Neither Waltzemer nor anyone present understood the words of the Lighthouse Keeper.

Even those surrounding the papal Holy See were perplexed.

The Pope, crushed under the Lighthouse Keeper’s presence, had yet to demand the Emperor’s excommunication. Yet, even before the Pope could make such a request, the Lighthouse Keeper declared the Emperor excommunicated, as if it had been awaiting this moment.

It was as if this moment had been anticipated.

Just then, through the cascade of light pouring in from outside the terrace, Cardinal Rohen stepped forward. He pushed past Dera Heman, the Paladin Order’s commander, who was barely kneeling, and approached Horma, who was prostrate before the Lighthouse Keeper.

His gaze was directed downward.

It was the gaze of one who looked down from heaven upon the earth.

“The Licht Treaty has finally been broken.”

“Rohen…?”

Rohen looked down at the Pope with cold eyes.

“You are greedy and cowardly, ignorant of your role. Your usefulness ends here. The Empire will once again be ruled by the Codex of Light.”

***

Waltzemer felt a chill despite the scorching heat. His mind creaked as he mulled over the Lighthouse Keeper’s proclamation, but the Lighthouse Keeper conveyed its meaning in a more direct manner.

“Aaaaagh!”

Waltzemer turned his head towards the scream he heard coming from somewhere. Although he still couldn’t see, the voice resembled that of Bishop Katyn. The smell of burning flesh and bone and the screams of agony etched themselves vividly into his mind.

Waltzemer began to faintly realize what was happening.

“The Lighthouse Keeper…”

As he tried to speak, there was a soft rustling sound, and suddenly, his head felt lighter.

Thud, thud.

Waltzemer gingerly touched his head.

Those horns that used to snag on his clothes and in the carriage were gone.

The antlers that had been a perfect symbol of authority and power, even without a crown, had fallen from his head.

Waltzemer had never considered those horns valuable or depended on them, but the moment he realized they were gone, he felt an overwhelming sense of loss, as though he had lost a limb.

“I have been…”

Before Waltzemer could finish his sentence, the blinding light and oppressive heat vanished. The Lighthouse Keeper, which had loomed over them, seemingly ready to crush them, was gone. Since everyone had been blinded, none of them knew how the Lighthouse Keeper had disappeared.

“…abandoned?”

Amid the ensuing chaos, Waltzemer was consumed by the question of “why?”

When the Lighthouse Keeper appeared, he had offered to surrender all his authority and obey. He believed that he could be a more competent intermediary than the foolish and inept Pope.

But that arrogance had led to Waltzemer’s downfall.

He had sought to seize the Empire by taking control of the Church, but the angels had done the opposite, excommunicating him through the Order and seizing the Empire.

Previously, this would not have been possible.

It was the Licht Treaty that had separated the powers of heaven and earth.

However, the Empire had now reverted to the state it was in over 300 years ago, before the Licht Treaty.

And Waltzemer had been used as a tool to break the Licht Treaty.

It was all because he had surrendered his authority before the Lighthouse Keeper. Had he attacked the Holy Capital with his soldiers instead, this might not have happened.

***

“I can see!”

The soldiers’ jubilant cries rang out.

Their sight, which they thought lost, quickly returned, and their bodies, which they feared were burning, were unharmed.

Yet the disappearance of the blinding light made the surroundings appear as dark as night despite it being daytime, and the departure of the oppressive heat left them feeling chilled even under the late summer sun. Engulfed in overwhelming emptiness, they sought a target to fill the void.

“Heretic!”

Suddenly, Waltzemer saw a soldier daring to point at him. Before he could respond to the insolence, soldiers gripped by anger and fear started charging with their weapons drawn.

“Burn the heretic Waltzemer!”

Only then did Waltzemer grasp the meaning.

Excommunication.

Until moments ago, Waltzemer had been the Emperor of the Gerthonia Empire, but now he was reduced to a barbarian. A barbarian, considered somewhere between a non-civilized being and a beast even in the Empire.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

A small number of his guards, soldiers, and aides struggled to fight off the charging soldiers. In the distance, the charred corpse appeared to be that of Bishop Katyn.

Poor soul. She had devoted her life to the Codex of Light, only to be consumed as kindling for a warning.

“You treacherous vermin…”

Ethelheart, the commander of the Imperial Guard, roared as he slashed through the soldiers. But there were too many, and the soldiers were consumed by madness. Before long, numerous weapons were embedded in Ethelheart’s aging body. The spears lodged in him prevented him from even falling.

“Get a grip, Your Majesty! We must escape from here!”

‘Escape where, Delia? Where could we go?’

He was no longer an emperor. And who would take in a barbarian who defied the Pope?

Duke Lyon attempted to drag Waltzemer by the collar but was struck down by a soldier’s spear from behind.

At that moment, someone roughly stabbed Waltzemer behind his knees. He groaned and fell. Several times he felt sharp metal piercing his body.

His clothes were forcibly torn, and his shoes were taken off.

“Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him! We must take him to His Holiness for trial!”

He heard someone’s urgent voice. But it didn’t seem to be a voice intended to save him.

Pushing the soldiers aside, Duke Dietrich Brant approached. His face was filled with anguish, but along with other soldiers, he dragged Waltzemer away.

