The Shadow Knight のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

The capital sprawled before them like a vast stone beast, its towers and spires reaching toward heaven as if trying to pierce the very throne of the Light itself. After three days of hard riding, Kaelen's honour guard approached the city's northern gate just as the evening bells began their solemn toll."Never gets easier, does it?" Sir Aldric guided his mount alongside Kaelen's. "Returning here."Kaelen understood. The capital held too many memories: their initial training at the Central Basilica, the brutal months of testing that separated true knights from mere soldiers, the ceremonies where boys became brothers-in-arms. But it also held politics, scheming, and the kind of battles fought with words instead of swords."State your business," the gate captain called down, though his eyes had already found the sun-and-sword emblems on their tabards."Knight-Captain Kaelen Dawnblade and escort, answering High Council summons." Kaelen produced the sealed scroll.The captain's expression

The Tower of Questions stood like a canker on the flesh of the capital, its black stone walls absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Where the rest of the city's architecture reached skyward in praise of divine radiance, this squat fortress seemed to crush downward, as if the weight of suffering within had warped its very foundations.They brought Kaelen through the Traitor's Gate just as the sun set, painting the sky the colour of fresh wounds. The symbolism wasn't lost on him: heretics entered in darkness, many never to see light again. The prison wagon's cage opened with a shriek of protesting metal, and guards hauled him out with practiced efficiency."Process this one carefully," the captain told the receiving officer. "High-priority heretic. The Grand Inquisitor wants him softened but not broken. Not yet."Softened. Such a clinical word for what happened in these walls.They stripped him first, a ritual humiliation designed to remind prisoners they owned nothing, not even di

The Hall of Final Testament had not been built for mercy. Every stone, every carefully placed torch, every acoustic principle had been designed to strip away hope and leave only the terrible majesty of ecclesiastical justice. The circular amphitheatre descended in tiered rings, each level packed with citizens commanded to attend. At its heart lay the Judgment Circle, where ancient law and modern cruelty merged into spectacle.Kaelen stood in that circle now, wrists bound in blessed silver that burned against flesh already raw from weeks of captivity. They'd cleaned him for this: washed away the dungeon's filth, trimmed the wild beard, even provided fresh clothes. Not from kindness, but because the condemned must look presentable for their public humiliation. The crowd needed to see a person, not an animal, broken by righteous authority.Above him, the seven seats of judgment loomed like thrones of condemnation. Six were filled with hooded figures, their faces hidden behind masks of ju

The crossroads appeared at dusk on the seventh day of exile. Four paths met beneath an ancient gibbet, its iron cage still occupied by whoever had last offended local authority. The corpse was too decayed to identify. It could have been highwayman, heretic, or simply someone who'd asked the wrong questions.Kaelen studied his options. North led deeper into the disputed lands between kingdoms, where law held little sway. South curved back toward civilization and the Church's reach. East would take him to the coast and possible escape by sea. West aimed at the Blighted Forest, where even Inquisitors feared to tread.None appealed. He'd been wandering without true purpose since leaving the estate, killing three more Inquisitors who'd had the misfortune to cross his path. Each death brought momentary satisfaction but no lasting peace. The rage still burned, demanding greater payment for what had been taken."Difficult choice, isn't it?"The voice came from shadows beneath the gibbet. Kael

The bandit camp sprawled across the clearing like a disease: ramshackle shelters, cooking fires, and stolen goods piled without order. Twenty men, perhaps thirty, the dregs who haunted the Blighted Forest's edges. They preyed on refugees fleeing the Council's purges, adding mundane cruelty to theological horror.The Shadow Knight studied them from the tree line, seeing more than mortal eyes could reveal. Their souls flickered like candle flames: some bright with recent atrocity, others dim with old guilt. None pure. None worth preserving."They're nothing," Serena observed from beside him. "Common criminals. Hardly worth your attention.""They're practice." His voice had settled into its new harmonics, each word seeming to come from multiple directions. "And they have information."She was right about their insignificance. These weren't the architects of his family's destruction. But the stone's power roared through his veins, demanding expression. Better to test his capabilities on e