A man shall come to end it all!

A knight who shall stain war and life with twilight!

We shall call him the Knight of the End!

He who shall bring everything to a close!

A hero to end the war!

Zoraslav heard the song, a piece passed down orally in the village for generations. A few children sang it like a hymn outside the window.

Across the continent, the tale spread as “The Knight of Ceasefire” or “The Knight of the End,” with similar melodies and lyrics.

Some called him the Knight of Ceasefire, others the Knight of the End. In some regions, he was even known as the Knight of Twilight.

The original lyrics had long been forgotten. In some places, the names—Ceasefire, End, and Twilight—were sung interchangeably.

And to them, it wasn’t merely a song.

The “Knight of the End.”

Or the one known as the Knight of Ceasefire. Such a figure was part of the legend that someone would someday protect them.

“Do you truly believe that man is the Knight of the End?”

The “End” mentioned in the song referred to the end of the world. And that “world” meant the Demon Realm. In other words, a knight who would bring about the end of the Demon Realm.

There were those who interpreted it that way—not that it was necessarily true.

Zoraslav looked at the people seated at the wide table. It was the meeting room of the village hall. More than ten people—over twenty eyes—were fixed on him.

Zoraslav was a realist.

And until now, he had always thought:

“It’s just a song that sings of hope.”

From a practical perspective, this song was something born out of necessity.

What is the most essential thing for a human being to live?

Food, clothing, and shelter? One could survive with even one of those missing.

But once the heart breaks, that’s the end.

Why live like this?

For someone who starts thinking that way, even food, clothing, and shelter lose their meaning.

Does life need a reason? Should one go so far as to become an Eroded just to live? Do we really have to live like this?

If someone asked, there was only one answer. Of course we want to live.

There was a day he saw a child smile as if it were delicious while sipping a bland soup made with shriveled, dry turnips.

He clearly remembered the day that child was born.

Though life wasn’t leisurely, peaceful, or comfortable, even within that, they found the beauty of living.

They could stroll and watch the changing seasons. They could speak with someone beside them and love one another.

They longed for life to enjoy all these things. Even if it meant living wretchedly.

And one of the means to sustain that life—was hope.

What people most needed to live was hope.

So, to Zoraslav’s understanding, that old orally transmitted song was merely a tool meant to breathe hope into the group.

Someday, a hero would come to end their suffering and bring them a better life? That was the so-called Knight of the End?

That’s what the lyrics said, but he’d never believed it. At least not until now.

Surviving by relying on the demons—that was the reality they lived with. That’s what Zoraslav had believed until now. He faced [N O V E L I G H T] that reality, accepted it, not some old song.

“I do believe so. That man really is that person.”

A friend who had always spoken more bitterly and cynically about reality now spoke with sparkling eyes.

Eyes that had been neglected, shunned, and abandoned were now colored with hope.

A man who cut down the symbol of the Demon God without hesitation. Who slaughtered the surrounding monsters and beasts, then turned his back without waiting for a reward.

A man who entered the Demon Realm not seeking anything.

Even to Zoraslav, he looked like the Knight of the End.

To people who had never even experienced the crumbs of hope, a hand cloaked in kindness had reached out. Could they reject it?

No.

They couldn’t.

Because they too wished for a better life.

Everyone in the village prayed. For the one who had entered that place.

***

Teresa stood atop the small, narrow stage she had created. She hadn’t drawn her sword. She didn’t need it now.

“You take in a woman who only knows how to fight, and she can’t even be grateful?”

Why was she remembering that now?

It was from the time when everything had been mortgaged to the bishop of the cult. A time when her world had been nothing but black and grey.

That was when she met Enkrid. And for the first time, she found joy in swinging a sword that once held no meaning.

“I shall fight and fight again to prove myself.”

That was the answer she had given Enkrid when he asked her how she’d like to live if she were born again.

Everything from that moment remained vivid in her mind even now.

The air of that day. The temperature. Everything.

There was a hot, rising breath. And there was the version of her who regretted the past as she looked back.

Thus, Teresa of the Cult died and was reborn as the wandering Teresa. She had tried to hide behind a small mask, but soon realized how meaningless that was.

“In the end, I will fight.”

That wasn’t something said for the giant’s blood that flowed in her veins. It was for who she had been, and who she would be tomorrow.

And after all, fighting didn’t always have to mean swinging fists and spilling blood.

Teresa had fought with her past self. She had accepted a new god and learned the teachings of the Holy War.

Standing on a small stage made from a shield, she turned her head slightly to look back.

The hero who had saved her was staring right at her. She opened her mouth as she looked at him.

“Ah—”

A rough sound emerged from her vocal cords, and no matter how one heard it, it sounded captivating.

She looked ahead once more. At the monsters oozing pus as they approached. At the fortress in the distance, echoing with screams.

And she began to sing.

Her voice gained rises and falls. It flowed and broke, even her breaths sounding like musical notes.

Thus, she began her song.

Soon, a hymn praising the divine rose to the sky and shook the earth.

***

Awakening divinity was a power granted only to the few.

And the talent to move others with one’s voice—also only granted to the few.

In other words, awakening divinity and properly performing a chant required entirely separate talents.

If someone by chance was born with both, and if they dedicated themselves with tireless effort, they could command divinity through song.

In the Holy Knight Order, such people were called “Sacred Singers,” spoken with both respect and reverence. Some called them “Holy Cantors.”

Audin had glimpsed the fragments of such talent in Teresa, and had guided her toward awakening.

