Ironclad

A squadron of ironclad knights suddenly burst onto the scene, galloping down the streets and charging indiscriminately into the crowd. The heavy hooves trampled over those too slow to evade, and the sounds of bones crushing and flesh tearing followed in quick succession.

"Hey, hey—"

"Waaahhh—"

"Help!"

"Run!" The mob's courage dissipated in an instant.

Elite soldiers closed in from both ends of the street, trapping them on a short stretch of road in front of the sanctuary. As the cavalry rode over the crowd, seemingly not yet satisfied, they looked ready to turn around for another charge, which sent the crowd into utter panic, too frightened to make a move.

The leading knight reined in her horse and stood tall, a lance in hand pointed at the people. Her long hair was braided back, her expression icy.

"Who's that? A female knight?" Ines peered curiously.

"Rocher," Noah whispered.

"Disorderly assembly, death." Rocher's voice was cold, and no one dared meet her gaze.

Rocher alone commanded over three to four hundred armored soldiers, outnumbering all the rioters combined. Seeing these elite troops, the rioters were petrified, their faces ashen. The standard-bearer waved the somber fort's flag high, embroidered with a golden lion holding a cross-shaped piece of metal.

Her personal guards were particularly brutal, their mounts' hooves stained with blood. Those trampled writhed in agony on the ground, blood pouring from their mouths, close to death. Noah couldn't find it in himself to feel sympathy for them—if Rocher hadn't arrived in time, it could have been him, Elysia, Maden, Hugo, or Sara suffering and dying.

"This knight spoils the fun," Gladius complained. "I was looking forward to your grand slaughter."

"Causing public disorder," Rocher declared impassively. "Whether principal or accessory, all will be imprisoned for three years."

"What!"

"Hey!"

"I still have to close my stall—"

"My son is waiting for me at home!" The crowd was terrified, their legs shaking, looking at each other in dismay.

"Don't be afraid! She wouldn't dare punish so many of us!"

"Right!"

"Let's walk out!" Rocher frowned.

"Those who object, cut out their tongues; those who move rashly, cut off their feet," she commanded loudly.

The crowd fell silent, too afraid to make a sound or move.

"Lord Rocher..." One man stepped out from the crowd, Noah recognized him as the instigator behind the initial shouting, seemingly the one stirring up everyone. He bowed to Rocher, "My lord, it's all a misunderstanding. High Priest Shaval agreed we could use any means to hunt witches. Surely you don't think the will of the High Priest is worth defying?"

Rocher glanced at him.

"Cut out his tongue," she ordered. Two knights dismounted and dragged the man away.

"Wait—hey! You're crazy! You've gone mad!" His screams were piercing.

"How terrifying!" Sara watched, horrified.

"Some people only heed the warning of steel," Delish consoled Sara, patting her back.

As the man was executed, Rocher watched with indifference, as if watching a pig being slaughtered.

The soldiers pulled out his tongue and cut it off bit by bit with a small knife.

"Waaah—Waaahhh!" As his tongue was severed, he let out a blood-curdling scream, blood gushing from his mouth, his voice hoarse, and he could no longer speak.

"No need to stop the bleeding," Rocher instructed the army surgeon to halt. "If he survives, it means High Priest Shaval has prayed for him day and night."

"Ha!" Her personal guards laughed cruelly, accustomed to Rocher's way.

The rioters, witnessing everything, were stunned into silence.

"Disarm everyone, register their names, then take them to the local prison. No need to liaise with Captain Rhys of the guard, just say it was my command. In these extraordinary times, only severe punishment can control the situation," Rocher ordered curtly. The soldiers approached from both sides, each taking a rioter into custody, confiscating their crude weapons, and marching them all away.

"This is Lord Rene's territory! Lord Ganeel will stand up for us!" someone shouted.

"Take him to the prison, then cut off his right foot—no, no need for that, just sever five toes, that's only half an objection," Rocher said.

Inside the side hall, everyone watched the scene unfold, their emotions complex.

"The nobility's army remains as ever... efficient and cruel," Hugo sighed.

"How could that rabble ever stand against true Lorman knights? I've seen too many peasant revolts in my lifetime, they never amount to much," Delish scoffed.

"If it weren't a hundred clubs but a hundred crossbows, the outcome would still be in question," Hugo shook his head.

"What a terrifying woman!" Maden gaped, astonished. "Has she always been this way?"

"That's the Rocher of Somber Fort," Kruis shook his head knowingly. "Even on the West Coast, we've heard her name."

"She's been to the West Coast?" Noah asked.

"Of course, she participated in the royal knights' tournament in the spring of 470. With one hundred and twenty-eight knights from all over Lorman vying for the laurel, Rocher took ninth place! She bested countless nobles with her lance, only defeated by 'The Great Bear' Sir Molinen and 'The Braggart' Elrad. And all as a woman!"

"So she's that formidable," Noah murmured to himself.

"In a place like the West Coast where wealthy noble families abound, she's never bowed her head," Kruis admired. "Many nobles wanted to force her into marriage, coveting the lands of Somber Fort, but she rejected them all mercilessly, even humiliating them."

"Didn't those nobles seek revenge?" Hugo puzzled, "From my experience, nobles are quick to retaliate."

"None. I was curious too, but later when I asked Lord Calvus, he said, 'King Eduardo admires her, so he secretly prevents others from retaliating,'" Kruis explained.

Calvus's judgment? Back then, with the support of the Voice Prince, his word was unquestionable. And that mysterious and reclusive king...

"Lord Noah, a pleasure to meet you," Rocher dismounted and approached Noah.

"Thank you," Noah greeted Rocher.

"As ever," Rocher's demeanor unchanged, "you focus on hunting demons, and I maintain order."

