The radiant figure stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Licht reached out with both hands, gently grasping Valtos by the arms. The touch was completely devoid of the usual hierarchy between a master and a subordinate; it was the touch of a caring friend, a father figure offering solace to a troubled child.
"Valtos," Licht said, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoed perfectly in the quiet, golden room.
Valtos flinched slightly, finally raising his eyes to meet the blinding, compassionate gold of Licht's gaze.
"You are carrying something heavy upon your heart," Licht observed, his smile unwavering, his expression radiating absolute, non-judgmental acceptance. "You have spoken of our victories, of the runes and the vanguard. But your spirit is clouded. I can feel the turbulence within your mana."
Valtos swallowed hard. "Master Licht, I... it is nothing of grand consequence. Just a tactical detail. I do not wish to burden you with my petty concerns when the dawn is so close."
Licht shook his head slowly, his long, braided hair shifting gracefully over his white robes. He squeezed Valtos's arms gently, anchoring the spatial mage in the warmth of his presence.
"There are no petty concerns among us, Valtos," Licht told him, his voice infused with a deep, resonant sincerity that was impossible to doubt. "We are bound by a shared pain and a shared destiny. You are not just my operative; you are my brother in this cause. If there is a shadow in your mind, let me bring light to it."
Licht released his grip, taking a half-step back, spreading his arms openly in a gesture of complete vulnerability and trust.
"If you have something to say, you can say it," Licht commanded gently, his golden eyes shining with an eerie, beautiful warmth. "There is no need for hesitation in this sanctuary. Speak your mind, my friend."
The golden, luminous glow of the sanctuary seemed to hold its breath.
Valtos remained kneeling on the pristine white stone floor, his head bowed. The gentle, almost impossibly compassionate weight of Licht's hands resting lightly on his shoulders felt both like a blessing and a terrifying brand. In this room, bathed in the divine light of his master, there was no room for deceit, and there was no hiding the turbulent, clashing currents within his own mana.
"If you have something to say, you can say it," Licht had told him, his voice a soothing melody that resonated with perfect understanding. "There is no need for hesitation in this sanctuary. Speak your mind, my friend."
Valtos closed his eyes beneath his dark, fabric mask. He took a long, slow, shuddering breath, drawing the warm, golden air deep into his lungs. He worshipped Licht. He believed in their holy crusade to tear down the corrupt, sinful hierarchy of the Clover Kingdom. But he was a man of precision, a spatial mage who valued order, purpose, and calculated strikes over chaotic, messy butchery.
Slowly, Valtos raised his head, his dark, intense eyes meeting the brilliant, sorrowful gold of his master's gaze.
"Lord Licht," Valtos began, his voice tight, stripped of its usual clinical detachment. "My devotion to our cause is absolute. I will open the gates to the capital, and I will watch the noble realm burn with gladness in my heart. But... I find myself questioning the methods of our vanguard."
Licht did not frown. His serene smile merely softened into an expression of patient inquiry. "You speak of Rades."
"I speak of the harvest, Master," Valtos clarified, the words rushing out of him now that the dam had broken. "To create his army of soul corpses, Rades requires vast quantities of material. I understand this. But why must we harvest the innocent? Why do we have to harm the defenseless villagers in the remote borders to form this zombie army? Could Rades not utilize the carcasses of beasts? Could he not form his legion from dead animals, or the corpses of fallen Magic Knights gathered from the battlefields? Why slaughter peasants who have no part in the oppression we seek to end?"
The question hung in the air, a stark, ugly reality dragging its muddy boots across the pristine white floor of the sanctuary.
Licht withdrew his hands, clasping them loosely in front of his white and gold robes. He turned slightly, looking back toward the ancient, glowing stone tablet of the sefirot on the far wall. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint, ambient hum of the immense mana radiating from his body.
"The animals of this world are pure, Valtos," Licht finally spoke, his voice carrying a heavy, ancient sorrow. "They act on instinct. They do not scheme, they do not betray, and they do not steal what is not theirs. To desecrate their forms with necromancy would be an insult to the natural balance of mana."
Licht turned his head, his golden eyes fixing on Valtos with a terrifying, absolute certainty.
"The humans of this kingdom, however, carry the original sin in their blood," Licht continued, his tone remaining beautifully gentle even as he spoke of mass execution. "Even the lowest peasant benefits from the land that was stolen from us. They breathe the air that should have belonged to our brethren. The Magic Knights are the sword of this corrupt kingdom, yes, but the villagers are the soil that feeds it. There are no true innocents in the Clover Kingdom, Valtos. Rades is merely expediting their judgment, using their sinful shells to tear down the very system they passively uphold."
Valtos lowered his gaze. Licht's words were hypnotic, wrapping cold, ruthless logic in a blanket of divine righteousness. It was an answer, but it did not entirely soothe the turbulent memory that had prompted the question in the first place.
Because Valtos knew, deep down, that his hesitation wasn't born entirely out of sudden, uncharacteristic empathy for the peasants of the Clover Kingdom. It was born of an encounter. An anomaly that had disturbed his orderly view of the world and introduced a highly dangerous, unknown variable into their holy war.
A memory from exactly one week ago surged to the forefront of his mind.
One Week Ago.
The night air was thick with a chilling, unnatural fog, smelling strongly of damp earth, woodsmoke, and the sickly, metallic tang of fresh blood.
Valtos stood on the roof of a small, thatched cottage, his dark cloak wrapping around him like a shroud. Below him, the remote border village of Oakhaven was engulfed in a nightmare.
It was a small, utterly unremarkable settlement nestled near the dense forests separating the Clover and Diamond Kingdoms. The people here were poor, their magical abilities negligible—mostly Stage 8 or 9 peasants who used their meager mana to till the soil or mend their worn clothes. They were exactly the kind of easy, defenseless targets Rades Spirito preferred for his grim work.
"Look at them scurry!" Rades's voice was a jagged blade, cutting through the heavy mist. "They spent their whole lives tilling dirt, and now they'll spend eternity serving someone who actually matters!
"Valtos watched from the shadows of a chimney stack, his cloak blending into the soot. Below, a young mother was being cornered by two of Rades's puppets—corpses of former village elders, their skin stretched thin over bone, moving with a sickening, jerky rhythm.
Rades wasn't just harvesting; he was playing. He relished the terror, the way the villagers' meager Stage 9 spells flickered out like dying candles against the weight of his necrotic mana.
"Please! Not the children!" a man sobbed, his voice raw.Rades didn't even look at him. He waved a stitched hand, and 'Jimmy'—the iron-plated monstrosity—stepped forward, the ground trembling under its unnatural weight. "Children have the most flexible souls, old man. They make the best scouts. They're so... light on their feet."
"Yes! Yes! Scream louder, you pathetic dirt-grubbers!"
Rades's manic, unhinged laughter echoed through the muddy streets, piercing the frantic screams of the fleeing villagers.