The Lich of Glory Knight Spirit: Moving towards Krimasha!
Chapter 84 - 17: The Eve of the Storm (3)

Chapter 84: Chapter 17: The Eve of the Storm (3)

The massive army converging from all directions filled the open spaces around Pearce Cathedral, even clogging up the narrow alleys.

Rows upon rows of torches, shields, and tightly packed cavalry lances.

Pearce Cathedral resembled a lone island amidst a raging sea.

...

Taking the shortcut from White City to Lion King City, hundreds of Undead Knights from the Silver Moon Knight Order raced desperately, like a wild tempest tearing through the land.

...

From the window of her room, Yilin could faintly see the torches crowding the space before Pearce Cathedral.

Dean the Priest was utterly bewildered.

Shelley nervously gripped Yilin’s hand, blinking her wide eyes.

...

"The King is hunting the Holy Knight? Has he gone mad?" Duke Tangjis could hardly believe his ears.

"This is excellent news. If the Holy Knight and the King turn against each other, then this nation will undoubtedly belong to us. The promise we made to that old fellow Gruglu is clearly paying off," Duke Fernandes said smugly.

At this moment, they were unaware that Count Gruglu was even more perplexed than them.

...

The King rode his horse, swaying as he emerged within the ranks of the army, his gaze radiating fury.

Standing before Pearce Cathedral, Tenidas and the other two Bone Horses retreated step by step, climbing the stairs until they reached the highest platform, then turned and charged directly into the cathedral.

The world fell into silence, leaving only the crackling hiss of torches burning.

Residents cautiously peered out from the gaps in their windows.

"Ready—!" The King raised his right hand.

The archers in the ranks exchanged uncertain glances, hesitating.

"Ready—!" The deranged King shouted once more.

The archers then lifted their bows, drawing to full tension.

"Wait—!" a voice called out.

The King’s hand paused in mid-air.

The Bishop hurriedly stepped out from the cathedral’s grand entrance, hoisting his robe and leaning on another cleric for support.

"Your Majesty! Wait!" he cried out, panting heavily.

The King glared at him with fury written across his face.

Still clutching his robe, the Bishop descended the steps in haste.

The shield bearers in the front row made way for him.

He stumbled forward to the King, performing a respectful bow.

"Your Majesty, I... I apologize on behalf of the Holy Knight and beseech you to calm your anger. This is a misunderstanding. Tomorrow morning, I promise you will have a satisfactory explanation. I assure you."

The King hesitated briefly, doubt flickering in his gaze.

The Bishop swallowed dryly, standing before the King’s horse, and slowly raised his wrinkled eyes to meet him. "Please, Your Majesty, withdraw your soldiers immediately. Surrounding the cathedral is a sin of disrespect toward the Holy Spirit. You are protected by the Holy Spirit, Majesty, and cannot possibly be irreverent toward it—we all know this. We believe that Your Majesty must have had compelling reasons to act so. Yet, should this situation continue, it may give ill-intentioned individuals an excuse to exploit the issue. This would be most disadvantageous to your coronation in two days."

The King’s hand slowly turned palm-upward and waved lightly.

Relieved, the archers let out a collective sigh and lowered their bows.

"Are you suggesting that the actions of the Holy Knight have nothing to do with you and that you do not support them—correct?"

"Y-yes," the Bishop nodded emphatically, resisting his apprehension. "There must be some misunderstanding. The Holy Knight, like me, deeply believes that Your Majesty, Benedict II, is the sole fitting ruler of Isaac Kingdom and a blessing to the Holy Sect. Please, grant me some time to uncover the truth behind these events."

"Did you all hear that?" the King shouted, scanning the crowd. "Our Lord Bishop does not agree with the Holy Knight’s stance! He firmly believes that I, Benedict II, am the sole rightful ruler of Isaac Kingdom! The Holy Knight has not received the Holy Spirit’s will! Now you can rest assured!"

His voice resonated among the ranks of the army.

The soldiers silently listened.

The Bishop, as though suddenly realizing something, widened his eyes and stared blankly at the King.

Lowering his head, the King sneered and spoke softly, "Well, you’re of no use now. Guards! ’Escort’ the Lord Bishop out!"

"You! You can’t do this! Surrounding the cathedral—you’ll be punished by the church!" The Bishop struggled and shouted as he was hauled away.

Clerics inside the cathedral peered nervously from the shadows, petrified.

"If I cannot ascend to the throne, I will have already been punished long before the church intervenes." Raising his head, the King roared toward the cathedral, "Come out, Holy Knight! If you don’t want the thousand-year-old Pearce Cathedral to be destroyed, come out! Surrender Bob, and I’ll let bygones be bygones! Otherwise—!"

"Otherwise, what?" A voice rang out, light yet unyieldingly resolute.

Every soldier tilted their heads upward simultaneously.

The King’s eye twitched faintly.

The distant Bishop, being dragged away, slowly widened his eyes.

Two demons lurking in the shadows silently observed.

From the cathedral’s darkened and open main doors, three figures emerged.

Silver moonlight poured over them, bit by bit.

Stallions, resplendent armor, upright postures—the silver moon emblem on their chests glimmered in the moonlight like stars in the midnight sky.

Gray rode atop his horse, carrying Bob.

Jones and Dora flanked him on either side.

Step by measured step, they proceeded down the platform outside the main doors until their steeds came to a halt in the center.

