Crimson Servant

The young knight was sitting at the table writing, and he was obsessed with transcribing the words of praise in his mind on the paper. He is writing a love poem, and the object of his confession is the supreme queen to whom he is loyal. Of course, he would not present his personal delusions to bother his queen. This was just a pastime to calm the passionate love in his heart.

An ending that he thought was perfect made Lord Knight Tristan smile happily. He read the love poem carefully twice and checked to confirm that it was correct. He took out his seal and left his signature at the end. Tristan picked up the letter with elegant handwriting, left his seat, passed the bookshelf, and walked towards his private iron box.

The box was filled with the ravings of the romantic knight, who was ready to take the tin box to his grave. Maybe he could be a little more "careless", that is, when he was dying, he accidentally exposed his talent and love, and it became a good story among future generations.

Tristan curled up his lips at his cleverness.

He took off the key hanging on the necklace and opened the lock. White papers covered the entire box like layers of fine snow, among which he still remembered several of the latest writings. Tristan pays great attention to the care and maintenance of his treasure chest, and the interior is kept spotless. Even if the paper inside turned yellow due to oxidation over time, he would clean it out in time and re-write.

Tristan strives to maintain his inner purity.

But this time, he seemed to have failed.

Tristan squinted his eyes and saw a few conspicuous red ink stains on the white letter paper in his treasure box.

He didn't understand where the stains came from, so he got lost in thought.

Snap, snap.

On the white paper, there were two more blood stains dripping and spattering.

Tristan raised his head with feeling. On the ceiling, crimson tentacles condensed with blood swooped down towards the knight's head, biting his head instantly and lifting Tristan's entire body from the floor. After a period of thrashing and struggling, the Lord Knight became silent, and his wails and screams were swallowed up by the blood wrapped around his head.

John stood outside the door, his fingers pressed against the crack of the door, quietly retracting the chains of sin that had seeped into the room.

The companions who were standing aside and waiting had different reactions to the Warlock's actions. Crowe looked blank and looked around. Galahad realized something. Barnes put his hands behind his head and leaned against the wall. Arlington sniffed the air. He looked at the magician with a fearful look.

More than ten seconds passed.

"Next," John said to Galahad, taking his hand from the door.

Galahad looked at the door, with sadness on his face. He already understood the fate of one of his friends. He didn't say much, and followed his old memories to the location of his next former companion.

"The next one, the nearest one is Eternal Knight Gareth. If we want to break the siege of the Knight Lords, we must deal with him. His ability will make other Knight Lords stand up."

The warlock paused, thinking of the corpse he had created a few minutes ago. He left the corpse intact for the sake of speed.

"Does the dead knight lord also count?"

Galahad shook his head.

"Death is also a kind of eternity. Gareth cannot resurrect the dead, but if there is still one breath, he will be 'alive' forever. Gareth's ability is more like treating life as an object and retaining the original inherent qualities of life. Attributes."

John nodded, "Lead the way."

They advanced in the castle in silence. They bypassed the guards. Excessive killings would most likely alert the knight lords. Before proclaiming the Prayer of Blasphemy, they are just powerful knights, which are easy to deal with. And after they release their divine power... at least John has no clue about how to hurt Galahad so far.

He didn't want things to get any more complicated.

"Gareth is very alert. His ability makes him easy to be surprised by enemies, so he is often wary of his surroundings. This habit has become serious enough to form persecutory paranoia. Any movement may prompt him to release his eternity, just like a A barrel of explosives that often goes off. If he had the ability, anyone would resist his own death. I think if it weren't for the fact that the Holy Word consumes the knight's physical strength, Gareth would be willing to keep the eternal mode on."

The warlock nodded and took note of Galahad's warning. He recited the incantation silently, and the pool of blood spread under the red robe. He pulled out the silk thread and slipped it into the crack of the door. Determined to keep the threads of the chains of sin alive, rather than allowing them to gather into stronger and more conspicuous tentacles, John laid out his trap as patiently as a spider weaves its web. The synchronized senses have observed the interior of the room, and the hair-thin crimson spell crawled into the carpet. In order to sneak in invisible to the naked eye, the number of their invasions is small, and it takes longer to accumulate enough to attack.

In the room of Knight Lord Gareth, sharp steel wires are being formed around him. When the time is right, these steel wires will tighten instantly, making Gareth's head and his neck goodbye forever.

John, who was setting the trap, could sense Gareth's occasional nervousness. The knight would glance around nervously and quickly, eyeing shadows in corners and any cupboards with room for one person. He sat in a lone chair, in the middle of the room. Any obstacle blocking his view was two feet away from him, and several times during this period John thought he was exposed, only for Gareth to suddenly start talking to himself.

He was praying to his queen with a sad expression, as if Morgan's side was the only place where he felt safe.

Gareth looked a little pitiful, and John couldn't bear it and decided to let him leave this unsafe world early.

The Sin Chain trap was ready. Just a second before John started to move, a violent shaking came from the heights of the castle. The wall cracked, and violent power fell from the sky, tearing open the ceiling above the warlock's head.

Gawain? No, these energies are not the flames of the sun, but the crimson power that John is more familiar with. The original force that created the entire world is tearing it apart.

The sacrilegious ritual has begun!

John reluctantly completed the strangulation action, and Galahad's exclamation next to him told the magician the answer in advance. The Sinful Chains cut open the flesh of Gareth's neck, and once it penetrated an inch, he could no longer continue.

Gareth declared his eternity, and each of the knight lords also released their abilities as the castle shattered.

Countless small wall fragments and furniture remains, together with guards and servants, fell into the pit under the broken castle. John looked at the pit, which was the location of the ritual altar in the ruins of the temple. The crimson power of the entire world accumulated. The forming frenzy is flowing into it, and the bottom is an ominous blood red.

John and others stood on the castle fragments floating in the air. This place had become a dark world filled with crimson power, and the divine power rejected gravity.

Just like an [Advent] ceremony, but less dangerous, this crimson power does not have the pollution properties that I am familiar with. It has a trace of the holiness of the power of creation, but it is red.

The warlock saw his enemies, five blasphemous knight lords. They were bathed in red light, looking heroic and mighty, like the Holy Spirit descending on the mortal world.

Wait, five? The doomsday knight Gawain is not among them, but among the remaining five people there is a special being who is extremely disproportionate.

His skin had rotted, and his flesh and blood squirmed and grew in the abundant red light. The power of blasphemy was like a sacred halo growing on a mass of rotten flesh. John sensed the remnants of his own crimson spell from his body.

"I see, my spell gave you activity."

"What good luck, Tristan, aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

Tristan let out a violent and inhuman roar. He became a crazy beast, and the person who controlled him was not his maker.

John glanced at the aura of blasphemous power embodied on the Knight Lords. That was how they identified their allies.

The Blasphemy Knights, John felt it was time to give them a name that was less elegant and more blasphemous.

Crimson Servant.