Chapter 191: Master Calix
The light faded.
The sky was clear yet ashen, the earth sodden and still, stained with blood. Even the wind seemed to have lost its way, drifting aimlessly through the air before disappearing into the ruins of the Sacred Territory. Golden dust scattered through the air. Like the world's final breath, it settled gently over the soil—neither hot nor cold, just warmth.
The moment the first cheer died away, a hushed silence fell across the plain.
The broken sword of the dead lay buried in the ground, and the blood of the fallen mixed with the sweat of the living, rising like steam. Where the roaring had ceased, those who had survived dared not open their mouths.
‘Won’ was not a word that felt sufficient.
Ella rose slowly from the heart of the ruined Sacred Territory.
Her vestments were ruined with mud and bloodstains, yet on her palm, a golden mark remained vivid and clear. Small flower petals scattered from her chest.
The Order's clergy, seeing the sight, quietly fell to their knees. Through tears of loss and pain, they all understood what that phenomenon meant.
That, without leaning on the name of Kriya, a miracle had been wrought by human strength alone.
"6th Rank……Ella's Bloom has reached Full Bloom."
Sier Lagrin, the interim Pope, murmured quietly to himself.
He bowed his head. Not as one whose faith had crumbled, but as one standing before a new faith.
Then, footsteps cut through the silence. Calix was moving. He extended his torn, battered hands and helped his comrades to their feet.
Soldiers who saw him began to rise, one by one. They followed his lead—lifting their comrades, reaching out to those who needed help. Blood-streaked faces, burst lips, finely snapped chainmail. They took each other in with their eyes, and at the end of it all, they realized they were still alive.
And it was the knights who reacted first among them.
Thud.
Knight Helmut Barben dropped to one knee. His left arm, in tatters, could not move, but with his right he held his sword inverted—a gesture of respect.
"A new……Master."
One person followed. Then 2 more knelt and bowed their heads. Bloodied fists pressed against chests.
The voices soon fell quiet, but their resonance remained long in the soil.
There was no second cheer. Only the strange, unfamiliar feeling that they were still alive.
***
Even after the battle ended, residual heat lingered across the battlefield. Sunlight seeped into soil mixed with blood and ash.
The wounded reached out with their fingertips to touch the golden dust floating in the air. Something warmer than body heat wrapped around their skin. The light that touched their fingers pushed back the remnants of darkness. It was a warmth that healed wounds and consoled the weary.
Royce walked with bandages wrapped around his body. Blood beaded at his fingertips, yet he gently closed the eyes of one fallen mercenary. As the eyelids shut, the world around him went quiet.
"You fought well."
After a brief word of encouragement, he added,
"Rest now."
A short distance away, Basim was leading the dwarves in gathering the dead. He removed shattered helmets and armor, then built graves from piles of stone. He lent his own hands to the work.
"Death passes in an instant, but stone remains."
His voice was rough, like rock splitting—yet at the same time, warm.
Vice-captain Marik also crossed the battlefield, carrying the wounded on his back. The Order's people wished to speak with him, but what mattered most to him were his comrades.
"Breathe and hold on. It isn't over yet."
His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but his hands were steady.
Those around him urged him to rest his eyes even for a moment, but Marik offered only a faint smile.
‘Sitting down can wait until after you're dead. That was his answer.’
Still, if one were to name the busiest among the Mountain Rabbits, it was unquestionably Ella. She was leading the Order's people from the center of the Sacred Territory, giving everything she had to caring for the wounded.
No altar, no sacred relics. And yet the Sacred Territory had not vanished.
"……Thank you."
The wounded directed prayers toward the woman tending to them, hoping for divine grace to reach her. They hesitated even to offer thanks, fearing it would come across as an affront.
Above all, the Order's members, once divided into 2 factions, were now moving as one.
Sier Lagrin rejoiced at Ella's growth. He offered prayers of gratitude to Kriya and focused on helping her rather than stirring further conflict.
In all but name, the next Pope had been decided.
The person in question, of course, responded with only a bitter smile.
"The miracle wasn't something I made. It was simply that ‘we’ were here."
Even at what sounded like a deflection, the faith did not waver. Belief in Kriya was, if anything, growing more steadfast.
Watching the scene from a distance, Sevi Belgrado murmured quietly,
"We…… Gained more than we expected."
His entire chest was wrapped in bandages. The battlefield had been vast, and there were no shortage of those who needed help. The internal wounds had worsened through the brutal fighting, yet Sevi's gaze was fixed on one place—Calix.
Beside him, Yelayen replied in a low voice,
"It was a victory for the living. In one sense, it was only natural—and in another, it was a great achievement. Don't you feel it too?"
Sevi let only the edges of his eyes smile, keeping it subtle.
The mage was right. The tide of the age had slipped from his grasp. But that did not sadden him. There were things lost, and things gained.
"Yes. It's his time now."
Calix did not hear their exchange. He had been lending a hand in cleaning up the battlefield, but at some point he had come to a stop and stood still, looking out across it.
In his eyes, grey and gold reflected in turns. He could not say for certain himself how far his own power now reached.