When Enkrid had departed for Zaun, Lua Gharne had stayed behind to assist her—for the same reason.

She knew how to sing a unique battle song called the Frog Cry, and her cry affected everyone around her.

In some ways, it worked on a principle similar to a chant.

The half-giant planted her shield into the ground, created her own small stage, climbed onto it, and began to sing. Her voice flowed along the melody—beautiful and refreshing.

When she raised her pitch, it rang out as if clearing the skies.

“Ah–ah!”

Just hearing it made one feel invigorated.

“This...”

Enkrid muttered. In time with Teresa’s song, something began to take shape in front of her. Seeing it made his mouth open on its own.

“Ah–ah...”

A wordless song—Teresa’s breath itself was part of the melody, and it sent chills down the spine.

They say a good bard knows how to play instruments, and a great bard knows how to sing as well.

Her notes were deep, her resonance wide. Grand, warm, and serene.

The air, despite being in the heart of the Demon Realm, wrapped around Enkrid and the others with a gentleness that was hard to believe.

“May the Lord protect us,”

Audin whispered a prayer.

That serenity—it wasn’t just a feeling.

Though her voice wasn’t loud, her lyrics fused with divinity and took shape, forming a barrier that blocked the ghouls’ advance.

The wall didn’t stand as high as Teresa, who was raised atop her shield, but it reached well above an average man’s eye level and glowed white.

The walls of white light stretched left and right, pushing back the darkness of the Demon Realm. That sight alone was awe-inspiring.

“She said she got the idea from watching the Company Captain.”

“Ah.”

Enkrid let out a short exclamation of admiration.

So the iron wall shown when they blocked Azpen’s forces had been her source of inspiration.

Back then, Enkrid had also infused his voice with Will—apparently, that too had influenced her.

Audin had always said not to worry about Teresa.

But he hadn’t expected she would pull off something like this.

“It’s not perfect. They’re slipping through.”

Lua Gharne rolled her large eyes and spoke. And she was right. One ghoul was squeezing its body through a gap in the divine wall.

Its body sizzled and smoked as it passed through the white light, but it managed to get beyond the barrier.

Thud—

It dropped to one knee and drove its bent fingers into the ground, crawling forward.

And right in front of it, it encountered a man swinging a short sword without the slightest concern.

Slice.

Monsters too had flesh, bones, and muscle. Jaxon, who knew exactly how to pierce and cut at the right angles, found slaying these creatures effortless.

But their reactions after being cut weren’t normal.

Blorp.

Yellow pus began to swell at the severed areas.

It happened again—yellow pus bulged at the cut edges.

Pop. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

The pus burst with a squelching sound. Normally, the burst would scatter plague spores in all directions, but Teresa’s divine power crushed the spores and obliterated them.

As her pitch rose, white light gathered and pressed down upon the exploded ghoul.

Audin moved as well. There were many gaps. As his feet tapped the ground, he seemed to appear in three places at once.

It was an afterimage left by high-speed movement—agility unthinkable for someone of his size.

Moving like that, he casually extended his fist, and the ghoul heads caught in his punches burst repeatedly. The pus-filled parts swelled like inflated pig bladders and then burst again.

Audin didn’t need to rely on Teresa’s aid.

He couldn’t sing sacred chants, but in terms of handling divinity, he surpassed her.

He reached out over the head of the ghoul he had just crushed. A white glow spread from his hand like a cloak and settled down.

The explosion of pus couldn’t pierce that light.

Thud—

It produced only a dull thump.

“Impressive talent.”

Lua Gharne said in awe, pulling out her whip. Her weapon was longer than a sword—meant for mid-range combat.

It was also an artifact that naturally kindled flames.

A plague ghoul that had barely squeezed through the barrier was struck by her fiery whip and had its head shattered.

The weight at the end of the whip was made of heavy gold, and the whip itself was braided from monster hide.

The faster the whip, the stronger the impact—no need to explain the kind of force that would produce.

Crack—! Crack—!

The whip sliced through the air and incinerated the heads of ghouls. One needed at least a knight’s reflexes to follow its movements.

The ghoul’s heads and bodies burst with pus, but even that just became fuel for the flames.

Then Ragna joined in.

With his languid gait, footsteps heading toward no clear direction, he slowly approached the plague ghouls.

At some point, he had drawn his greatsword, and it glowed faintly red. Even as the sun began to set, there was no lack of light here.

Ragna swung his greatsword like a farmer harvesting barley with a sickle. He minimized the blade’s arc, relying solely on wrist snaps and footwork. A sequence of simple, repetitive motions.

Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.

Instead of barley, plague ghoul heads floated into the air and thudded to the ground.

Even those severed by Ragna began to swell with yellow pus at the wound, but the build-up was much smaller.

Psshk.

They didn’t even burst properly.

Sunrise purges the impure. Named for the sun it bears.

A relic passed down through the Zaun lineage. This was exactly the kind of performance it was meant to deliver.

The number of enemies was overwhelming, so plenty were still slipping through. At this point, it was almost as if Teresa were intentionally letting them through.

She then gathered the remaining divine power and scorched the majority of the plague ghouls in holy fire. The ones with sewn-shut mouths couldn’t even scream.

Watching the ghouls be swept away, Rem grinned and spoke.

“Hey, you two really need to match my rhythm here.”

He was speaking to Rophod and Pell.

Teresa’s sacred chant had created a divine wall, but it wasn’t going to protect them from above.

Screech!

So, that left the giant bird diving down from the sky.

But would that really be a problem?

Probably not.