The drill had started?
Hadn't the drill already ended?
A terrifying suspicion suddenly surfaced in his heart. He vaguely guessed what was happening, yet his reason refused to accept it, as though it were a blasphemous tome steeped in Pollution—one glance through its pages would plunge him into another world.
Unfortunately, he was merely a spectator in the stands. The curtain that had already risen would not pause for even a moment because of his resistance, just like the countless insects crushed beneath the wheels of history.
Galahad stared blankly at the drill ground ahead, like a believer undergoing a trial, like a prisoner awaiting judgment.
It began to rain.
Raindrops of steel crashed down from the sky, sending crimson splashes bursting across the ground.
The piercing whistles merged into one continuous shriek, and suns rose over the dim earth.
Galahad felt the world around him fall silent. Everything slowed to a crawl.
Never before had he seen destruction in its true form so clearly. Pale words could not describe what lay before him. The towering knight felt every hair on his body—down to his very soul—tremble.
It was as if he had crossed the high wall for the first time and seen the Sea of Unconsciousness, seen the knowledge and truth floating upon it.
No. The flames before him were the true truth.
Galahad stood there in confusion, his face flushed red by the clusters of fire blooming endlessly before him.
He lowered his head and looked at his hands, his armor, and his longsword.
From childhood, he had honed his martial skill and horsemanship. With his noble bloodline and unwavering will, he had crossed the mundane high wall in his youth and touched Transcendence. He possessed the finest armor and the finest sword. He was the Empire's strongest