When we all came together in the Great Hall—the one that's nearly five hundred years old—everyone knew that the Supreme Pontiff, Father Petrus XIII, had missed his children after that long seven‑month journey away from The Platinum Keystone to those distant southern lands.
We returned under the leadership of the saintly Leon, proud and fortunate, having reclaimed the sacred Church of the Sacred Relic's relics, which had been scattered for years. Those artifacts carried ranks all the way from B+ up to S+.
On the day we got back, people outside the church were holding a small festival to celebrate us—out of respect and love for what we'd accomplished.
Everyone who went on the journey was there:
Leon, standing tall like the first among us;
Catherine, right behind him, her small frame and tired eyes betraying years of sleepless nights and hard work;
Francis, who couldn't stop yawning in that lazy, sleepy way of his… and how I despised that careless habit of his;
Nearby stood Saint Benedict, the biggest of us, his well‑built frame and sacred axe gleaming with rune engravings in the dim light of faith.
He recited his prayers at every chance, forcing arrogant Francis—our youngest—to repeat after him.
Saint John and Theresa never left my side. Even though they're both older and more experienced than me, I didn't mind John's company—I learn a lot from him.
But Theresa… that scantily clad woman—having her next to me isn't exactly an honor. Her looks… those suspicious "loving gazes" she gives me felt like a nightmare, and her attempts to hit on me had become unbearable.
Then Father Petrus XIII entered, riding in a wheeled chair made of polished wood and brass. His mere presence brought peace, and even a pleasant fragrance seemed to follow him wherever he went.
One of the consecrated attendants was pulling his chair along, devoted to serving the church. The room fell silent at once, and everyone bowed in respect.
The Pope's face was covered in tattered golden strips, soaked from old tears that had carved their paths over the years, and although his eyes were bandaged, that didn't stop him from seeing us.
He spoke in a trembling but steady voice:
"Come to me, my child…"
He called for Leon.
Leon stepped forward, kissed the wrinkled, slender hand of the Pope, and received his blessing before stepping back to let the Pope speak.
"My dear children,
I thank God—and the Sacred Relic—for your safe return, and for restoring our church's heritage that has been lost for centuries. Forgive me for the haste of this gathering and for calling you immediately after your arduous journey, but… I have seen an evil vision. A vision I haven't witnessed with my old, blind eyes… not in many long centuries. I pray it's nothing but the ramblings of a weary old man—my body frail and close to decline at the age of 354 years."
He said it slowly, in broken tones, yet he pressed on despite his exhaustion.
"What do you know about fear… my dear children?"
the Pope asked in a trembling voice as silence fell over the Great Hall.
No one dared answer—even Leon didn't move his lips. Instead, he bowed like the rest of us, closing his eyes in reverence, as if we were all waiting for something magnificent… or something terrifying.
The Pope continued, his voice worn by time:
"Fear… is when those who sat upon the Nine Thrones—the cold, stone seats—rise again and begin their tyrannical, blood‑soaked rituals.
I tell you now: even the First Hunters who came from the West, from the barbarian lands five thousand years ago, couldn't stand against them without paying the price of millions of lives. Souls fell… and never rose again."
He paused for a few seconds, then went on, his bandaged eyes trembling beneath their golden strips:
"I have lived through those days many times… through cycles of death spanning nine thousand years.
I have witnessed the lives of hundreds of Popes before me since I drank from the 'Holy Chalice'—the S+‑ranked one."
He sighed, as if the memory weighed him down, then gathered his voice:
"That chalice… granted me foresight. It opened for me the doors of vision, knowledge, and prophecy. And what I'm about to tell you now… is the greatest prophecy before my end.
Leon… my son,
when that cup shines again after my death…
you must be the next."
His last words wavered on his lips, but he pressed on with determination:
"And now, in brief:
Be vigilant… and purge.
Before he awakens— not just in mind, but in body—
the Knight from the North.
He wanders lost, helpless,
but you must kill him.
Save the world from his evil
and from the suffering that, if left unchecked, will only grow beyond control."
He gripped the arm of his wheeled chair, trying to stand despite his frail body. His strength failed him, and he collapsed into Leon's arms while tears streamed down his face—not tears of pain but tremors of old and new visions that shook his heart. Raising his quivering hand, he pointed to the stained‑glass vault above us.
Light poured through it, revealing a living vision: winter's snow blanketing everything… crimson blood staining its pure white.
And a knight—rusted sword and shield in hand—standing amid the frost. Behind him, a city screamed in ruin as snow fell without end.
