Extra's POV: My Obsessive Villainous Fiancee Is The Game's Final Boss-Chapter 234: The Lion Before The Gates

The afternoon sun stood proudly in the middle of the sky, its golden light bathing the field before Edenhold and making what was already a terrifying sight look more… terrifying.

Rows upon rows of armored soldiers stood in perfect formation, their blackened plate glinting silver at the edges where the royal lion of the ruling family had been engraved.

Their numbers swelled into the tens of thousands. Footmen, archers, mounted lancers, siege units, and at their head rode King Mikael himself.

No emissary rode ahead, and no trumpet call heralded a demand for surrender. There was no need.

The holy city of Edenhold, proud and tall behind its thick white walls, would know exactly why Mikael had come. His very presence was the declaration.

The old faith ends today.

Beside him, Contessa rode silently, her white cloak still around her neck, letting all who could see from Erenhold know that there was a traitor among them. Her blank mask reflected the light of the sun, hiding her identity to all but the few who already knew who she was.

For a time, neither of them spoke, letting the sound of banners flapping fill the air. Then, he gave the command and it was passed down to the soldiers. It was time to set camp.

Of course, they wouldn't relax. Not with the force of Chosen hidden behind those walls. But this wasn't the time to attack.

"So," Contessa finally said, her voice low, "here we are. The end of a long road. How do you feel, your Majesty?"

Mikael gave no answer at first. He sat tall in the saddle, his gaze distant, fixed on the white walls of the city before him. His eyes were shadowed under his brow, his expression blank. Then he exhaled slowly, thoughtfully.

"There's a story my father used to tell." He began, his voice soft. "It was about a man who planted a tree, knowing he'd never sit in its shade. He did it not for himself, but because the generations after him deserved better. That story never left me."

Contessa tilted her head, listening closely.

"I have known for years that I wouldn't survive this." Mikael said. "Not the war, not the severance of the Church and the Monarchy, not what I must do now that I am here."

"But I was never trying to save myself. I was building something. And sometimes... the foundations of a better world must be poured in the blood of those who oppose it."

Contessa stared at the man. Even though this was not her war, she could empathize. This man… "You've sacrificed much to be here. Your comfort, your entire life, even your faith. Was it worth it?"

Mikael gave a faint smile. "I watched my son grow up from a child to a young boy. I trained him in the ways of the sword and in the ways of kings. I gave him truth when the Church gave him riddles. I told him that obedience isn't virtue when it protects injustice. He understands that now. He'll lead when I fall. And he will do so better than I ever could."

Contessa lowered her gaze. "You speak like you've already written your own epitaph."

"Haven't I?" Mikael turned to her. "History doesn't wait for volunteers, Contessa. It chooses its villains and martyrs, paints them with the same brush, and only decades later lets the truth resurface."

"If they remember me as a tyrant for what I'm about to do here, so be it. If they remember me as a liberator, so be it. But one thing is certain. They will remember."

They sat in silence on their horses in silence, the sound of the soldiers working behind them filling the air.

"What will you do after?" Mikael asked suddenly.

Contessa blinked. "After what?"

"After the Church falls."

She didn't answer immediately. Her mind immediately went to her beloved. Nero. She wondered what he was currently doing.

"I'll be with my partner." She finally answered. "But that depends on if he survives this. If he does, I'll go where I'm needed. If he doesn't... maybe I'll help plant that tree your father spoke of."

Mikael nodded approvingly.

Just then, a general rode up, saluting sharply. "Your Majesty. Your command tent is ready and the maps have been moved. We await your instructions."

Mikael gave a final look at the city. Behind those walls, his enemies waited. The Church, the Synod, the Pope. He'll make sure they fall. Or die trying.

He turned back to the general and gave a single nod. "Lead the way."

He nudged his horse forward, leaving Contessa behind. She remained there for a long time, her eyes still fixed on the city.

She'd done her part. She'd helped the Chained Man bring about his catalyst. Elnoria will burn. But at least, her reward would be worth it.

[][][][][]

Inside Edenhold, the holy city was in chaos.

The Chosen scrambled to position, the banners flapped from towers, and alarm bells rang. Panic filled the streets, the civilians trying to find a fortified shelter for what was coming.

The Synod had gathered in their meeting room, their voices raised as they argued over strategy.

At the highest point of the city, in the spire of the grand cathedral, the Pope stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes scanning the horizon.

He tweaked the light before him, and the army in the distance became clear as day. He saw Mikael. And he saw Contessa. The traitor. His fists were clenched so tight, his entire arm was trembling.

Behind him, the doors burst open.

"Your Holiness," came the voice of Father Atticus as he hurried in, breathless. He knelt quickly. "All available forces have been summoned from the surrounding provinces. We've gathered every reserve, every Chosen we could find."

The Pope turned his head slowly, his face an impassive mask, even as his eyes burned with fury. He needed to hurt something. To appease this fire raging within him.

He walked toward Atticus, the silence stretching. "And yet," he said softly, "you are late."

Atticus swallowed. "We moved as fast as we could. Some cities were rioting, and some Chosen were needed to quell—"

"Excuses." The Pope interrupted, stepping forward. He reached out and took Atticus's right arm.

There was a flash of light as his resonance thrummed and Atticus screamed.

The Pope let go, letting the man collapse to the floor, clutching the smoking ruin of his arm. His voice was calm as ever.

"Let this serve as a lesson to the rest of the Synod. My word is divine law. If I say now, it does not mean later."

He turned away, stepping once more to the edge of the balcony.

"Prepare the defenders. We meet this heresy with fire."