Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess-Chapter 353 - The knight and priest

The halls of Beld Thylelion stretched onward, silent and enduring, as if sheltering the ancient whispers of the Zuver within their stone bones. Raimond walked at an easy, unhurried pace, his footsteps faint against the floor. His gaze traced the walls, studying the frequent glyphs and finely etched lines that wound along their lengths like delicate veins. They resembled the markings he had seen on the surface—the same flowing geometry, the same impossible precision—but here, the patterns seemed to pulse with deeper intent, as though closer to their source.

It struck him, not for the first or even the fifth time, just how immense Beld Thylelion truly was: a single, sprawling structure reaching into the heart of Lake Rellaria and beyond, deeper than any temple or stronghold he had ever known. And of such singular purpose.

Was it really built only to house the Tribute of Dominion? Or was the ruin itself merely a shell, stretched thin over something far greater?

He pondered the question as he walked, until a voice—small, dry, and echoing—broke the stillness.

“Are you following us?”

Raimond smiled to himself and turned his focus to Nol’viz a few paces ahead, her three lavender eyes blinking slowly at him from behind that pale mask.

“Following you? What a scandalous accusation,” he said with a light laugh. “Given that you neglected to respond to my earlier suggestion of exploring these magnificent halls together, I assure you I would never stoop to such undignified behaviour. I am simply walking in the same direction. Pure coincidence, I promise.”

She watched him in that silent—and perhaps just slightly unsettling—way that seemed to be rather natural for her.

After a beat, Raimond placed a hand over his heart. “If my humble presence is a nuisance, I shall readily surrender myself to the mercy of the nearest menacing shadow. Merely speak the word.”

Nol’viz tilted her head slightly. “We do not care.”

Raimond gasped softly, as if struck. “No care at all? For a poor, harmless clergyman and follower of Ittar, bearing only his faith and irreproachable moral fibre? Oh, how cruel the world becomes.”

The girl continued staring at him, unmoved. Then she spoke again, her voice a whisper among whispers. “Do you truly believe Ittar is a god?”

Raimond blinked, his easy demeanour settling into a light solemnity. He considered her for a few moments, finally folding his arms behind his back, a rare steadiness threading into his voice.

“Belief,” he said, “is a curious thing. It wears many faces. Some believe in fire because it burns them; others believe in hope because it warms them. As for gods…” He gave a small, thoughtful smile. “I believe that to mortals, a god is as much an idea as it is an entity. A symbol of something greater — of wisdom, of strength, of love, even of justice. Ittar, through his teachings, embodies that spark of goodness in humanity. The light we strive towards, whether we ever fully reach it or not.”

He paused. “And I think that is partly why he is so widely revered. Because he speaks to what is best in us — or what we wish were best. Of course, faith is rarely so pure. There are other reasons: traditions, power, fear, the comfort of certainty. Even so, Ittar gives us something to aspire to.” He met the girl’s gaze, steady and sure. “Is Ittar a god in the strictest sense? Perhaps. Or perhaps he is simply a being who understood the noblest parts of humanity better than we do, and chose to nurture them. In the end, the title we give him matters less than the spirit he inspires.”

Then he gave a light wink. “Also, he has excellent taste in priests, I might add.”

Nol’viz observed him, as if filing his words away in some hidden archive. After a long pause, she turned and resumed walking.

Raimond caught up in a few easy strides. She spoke without looking back. “You are strange.”

He chuckled. “Ah, but some would call me rare. A gem, even — a strange gem, if you must.” He arched a brow at her, sidelong. “But if a masked girl wandering the depths of the ancient ruins, speaking in the entirely ordinary plural, deems me strange, who am I to argue?”

She offered no further comment, gliding forward in silence.

Raimond let the quiet stretch. His gaze roamed once more over the walls — the veins of the stone, the endless patterns. He noted, from the corner of his eye, Nol’viz move with the unhesitating surety of someone who already knew her path. Not afraid. Not wary. Simply indifferent, with the ease of one who’d already decided he was no threat to whatever purpose drove her.

