Chapter 438: Chapter 438: Arrival to the Holy Capital

After several days of travel, the tall white walls of the Holy Capital finally came into view — rising like a silent fortress above the dense forests of eastern Elarith. The closer their carriage drew, the heavier the air felt. Not suffocating — but charged, as if the mana itself stood at attention.

Noel leaned slightly out the window, eyes narrowing. Thin threads of shimmering light wrapped around the outer walls in slow, circular motions, shifting like a living web.

“…Huh,” he muttered. “That’s new.”

Charlotte glanced up from her seat. “What is?”

“Barrier magic,” Noel said. “Powerful. And woven in layers.” He clicked his tongue softly. “Last time I came here, none of that was up.”

Charlotte’s brows rose. “Orthran must have strengthened the defenses recently.”

“Yeah,” Noel murmured. “Or someone made him nervous.”

The carriage slowed as they reached the massive gate. Armored cleric-guards formed a double line, each carrying staves engraved with runic scripture. Their expressions were strict, trained, unwavering — and every single one focused squarely on Noel the moment he stepped out.

The nearest guard took a step forward, frown deepening.

“State your identity and affiliation.”

Noel blinked. “Seriously? We just—”

But before he could finish, a soft voice came from behind him.

“Good morning.”

Charlotte stepped out from the carriage, her pink hair catching the morning light, her golden eyes bright even in the shadow of the gate. The change in the guards was instant — spines straightening, eyes widening, whispers breaking through the stern discipline.

One of them nearly dropped his staff.

“Saint Charlotte…!”

He bowed so quickly Noel thought he might snap in half.

“Forgive us! We did not realize— Please, enter. Enter at once!”

The tension evaporated in seconds. Noel exhaled through his nose.

“…Right. Of course.”

The gate pope — an elderly man with a trimmed silver beard and robes lined with faint mana glow — stepped forward.

“Saint Charlotte,” he said warmly, “your presence honors the Capital. Your grandfather is not within the main cathedral at this moment — he is visiting the church in Lestaria to speak with the kids — but you are welcome to rest inside.”

Charlotte nodded politely. “Thank you.”

As they walked past the line of guards, Noel leaned slightly toward her and whispered:

“I’m starting to feel like your accessory.”

Charlotte smiled just a little. “Then you’re a very useful one.”

Noel rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward anyway.

Beyond the gate, the Holy Capital stretched out in quiet splendor — temples of white stone, gardens humming with sacred mana, and the distant silhouette of the Grand Cathedral rising like a crown over all of it.

The Holy Capital always felt quiet but the orphanage was different.

As Noel and Charlotte walked through the marble streets, past shrines and gardens glowing with faint holy mana, the atmosphere shifted. The air felt warmer here. Softer. Lived-in.

The orphanage sat behind a small courtyard, flowers arranged in messy bunches that were clearly planted by children. The moment Charlotte pushed the gate open—

A chorus erupted.

“Saint Charlotte!”

“She’s back!”

“Charlotte! Charlotte!!”

Half a dozen small figures sprinted toward her — robes slightly crooked, shoes half-tied, faces bright with excitement. They crashed into her legs, arms, cloak, everything at once.

Charlotte laughed softly, kneeling to hug them all at once. “I missed you too.”

Noel watched from a step behind, a faint smile tugging at his lips. She really was different here — softer, brighter, almost glowing in a way that had nothing to do with mana.

One of the kids, a boy with messy blond hair and wide brown eyes, finally noticed Noel standing there.

“Who’s he?” he asked, pointing boldly.

Another girl, older and braver, squinted at Noel suspiciously. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Charlotte’s face flushed instantly. “W-what— no— that’s not—”

Noel choked on a breath. “Wow. Direct.”

The kids all leaned closer, waiting.

Charlotte cleared her throat, collected herself, then said with steady pride:

“He’s the hero I told you about. The one who helped save the Holy Capital.”

Eight pairs of eyes went round as coins.

Several gasped.

One tiny girl whispered, “He doesn’t look like a hero… he looks tired.”

Noel lifted a brow. “Thanks. Really warms my heart.”

The kids laughed, thinking he meant it sincerely.

Charlotte hid a smile behind her hand.

One of the caretakers stepped out from the doorway — an older woman with kind eyes. She bowed slightly.

“Saint Charlotte. It’s wonderful to see you again. The children have been hoping for your return.”

Charlotte stood, brushing dust from her knees. “I’ll spend time with them when I can. I promise.”

She looked toward Noel, and her expression shifted — gentler.

“Noel and I have something we need to do first.”

Noel nodded, voice quiet but steady. “Yeah. I wanted to visit… a good friend of mine.”

