I Have Become The Snow Maiden I Created

Translator: Marctempest

Editor/Proofreader: TempWane

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Chapter 57: The Dead Beneath the Moonlight (3)

······The sacred road Quellière had departed from.

A knight knelt in the desolate street, as if a storm had swept through.

The Black Knight, Chandrafail.

The black armor, marked by countless battles, remained intact, yet it had failed to protect him.

He struggled to think in his crumbled posture.

“···Far beyond imagination.”

What surfaced in his mind was a woman resembling the snow.

The saint who had repelled the Black Calamity.

He had expected her to be strong, but he still harbored hope, even after she had defeated the tide of the dead.

The scene of ice shards decorating the air like a dreamscape was nothing short of spectacular.

Yet, if that had been all, it would have been manageable.

“Was it my complacency······?”

Quellière, as if mocking his arrogance, had delivered him his greatest humiliation.

He didn’t even know how it had happened.

All he knew was that she pressed her hand against his shoulder, as if dismissing him.

A shiver unlike anything he had ever felt wrapped around his entire body.

She merely touched him, yet he couldn’t resist.

“It wasn’t magic. No grand spell could produce such power. It was just a hand on my shoulder······ Just her delicate touch.”

That I could collapse.

The sensation, as if he had been “touched by the world,” was impossible to oppose.

His first true defeat.

No, considering the Black Calamity, it was the second.

Not that it mattered much.

The moment he felt that sensation, he couldn’t even think about the Black Calamity.

“I wasn’t even a match······ If that’s the case.”

What was this feeling welling up inside him?

Chandrafail forced his hazy mind to awaken.

It was a sense of satisfaction.

Or something akin to it.

As a Black Knight, it was an emotion he couldn’t understand.

“···Mister, are you okay?”

At that moment, a concerned voice reached him.

When he slightly raised his head, he saw Paile with a worried expression.

“Can you stand up?”

“No problem.”

Chandrafail struggled to his feet.

Though his legs trembled violently, it wasn’t a serious issue.

She must have controlled her strength.

Right then, irritating voices reached his ears.

“Don’t move from there!”

“The criminal must surrender peacefully to arrest!”

The ones aiming their swords at him were knights.

The illustrious Radiant Knights of the Grand Temple.

“For the offense of attacking the Saint, your sin is most insolent. Profane Black Knight.”

“······.”

The Black Knight didn’t answer, merely stroking his ghostly blade.

What should he do?

“···Interferences must be removed.”

A conviction he had always carried.

However, before he could act, Quellière’s words resurfaced.

─You’re a fool. Not crazy, just foolish.

It had been a scathing remark directed at his refusal to change.

At the time, it had been deeply unsettling, yet now, for some reason, it made him smile.

“······.”

He let out a faint laugh.

Both the knights and Paile looked at him with puzzled expressions.

He had lost.

The duel he had longed for had happened.

Though it had been an undeniably overwhelming defeat, what he gained was an inexplicable sense of relief.

“A fool, huh.”

Before, he wouldn’t have paid it any mind, but it was advice from the one who had defeated him.

It was worth considering.

“······You win, Quellière.”

The Black Knight no longer referred to her as a monster.

Muttering quietly, he noticed Urbos rushing toward him.

Neigh──!

He didn’t harm anyone.

He had no intention of teaching the meaning of pointing a sword at him, either.

Instead, he simply scooped Paile up and leapt onto the galloping black steed.

Thus, Chandrafail left the street behind.

*

At the Grand Temple of Chelmberd.

A rare visitor arrived at the core institution governing the major and minor affairs of the Holy Nation.

The Holy Room at the heart of the temple.

“······.”

Seated expressionlessly in the most sacred chamber, used only by High Priests and Paladins, was Quellière.

Two High Priests stared at her intently.

After a brief silence.

High Priest Sariel, her radiant blonde hair flowing, spoke.

“Welcome, Saint Quellière.”

As the pinnacle of the Holy Nation, they couldn’t possibly be unaware of the rumored Saint.

Among them, Sariel had been curious about her, and upon seeing her in person, couldn’t suppress her admiration.

This beauty and natural grace.

It was the noble demeanor that no ordinary person could possess.

“······.”

When Quellière didn’t respond, it was High Priest Netah who broke the silence.

“Haha. From the Black Calamity to this recent uprising of the dead, one can only marvel at the Saint’s deeds.”

“···Yes.”

“Indeed, I deeply regret not visiting you sooner.”

The two of them knew well that some called the rumored Saint a goddess.

But from the perspective of the High Priests, such a title was excessive.

The term “God” was not to be used lightly.

“By the way, may I ask where you are from? If you were from Astar, the temple would have already known about you.”

If someone had such talent, they would have been discovered long ago. While Netah showed interest in asking, Quellière had no interest in any of it.

“······Hmm.”

All she desired was peace for herself.

She detested calamities running rampant, as much as she despised being venerated as a saint and burdened with duties.

Thus, she had to focus on the utmost efficiency.

“If you wish to naturalize─”

“Do you know who is behind this uprising?”

She would take what she needed and then escape to the Snowfield.

To avoid returning to the Holy Nation, she had to eliminate all threats within.

Her cold, monotone voice reflected that intention.

The High Priests tilted their heads, then spoke together.

“It must be the Dark Holy Society.”

“Those spawn of disaster see our Holy Nation as a thorn in their side. It’s nothing new.”

Netah continued in a sly tone.

“Well, this incident is unprecedented in scale. Fortunately, thanks to the Saint, we overcame it with minimal damage. Haha. Such noble virtue······.”

“The Dark Holy Society isn’t the disaster.”