After some time, Raimond spoke again, keeping his tone light.

“The Zuver truly were remarkable,” he mused aloud. “To shape all of this from stone and thought… An accomplishment that might even provoke envy among certain gods.” He glanced at her. “I wonder, little one. What do you suppose it was all for?”

Nol’viz, unsurprisingly, didn’t offer any particular theories.

Raimond nodded sagely to himself. “Yes, indeed. It’s quite the mysterious conundrum.”

He clasped his hands behind his back again, strolling a few steps ahead as he studied the corridors, then he turned slightly to look at her. “Tell me, Nol’viz. Do you know the proper course when faced with a conundrum?”

This time, she turned her head just a fraction.

Raimond beamed. “Simple. One seeks out the centre of the riddle. The heart of the enigma. For no true mystery exists without a truth at its core.” He raised a finger in a lecturing way. “And the clever soul knows that a puzzle’s centre often reveals the nature of the puzzle itself. Wouldn’t you agree?”

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Nol’viz tilted her head the other way, then looked forward.

Raimond watched her a moment longer before turning forward himself. They continued in silence for some more time, swallowed again by the vastness of the ruin.

Finally, Nol’viz spoke.

“…You will die if you seek answers.”

“Oh?” Raimond eyed her, his tone relaxed but edged with curiosity. “And why is that?”

“There are others who will kill you.”

He touched a thoughtful hand to his chin. “That does sound ominous. I happen to have a notable aversion to dying. A deadly serious aversion, in fact. It would be quite inconvenient if these ‘others’ took it upon themselves to expedite my end. Though, I must ask, who precisely are these ‘others’?”

Nol’viz glanced briefly toward him, her three eyes inscrutable, then turned away again.

And Raimond, smiling once more to himself, followed her deeper into the waiting dark.

The broken remains of the constructs littered the ground, thin streams of sand seeping slowly across the stone.

Leon exhaled, lowering his sword as the last flickers of light faded along its blade. Fine cracks webbed outward from his boots, silent witnesses to the battle just ended. Twisted metal and shards of broken glass from the constructs’ hourglass cores clattered as he stepped back, wiping his sword on the hem of his cape before sheathing it. The sand from the cores clung stubbornly to the metal, finer and grittier than ordinary dust, and surprisingly hard to remove.

This marked the third chamber he’d cleared in what felt like an hour. Time was becoming harder to measure, though. The corridors seemed to continue near-endlessly, broken only by the repeating motifs of Zuverian script and indecipherable carvings etched into every surface. He’d yet to find a single real landmark. No clear path forward. Only more halls, strange chambers, and now these guardian constructs.

Leon glanced down at the nearest one. This one hadn’t fallen easily. Even now, fragments of its frame gave the slightest twitch, as if resisting the idea of defeat.

Fighting them was tedious. Despite their inanimate nature—or maybe because of it—they moved with a disturbing precision, anticipating his strikes and footwork like seasoned swordsmen. Perhaps even better. After several misses, he’d found that only brute force worked consistently: overwhelming them with sheer aura and speed, hammering past whatever predictive measures they used.

It wasn’t ideal. Far from efficient. And it wore on him. His old master would have berated him for the reckless approach, and Leon was almost glad Captain Grimbald wasn’t here to see it. Though, truthfully, the captain’s presence would have been welcome. At times like this, Leon questioned whether he truly had the experience to serve as vice-captain, no matter how many commendations others pinned to his name.

The slow burn of fatigue was starting to creep into his limbs, but it was far from dulling him. His aura could sustain him for much longer if needed.

Still, there was no telling how many more battles lay ahead before he found either an exit or the heart of this place. Worse, he couldn’t guess what else waited for him. Earlier, he’d stumbled into a chamber guarded by some type of large marble construct, where the walls themselves had turned against him and hurled spells from every angle. He’d managed to escape before wasting too much energy, but it had still been a sign of the other dangers that hid here.

