There were two orders of holy knights within the church: the Order of Dawn and the Order of Dusk Tenetta led one and the archbishop’s son led the other.

Isabelle followed Tenetta’s gaze.

A young man stood there, clad in armor engraved with the Church’s crest: Pharos. He was forcing Count Line to his knees, pressing one hand firmly against his shoulder.

His short, black hair was cut close, exposing the clean line of his neck, and his deep, navy eyes gave him a striking presence. By all standards, he was handsome.

Yet it was not his appearance that stood out most, but the unyielding set of his jaw.

In truth, Pharos was a man bound by rigid principles.

Whenever he found himself alone with Isabelle, now Tenetta’s wife, he would find fault with the slightest thing.

“When attending mass, it is a virtue to dress modestly.”

“Even as the wife of a high priest, indulgence is not something that can be entirely excused. You must always conduct yourself with propriety.”

The man’s dark gaze always followed Isabelle wherever she went, burning with an intensity reminiscent of a hunting dog tearing into its prey.

Yet whenever Tenetta stood beside her, he acted as though she didn’t exist.

Isabelle had struggled with this for quite some time, uncertain how to bring it up. She kept it to herself, and it quietly gnawed at her.

Then, by sheer coincidence, the problem resolved itself.

“Don’t go to mass today.”

It was a Wednesday morning at the height of summer. After spending the early hours tangled together, Tenetta reclined lazily, savoring the lingering warmth of it all as he spoke.

At that moment, Isabelle was slipping her feet free from the rumpled silk sheets. Sunlight spilled softly across them as she hurried, trying not to be late for the noon Mass. She had never been particularly devout before their marriage, but now she attended regularly for Tenetta’s sake.

Having changed into fresh undergarments that a thoughtful maid had placed in the bedside drawer, Isabelle turned back.

Tenetta, who should have been getting ready alongside her, was still leaning against the headboard, completely n*ked.

“Pouting won’t change anything.”

“I’m not pouting, my little nun. Skip mass today. No—better yet, don’t go at all from now on.”

Reaching out, he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her back in one swift motion, pressing his lips to her back. His mouth traced her smooth, porcelain-like skin. When he let out a low groan, Isabelle shivered.

“Every time you leave our bed to attend mass, my faith is put to the test.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. So unless you intend to turn your husband into an apostate, you should stop testing me like this.”

The hand that had been idly caressing her from behind moved forward. Isabelle briefly considered brushing it away, but chose not to.

Seeing that she wasn’t resisting, Tenetta grew bolder, pressing closer as his touch drifted along her thigh. It wasn’t long before his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her newly-donned undergarments.

From that day on, Tenetta locked the bedroom door whenever there was a mass. Isabelle would let her husband cling to her, bury himself against her, and indulge in what he seemed to consider his own form of confession. After all, a man with such a promising future should not be allowed to stray from his faith.

And so, Pharos — whom she had encountered so often at the cathedral — gradually faded from her thoughts.

Lost in those memories, Isabelle suddenly realized how long it had been since she last attended Mass.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Tenetta.

“Why is he here?”

The Orders of Dusk and Dawn did not see eye to eye. Although Isabelle was unaware of the full history behind their long-standing feud, she was well aware of how fiercely they antagonized each other. There had even been an incident in which members of the Dusk Order assaulted members of the Dawn Order. This event made its way into the capital’s bulletin. Hostility and fists were exchanged between the two orders.

So naturally, it was extremely rare for the leaders of both factions to gather in the same place.

“I was originally the one meant to carry out the execution. But I chose to marry you instead.”

“What does that have to—”

“If I were to lose my divine power after marrying you, I’d be the one kneeling there, awaiting judgment.”

A priest who is blessed with divine power but chooses to marry a heretic loses that power and is deemed a heretic themselves.

Even a high-ranking cleric such as Tenetta could not escape this fate. This was a destiny that had almost befallen him, Isabelle, and her entire family.

As this sank in, the color drained from Isabelle’s face.

At that moment, Pharos — who had forced the entire Line family to their knees — turned his head.

The holy knight’s dark gaze settled on Tenetta, flickered briefly over Isabelle, then returned to him.

Tenetta released Isabelle’s hand.

“Stay here quietly. I’ll be back in a moment.”

With that, he strode towards Pharos.