Below the stairs stretched the boundless army, a sea of fire illuminating the space. Behind them stood the sacred faith embodied by Pearce Cathedral.

Gray surveyed them from his elevated perch, radiating pride like a deity.

"This is a proper mess... Gray, are you sure you won’t reconsider?" Black Cat whispered.

Gray gave no reply.

"The Bishop has already declared you lack the Holy Spirit’s will!" the King roared.

"Yes," Gray answered bluntly.

"Hahahaha! Then what gives you the audacity to challenge me?" The King shrieked hysterically.

Tavia chuckled, "Is this fool serious? He actually admitted it? If he faked the Holy Spirit’s will, what could anyone do to verify it? Who would dare challenge him?"

Zeda did not laugh. "If he were someone who would misuse the Holy Spirit’s will, he wouldn’t have stepped into our trap in the first place. The fact that he did means he’s bound by principle and would never falsify it."

A long silence followed.

The soldiers collectively swallowed hard.

Everyone stared intently at Gray, including the King, who took measured breaths as his lips subtly curled upward.

Though the King failed to understand why the Holy Knight was so utterly honest about lacking the Holy Spirit’s will, he realized he had already claimed half the victory.

Without the Holy Spirit’s will, there was no divine blessing, no angels! A Holy Knight bereft of divine power was merely human! The throne was within his grasp!

After an extended silence, Gray spoke softly, "I do not have the Holy Spirit’s will. But the Holy Spirit has permitted this war."

"Permitted this war?"

"Yes, it will not intervene. You and I will face each other in a fair duel, witnessed by the world, for our differing beliefs."

"What belief of yours could be worth such a fight?" The King tensed.

"My belief is to bring justice to Prince Bob and the other princes you murdered."

"Hahahaha! Oh, how touching! What a virtuous knight! Justice for the dead? Who even believes that? Ask anyone—what need do the dead have for justice? You merely seek to prop up a child as ruler so you can control him as his guardian! Everyone, behold! Witness how this noble knight lusts after earthly power!"

Gray gazed unblinkingly at the King, who verged on madness.

"Even the Holy Spirit isn’t with you! What right do you have to defy me? So what if you’re a Holy Knight?" The King snarled with laughter, "Don’t tell me you sincerely think I’d agree to duel you one-on-one?"

"The Holy Spirit may not stand by my side, but justice does. And that alone is enough," Gray replied, his tone still composed.

Gray gently lifted Prince Bob from the saddle before him and handed him to Jones, quietly instructing, "Keep him safe. Do not use magic."

Then, Gray urged his horse forward.

"Justice on your side? Are you joking with me?" the King shouted, laughing wildly, "Everyone laugh!"

His orders elicited an awkward, sparse chuckle from the ranks.

Despite their numerical advantage, the soldiers were visibly uneasy. Their momentum was nonexistent, a stark contrast to the overwhelming odds in their favor.

...

Meanwhile, the Silver Moon banners billowed in the wind as the Undead Knights charged over ridge after ridge, their pace relentless.

...

Shelley clutched Yilin’s hand tightly, trembling.

Yilin stared expressionlessly at the brightly lit Pearce Cathedral in the distance. She turned to Abi Robbs and ordered calmly, "Send the carrier pigeons. Notify White City to rally all troops and march toward Lion King City."

"Understood!"

...

Somewhere within the Dimensional World, Catherine slowly turned her gaze, her expression vacant.

Behind her, a vivid illusion unfolded.

Within its glowing frames, a lone Gray rode forward step by methodical step, toward the edge of a platform—alone against an army that swelled like a boundless tide.

...

Under the moonlight, his silver armor gleamed amidst the fiery chaos like a dazzling meteor, luminous as if blanketing the night sky with its splendor.

Everyone stood frozen, watching in fright.

From his high vantage, Gray eyed the King with steely resolve and declared aloud, "I now offer you one final chance for peace—for yourself, for your soldiers. Dismount, confess to all your sins, and seek the Holy Spirit’s forgiveness."

"Silence! Who gave you such gall, such foolish pride to believe you could win? Hand over Bob, and I will spare your life!" the King roared angrily.

"A shame. You’ve squandered your last chance for peace." With a loud "clang," Gray unsheathed his longsword.

The soldiers instinctively retreated a step.

The King widened his eyes and cried, "Bowmen, prepare—!"

The archers nocked their arrows and raised their bows, pointing them at Gray atop the platform.

Gray raised his blade to his chest and whispered solemnly: "Justice, my creed. I offer everything to you. I will fight for you until my dying breath. If justice cannot prevail, then let my life end at this very moment."

This was no prayer to the Holy Spirit but a vow to the depths of his own soul.

...

Catherine stood mesmerized in the Dimensional World.

"He is becoming a Saint..." came a whisper from the Holy Spirit.

"A Saint..." Catherine murmured.

...

Even demons—even Zeda, Tavia, and Vivian—watched in astonishment, motionless.

...

"You all know, every one of you, that there is a child trembling with fear inside Lion King Palace! Yet none of you are willing to hold out a helping hand! If justice is absent, then I will take its place and judge all injustice!" Gray roared from the depths of his soul, pointing his sword squarely at the King: "Begin—!"

His voice echoed across Lion King City, reverberating in every corner so loudly it seemed deafening.

The spark of fury was lit.

"Fire—!"

As the rain of arrows descended, Gray spurred his steed into a gallop, leaping boldly into the air toward the King.