opened the Ringdell volumes once on the first day. Because Quill couldn’t read them himself, they had remained on the shelf ever since. They had been pushed to the very edge, as if they were things that shouldn’t be touched.

“I’ve been down here so long, you know? Maybe I’ve been seduced by the power.”

Watching Sascha’s profile as he spoke with a self-deprecating air, Quill crossed his arms and leaned back heavily into his chair.

They had walked together for ten years. Sascha had been the first to be put in charge of a squad. Even if Quill won when it came to magic, he was always one step behind in swordsmanship. To lead the First Squad of the Black Knights was an honor second only to the Commander. It wasn’t something achieved through ordinary effort.

And above all.

—He devoured the souls of the Betzyraft and stole their sorcery.

Sascha loathed Transference so much that he chose such harsh words to describe it.

“It doesn’t suit you, Sascha.”

“What? We’re talking about what ‘suits’ me now?”

“Souls. The refinement a person builds through effort. I believe you are not the kind of man who would steal those things.”

After a heartbeat of silence, Sascha burst out laughing. He clutched his stomach and stamped his feet, eventually doubling over, laughing until it looked painful.

“Is it that funny?”

“No, I just thought, ‘That is so Quill.'”

His friend, with tears pricking the corners of his eyes, rode out the wave of laughter and looked up at the ceiling with a sigh.

“If you’re talking about what doesn’t suit someone, seeing you without your black uniform and your sword makes me feel restless, Quill.”

“To be honest, I feel the same way.”

“So, let’s wrap this up nicely. You get back into the Knights, and once it’s all over we’ll drink. We’ll drink, we’ll make a scene, we’ll curse our stupid bloodlines and sing until dawn. I’d like that.”

From between Sascha’s arms, only his grinning mouth was visible.

Quill laughed too and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“I wouldn’t mind that either. Some meat would be appreciated.”

“The best meat possible. We’ll make the Prince pay for it.”

When Sascha looked up, he had returned to his usual, cheerful self.