Crest of the Strongest Knight

Chapter 61 - Witch

The only fireworks to be had that day came in the form of debris and destruction as Avalyne Academy exploded.

More precisely, the academy's main building that served as the festival's backdrop was consumed by an enormous burst of flames and force that shook the entirety of the campus grounds as massive chunks of steel and stone rained from the sky.

The crowd erupted into absolute pandemonium almost immediately, throwing themselves at each other as the once-cheerful citizens of the empire sought to escape the deadly situation. Though it had only been a moment earlier that the citizens laughed alongside one another, they now tore viciously at their fellows, seeking to secure their own safety amongst the sea of people that struggled to do the same.

"Your Imperial Highness!" Trista shouted urgently as she dived toward Gwenhwyfar with arms outstretched. Her eyes were wild with panic, but they contained a measure of focus within them that only a knight could manage.

Despite her speed, the knight's valiant attempt to protect the princess would be in vain.

A mass of what appeared to be black butterflies materialized in between Trista and Gwenhwyfar, coalescing into the form of a black-robed woman.

The woman's hair was long and immaculately glossy, reminiscent of the night sky as it waved in the vesper wind. Her face was obscured by a mask cut from the finest rubies, its crimson surface almost like a massive red eye that glowered at all that the woman deigned to look upon.

Without a word, she raised her arm and pointed her palm toward Trista.

"Wh—"

In an instant, black butterflies gathered within the center of her palm and a thin black lance shot forth with blinding speed.

"—Ghk!"

Trista fell to the ground, the pitch-black lance piercing through the center of her chest. Her eyes were glazed over, and a trickle of blood ran down her pale lips.

"D-Dame Trista!" Gwenhwyfar shouted in horror, barely managing to recover from the shock of what happened. She still couldn't comprehend it. The black-robed woman had been unarmed, and she'd appeared from out of nowhere. So how did this all happen?

It wasn't possible.

It just wasn't possible.

Yet, no matter how many times Gwenhwyfar cried out to Trista lying on the platform, the knight didn't move. Though she had only just been so vivacious and lively mere minutes ago, she now laid in a steadily growing pool of her own blood.

"GWENHWYFAR!" Medrauta's powerful roar cut through the cacophony of fear and panic, reaching the princess' ears with ease. She leapt forward, catapulting herself over the panicking crowd and toward the platform, desperately hoping that she would reach the princess before anything happened.

The black-robed woman's arm shot out in an instant and grasped the princess by her hair, yanking Gwenhwyfar toward her before holding the princess in place. Despite Gwenhwyfar's struggles, she couldn't even budge the woman's arm.

"You coward! You dare use the princess as a shield!?" Medrauta shouted in rage as she landed in front of the black-robed woman, her longsword already drawn. Though its edges were blunted, it would be more than enough to break bones against an unarmored target.

"A shield?" The black-robed woman laughed, a rich and distorted sound that was equally as distorted as her voice. "What use would I have for a shield when all you hold is a sword that cannot even cut?"

"Then release her if you're so damn brave," Medrauta narrowed her eyes.

The black-robed woman laughed again. "As you wish."