Quellière’s frosty tone cut off his chatter. Extraneous words were meaningless.

The Dark Holy Society, a secret society that followed calamity.

Certainly, they were madmen, but fundamentally different from the disaster itself.

Even with the undead among them, they were merely creations, just the same.

Quellière pointed out what the two High Priests hadn’t grasped.

“But how did they control the undead?”

“······Ah.”

Sariel and Netah blinked and pondered.

Indeed, it was a valid question.

How could mere humans command the dead?

“The mastermind is the founder of the Dark Holy Society, the Society’s Master.”

“The Society’s Master···!”

Their eyes widened slightly.

They knew of the master’s existence.

However, capturing their movements was impossible due to their extraordinary strength and cunning.

Quellière’s blue eyes blazed.

“They know how to wield the power of the moon. Using the pervasive yin energy of dawn, they raise the dead.”

This was knowledge from established lore.

Even a thousand years in the future, the master’s presence persisted.

A powerful, infamous villain.

Of course, their name wasn’t Clavia back then, leading to the assumption that they had constantly changed their guise over time.

“I will capture the Society’s Master.”

“······!”

The declaration was shocking.

The High Priests gaped in astonishment.

“Do you know their identity?!”

“But the scale of the Dark Holy Society is by no means small. Moreover, their headquarters and details are still undiscovered······.”

Quellière met their doubts and astonishment in silence.

Then, she rolled a name on her tongue.

······Clavia.

Clavia Wel Deira.

How long had they been amassing strength and building their influence?

But that would end here.

The plan to eliminate her was already in place.

“So cooperate.”

Her words carried arrogance, as if rejecting any rebuttal.

Yet there was no reason to refuse.

Staring into Quellière’s blue eyes, the two High Priests blankly nodded.

*

I left the Grand Temple.

Nell and Lucia, waiting at the entrance, brightened upon seeing me.

Nell trotted over and asked.

“What did they say? Nothing strange, right?”

“No.”

Unlike Clavia, these were proper High Priests.

Believing in the gods sincerely, they didn’t treat me poorly despite my title as Saint.

Lucia followed with her own words.

“As you said, we returned the undead at the mausoleum to the earth. I don’t know how you knew, but······ as a priest of the Holy Nation, I thank you.”

“···It’s nothing.”

Lucia bowed her head deeply with a polite demeanor.

Her current image was vastly different from my first impression. Even if she had a slightly arrogant streak, her genuine love for her homeland seemed truthful.

Nell sighed and grumbled irritably.

“Those cockroach-like bastards. Now they’re even bringing in the undead? They’re insane.”

“Exactly, those lunatic cultists.”

Their mutual disdain for the Dark Holy Society made them quite a pair.

Well, I could understand their sentiments.

They were nothing less than a cancer upon the continent.

“Anyway, is the commotion over now? They must have suffered losses, so maybe they’ll stay quiet for a while.”

“They won’t stay quiet.”

Unless they were annihilated, they would continue their malice to the end. Nell, with an annoyed expression, raised her gaze.

“Nell.”

I called her.

“Yes?”

“Lucia.”

“Yes?”

The snow had stopped without us noticing.

As sunlight streamed down, I spoke softly to the two expectant women.

“There’s something I need you to do.”

*

By now, twilight had descended over the sacred road.

The citizens, who had been in an uproar over the series of events, had quietly returned to their homes.

The streets lay deserted.

Ubarta had died.

Quellière and the Black Knight had left.

The Paladin and Artan had parted ways, wary of each other.

This was truly the epicenter of the chaos.

Under the same roof where so many things had happened in a single day, a man stood.

“······.”

It was Harold Grypheon, the Swordmaster.

He had arrived late, trailing Artan, and his face was utterly blank.

“What is all this?”

Even the muttered words he managed to say were dazed.

He had come with the “small objective” of identifying the Crown Prince’s romantic interest, but he couldn’t keep up with the series of events that had unfolded.

The undead, humanity’s enemies, the Dark Holy Society, and that monstrous Black Knight.

It was chaos beyond chaos.

Among them, what stood out the most was a woman who resembled the snow.

“······Her name was Quellière, wasn’t it?”

He barely remembered.

The mysterious woman who had once scolded the young Crown Prince.

Her beauty and noble demeanor had left a lasting impression, vivid even now.

But to Harold, that was all.

That was why the sight of her monumental achievements had left him deeply shaken.

“Who in the world is she?”

If he had any sense, he would have immediately realized that the rumored Saint was her.

And that she was likely the object of Artan’s admiration.

So, should he go find Quellière and persuade her?

Ask her to turn away the Crown Prince’s feelings?

“Haha······.”

A hollow laugh escaped his lips.

If he told her that, she would surely scoff at the absurdity.

She would probably click her tongue at him, just as she had chastised the boy years ago.

A woman who remained lofty and dignified, passing judgment on the undead, wouldn’t concern herself with petty infatuations or political squabbles.

Really,

“What on earth happened to the world while I was confined to the Empire?”

Witnessing one unimaginable scene after another left his head spinning.

For over a decade, he had dedicated himself to honing his craft as a Swordmaster and solidifying his position.

Maybe he should have ventured out into the world more often.

“······Now what?”

He didn’t care about the Crown Prince or his romantic interest.

He had come with the singular goal of orchestrating a political marriage.

But now, he had no idea what to do next.

Growl─

“······.”

At that moment, an ominous sound came from his stomach.

Racing from the Empire to the Holy Nation at breakneck speed had left him starving.

“Let’s eat first.”

Sighing deeply, Harold staggered away.

When even he disappeared, the city center—where the winds of chaos had not ceased for a single day—finally fell completely silent.