They hoisted him onto a horse like a sack of goods.

“I will personally deliver the heretic to His Holiness! Surely, there has been a misunderstanding. If we convince His Holiness that we were deceived by this heretic, he will forgive our army!”

‘Clever, Dietrich. That’s how you ensure the survival of the Brant family.’

Waltzemer was inwardly impressed but said nothing. However, as Dietrich started the horse moving, he began to flee in the opposite direction instead of riding toward Lichtheim.

Belatedly, shouts of anger and curses erupted from the soldiers. A beat later, the sound of galloping hooves and orders to shoot arrows echoed from behind.

Waltzemer looked at Dietrich’s back with a sense of pity.

‘You fool. Weren’t we just using each other? Where did this sudden surge of loyalty come from?’

“You must not die here,” Dietrich whispered fiercely to Waltzemer.

“I saw it with my own eyes—an angel appeared and toppled the world’s most powerful man with just a few words, without reason or explanation. Are we supposed to ignore this incomprehensible injustice? That would be…”

Thud, thud! A few arrows struck Dietrich in the back. He staggered but did not let go of the reins.

Blood gushed from his back, staining it red.

“That would be… something I cannot allow in the world my daughter will live in. You must have realized your mistake by now, so from now on…”

Clatter, clatter, clatter! In that moment, a horse rapidly charged and speared through both Dietrich’s back and his mount. Dietrich exhaled a long breath and toppled over with the horse.

Waltzemer gasped for air from the shock of the fall.

The sound of hooves galloping reached his ears.

A knight grabbed the spear protruding from Dietrich’s back as he rode by and then jumped off his horse to confront Waltzemer.

“Feltren…”

It was Commander Feltren of the Imperial Knights.

The man who held the Empire’s secrets and had been the Emperor’s covert hand was now pointing his spear at Waltzemer. Despite aiming at his former lord, Feltren’s face showed little emotion. As other knights caught up, he signaled with his chin.

“Tie him up. He must look as wretched as possible when presented to His Holiness if we want to be forgiven.”

“Yes, sir.”

The knights glanced nervously at Waltzemer. However, without his antlers, he no longer seemed as imposing as he once did.

Feltren grabbed Waltzemer by the hair, pretending to inspect him, and whispered, “Humiliation is short, but revenge is long. The Pope is too arrogant to kill you outright.”

Feltren tilted Waltzemer’s chin this way and that as if checking his complexion, then placed a finger inside Waltzemer’s mouth. A sour taste, reminiscent of wine, filled Waltzemer’s mouth, and simultaneously, he felt the pain from the fall ease.

Waltzemer realized that this was the miracle of the Red Chalice and gave a dry laugh. The Imperial Knight Commander, whom he had trusted implicitly, one who held the Empire’s secrets, was secretly one of the Red Chalice’s clandestine fingers.

Why Feltren wanted to keep the Emperor alive was a mystery, but Waltzemer was too exhausted to question it. Feltren withdrew his finger after feigning a check on Waltzemer’s condition and instructed the knights.

“He’s not in a dying state. Drag him along. He’s tough; he won’t die.”

Bound by the knights, Waltzemer staggered to his feet. They secured him behind a horse, glanced at him briefly, and then started heading back toward Lichtheim.

Waltzemer attempted to follow the horse for a few steps, but with his injured knees, he couldn’t walk for long. Soon, he stumbled and fell. However, the knights showed no mercy and continued to drag Waltzemer behind them.

Feltren watched Waltzemer’s retreating figure before glancing back. But behind him lay only a small forest, nothing more. As Feltren observed the woods, the knights approached him.

“Shouldn’t we present the corpses of these traitors who conspired with the heretic to His Holiness?” one knight suggested, indicating the fallen Dietrich. Feltren replied calmly.

“Leave them.”

“Sir? But…”

“Let the wild dogs and vultures feast on them. We have no time to conduct a solemn funeral for a heretic.”

The knights were puzzled but dared not question Feltren, who had captured the fleeing Emperor. They soon left the bodies and vanished.

Feltren gave a silent nod to the forest before turning back toward Lichtheim.

Towards the holy capital of Lichtheim, where joy and terror burned together.

***

Pope Horma Kmuel was still in a daze.

Only moments ago, the shouts of a hundred thousand soldiers surrounding Lichtheim filled the air, and even the priests and paladins within the Holy City had turned against him. But now, Lichtheim was utterly silent, and everyone averted their gaze, bowing their heads toward him.

The entire city was gripped with fear.

However, Horma knew it wasn’t because of his authority but due to the celestial being that loomed above him. Even Horma himself felt like bowing his head to someone if he could.

But certainly not as much as the man before him.

“We have brought the heretic before you, Your Holiness!” The knight who had dragged Waltzemer in spoke fervently, as if trying to assert his innocence.

Waltzemer’s condition was deplorable.

Dragged almost all the way, his clothes were torn to shreds, leaving him practically naked, and he was barefoot. The iconic antlers were gone, and he was covered in dust and possibly struck by filth along the way, emitting a foul odor.

It was hard to believe that just half a day ago, this man had ruled from the pinnacle of the Empire.

“…Emperor.”