Messmer parted his thin lips, uttering words colder than his spearpoint.
Miquella lay in Leda's arms, his golden lashes trembling faintly. He raised his head, his eyes still as pure as a newborn's.
"Brother..." he called again, his voice softer and gentler, like a feather brushing a blade. "You're my only hope. Mother abandoned you here, but I'm willing to accept you. Please become my lord, and together-"
"I said, get out."
Messmer did not even rise. He merely leaned forward, his keen eyes fixed on Miquella like a hawk watching dying prey. He sneered. "Abandoned? You think I stayed here because I was abandoned?"
He slowly stood, his tall figure stretching in the candlelight, his shadow engulfing Miquella.
"I stayed here because I chose to."
Miquella's eyes dimmed for an instant.
He lowered his head, golden hair veiling his eyes, his shoulders trembling softly. Sensing the emotions of the person in her arms, Leda tightened her grip on her sword again and again.
"Why..." Miquella's voice choked with tears. "Why does no one understand me? I only want to create a gentle world, a world without bloodshed or sacrifice..."
He raised his head, his eyes reddening. Tears slid down his cheeks, glittering like gold in the candlelight.
"Do you not want me either, brother?"
Anyone who saw him like this would have been heartbroken.
Messmer watched the scene without expression.
Then-
Blinding golden light suddenly burst from Miquella's eyes!
Once again, he used the bewitching power he was supposed to "use sparingly."
In that instant, the entire church turned golden. Marika's statue seemed to come alive in the light, gazing down at the scene.
Yet there was no one where the golden light fell.
Messmer vanished like a phantom, so fast he left no afterimage. Miquella's pupils contracted-without meeting