I’m a Holy Knight, but I Contracted with an Evil God - Chapter 27

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 27.
A week later, a Joint Memorial Service was held in the Cathedral of the Order.
In solemn silence, twelve coffins draped in white chrysanthemums were laid upon the dais.
The sorrowful truth was that several of those coffins were empty.
Had Leon and Sirent arrived even a moment later, the coffins of Cepian and Ilbar would have joined them in that grim state.
The faces of the priests and knights that filled the cathedral were etched with grief.
Sobs occasionally pierced the silence.
Leon stood in the front row, dressed in black mourning garb, watching the scene unfold.
‘Ilbar.’
He recalled the young knight lying in the coffin.
One without fault in talent, character, or effort.
Had Ilbar lived, he would surely have become a remarkable knight.
But Ilbar’s fate was death.
‘I knew it. I knew it all along.’
Leon remembered the day he first met Ilbar.
He had certainly thought it then.
It was strange that he could not remember a boy with such bearing, such skill.
Leon had known precisely what that meant.
And yet he had settled into the peace of a single year and done nothing.
He had not even known what those creatures were doing where he could not see.
“L-Leon?”
Then a hesitant voice came from behind him.
When Leon turned, he saw a boy both familiar and strange standing before him.
Ephrysio was still slight of build, but taller than Leon remembered, his complexion far brighter.
“Ephrysio?”
“Oh, it’s b-been a while… I-I he-heard… the n-news….”
His careful words still faltered, yet his bearing had grown steadily more composed.
From Ephrysio as he drew near came a faint mingling of medicinal and aromatic scents.
The distinctive odor of the Medical Priesthood.
Leon smiled grimly and shook his head.
“I’m all right. And you? You seem to be doing quite well.”
“Y-yes. Th-thanks to you… I j-joined the Medical P-Priesthood, and… I’m d-doing well. M-much b-better than before.”
Ephrysio spoke shyly, fidgeting with his sleeve.
Leon had not asked, but he already knew the rumors surrounding Ephrysio.
News that as soon as he changed his specialty, he rose through the ranks like Leon himself, smashing training records; news that in merely his first year, his skills were recognized and he was being deployed in field work to assist Medical Priests.
“That’s what I heard. Sounds like another wretch like me joined the Medical Priesthood.”
“Th-that’s… e-exaggerated….”
As Leon teased him, Ephrysio’s face flushed at once.
He was embarrassed, but not displeased.
The boy once dismissed as a failure of the Dorvan Family was now hailed as a prodigy for his overwhelming talent.
After blushing deeply for some time, Ephrysio’s expression grew bitter, and he added quietly,
“I w-wish I c-could have g-gone with you….”
Certainly, had even one Medical Priesthood member been present, the situation at the scene would have been very different.
Even an ordinary member would have helped; had that member been Ephrysio, the difference would have been even greater.
Yet even so, Leon denied Ephrysio’s words.
“By the time I arrived, the situation was already over. Even if you’d been there, the outcome wouldn’t have changed.”
He spoke with deliberate firmness, yet Ephrysio’s expression remained dark.
As if he felt guilt that a healer capable of mending wounds had no opportunity to use those gifts.
“S-still, th-thanks to you… at l-least we f-found the remains… You… you really are r-remarkable.”
Setting aside the bitter emotion, he lifted his gaze; in his eyes meeting Leon’s were admiration and trust.
Leon smiled wryly and nodded.
For Leon too carried a heavy burden in his heart, too much to take pride in Ephrysio’s admiration.
Those who survive must grow and move forward.
Even for the sake of the dead.
Then Ayla stepped onto the dais.
With the arrival of the Second Knight Commander, the atmosphere of the hall grew even more solemn.
Though dressed in black mourning clothes, Ayla’s red eyes still gleamed with fierce light.
“Today we have lost twelve valiant knights.”
Ayla’s voice resonated through the cathedral.
A long address followed, and as Leon listened, his gaze turned toward the empty coffins.
The futility of those whose bodies lay unrecovered weighed heavily on his chest.
“But we have no time to dwell in sorrow. To honor their sacrifice, we—the survivors—must inherit their will and extinguish the darkness that claimed them.”
Ayla’s gaze fixed directly on Leon.
“Therefore, the Order shall appoint to the vacant position of Elite Knight one who has defended his comrades’ honor through decisive judgment.”
An electric tension settled over the cathedral.
Everyone already knew whose name would be called.
“Elite Knight Candidate Leon.”
At Ayla’s call, Leon rose and walked forward slowly.
Countless eyes fixed upon him.
As he climbed the platform where Ayla stood, the faces of the other candidates arrayed below came into view.
Some bit their lips with downcast eyes; others clenched their fists in frustration, only to release them moments later.
