Chapter 86: Farewells and the Past
The three finished recounting their experiences. Bardel returned to the prayer hall, while Lucas was taken away by a White Wing Knight—the Holy Maiden intended to recruit him into the church’s knightly order.
The viscount went to announce the holy decree to the people of Purple Thorn Castle. Those civilians forcibly conscripted as militia would be released, and those who feared the war would be evacuated to safer regions. Most of the non-native population would leave Purple Thorn Castle.
However, those willing to stay wouldn’t be forcibly evacuated. Purple Thorn Castle still needed a portion of its population to maintain normal operations and logistics. The residents here hadn’t yet truly experienced the cruelty of war. Since their homes were in Purple Thorn Castle, many would still choose to remain. But as the Icelanders’ frontlines advanced and the scent of death drew nearer, those clinging to illusions would eventually leave.
Leaving while there was still a chance—that was the wise choice. Unfortunately, most people lacked such wisdom.
Though Viscount Quentin could foresee the slightly more distant future, he had no intention of leaving Purple Thorn Castle. This was the territory his father and ancestors had passed down to him. He had grown up in this city since childhood. As the eldest son, he had taken up the knight’s sword under his father’s strict training from a young age, joining his father in suppressing bandits, monsters, and Viking pirates from across the icy sea.
Following his father’s teachings and family traditions, he became a professional warrior, mastering the Quentin family’s Heart Combat technique. Only those who comprehended the family’s Heart Combat could inherit the title. Every Viscount Quentin had been a brave and skilled guardian knight. Colton Quentin was no exception—this was the land where he had grown, where his roots lay, and where he would die.
He had long chosen his grave, wishing to be buried beside his father. He didn’t want to disappoint that man. He had resolved to send his children to safety with his most trusted adjutant, Filippo, placing them under the protection of the Simonetti family—who were connected through his eldest daughter’s marriage. The two families had been close friends for generations, their ancestors having fought side by side on battlefields. The Quentin bloodline would continue.
As for him, Colton Quentin, he would uphold his ancestors’ glory, defend the Quentin family’s castle, and protect the remaining citizens. The Quentin family’s strength came precisely from this guardian’s heart—he would never forget his father’s teachings. Hooves pounded as the viscount galloped toward the castle at the end of the road.
Beneath the church’s sacred statue, Lucas stood facing it, making his vow. Lucas’s old friends arrived in haste—a young ranger, a slightly short rogue, a sword-wielding warrior, and a tall man carrying a tower shield. Among the four, only the bow-wielding ranger looked youngest, barely in his early twenties, while the other three appeared middle-aged, their faces marked by time.
The four had been summoned by guards because the viscount wanted witnesses to verify Lucas Porter’s identity, but they arrived too late—the viscount had already left the church. The good news was they reunited with their companion after a year’s separation. They stared somewhat dumbfounded at Lucas, covered in wounds. He hardly seemed the same person. The night before Lucas left, they had drunk merrily together, with Lucas loudly telling jokes and reminiscing about their past adventures. Back then, Lucas had seemed like just another middle-aged man, but now his eyes had changed completely—his entire aura was different. Where he once gave off a relaxed vibe, he now resembled a red-hot blade tempered through countless strikes.
Professional warriors could sense each other’s presence—something intangible yet unmistakable in battle, revealing a person’s strength and inner conviction. Those who had fought alongside Lucas for years felt his transformation most keenly. The shield-bearer asked, “Lucas, have you broken through?”
Lucas nodded at the four, finally allowing a small smile. “Zeno, Halin, Marius, Joniva… it’s good to see you all again.”
“Lucas, your injuries—what exactly happened? Are you becoming a paladin?” the ranger asked. Lucas replied, “I’ve only decided to stay and fight the enemy alongside you all.”
“Feels like the old days when the five of us took missions together,” the swordsman chuckled. The rogue said somewhat sourly, “We were planning to visit your sheep-tending life once the snow melted. Never thought you’d advance to Silver-rank.”
Lucas laughed heartily, “Though I can’t teach you about shoveling sheep dung anymore, at least we get to fight side by side again, eh?” The rogue said nothing, simply punching Lucas’s shoulder.
Under the gloomy sky, old friends reunited, temporarily forgetting their sorrows. Yet Lucas couldn’t help glancing worriedly toward the interrogation room. York had been kept there by the Holy Maiden and still hadn’t emerged.
After a long while, the gnome finally walked down the corridor, followed by a White Wing Knight. The gnome approached Lucas. “Porter, York must part ways with you now,” the gnome said. “They’re sending York to St. Peter’s City via griffin and transport ship.”
Lucas looked at the White Wing Knight. “Honorable knight, my friend may have made mistakes in the past, but he’s no evil man. Could you petition Her Highness on my behalf? I wish to see her once more.”
“It’s alright, Porter,” the gnome said. “Her Highness has guaranteed York’s safety—no harm will come to him. York is merely going to St. Peter’s City for questioning. Her Highness said we’ll pass by Opal along the way. As a gnome, York has never seen the gnome homeland—it’ll be good to visit where York’s grandfather grew up. Might even find relatives.”
“Are you leaving willingly, York?” Lucas looked into the gnome’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Porter. Her Highness isn’t forcing York,” York said. “But York must say goodbye now. Who knows if we’ll meet again.”
“Wherever I go, I’ll never forget the roads we traveled together,” Lucas said. “Thank you, Porter,” York replied. Lucas bent down and embraced the gnome. “Safe travels, my friend.”
Tears glistened in York’s eyes. “York wishes you safety too, Porter. Since York’s grandfather died, you’re the first to hug York. York hopes you stay safe. York will write your story down, like a bard, and tell others.”
Lucas smiled and told the White Wing Knight, “Please take good care of my friend, knight. Though timid at times, he’s reliable when it counts. Besides alchemy, he’s skilled in medicine—learned, kindhearted. Even a kitten’s death would move him to tears. Please don’t be too strict with him.”
The White Wing Knight glanced at the gnome and nodded slightly. “Come, Mr. York. I, Percival Elliott, shall escort you safely to St. Peter’s City. By the honor of the White Wing Knights, no evil shall befall you.”
The gnome sniffled, wiped his tears, and followed the knight toward the city gates where the griffins landed. Lucas waved farewell as the gnome waved back vigorously. “Goodbye, Porter.” “Goodbye.” Both knew this might be their final parting.
In the confessional room, the Holy Maiden stood by the window, silently watching the reunions and farewells. A chestnut-haired White Wing Knight approached with a tray. “Your Highness, I’ve brought their food,” the knight said, placing the tray on the table. “Is there something wrong with these cookies and wheat cakes?”
The Holy Maiden turned to gaze at the biscuits. “Nothing, Vanessa. I was just reminded of old matters.” “Your Highness’s past?” “Would you like to hear, Vanessa?” “But… regarding Your Highness’s history…” “Having now inherited the name of Serefina, one of the Five Saints, those matters are no longer forbidden. If you wish to listen, Vanessa, I can tell you.” “I wouldn’t presume.” “Then sit and listen—that’s an order.” “This…” The White Wing Knight hesitated, then sat. “As you command, Your Highness.”
“It happened over a decade ago, Vanessa. Back then, I didn’t know I’d become the Holy Maiden, nor that the nun who educated me, Sister Charlotte, was the Church Mother. I was strictly tutored by the nun in a place filled with sunlight—exhausting daily, but mercifully, the nun granted me half a day’s leave each month to enjoy my favorite pastries.”