Liberi Reader

There is an old man in the audience.

This old man has not a speck of interest in competition knights. At the behest of his beloved grandchild, he has grudgingly purchased two tickets to the event so hyped up by the newspapers and media.

He frowns, he sighs, for he does not know why the crowd cheers for the public execution of the young Kuranta by the Sarkaz.

He does not think anything is wrong, for he too was once a knight, a campaign knight without a noble title. He merely scoffs at the competition, at the Sarkaz.

Yet, the battlefield suddenly flares with a blazing light. The old man remembers that the knight is the young lady of the Nearl family.

What a pity, he laments as he stares at the dazzling light. At the same time, the very few Kazimierz present in the audience simultaneously recall an old story.

The story takes place in a land beyond rivers, forests and lakes, in a great fortress formed of towers and walls.

Every day, as night falls, blazing torches form an unbroken line. The campaign knights' armor gleams beneath the moonlight, the sharp edges of their silver lances point at the restless enemy prowling in the darkness.

The invaders are ruthless. The Leithanians, capable of coloring the sky, black out the moon. The terrible armies of Ursus overwhelm the castle walls.

Cities are captured and brought into Ursus in humiliation. The lines fall back once and again, as 'Silverlance' becomes a mocking joke leveled at the knights by the warmongers.

They are pushed to the outskirts of the last city, the last line of defense——

——Where Kazimierz makes its last stand, a pegasus with golden hair appears.

On the dawn of that day, when the Ursus suffer their first defeat of the war, on the faraway horizon of Kazimierz, two suns rise.

Light.

The light does not dissipate. Rays of light diffuse into a haze, banishing the terror.

At this moment, even the sun itself nods, welcoming the returning knight.

......

......

...Maria.

Stand up, Maria.

Maria.

You've grown up. You've really done well.

A white-horned Sarkaz holding a sword stops in front of them. She breathes softly, raising her eyes at them.

The mentally crippled Sarkaz warrior brandishes his weapon, Arts and the smell of a grave.

But the Radiant Knight does not move.

Margaret has a strange expression on her face. It's...pity?

For these two Sarkaz? Because they are called knights? Or is it... because of their circumstances?

At this moment, the entire arena descends into silence.

No one has realized that the match has ended. There aren't any knights boasting about their victory, nor are there the defiant howls of the losers.

The corrupted Sarkaz kneel on the ground——They have not fallen over, and the Radiant Knight does not strike.

She looks down upon the two Sarkaz, then takes a knee and extends her hand.

There is no reply from the Sarkaz.

As if unwilling to bow to the two young girls, they remain silent, unable to stand.

The Radiant Knight turns.

Margaret raises her head.

She used to hate this land with every fiber of her being.

But this is her home.