Crest of the Strongest Knight

Chapter 178 - Her Memories; Her Story

"Mama...?"

"Hm? Medrauta? What's wrong, sweetie?" Morgana turned to see her daughter standing in the entryway of the living room. Pallid moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating Medrauta's nightgown and giving her silver hair an almost otherworldly glow.

"I can't sleep..." Medrauta said, clutching a large stuffed doll tightly. She walked toward her mother's waiting arms, hopping up onto Morgana's lap as she reached her destination.

"Hm... Would you like mommy to tell you a story then?"

Medrauta nodded emphatically. "Yes please!"

"Very well." Morgana smiled faintly. She turned to look at the window, gazing wistfully at the full moon. "It starts like this..."

†

Morgana stood upon a desolate hill of gravel and rock. Gray sand and dust filled the air for miles on end, suffocating the ravaged landscape in a cloak of monotony. Her long silver hair billowed in the wind, the gleaming strands like a beacon of hope in the midst of the dismal wasteland she watched over.

Dressed in full armor, Morgana stared off into the distance, their pristine blue the only source of color in this desolate world. Even the sky itself had been hidden by the thick curtain of angry clouds looming above, threatening to release their freezing contents onto the earth below.

In her left hand, Morgana held her signature weapon. A plain longsword with a leather-wrapped hilt, the sword lacked any decorative pieces, its spartan appearance emphasizing its true nature as a tool for dealing death and nothing more. Despite that, there was a certain uncertainty in Morgana's heart causing her determination to waver.

...Tomorrow is the day. Morgana frowned. The wind howled loudly around her, responding to her thoughts in an almost mocking fashion. Sharp gales deflected against the equally sharp edges of the stones beneath her feet, producing an eerie keening noise that pierced her ears. To her, the sound wasn't too different from screams of agony before death.

She would know. As a Paladin, Morgana had worked with witch hunters on several occasions, hunting down and slaying the Witch Queen's most prized subjects in an effort to rid the land of the horrific taint that had gradually spread across it during the Witch Queen's two-thousand year rule.

Morgana pursed her lips in deep consternation, wondering about her future and that of her compatriots. Though she had lived for long, it was only during the past decade that any real progress had been made to overthrow the Witch Queen's tyrannical rule. As a Paladin, she primarily concerned herself with protecting what little human civilization was left while the witch hunters actively sought out opportunities to act upon their namesake.

However, the recent appearance of a prolific witch hunter had slowly begun changing the tide, her fighting skills and the sheer power of her Sigil drawing both witch hunters and Paladins alike to her cause. In fact, that was exactly what had driven Morgana so deeply into contemplation.

Just a few days ago, the witch hunter in question had asked for her aid in a massive attack on the Witch Queen's Spire, the massive black tower atop which she ruled the continent. More than just an impressive reminder of her tyranny, the Spire acted as an amplifying nexus for the Witch Queen's powers, serving as a basis for the shield towers that the Paladins employed.

However, it was also the Witch Queen's sole weakness. While the Spire was capable of diffusing the Witch Queen's power over a vast area, it required her to remain within its confines to function. In other words, it was just as much a prison as it was a symbol of authority, and the brave witch hunter sought to crush her in the very place she held court.