The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?

[In one of the chambers in Holy Kingdom]

The chamber was cloaked in shadows, its silence suffocating. A single candle sputtered weakly atop a wrought-iron holder, casting trembling light that barely reached the edges of the stone walls. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt wax and damp stone, as if the darkness itself had grown stale from lingering too long.

In the far corner, a girl sat slumped against the cold marble floor. Her once-immaculate white robes were crumpled and stained with ash and dust, the fabric clinging lifelessly to her frail frame. Strands of lovender hair clung to her damp cheeks, matted from dried tears. Her silver eyes, once radiant symbols of faith and purity, were now swollen, rimmed red, and vacant—like shattered glass reflecting nothing.

Both her trembling hands clutched a small, weather-worn brooch against her chest. Its metal was dull, its etching faded, but she held it as though it were the last fragment of her soul. Every so often, her fingers quivered violently, as if the simple act of holding on had become too heavy. Yet still, she would not let go.

The silence cracked with the echo of armored steps. Sharp, steady, unyielding—each one reverberated through the chamber like a reminder of judgment drawing near. She didn't lift her head. The candlelight flared briefly against polished gold as a knight in gilded armor came to stand before her. He bowed low, his voice a quiet murmur.

"Saintess."

The word fell into the void between them, but she did not stir. She sat unmoving, her body curled inward, the brooch pressed tighter against her chest. The title, once an identity that defined her very existence, now sounded like a cruel echo of something already lost.

The knight hesitated, his gauntlets flexing as he drew in a slow breath. His shoulders sank under the weight of words he did not wish to speak. "Because of the bishops' pressure… the court has been swayed. Many have turned against you. They seek to strip you of the Saintess title." His voice faltered, dropping lower. "And… they have ruled for you to be… beheaded, for the charge of blasphemy against the Goddess."

For the first time, she reacted. Her shoulders twitched violently, a faint shudder running through her fragile frame. But she did not cry out, nor raise her head. Her nails dug into her palm, the brooch cutting into her skin as if to ground her in the moment. The sting of metal and the faint smear of blood were more real than the knight's words.

Her lips parted, dry and cracked. When her voice came, it was hoarse, brittle, as though every word had to be dragged from a throat long strangled by silence.

"…Any news about him?"

The knight blinked, startled by her first words. He saw her knuckles whiten as she tightened her grip on the brooch, pressing it so hard it seemed she meant to fuse it into her heart. Her entire body leaned slightly forward, as though the answer would either breathe life back into her—or shatter her completely.

He hesitated, guilt flashing across his features beneath the visor. At last, he answered softly. "He has… woken from unconsciousness."

Her breath hitched. For a heartbeat, her dulled silver eyes ignited—glimmering with a fragile, desperate light. She lifted her head sharply, tears quivering in the corners of her eyes as she looked at him. The sudden intensity of her gaze, after so much lifeless emptiness, left the knight momentarily frozen.

Her lips trembled as she whispered, voice cracking like glass.

"C-can I… meet him?" Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as if the question alone threatened to break her. She blinked rapidly, unable to stop the tears spilling freely down her cheeks now. "Just once?"

The knight's jaw tightened, and he turned his face away, unable to withstand the naked pleading in her eyes. He let out a heavy sigh, the clinking of his armor betraying the tension in his body.

"…I cannot grant that." His voice was quiet, almost apologetic. "I can take your letter to him. But for you to see him in person… he will have to face the higher-ups of the Holy Kingdom himself."

***

[Back to Present]

The atmosphere in the vice-dean's office was suffocating, heavy with unspoken weight. Luca sat rigidly, eyes fixed on Seraphina as she spoke, her expression carrying a faint trace of displeasure.

"In the Holy Kingdom, the Goddess and faith are everything. And the Saintess… she is the prime symbol of that faith." Her voice was steady but edged with bitterness. "Everyone there lives by different convictions. Warriors and knights hold the resolve to protect and maintain order. The Pope's is to preserve justice. And the Saintess, as the epitome of kindness… she cannot harm anyone, for every being is seen as a creation of the Goddess. But…" Her gaze hardened. "Once any of these convictions are broken, so too are their divine powers. This is common knowledge."

Luca gave a small nod. It was indeed something every educated person in the continent knew—faith and conviction were the root of divine strength.

Seraphina's voice grew heavier. "But in the last battle, the Saintess faltered. She broke her resolve. That fracture in her faith shattered her divine powers entirely."

Luca's brows furrowed, but he nodded again, trying to take in the words.

Seraphina continued, her tone grim. "And in the Holy Kingdom, that is not a simple failure. It is a sin of the highest order. From the Hellsand Dungeon, she was taken directly into their custody."