The Pope's voice dropped to a whisper, yet it brimmed with both hope and command:
"Do what must be done… as I have told you… as I have seen."
We broke ranks then, preparing to face the crowds and the thralls outside. The orders were clear:
"Kill the Knight."
Thus began the prophecy of his return… his return as a "Tyrant." And we had to decide: how to end it… quietly, without a stir.
Later, Leon summoned me and said:
"Alexander… you will lead the Knight's purge.
He is at his weakest now.
The others will follow you as backup.
As for Benedict and Francis, I've had another task in mind since we set out… You two head to the city center in case of emergencies. I… will finish some duties inside the church and then join you—though, if all goes as planned, I may not be needed."
So Leon gave his orders, and we dispersed in our separate directions.
We followed the Knight to that seedy tavern.
I approached him as he sat, and, through John, ordered him two cups of wine.
The decision was clear: no more waiting… no room for mercy.
I unleashed my spell: "Accumulating Rain." The tavern shook with a thunderous blast, chaos ripping through every floor—even the roof. Yet through it all, I felt the surge of mana from the Knight… he… was still alive.
"As I expected… he was on the roof, struggling to rise.
I leapt to him, clouds and mist accompanying me over that cursed district.
In a voice without mercy, I told him his time to die had come.
I was here, in my role… as the Angel of Death, come to end his story.
I demanded that, since he was lost, he confess his old identity… and surrender.
Then I used my special skill: 'Assessment.'
The results appeared before me:
Registered Rank: E+
Health: fair to good
Gear: armor on the verge of collapse, and an ancient spirit blade, barely holding together
Agility: C
Strength: B
Mana: E
Titles: present… but blocked by an unknown ancient seal
I strode toward him and said,
"You have lived your life with honor… and as a Tyrant, feared by all who spoke your name.
But now… you must die, and let the world go on in peace.
Let the end come… quietly."
He remained seated, trying to rise, his battered sword trembling in his grip.
I shaped my weapon from rainwater, condensing it in the air until it was as sharp as a steel blade.
I struck him in the chest.
He parried with his worn sword—his armor began to crumble, his exhausted body barely held together—but he… kept fighting.
He swung his blade with regret, wordless, voiceless, as if his armor had become an empty tomb.
Suddenly… he said something I did not expect to hear:
"I have been granted a second chance at life, though I remember nothing of my past…
But I feel a regret that will not leave me.
If I die now, without remembering… without understanding who I am…
What was the point of this second chance?
I must fight… I must live…
I must seek forgiveness…
And discover… who I am."
Despite his hesitation… despite his broken words, I heard his voice within me for the first time… and it was strange.
He began to fight earnestly.
The sky was dark,
the smell of iron hung in the air,
the clouds roared above us… without permission.
It was the signal to begin.
Thunder screamed…
and steel clashed.
His sword cracked,
the downpour intensified.
I formed spears of water from the rain,
raining them down from the sky,
opening the ground, shattering ceramic, tearing through his armor,
piercing into his pale flesh.
He was a weak adversary… but of iron will.
He pressed me with heavy blows,
and I pushed him back further.
We leapt from rooftop to rooftop,
leveling everything beneath our feet… yet he would not die.
I said to him,
"If you truly wish to survive…
hiding on the roofs will not save you.
I see you… I touch you… in every raindrop."
I summoned a watery tower around me,
pinning him from above,
and he would not descend,
perhaps because… he feared harming those below.
I pressed my assault until he fell off the horizon.
His body collapsed… his breathing loud within his helm,
but he still stood.
I forged another rain-made blade, translucent and razor-sharp as a divine edge,
and prepared to deliver the final strike.
I spoke… words of forgiveness to him:
"You will die here… alone.
At last… there will be but one witness to your end—and that is me."
Then a faint tremor rose…
a sacred, no, an ancient firelight… more awesome than I could have imagined…
erupted from the heart of The Platinum Keystone.
The explosion… was tremendous.
The winds that followed…
scorching, storming,
capable of tearing the sky apart.
They swept away every cloud… above the city.
I rubbed my eyes in disbelief…
and whispered:
"What on earth am I seeing?!"
In the sky…
a legendary being
soared…
a colossal dragon.
Blessed.
White as pure ash,
its scales traced with crimson runes…
intricate… shimmering around it.
Its wings alone… were the size of three massive galleons.
Its roar…
shook earth and sky alike.
I whispered to myself, vision paralyzed:
"What could… bring such a creature back to us…
after ten thousand years of silence…
and extinction?"