The occupation and cleansing of the desert tribes were no longer Talice's concern, nor did she wish to concern herself with them.
In the past, no matter how severe her injuries were or how exhausted she felt, she would have ensured that everything proceeded exactly according to her will. Once, when occupying a heretic village, several swordsmen attempted to rape the women in the village. She immediately sentenced them to death by fire on the spot.f However, not long after, she discovered that the villagers, even in death, refused to abandon their faith. Instead, they saw the Church's army as the true demonic evil. In the end, she burned the entire village to the ground. At the time, it had seemed like the most righteous course of action—her unwavering sense of justice could not tolerate the slightest blasphemy or defiance. But looking back now, she found it almost childish, even laughable.
Perhaps the women and children of these tribes would also resist, leading to unnecessary slaughter. Perhaps the officers in charge of the occupation would act out of line. Though she still could not condone such behavior, she no longer took it as seriously as before. She merely told the Templar officer in charge, "Don't go too far. Treat the women and children well."
It wasn't apathy—she simply no longer had the energy or strength to care. The burdens weighing on her body and soul were too heavy, so heavy that she no longer wanted to concern herself with these matters. But that wasn't the only reason. It wasn't just her spirit that was drained; her body was as well—she was seriously injured.
"Knight Talice, thanks to you, this war against the desert tribes has gone much smoother than expected... but did you really have to push yourself so much?"
The priestess tending to her wounds was an elderly woman who had spent most of her life in the army. With the kind and gentle demeanor of an old doctor, she sighed while bandaging Talice's wounds.
It was a well-proportioned, athletic body—strong but not overly muscular, instead possessing smooth, fluid lines that made it undeniably beautiful. Even as a fellow woman, the priestess could appreciate the striking form of this Temple Knight.
Which only made the sight before her even more jarring. The once flawless, porcelain-like skin was now covered in dark bruises, grotesquely warped marks, and torn flesh curling at the edges. And these were only the wounds that had managed to bypass the famed Glory Armor, said to be the most impenetrable defense on the continent.
Had she been wearing anything else, each of these blows could have easily been fatal. And yet, despite such protection, her way of fighting was indistinguishable from sheer desperation—reckless, relentless, as if she had no regard for her own survival.
"If you had been even a moment slower in dodging, your neck would have been broken. And here, if this rib had fractured just a bit more to the left, or if the broken bone had angled slightly deeper inward, it would have pierced the major artery near your heart. Even if the white magic from the Glory Armor could have kept you from dying on the spot, you would have certainly lost your ability to fight. And that was in the midst of thousands of enemies... Achieving merit is important, but there's no need to go this far, is there?"
Talice remained silent. These words were not the first time she had heard in recent days. From Celestee to the front lines, in every battle, she always charged ahead of everyone, always achieved the greatest feats, and always bore the heaviest wounds.
Even the most battle-hardened and fearless soldiers in the army couldn't help but feel complete and utter admiration for the sheer ferocity of this female Templar Knight. No one dared to underestimate her anymore simply because she was a woman. Her performance on the battlefield was nothing like that of an ordinary person—barely even human.
Every time she returned, expressionless, covered in blood and wounds, carrying the severed head of an enemy leader, even the bravest of swordsmen who prided themselves on their courage would feel a chill run down their spine.
Yet, no one knew that she wasn't fighting so desperately for glory or recognition. She fought simply for the sake of fighting.
Weaving through blades and swords, brushing past death countless times, she never felt fear. Instead, she deliberately sought out the most perilous, yet also the most efficient, ways to fight. More than once, a strange and inexplicable thought would surface in her mind—Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just die like this.
"What happened to your hand, Knight Talice? It looks like it was severed cleanly by a sharp weapon, and not too long ago either. With your status, you could easily request several bishops to join forces—it should be possible to..."
"I tried. It couldn't be reattached," Talice replied indifferently.
The hand that Talice lost in battle was severed within the Glory Fortress, a place filled with priests well-versed in white magic, as well as several high-ranking cardinals. Though their mastery of limb-reattachment magic couldn't compare to the necromancers of Dehya Valley, reattaching a freshly severed hand should not have been a difficult task.
Yet, to everyone's surprise, no matter how much effort they put in, no matter how powerful the white magic used, while they could heal the rest of her wounds, they were utterly powerless when it came to restoring her lost hand. It was as if her severed wrist had developed a will of its own, rejecting the very part of itself that had once been flesh and blood.
"Oh?" The priestess raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. However, her expression of curiosity wasn't directed at Talice's words but rather at her face. Though her hands continued working—wrapping bandages, casting healing spells—she fell silent.
After a long pause, she suddenly asked, "Why was it severed?"
"It was just to block a strike for someone," Talice replied flatly.
"I see," the priestess murmured. "Perhaps the reason it cannot be reattached… is because what was truly severed was not your hand, but your heart."
Talice's face, which had remained as calm and motionless as a statue, finally wavered. She turned to look at the priestess, who simply shrugged.
Suddenly, a voice came from outside the tent. "Lady Talice, there's someone outside the camp claiming to be your sister. A young girl, barely in her teens—it seems she's a mage."