One candidate, still unable to shed his sorrow, gazed up at Leon with a smile.
No one voiced objection.
Or rather, could not.
Everyone knew full well that Leon alone had achieved a result in that terrible place.
“Proceed.”
Leon knelt on one knee before Ayla.
Ayla withdrew the Fibula from a small casket and fastened it to Leon’s cloak.
Sharp golden wings framed a ring of sun—an ornament of terrible beauty.
And piercing its center, a blade of light.
The symbol of an Elite Knight, worn once by the fallen Cepian, now passed to new hands.
“This was Cepian’s,” Ayla whispered low. “Its weight will not be light.”
Her voice reached Leon’s ears softly, intimately.
As Ayla drove the pin through his cloak, Leon felt something settle heavily in his chest.
“May your sword become the Order’s shield, and your will become the light that pierces darkness.”
Though the words were ceremonial, Ayla’s eyes, fixed steadily on his, conveyed something else entirely.
Now prove your worth with the position I’ve given you.
“I accept your command.”
Leon replied tersely and rose to his feet.
Fifteen years old.
The youngest Elite Knight in the Order’s history had been born.
* * *
Deep within the White Night Corridor, where shouts of training once echoed, silence now reigned.
At the end of the cold stone passage stood a chamber whose entrance was granted only to seven chosen blades.
The Round Table Chamber.
Where the Order’s most secret and deadly matters were deliberated, behind strictly controlled doors.
As Leon pushed open the heavy doors and entered, the eyes of those gathered around the table snapped toward him.
“What the hell—he really is just a kid.”
The first to speak was a man seated backwards in his chair, staring directly at the doorway with unmistakable hostility.
Though ostensibly muttered to himself, his tone was aggressive, deliberately picking a fight.
Amber eyes gleamed like those of a predator through ash-grey hair.
‘…Amber?’
【That man’s eyes—what color are they?】
‘Eastern-origin. That color’s rare here. I think there are only a few in the Order.’
【Now that you mention it, his features are quite distinctive.】
‘An Eastern-origin Elite Knight—remarkable.’
Given the Order’s insular nature, for someone of Eastern descent to achieve Elite Knight status required far more demanding conditions.
So Leon regarded the man with genuine admiration, but the man seemed to interpret that gaze differently—his face twisted further into an ugly scowl.
This time, he spoke with unmistakable malice.
“What are you staring at? Never seen an Eastern-origin person before?”
The man rose slowly from his seat as he spoke.
His frame was not particularly large, but the muscles visible beneath his uniform were corded and steel-hard.
He strode forward and pressed close to Leon, his voice taking on a menacing edge.
Each movement was sharp and graceful—less knight than wild predator, poised and lethal.
“You’d do well not to get any strange ideas just because I’m Eastern-origin, rookie.”
Though he had initiated the confrontation himself, the man seemed intent on branding Leon as a disrespectful upstart who discriminated against Eastern-origin peoples.
A senior already viewing him with contempt before they’d even exchanged names.
Leon suppressed an urge to laugh at this familiar situation repeating itself, preparing a response.
But before he could speak, the man’s eyes suddenly fixed on Leon’s chest.
“Wait.”
The fierce amber eyes that had been wavering stilled all at once.
Where his gaze fell lay the Fibula that Leon had inherited from Cepian through this promotion.
“This bastard.”
A low growl carried unmistakable killing intent.
The man fixed on Leon’s Fibula as though disbelieving, and spat out the words.
“You do know what that thing is, don’t you?”
“I do, well enough.”
At Leon’s curt reply, the man’s expression twisted into something far more savage.
His clenched fist trembled visibly, yet he could not press the matter further.
Inheriting the Fibula of a deceased superior knight.
It was an ancient tradition among the Elite Knights.
“Who are you? Given that you’re here, I’d wager you’re one of the senior Elite Knights.”
Watching Leon show no sign of intimidation despite the naked hostility, the man’s eyes flickered once more.
After staring for a long moment, he let the name fall.
“Tristan Barka.”
“Leon.”
The instant their brief exchange of names concluded, Tristan’s mouth twisted again.
And he let loose overt mockery.
“So, Leon. The lucky new recruit who rode Cepian’s coattails to glory, is it?”
A tired slur—that his ascent from Candidate to Elite Knight stemmed from fortune, not skill.
Rather than bristle, Leon’s eyes swept the room rapidly.
Besides Tristan, two others occupied the chamber.
One sprawled across the Round Table as though asleep, and another man who remained wholly indifferent to whatever commotion Leon and Tristan might create.
Having confirmed this, Leon turned his gaze back to Tristan and replied.
“I won’t deny the luck. Cepian’s assault had already shattered that creature’s core nearly completely.”
To claim he surpassed Cepian would be a mistake.
