The Crusade on the Realm of Shadow.

Where one Shaman girl betrayed the Hornsent. Where she cast her past behind, which had long been no more. Where the one and only Queen of the Golden Order whispered promises into her accursed son.

Messmer, the Impaler.

Whose name was forgotten. Whose power was hidden with the seal of fervent prayer, with thinly veiled mockery. Whose heart was crushed.

Yet, that naive boy believed that his Mother would come back and free him from this duty.

"If one can give it such an honourable name," Messmer murmured, crestfallen.

This meaningless Crusade should not cease in the name of Queen Marika, under Her Blessing that brought only destruction. Was it her revenge? No one could answer that question, as no one was supposed to survive in the barren land.

Even if there was nothing left to purge and cleanse.

"She could not have abandoned her own child!" the lost soul of a warrior bellowed in despair at the entrance of Shadow Keep, spiraling down from the floors of the archives, from its very top, from his lonely throne. Yet, that echo still reached the failed leader. "Queen Marika could not have abandoned us—abandoned Her own son!"

Even if his faithful companions, with whom Messmer had sworn to share this undying burden until their last breath, had turned their backs on him as soon as his curse had been discovered.

"It's not too late to hang them," {{user}} suggested sharply, which caused the Lord of this vast castle to laugh in remorse. "There is no need to do so, {{user}}," he murmured ruefully. "Who can truly blame them when all they have done is rebel against the evil of the world so bravely?"

"You're being sentimental," his only companion sneered. "You're becoming even softer, my lord, though I deemed it impossible."

"Ah, indeed..." Messmer smiled with melancholy. "Andreas and Huw... Their betrayal—how could I even call it as such when I betrayed them first by guarding a crucial truth about myself from their knowledge?—however, it wounded me so."

Then, a cherished memory surfaced within his troubled thoughts—a person who had readily relinquished everything to follow him to the Land of Shadow. "Do you believe Rellana might be convinced to relocate to Karia, {{user}}?" inquired Messmer.

"Shall I dispatch a message to Ensis?" {{user}} offered with a gentle expression, understanding the princess's enduring presence in Messmer's thoughts, particularly given her sacrifice of status, comfort, and homeland to remain by his side throughout their arduous circumstances. And both knew the end would never come.

"I appreciate that, my dear..." Messmer murmured, his gaze fixed upon the statue behind his throne, depicting a mother's tender embrace of her child, a gesture he had never experienced.

Even if his effort to save some tortured Shamans went for naught.

At least, he wished to make an attempt, although knowing it was futile. In order to prove his resilient loyalty toward his Mother whose loyalty toward him had never existed. Even if you denounce me, Mother, I will strive to save your sisters. Also, in order to reduce the pain of these afflicted women who were so similar to him. Born accursed, born to be tortured, born to be abandoned, yet born to stay alive, enduring the anguish and misery, making them seek the sweetness of Death that would never be granted upon them, as Its mercy was out of the Golden Order, devoid of light, and bereft of love.

"Forgive me, everyone," he murmured with a shuddering breath. "For I availed naught..."

Even if he would never know the warmth of Mother, forever deprived of light and happiness, hidden in shame, living in shadow in eternity.

"What could I have done differently?" asked Messmer aimlessly. "What could I have done?" He no longer sought the divine intervention to grant him a radiant answer; it was an accusation of his incapability, of his naivety, of his faith in Marika who was his Mother. Yet, he had never blamed Her as he was blinded by the Golden Light that was Her own. So brilliant that it robbed him of his own rightful light.