"What?" Talice abruptly stood up. The wounds on her body, which had only just been bandaged and healed, immediately began seeping blood again from the sudden movement.
"Bring her here… and the rest of you… leave us." After a long pause, Talice's voice came from within the tent. It was clearly trembling, something that puzzled the soldiers outside.
They had seen their commander behead enemies as calmly as one might slaughter a chicken—so how could her voice shake like this now?
"You… how did you get here?"
Ayime's frail body was draped in a large, dirty adventurer's cloak, and her youthful, delicate face was marked with the wear and tear of hardships far beyond her years. Inside the tent, it was just the two of them. Talice tried her best to remain calm, but she couldn't manage it. She could feel that both her voice and her gaze were not quite right.
"I came to find you, Sister," Ayime's eyes were still as clear as ever, staring directly at Talice with a steady, calm gaze. Her voice was equally composed.
"Didn't Master Lancelote already arrange for you to return to Alrasia?" Talice said, her voice tinged with concern. "Don't worry, the teacher has already promised me..."
"I know. I know it was because of your plea that Lord Lancelote spared me. For someone who knows so many secrets like I do, it's actually unreasonable for me to still be alive. But Lord Lancelote did indeed spare me, and I believe it must be because of you, Sister."
"Then you should stay in Alrasia, and after some time, you can go to the Tooth Tower... Why did you come here to find me? It's too dangerous here."
This desert was far from Alrasia, and the journey here during the war was fraught with dangers. Many areas were still untamed wilderness, home to wild beasts and the giant-eared monsters. For Ayime, a young girl, to make it here, it spoke volumes about her resilience and the hardships she had endured.
"I came to ask you something, Sister. Ever since that day, I haven't seen you. I first went to Celeste to find you, but you weren't there. After asking around, I learned that you had come to this place, so I kept following you."
"You... there are some things you don't need to know," Talice said, feeling flustered. She couldn't even bring herself to look into Ayime's eyes. The reason she had left Celeste and traveled all the way here was partly because she didn't want, and couldn't bear, to face Ayime anymore. But she knew Ayime would come to find her eventually.
"No, I need to know," Ayime's voice was weak, but also unwavering.
"No, there's no need to say more. Tomorrow, I'll have someone send you back to Alrasia," Talice interrupted her harshly and stood up.
"Actually, even if you don't tell me, I already know something. You're planning to kill brother Asa, aren't you?" Ayime asked, her voice still soft.
Talice immediately replied loudly, "He deserves to die! He's the continent's most wanted criminal. Two of the highest-ranking cardinals are dead because of him. He's helped those orcs... and... he's nothing but a despicable and evil man. Why shouldn't he be killed?"
"If he really deserves to die, then why did you take a blow for him, Sister? Why did you beg Lord Lancelote not to trouble him anymore?"
"That was because I was out of my mind at the time. Please, stop asking about this," Talice nearly shouted, her voice trembling with frustration.
"No, actually, these aren't the things I want to ask. I can see it, I can feel it," Ayime said calmly. In stark contrast to Talice's agitation, Ayime remained composed, her tone and expression soft and detached. Yet the words she spoke froze Talice in place, making her unable to move. Every word pierced deeply into Talice's heart.
"I know, Sister, that you're so upset because you don't want brother Asa to die. You'd rather have your own hand severed than see him be killed. You care for brother Asa, don't you?"
"But in the end, you made that choice. I believe you must have a reason you couldn't avoid, and I just want you to tell me that reason. Is... is it related to the sword hilt brother Asa was holding? And to the power he spoke of that belongs to him?"
"You... how do you know about that?" Talice stared at Ayime, wide-eyed.
"After following brother Asa for so long, knowing so many of his secrets, it's not hard to guess these things. Though I don't know all the details, I hope you'll tell me. I believe I have the right to know because he's my brother..." Ayime took a deep breath. "And you are my sister... You both are my only family. But because of this, you'll both die. I know that once Brother Asa dies, you will die too..."
Taking a few steps back, Talice sank down into a dejected sitting position. Ayime's words struck her heart again and again, tearing out the very sources of her anger and frustration, leaving only the bitter emptiness of sorrow. She looked down at the ground, muttering softly, "It's no longer a matter of who wants whom to die. No one can choose, because he must die... I had no choice but to make this decision."
"Why? Why must you choose this way?"
"Because..." The word was on the tip of her tongue, but Talice couldn't bring herself to say it. The word that she had always spoken with such certainty, the one she had regarded as a guiding principle, suddenly felt impossible to utter.
Before, it had been a belief, a shining light from above, a divine truth that could judge everything. She had spoken it freely, without hesitation. But now, when it had become a heavy, almost unbearable reality—a responsibility, a choice laden with so much helplessness, sorrow, and bitterness—she couldn't bring herself to say it.
The hesitation wasn't just sorrow. In fact, this was the way with most truths: the more someone can speak endlessly, the less they truly understand. The ones who understand are the ones who can't speak it, or simply don't wish to anymore.