The caretaker’s expression softened with understanding. She didn’t ask for names. “The cemetery is still open. Take your time — we’ll be here when you return.”

Charlotte placed a hand on Noel’s arm. “We’ll come back after.”

The caretaker nodded, guiding the children back inside.

As Noel and Charlotte stepped away from the gate, he glanced at her.

“They really adore you.”

Charlotte’s lips curved faintly. “I adore them too.”

“And calling me a hero…?” Noel teased.

Charlotte looked away, cheeks warming. “You are one.”

Noel didn’t answer — the words settled somewhere deep and unsteady inside him.

His eyes drifted toward the distant hill where the cemetery lay.

The cemetery lay beyond the northern gardens, where the holy mana thinned and the marble roads gave way to quiet stone paths.

Charlotte and Noel walked side by side in silence, the air colder here — not from wind, but memory.

The hill rose gently before them.

Noel slowed first.

He knew this path too well.

Charlotte glanced at him, her steps soft, respectful. She simply stayed close enough that he could feel she was there.

At the top of the hill, the world opened into rows of simple white gravestones. No ornate carvings, no decorations — only names, dates, and quiet prayers etched in soft runes.

Noel found the one he was looking for without searching.

Erick.

The image flashed uninvited in his mind:

Erick’s twisted form.

That broken voice calling his name.

The pleading in his eyes a moment before Noel ended it.

Charlotte stayed behind him at first, giving him space.

She had been there that day — she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Noel’s voice came out rough, barely audible.

“I should’ve saved him sooner.”

Charlotte’s breath caught, but she stepped forward, placing a hand gently on his shoulder — not to comfort him, but to steady him.

“Noel,” she whispered, “you didn’t fail him.”

He didn’t look up. His jaw tightened.

“I killed him, Charlotte.”

Charlotte knelt beside him, her fingers tightening around his arm. “You ended his suffering. You gave him peace when no one else could. That’s not the same.”

Noel closed his eyes, forcing his breath to stay even.

“I keep thinking… if I had noticed the signs earlier, if I had acted faster—”

Charlotte shook her head immediately. “He was already gone when we found him. What they did to him… no one could’ve undone it.”

The wind shifted, brushing against Erick’s toy sword.

Noel stared at it, his voice breaking just slightly. “He was a good kid. Brave. Loyal. He protected the other children even when he was terrified.”

Charlotte’s eyes glistened, her voice soft but firm.

“And he trusted you. Even in the end, he trusted you to help him. Noel… he chose to die as himself, not as a monster. Because of you.”

Noel’s throat tightened painfully.

This time, he didn’t try to hide it.

Charlotte kept her hand over his, warm and steady. Not dragging him out of grief — just staying with him in it.

After a long, heavy silence, Noel finally stood.

He placed a fresh flower beside the toy sword, his fingers lingering one last moment on the stone.

“…I won’t let what happened to him happen to anyone else.”

Charlotte nodded quietly and looped her arm with his as they walked back down the path.

The walk back to the orphanage was quieter this time — lighter in some ways, heavier in others.

Erick’s memory lingered between them, but Charlotte’s steady presence kept the grief from swallowing Noel whole.

When they stepped through the orphanage gate again, the children who were still playing outside froze for half a heartbeat… and then burst into smiles.

“You’re back!”

“Saint Charlotte, did you finish your errand?”

“Noel! You came again!”

A couple of the younger ones ran forward and hugged Charlotte’s legs, while others waved excitedly at Noel.

They had only been gone a short while, but to kids, even an hour felt long.

Charlotte knelt to ruffle their hair. “We just needed to visit a friend. But yes — we’re back.”

Noir hopped out of Noel’s shadow and immediately found herself smothered by gentle hands.

’I accept pets,’ she declared grandly.

Noel sighed — but it came with a smile he didn’t have earlier.

The kids tugged at him with innocent insistence.

“Play with us again!”

“Can you show a tiny bit of magic?”

“Come on—we were teaching Noir tag!”

He gave in.

For the next while, they stayed in the courtyard.

Noel let himself get dragged into a clumsy running game.

Charlotte chased after the smaller children who kept trying to climb her like a tree.

Noir darted between legs with triumphant yowls.

Laughter — real, bright laughter — warmed the space where grief had sat moments before.

Eventually, Sister Mariel stepped outside, her voice gentle but firm.

“Alright, little ones. Let Saint Charlotte and Sir Noel rest. Orthran will return tomorrow morning. You may stay the night here.”

Charlotte nodded and reached for Noel’s hand with soft confidence.

“Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow… everything begins.”

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