Isabelle watched in silence, her face pale, as she took in the scene before her: The count pleading desperately with the knights; Chester standing with his head bowed; and the countess with her eyes tightly shut.

The Church taught that one must never show sympathy to heretics.

However, seeing people she had once known — people who had almost become her family — being dragged away like this made her feel sick.

Were there truly piles of corpses hidden beneath the Laine estate, as Tenetta had said?

Lost in confusion, Isabelle could only watch as Tenetta approached the three of them. He took their hands one by one as though offering a final confession, murmuring a few quiet words to each of them.

There was something about his gentle demeanor that filled her with an inexplicable dread.

When he had finished, Tenetta turned and walked back towards her.

Behind him, she saw Pharos place his hand on each of their foreheads in turn, beginning with the Count. The count’s lips trembled as though he wanted to protest his innocence, but no sound came.

Before he could utter a word, his body began to collapse, starting from his head, dissolving into dark, crimson grains.

The man’s solid form crumbled like a sandcastle crushed in a child’s hand.

Watching his father die before his eyes, Chester opened his mouth in a silent scream. He soon met the same fate, however. His mother followed.

The three of them broke apart into a heap of blood-red sand, forming three small mounds on the ground.

This was how priests carried out the execution of heretics — through divine power.

“My God…”

Someone let out a faint, horrified whisper.

Isabelle’s face drained of color, nausea rose within her, and she staggered.

Before she lost consciousness completely, a strong arm caught her by the waist.

From within the encroaching darkness, she heard the man she knew so well softly click his tongue.

“…Tch.”

And just like that, after witnessing the death of the Line family, Isabelle lost consciousness.

***

The execution soon came to an end.

Pharos Kiron, commander of the Order of Dawn, turned away from the crimson heap that could no longer be recognized as human.

An attendant who had followed him stepped forward, gathered the remains in soil and prepared to scatter them in the pigsty.

This was the Church’s way of dealing with heretics — turning them into a warning.

Pharos lifted his gaze towards the fortress walls enclosing the clearing.

Modest in scale, as befitted the estate of a provincial noble, the walls had been carefully maintained, though the marks of time were beginning to show here and there.

Then, as he noticed a tall man stepping out from beyond those walls, Pharos’s brow creased faintly.

“Dusk”

Tenetta had just carried the Lord’s daughter indoors. She had fainted during the execution. Now, he stepped back out and turned his gaze towards Pharos. Pharos strode straight towards Tenetta, his expression still tightly drawn.

Tenetta Achilleton was admired by many wherever he went, but Pharos felt differently.

He despised him.

He knew what kind of beast lurked beneath that almost heavenly exterior.

***

Pharos first met Tenetta four years ago, when he briefly visited the front lines to conduct an inspection during the height of the Holy War.

This wasn’t a necessary task, but when Pharos heard that his father wanted someone to assess the eastern front, he volunteered.

“Seeing the front with your own eyes will broaden your perspective.”

Although he was displeased, his father, Archbishop Agulus, had appointed him as his representative.

A sense of defeat hung over the eastern front.

For over twenty years, the Church had been locked in an unrelenting cycle of advance and retreat against the heretical nation of Ishtal.

At the beginning of the Holy War, the Church spared no effort in establishing a second order of holy knights — the Order of Dusk — and stationing them on the eastern front.

However, as the war dragged on, the Order of Dusk earned the grim nickname ‘the Order of the Dead’, as they were abandoned to decay in the east.

Knights sent by various lords would serve for a few years before returning home. For the knights of the Dusk Order, however, there was no escape from the eastern front unless they left the order entirely or were maimed.

Following the death of the former commander of the Dusk Order in battle, a new commander was sent from the capital: Guido.

He made no effort to conceal his disdain for the front.

Clinging to Pharos, the archbishop’s representative, he guided him through the battlefield with almost servile eagerness.

Consequently, Pharos was able to witness the brutal reality of the front in all its harshness, decay and hopelessness.

The Dusk Order’s encampment reeked of festering wounds. The damp, salty air from the eastern sea clung to the land, where blood and filth pooled and rotted together.

As Pharos stepped across the black, sodden ground, he took in sights that felt as distant from the capital as heaven was from h*ll.

He noticed a young man.

“Who is that knight?”