Luca's hands curled into fists. His jaw clenched before the words burst out. "But there must be something we can do, right? Even if she has lost her powers, there's no need to keep her locked away! Can't she just… live as a commoner?"

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then, the vice-dean finally spoke, his deep voice weighed down with gravity. "Before you came here… we just received word that…"

Luca leaned forward, heart hammering. "That?"

The vice-dean's eyes closed for a second before meeting his. "The Saintess has been deemed a sinner. Her punishment… is to be beheaded."

Luca froze. His lips parted, but no sound came. His mind reeled, words echoing and twisting in disbelief. Wha—what did he just say? No… I must have heard wrong. I had to have heard wrong.

A hand settled gently on his shoulder. Seraphina's voice was soft, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Luca flinched, snapping his gaze to her as though just remembering where he was. He forced a smile, his voice strained and trembling. "Oh… I thought I heard something absurd. Something about… beheading the Saintess. Sorry! You were saying something, sir Vice-Dean?"

The room fell into oppressive silence. The three pairs of eyes on him said everything words did not.

Luca swallowed hard, his smile faltering as he stammered. "I-I heard it wrong… right?"

But silence was the only answer.

Luca's chest tightened as though iron bands had wrapped around his ribs. His breath came shallow, uneven, as the silence in the office pressed down on him like a physical weight. The words he had just heard refused to settle, each syllable twisting in his mind until they burned. His lips parted, trembling, before his voice finally tore out, raw and jagged with disbelief.

"H-how can this be allowed to happen? No way!"

His body jerked forward as though he might rise, his fists slamming down against the armrest of the couch. The sound cracked sharply in the stillness of the room. His eyes burned, wide and wild, their dark violet hue catching the lamplight with a feverish glint. For a heartbeat, fury consumed him, ready to spill out in shouts and reckless demands.

But then—he bit down hard, jaw tightening until his teeth ached. His chest heaved, his knuckles white. No… no point in shouting here. Control yourself. He forced the words down his throat, swallowing the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was taut, strained to breaking.

"When… when will it be done?"

The vice-dean's response fell like a death sentence. "In one and a half months from now."

Luca froze, every muscle going rigid. The ticking of the ornate clock on the wall filled the silence, each second clawing at his nerves. Slowly, his fists closed tighter—so tight his nails pierced skin. A warm wetness spread across his palms. He didn't even flinch. Good… at least there's still time.

He lifted his head sharply, desperate light flickering in his eyes as he turned toward the vice-dean. "Can't the Academy do anything?" His voice cracked, thick with both hope and fear. "She's still a student here, isn't she?"

The weight of silence answered him first. The vice-dean's face remained grim, unreadable. Then, in a low, steady tone, he spoke. "Because of what happened… relations between the Academy and the Holy Kingdom are already strained. If we interfere, it may cause a total fallout."

The words were knives. Luca's fists trembled violently now, blood dripping steadily from between his clenched fingers and pattering faintly against the polished wood floor. His breath came ragged, shoulders shaking. His vision blurred at the edges, a haze of red tinging the corners.

And then the dean's voice cut through, calm yet unyielding. "Tell me, Luca. Why did she break her resolve? Why would she choose to shatter her faith, when she has always been the kind who would rather die than let it falter?"

Luca's head snapped up, his wide eyes locking on the old man's. His heart lurched painfully in his chest, a fragile spark igniting. Does sir dean know something? Is there a way?

"I-I'm not sure," he stammered, voice hoarse. His gaze dropped briefly to the floor, shame and helplessness coiling in his gut. "We were in danger… everything was collapsing around us, and I… I didn't have the power to think about anything else at the time."

The dean studied him for what felt like an eternity, silver brows drawn low, his ancient gaze piercing as if it could unravel the truth from Luca's very soul. Finally, he exhaled heavily, a sigh that seemed to carry decades of burden. His eyes sharpened, and his tone was absolute.

"Now listen carefully."

Luca's back straightened instinctively, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. His bloodied hands rested stiffly on his knees, shoulders taut, every inch of him clinging to the fragile thread of hope. Please… please help me.

But the words that followed crushed it mercilessly.

"Don't interfere in this matter. Leave it alone."

The world seemed to stop.

Luca's mind blanked, his breath catching in his throat. He blinked once, twice, as though his ears had deceived him. His lips parted, soundless at first before a hoarse whisper escaped.

"W-what?"

His entire body trembled—not with weakness, but with the unbearable clash of desperation and disbelief. The command hung in the office like a guillotine, heavy and merciless, cutting away the last of his fragile hope.