It would be language that could turn every senior Elite Knight—especially one as openly hostile as Tristan—into an enemy.
Yet neither would Leon debase himself with foolish self-deprecation.
“But that doesn’t mean my own skill is lacking.”
As Leon spoke these words, meeting Tristan’s gaze from below, his eyes held no wavering.
Faced with such composure—almost serene in its steadiness—Tristan’s expression grew still darker.
At the same moment, the other man who had been bent over documents lifted his head as well.
His face showed keen interest in what Leon would say next.
“The vacancy had to be filled, and I was the most capable among the Candidates. Whatever distance separates me from you seniors, the fact remains—among the Candidates, I am the strongest.”
Such audacious certainty hung an icy silence over the room.
The atmosphere had turned lethal.
“Ugh, so loud.”
The man sprawled across the Round Table lifted his head with a groan.
Messy brown hair lay haphazardly, his eyes dull and unfocused.
Dried drool clung to the corner of his mouth.
He let out a yawn and rubbed his eyes, glancing drowsily around.
“Why’s Tristan so worked up anyway? You’ve woken me from a perfectly good sleep.”
Given that he’d been sprawled across the table in this conference chamber, the man was surely a senior Elite Knight himself—yet he gave off the impression of a street ruffian rather than a knight.
Still half-asleep, he muttered a few more complaints before spotting Leon, at which he broke into a grin.
And spoke in a tone that was almost friendly.
“Oh, so you’re the new recruit, huh? You’ve got some spine, just like they said. I’m Corbin—just call me Corbin.”
As Corbin said this, he stretched and lost his balance, lurching toward the other side.
In doing so, he tilted slightly toward the man beside him.
“Keep your distance.”
The man who spoke with a chill in his voice was a stark contrast to Corbin’s appearance—meticulously groomed.
Clearly a product of deliberate care: jet-black hair without a strand out of place, a uniform so crisp it might have been freshly pressed.
The man’s intensity was palpable enough to reach Leon where he stood.
“And wipe your mouth. This is a sacred chamber—not a place for such displays.”
“Ah, so fastidious. Alaric’s such a killjoy, honestly. This here is Alaric Mordian—you can just call him Mordian.”
Corbin replied with a sly grin, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, while Alaric nodded irritably.
Corbin, a commoner like Leon, unburdened by formality, and Alaric—harsh, sharp, sensitive in bearing and strict in discipline.
As Leon’s attention was briefly drawn to the striking contrast between these two, a shadow as vast as a mountain appeared behind him.
“I like him. This new recruit actually knows how to speak his mind.”
The massive shadow approached without a sound, and naturally reached over to pat the back of Leon’s head and clap his shoulder.
Startled, Leon turned to find a man whose mountainous build made Leon seem small by comparison.
‘…Without my noticing.’
【Such fluid movement in a frame that size. This one has genuine skill.】
‘He must have a relevant ability.’
【Masking his presence?】
‘You didn’t sense him either. If that weren’t the case, it would be impossible.’
Even with Eclizie active, Leon hadn’t noticed the man’s bulk until he was nearly upon him.
Leon kept his eyes fixed on the man as he introduced himself.
“I am Leon.”
“Right, right. I’m Bregar Dorcannel. You can address me as Lord Dorcannel.”
Bregar’s demeanor—delivered with hearty openness and a broad grin—stirred in Leon a peculiar memory of Ilbar, now dead.
Despite the only real similarity being their striking blue eyes.
After exchanging names with Leon, Bregar added something directed at Tristan.
“Look on the bright side, Tristan. You’ve finally shed your youngest burden, haven’t you?”
At those words, Tristan’s face darkened as though he might cry out in protest, but instead of voicing his complaint, he clenched his jaw and lowered his head in silence.
【The structure is becoming clear enough.】
‘It is.’
【At least there’s someone who can rein in the hotheaded one.】
The hierarchy was unmistakable.
Tristan, who displayed open hostility toward Leon, appeared to be the youngest among them, while Bregar—whose single word could suppress that volatile temper—seemed to be the leader of the group.
Since most holy knights began their training in childhood, general rank and age tended to correlate.
At a glance, Tristan appeared to be in his twenties, while Bregar looked to be a good six or seven years his senior.
Just then, the conference room door opened once more.
It was Ayla.
“Is everyone here? Two others are on individual assignments and won’t be attending. Let us begin the meeting.”
Continued in the next chapter ▶
A Holy Knight with a Contract to a Demon God
Author
Ramdart
Publisher
Kim Seok-hwan, Choi Se-ra
Published by
Grae Publishing
Contact
[email protected]
Publication Date
March 27, 2026
UCI
G720:N+A327-20260227066
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※ Pentagram awaits your precious manuscript.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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