"Huh!?" Nolan was taken aback. Her Highness the Lunar Princess's train of thought was a little too abrupt. How had she suddenly jumped to matters between men and women?
He realized she had noticed something and instinctively followed Ranni's gaze. A heroic-looking woman with disheveled hair soon came into view.
She looked somewhat bedraggled, but the pride shining in her eyes could not be concealed.
That pride did not come from the contempt or disdain of someone in a higher position looking down on the weak. It was more like what Nolan had sensed when he first met Vyke, that powerful pride of carrying on the glory of one's forebears.
That woman was a descendant of heroes.
"Welcome, my future kin," the priest said to the Tarnished, his tone noticeably warmer.
These people might be stubborn, but they had a strong chance of enduring the infusion of the Lord's Blood.
Once they received the Accursed Blood and became Bloody Fingers, would they not become his intimate kin?
The priest spread his arms and raised his voice once more.
"Come. The ceremony is about to begin, and you will all have the honor of receiving the divine's generous gift!"
He did not waste any more words, only lifted a hand slightly to signal the believers.
At once, the believers became frenzied. Holding high the vessels that symbolized the Lord's Blood, they surged toward the wounded Tarnished, shouting in unison,
"O Invisible Mother, we are all your loyal children! Please grant us your supreme Grace!"
Among the group being surrounded, one tall Tarnished stood out in particular.
His armor was in ruins, and the exposed wounds on his body were ghastly to behold, blood still pouring steadily from them.
Even so, he endured the pain and struggled to lift his head, looking toward the woman with long brown hair and a valiant bearing.
Filled with guilt and self-reproach, he said to her in a weak, hoarse voice, "Eleonora, I'm truly sorry... I'm the one who dragged everyone down. Back then, you all had a chance to escape."
As he spoke, he glanced down at his right leg, where the flesh had already split open, and his heart filled with helplessness and remorse.
"No, this isn't your fault. I'm the one who refused their offer, and that's why things turned out like this. You were all implicated because of me."
Eleonora took the blame upon herself. Looking at the believers closing in, there was no fear in her beautiful eyes, only the resolve to face death without regret.
Death was nothing to fear. It was a warrior's destination.
They were a squad of Tarnished who had been approached midway by Bloody Fingers. They refused, were captured, and that was all there was to it.
Her companions did not blame Eleonora. As descendants of heroes, they knew only that they had fallen on the road to becoming Lords. They had no notion of blaming the victim.
They stayed silent. There was no need to voice pointless accusations. They were all about to die, and there was no reason to burden their companion further.
The Blood Believers stopped advancing. The priest at the side turned his gaze toward them, a seemingly benevolent expression on his face as he spoke slowly.
"My children, do not resist this supreme blessing from Mother and the Lord. Futile struggle has no meaning. Only exquisite pain will remain with us forever."
It was obvious that this so-called Dynasty of Blood was not something benevolent, much less something that could be reasoned with or persuaded.
The Tarnished struggled desperately. Looking around, they saw more and more believers closing in.
One heavy hand after another pressed down, forcing the knees of those descendants of heroes to bend.
The Tarnished felt as though their bodies had been filled with weights of a thousand pounds, growing heavier and heavier.
They struggled to lift their heads and look up at the dome above, vast as a starry sky, while despair rose in waves along with the blood steadily draining from their bodies.
"What is this thing?"
Eleonora had not yet been completely swallowed by despair. She tried to force herself back up, frowning at the blood-red liquid so close before her.
But the moment she raised her head, her whole body suddenly froze.
Because within the spreading blood mist, a knight clad in pure white armor slowly emerged.
The thick, choking stench of blood rushed over her, so strong it was almost impossible to breathe.
And that knight was like a sun, a dazzling blazing sun, slowly rising in this blood-red world.
Eleonora's eyes widened, her pupils dilating in shock, as though she wanted to burn the sight before her forever into her memory.
Her gaze was drawn uncontrollably to that lone point of light in the darkness, like a moth to flame.
In this endless darkness, even the faintest glimmer of light was so precious, so irresistible, that one could not help but want to chase it and draw near.
Is that a Pureblood Knight too? This Dynasty still has someone like that?
Eleonora marveled inwardly, maintaining the last of her dignity.
The instant the knight's sword came down, she gathered all the strength left in her body and stretched her neck as though calmly offering herself to the blade.
But the Claymore only screamed past just above her head, stirring a fierce gust of wind.
Torrent let out a sharp neigh and charged, hurling the believers aside, while a crescent slash like the Dark Moon flashed past in an instant.
When the Claymore fell again, there was a sharp crack, as though something had been forcibly severed, and blood erupted like a fountain, splashing everywhere.
A shrill scream tore through the night, making the surrounding Tarnished instinctively turn to look.
By the faint moonlight, they saw in horror that the Priest of Blood had already been cut clean in two, dead on the spot.
Expressionless, Nolan swung the Claymore in his hand, sending out one Glintstone Arc after another.
Each arc struck the prisoners' shackles with perfect precision. Amid a storm of clanging metal, the restraints shattered apart.
Then Nolan jerked the reins hard. The steed beneath him reared high on its front hooves with a long whinny.
Raising his Claymore, he shouted, "Time to stand up!"
All the prisoners stared in stunned silence at the mysterious knight who had appeared out of nowhere, their minds nearly blank.
No one had imagined that at such a life-or-death moment, someone like this would suddenly burst onto the scene and effortlessly kill the Priest of Blood.
Eleonora stared blankly at the Claymore in Nolan's hand. It whirled through the air in flashing arcs of cold light, and every swing brought a spray of blood and a shrill scream.
In the blink of an eye, the place had turned into a bloody, nightmarish slaughterhouse.
"Was she scared stupid?"
At the sound of a clear female voice, Eleonora snapped out of her daze and whipped her head toward the person beside her.