Leon turned from the ruined constructs and surveyed the chamber. If it had ever served a purpose, he couldn’t tell what it was. Strange stone effigies jutted from the floor in uneven rows, covered in glowing blue runes and arcane markings that made about as much sense to him as the rest of this place.

His steel-plated boots clanged against the stone as he crossed the room, passing beneath a heavy archway into yet another dark passage, his aura lighting his path.

He would have given much for his canteen right now. His body was strong and had endured worse, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t thirsty.

Normally, a Solar Knight on deployment would carry a spatial pack stocked with water, food, and spare supplies. But they only carried those when the mission called for it. He hadn’t had his when he was pulled into Beld Thylelion.

A few days without food or water wouldn’t kill him. But under constant pressure, fighting unknown threats in unfamiliar terrain, even small deprivations would eventually add up.

All he could do was offer silent prayers that he’d find something soon.

Pressing deeper into the corridor, Leon kept his senses sharp, scanning every shadow. So far, he hadn’t found any clue whether he was ascending, descending, or simply walking in circles.

It was like being trapped inside a giant, mindless maze.

For not the first time, his thoughts drifted to the world outside.

Had the opening of Beld Thylelion caused chaos? Elystead’s powerful defences should mean that both the city and Dawnlight Palace remained safe, even with the Undead Council’s citadel looming above and the Tribe of Sin on the move. But he felt the situation was still far too volatile. Like it would only take a single spark to ignite.

And from here, there was nothing he could do about it.

His jaw tightened.

He especially worried about his fellow knights — potentially scattered across these endless halls like himself. Facing the same constructs, the same unseen dangers. Strong as they were, even the finest could be worn down, isolated, and overwhelmed without support.

If any of them fell…

Leon shoved the thought aside, forcing his focus back into line. They were knights of the Solar. They had sworn oaths. They knew the risks.

He rounded a corner, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. The corridor ahead stretched empty and silent. He exhaled, willing his mind into a more disciplined calm.

While worry was natural, it didn’t save lives. Action did.

Several long minutes passed—perhaps more—as he advanced at a steady pace. The silence pressed heavier with every step, broken only by the faint glow of his aura lighting the gloom.

Then—

He halted.

A slight frown creased his brow. He strained his ears.

There — a faint, distant sound. The clash of…metal? Striking against stone.

It could have been a trick of the mind. Or a malfunctioning construct, lashing blindly at its surroundings. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Or it could mean someone was fighting.

Leon moved at once, breaking into a sprint.

His boots pounded against the stone, echoes crashing off the walls as he wove through the corridors, turning by instinct alone. The sounds grew louder, sharper. Another clash rang out. A hiss of what sounded like magic. The deep, resonant thunk of something massive shattering ground.

He rounded a final corner, bursting into a wide chamber covered in flowing glyphs. At its centre, wold strands of golden light flickered into existence and danced around a beast of alabaster-white stone: four massive limbs, a hunched body, a triangular head like a crumbling tower, and a cut casket fused into its back like a shell.

It was locked in battle with two figures.

The first was a woman in a heavy cerulean cloak, fabric whipping behind her as she moved. She had uneven, reddish-brown hair and wore polished grey armour, a sword of pooling azure light gripped tight in her hands. Her movements were sharp, driving precise strikes into the construct, and even at a glance, Leon could tell she was an experienced swordswoman. Someone who had given much of her life to the mastery of the blade.

But she wasn’t the one who caught his eye.

Further back stood another figure — smaller, more lightly armoured, dressed in black and magenta and wielding a slender sabre pointed upward like a line of intent. Her neck-length black hair framed a face he would know anywhere. One he never expected to see here. Around her, motes of dark magic flickered into existence, gathering into focused bolts poised to strike.

For just a fraction of a second, Leon’s breath caught.

“Your Highness—?”

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