"Nothing could be better," Noah breathed a sigh of relief. "Would you care to sit inside the sanctuary?"

"Very well," Rocher nodded.

People hurriedly moved away from her, only Noah daring to walk by her side. Together, they entered the sanctuary's garden, and she scrutinized Noah carefully.

"It seems you've changed," she remarked.

"Have I?" Noah was a bit surprised, sometimes unaware of his own changes. "In what way?"

"Since returning to Somber Fort, I occasionally think of you," Rocher said, her tone gentle but her expression still cold. "Meeting you now, I can't help but make comparisons, finding clues in the contrasts. Perhaps after the successive events, your state of mind has shifted, and it shows on the outside."

"We're all changing," Noah considered. "Sometimes, I don't know if I've become better or worse."

"I understand," Rocher surveyed the dilapidated garden, which Noah planned to replant come spring. "When I was a child, my father kept me away from weapons and gear, focusing on learning dance steps and conversation to better fulfill my political duty of marrying into a family for the sake of an alliance."

"But now..."

"Since my brothers passed away one after another, my father changed his demands on me. He removed my loom and doll chest, replacing them with weapon racks and fine horses. At that time, I was as perplexed as you are now. I had changed completely, but I didn't know if it was for better or worse, nor if it was truly my own desire."

"You were forced to change," Noah realized. "...We weren't like this originally, but circumstances forced us to change."

"Meaning we never chose to become like this, but in the end, we were shaped by external pressures."

Noah nodded, and Rocher seemed to hesitate.

"Regrettably," Rocher said, "with blood-stained hands, I no longer have the luxury of calmly discussing the past."

She headed towards the hall, with Noah by her side.

"Why say that?"

"Looking back makes one weak, looking forward keeps the heart strong," Rocher passed the statue of the god in the hall, paying brief homage.

"It's the past that forged us into who we are now," Noah sensed a subtle sadness in Rocher, what was she mourning?

"I'm not accustomed to talking about the past, nor do I understand why I suddenly brought up my childhood," Rocher entered the side hall of the sanctuary.

"Because you need to," Noah said. "You need to share with someone."

Rocher glanced around with slight annoyance, everyone seemingly intimidated by her presence, not daring to make a move.

"I don't need to," she said bluntly, then headed towards the upper levels of the tower.

They ascended the multilevel staircase, Rocher in her sturdy armor, reaching the top without gasping for breath, showing no sign of fatigue. Noah followed her to the top of the tower's viewing platform, which offered a panoramic view of the entire Greytree Hall.

Rocher looked down at the street in front of the sanctuary where soldiers were cleaning up the blood.

"Talking to some people is exhausting," she said.

"What kind of people?"

"'Social entities.' When you speak to a noble, you're talking to 1,450 acres of land, a castle, a full five hundred soldiers, and two thousand gold coins. And when you converse with a cleric, you're speaking to an entire noble religion and thousands of devout followers. It's taxing, and the pressure accumulates."

"But you didn't back down when that man mentioned High Priest Shaval."

"Because Lord Rene instructed me to act so. Lord Rene ordered me to reject any interference from religious powers in secular rule. This is a struggle between the Earl of Greytree Hall and the local High Priest, thus I will oppose all actions of the temple with complete loyalty and an unimpeachable stance."

"Lord Rene... why does he dislike the High Priest?"

"The temple has never repaid its loans in full, and Lord Rene will not accept that."

"Money is indeed important to him."

"He never does these things for himself."

Noah pondered.

"I suppose I wouldn't be considered a 'social entity.'"

"On the contrary," Rocher shook her head. "When I talk to you, I'm also talking to a grand sanctuary, nearly ten followers, and assets of a hundred gold coins."

"Does that also bring pressure?"

"That's why I keep my distance from the crowd, and now standing here with you," Rocher leaned back against the viewing platform, feeling the high winds. "Here, we can talk without restraint."

She untied the gray ribbon that held her braid, letting her light red hair flow free.

"How long can I stand here and enjoy the breeze?" Rocher asked.

"As long as you like."

"The pursuit of excellence leaves no room for rest," Rocher said, opening her hands to the sunlight. "Years of gripping weapons, sometimes in midnight dreams, I remember my youth, as if from another lifetime, filled with fear and sadness. If my brothers had lived without illness or misfortune, inheriting without issue, what would I have become?"

"Have you ever felt joy? I mean... happiness," Noah asked thoughtfully.

"Pursuing happiness is complacency. My father always admonished me never to indulge in pleasures."

"I see..."

"For me," Rocher gazed out over Greytree Hall, "I only long for a name that will live through the ages, admired by all, a name that will resonate throughout Lorman. Everything else, including so-called 'happiness,' is but a stumbling block."

After a while, Rocher murmured again:

"But to speak of grand aspirations without having achieved them, I must admit, seems somewhat childish."

"No, it's good," Noah followed Rocher's gaze, seeing the rolling snow-covered wilderness beyond the city. "I want to eliminate demons, all demons, so that those around me can be safe."

"I see," Rocher placed her hand on Noah's shoulder, her eyes drifting.

"Ah, it's time for everyone to talk about their aspirations! Let me tell you, I want... I also want... I have desires too! Let me consume more souls! Such a small wish, can you fulfill it for me?" Gladius said excitedly.

"In fact, no one cares what you want."

"You bastard!" Gladius cursed.

"Greytree Hall is increasingly chaotic, and as a local vassal, I cannot sit idly by. Noah, you must be diligent and fulfill your duties, destroying supernatural evils. As for the rest, the trivial matters of order, leave them to me to manage and control, no need to worry," Rocher snapped out of her brief reverie, resuming her stern demeanor, and issued a solemn command.

"Good!" Noah nodded vigorously.