The wind circled around him and passed. Broken armor clattered elsewhere, yet near Calix, not a sound arose. Though he had not drawn upon his energy, nothing dared enter his domain.
Nobles, knights, and soldiers stole glances at him and whispered among themselves.
"Is that…… The gaze of a Master?"
It was not the voice of fear, nor an expression of reverence. It was simply the sound of people realizing that one man had taken yet another step forward.
***
Though not the entire continent, the gaze of the north at least had converged on a single point. News that the decisive battle against Verhas was imminent had shaken the Niboria Empire.
And so what would unfold once the outcome was determined could also be foreseen.
Before the battlefield had even been cleared, messengers mounted their horses and rode out. Their every step announced victory.
"Central Elvra has been liberated!"
Not long after, news that Legion Commander Verhas had fallen spread like a wave, and throughout the Empire's capital, bells rang all through the night.
In the time that followed, tens—no, hundreds of messengers filed in and out of the Allied Forces' camp. They were messages of praise sent by Niboria's nobles.
Watching the scene, Volga murmured quietly,
"Hope's a funny thing. When you can't see it, it feels like something you'll never have—but once you have it, it feels like it'll go on forever."
Zoltan, the captain of the Grima Mercenary Company, nodded as though he understood.
"Funny alright. They're already arguing over how to draw the border with Elvra."
Just as he said—Niboria's nobles wanted compensation for having helped Elvra's independence. Having realized that the balance of power had shifted toward Ella, they were simultaneously pressing demands and offering flattery.
The victory of war was always, and first of all, sold from a politician's mouth.
"……And the war isn't even over yet."
Zoltan bit into a bitter smile. He had survived, but in exchange, earned a long scar across his cheek. He had laughed it off in front of his men, calling it proof that he was their captain—but his heart could not have been entirely at ease.
The Grima Mercenary Company had lost a few of their own.
"By the way, Volga. Why are you speaking informally? I told you to call me 'big brother'."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Oh-oh, now you're back to speaking formally?"
"Because……It's my choice."
The 2 bickered for a moment before separating. Soup was boiling on the pot. The instant Volga received the bowl Zoltan offered, he snorted and opened his mouth.
"Well, thinking about it, it doesn't really matter anyway. Those lot don't know anything, so of course they're chattering away back home. The ones who fought on the battlefield all know."
There was no subject stated, but those around them understood the meaning immediately.
"Calix won't allow it."
"No, that's for certain."
"That's my little brother for you."
"……Who's anyone's little brother?"
The second bout of bickering was brief.
Volga's gaze drifted toward the central tent. A week had passed since the battle ended, and the representatives of the Allied Forces were gathered in one place.
The battlefield had yet to cool. Lights were sparse, yet laughter was layered over it all. At the end of a brutal battle, people were still eating, drinking, and alive.
***
Inside the tent, representatives of each race had gathered. Niboria Empire's nobles and knights, the Mountain Rabbits and the mercenaries who followed them, dwarves, elves, and the Order as well. Fatigue and tension showed simultaneously on every face.
Not yet had anyone clearly said it's over. The fighting had stopped, but order had not been established.
"It appears the entirety of Elvra has entered a phase of stabilization."
Hadiya spoke in her capacity as the overall commander of the scouting units.
"The remaining stragglers are busy fleeing northeast. Meanwhile, the remaining Legion Commander has vanished somewhere in the western mountain range—"
"I'll speak to that matter."
At the mention of the Legion Commander, Yelayen stepped forward. Unlike his usual self, he wore a composed expression as he stroked his beard.
"What remains in the north now is just 1—the 'Spreading' Legion Commander, Drenbne. But there's no need to fear it just yet. It has been held in place by the Gatekeeper all this time."
"The Gatekeeper, you mean……"
"A mage who guards the western mountain range of Elvra."
Another battle remained—the knights' faces stiffened. But Yelayen quickly added,
"Drenbne is a coward. If the opponent is one it cannot win against, it won't come out to begin with. Being last among the 9 Legion Commanders, the moment Verhas was destroyed it will have recognized its own inadequacy and withdrawn. It may already be gone."
The assembly fell into momentary silence.
What broke that silence was Sevi Belgrado. He opened his mouth, his face visibly worn,
"Then……we need to decide the direction we move forward in now. Whether to rebuild this land, or prepare for the next battlefield."
At those words, every gaze converged on a single point. It was an instinctive movement.
Calix slowly raised his head.
With just that single motion, the breath of the assembly stopped.
He said nothing. There was no ripple of energy. And yet, everyone felt it. That they had stepped inside his domain.
Breath grew heavy. Hearts pounded fiercely.
Yet it was not pressure—it was order. Like a shattered space finding its way back into place, it was the sensation of perfect equilibrium.
Calix had not seized power. He had become someone who no longer needed to.
At this, Royce and Ella, Basim, and countless nobles and knights looked toward him at once. Marquis Ashapel's lips stirred, and at last he managed a few words.
"……Master Calix, what would you have us do?"
Calix answered quietly, yet with unwavering resolve,
"There's no need to address me that way."
Yet he quickly understood that his intention would not be accepted. It was written plainly on every face in the room.
Not a single one of them had accepted his words.