Clop, clop, clop...
Hoofbeats echoed along the winding mountain road of Fingerstone Hill, like a frantic symphony, each note pounding against the hearts of the giant hand-like monsters.
The silent knights rode like phantoms of flame, driving their warhorses at full speed along the mountain path.
Behind them was an enormous cage, and inside it lay a slumbering colossal beast.
Heavy chains bound the beast, leaving it no chance to break free, yet its very presence carried an invisible pressure.
The monsters on both sides of the road had once ruled these hills, but now they scattered like a disturbed swarm of bees.
They seemed to sense the terrifying power coming from the cage, as well as the cold killing intent radiating from the knights.
The Scadutree swayed in the gloom, and the Cathedral of Manus Metyr stood silently in the distance, but everyone along the road looked more fearful than before.
The cause was the expeditionary army that had come from the west. The renowned Demigod Legion had been slaughtering its way through the mountains, all for the sake of capturing one beast.
Today they would wander here. Tomorrow they would kill a few finger monsters that disturbed the peace.
They had not killed many monsters, but their reputation no longer needed to be proven by the number of enemy corpses they left behind.
The strangest part was that the Nox turned a blind eye to their actions, as if this land that had once belonged to them had suddenly become the Golden Demigod's private garden.
The most reasonable explanation was that the Golden Demigod had come in person. He was a ruthless figure capable of skewering Divine Beast Dancing Lions like candied hawthorn. Resistance was useless, so acceptance was the wiser choice.
The proud Nox, of course, did not fear any so-called Golden Demigod. After all, they had dared to defile the daughter of the Greater Will. They would never tremble before the son of a false god.
But as day after day passed, there was still no sign that the Impaler's Army intended to leave, and people's hearts gradually began to waver.
After three days of restless anxiety, the Nox finally saw the knight hurrying back.
The knight's figure drew closer in their sight, and the sound of hooves rang through the entire Church Avenue, as if heralding the arrival of some important news.
"That's the Swordhand of Night of the Guardian Priest. He looks like he's in a hurry."
"The Impaler's Army isn't really attacking, is it? Our forces can't hold them off."
"It's possible. We are Graceless Ones too."
"That's not right. If they were really hunting Graceless Ones, they should kill their new Lord first. Besides, Messmer may not even still be loyal to Marika."
As they watched the knight ride past, the people whispered among themselves. Back in the Lands Between, this Church had been their holy ground. Even cut off from the world, they would still defend it.
The Swordhand of Night listened in silence. Her expressionless face was delicate, like a moonlit night, yet so pure it almost seemed inhuman.
The high walls blocked the light of the Scadutree, making the place even darker.
Doors stood tightly shut one after another. Stone pillars were carved with intricate patterns, and the walls were covered in all kinds of paintings, as if telling countless myths and legends.
This was the gathering place of the Nox people.
Messmer was no mad killer. He was simply devoted to carrying out Marika's orders. For a long time, although the two sides belonged to different factions, they had lived in relative peace.
But the Impaler's Army had caused too much commotion. A powerful legion was now acting recklessly in the Nox people's sacred ground, and peace had long since left this place.
The Swordhand of Night passed through the empty corridor and stopped before a tall stone door. Without anyone announcing her arrival, the door opened by itself.
The Swordhand stepped inside and bowed slightly. A small, thin figure sat within, dressed like a priest, clearly a person of high status.
Such a figure should not have appeared in this secluded place, but he had a far greater pursuit. It was a grand goal he would accomplish even if it meant abandoning the worship of countless Nox.
"Lord Ymir?" The Swordhand of Night was wrapped entirely in black armor, and her crown-like helmet was engraved with fingerprint-like patterns.
"You have returned... Jolán." High Priest Ymir opened his eyes and raised his head, his voice very soft.
"Yes." The Swordhand of Night nodded woodenly, her voice as cold as the face hidden beneath her helmet.
Ymir examined her carefully. The knight had indeed returned unharmed.
"What did Lord Messmer say? Has he accepted our invitation?"
There was a hint of expectation in his tone. Those believers had been wrong from the very beginning. Who said that when two armies met, war had to begin?
Still, he was curious. What answer would that Demigod give? And what decision would the Lord chosen by that Demigod make?
"Lord Messmer received the Lord's reply and has already broken camp. The Impaler's Army will reach the Church within days."
Jolán did not say anything unnecessary, and added bluntly, "As for that Lord, he does not seem to be with the army."
"Not with them?" Ymir frowned slightly.
That Demigod had coexisted with the Nox people on this land for who knew how many years. Since he had never accepted Ymir's invitation, he should have known Ymir had another purpose.
His target was that Lord.
He had originally thought the Impaler's Army's unusual movements must have something to do with that Lord, but the Swordhand's words seemed to suggest he had guessed wrong.
But the Demigod alone was meaningless.
How could a mere Demigod shake a true god? Only a true Lord had that right. A true Lord capable of making a Demigod submit.
"A Lord is truly difficult to predict," Ymir sighed.
As if sensing the High Priest's disappointment, Jolán spoke again. "'Father will come.' Those were the Demigod's exact words."
Ymir froze for a moment, then delight spread across his face.
...
The smoke of war had cleared, and the colossal beast lay fallen at the Golden Demigod's feet. But for the Golden Demigod, such matters no longer mattered at all.
On his tall warhorse, Prince Messmer held his war spear, feeling as if the very air had grown fresh. So fresh that it lifted his mood and made the corners of his mouth rise despite himself.
The Twin Moon Knight, Rellana, stood solemnly at his side. Her beautiful face looked somewhat dazed, as if she had never seen this lord of hers before, and she wished she could keep her eyes open forever just to look at him.
Was it really important that Messmer had acknowledged a foster father?
Judging from the new Lord's attitude, he seemed to be faintly showing support for her. That was what truly mattered!
After all, Messmer looked extremely obedient to that new Lord.
"The Nox's gift is very valuable," Messmer said, staring at the distant Church for a long while before sighing.
What the Nox had promised was of immeasurable value. Even the beast he had captured could not compare.
As a son, realizing that his gift to his father could not match an outsider's made him feel faintly defeated.
"After all, it is one of the Nox people's supreme masterpieces. Our Lord must have agreed to meet him because of that item," Rellana said.
"No. Father is not the sort of man to be moved by material things." Messmer paused, then continued, "He must be meeting him because there is something important to discuss."
Not moved by material things? Rellana felt that her lord might be overthinking it, but her almost indulgent obedience kept her from speaking.