Liberation of The Slaves

Chapter 96 – Requiem Beneath The Moon

— Daisy’s POV —

Celestia stood slowly.

Not with grandeur. Not like a knight rising to give an oath.

But like a woman dragging herself to her feet beneath the crushing weight of memory.

Her hands trembled as they gripped the magic tool—fingers pale, knuckles clenched. Her eyes, normally bright with stubborn resolve, looked distant at first, like she had to fight her way through the dark to find her voice.

Then, at last, she did.

“...I hate him.”

Her voice was steady, but barely. Each word rang with restrained fury, sharp enough to slice the hush that had overtaken the crowd.

“I hate him for stealing my sister from me. For dragging her into a pit I couldn’t pull her out of in time. For calling her his pet, his possession. For treating her like her pain didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter.”

She paused, eyes glimmering under the soft golden light of the setting sun. Her jaw was tight, her throat bobbing with emotion she barely kept caged.

“I hate him for making her smile through fear. For forcing her to dance on command and punish herself when she disobeyed. I hate him for the way she flinched in her sleep, for the nights I held her shaking body and couldn’t chase the shadows from her eyes.”

I could barely breathe. Her chest rose with a shallow breath. She swallowed hard.

“I hate him for every scar I can’t see. For every quiet apology she’s whispered into her pillow, thinking she’s done something wrong. For every time she says she’s fine when she’s not. For how long it took her to believe she could be loved again.”

My breath caught. Her words struck deeper than any sword could. Not a word about herself. Not one. All of it—for me.

“I hate him for inflicting wounds so deep, not even the most ancient high-class healing magic could mend them.”

Her voice cracked—just a little—and she gripped the tool tighter.

“I hate him because I failed to save her. Because while I was out there getting stronger… she was suffering alone.

“Sis…” I whispered, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

Her gaze didn’t waver, though I saw it shimmer.

“I hate him so much,” she said, more quietly now, “that I know I’ll regret it forever if I don’t end his life with my own hands.”

She paused, exhaled, and lifted her chin toward the guillotine.

“So yes. I accept. I, Celestia of Ocean Flower—called Valor or not—I accept His Majesty’s kindness. I’ll be the one to end him. Not for glory. Not for entertainment. But for her. My little sister.”

She turned her head toward me, eyes finally meeting mine—and I saw it all there. The guilt. The fury. The love.

“For Daisy.”

She said my name.

Not like a passing mention. Not like I was a side character in her story.

But like I was her purpose.

The tears I’d been holding back spilled over. I didn’t even try to stop them. My throat clenched around a sob I didn’t want anyone to hear, and my hands curled into the folds of my skirt—just to ground myself. Just to keep from shaking apart.

I thought I’d understood how much she cared.

But I didn’t know it ran this deep. That her hatred wasn’t born just from what he did—but from everything she couldn’t do. Everything she blamed herself for. That guilt… it wasn’t hers to carry, but she still carried it like armor made of broken glass.

And she still stood up.

Still chose to bear the blade—for me.

It hurt to feel loved that much.

And yet… it healed something, too. Something quiet and buried. Something I hadn’t dared to hope for since the day he took me.

I reached for her hand again.

I didn’t care if the whole arena was watching.

I just needed her to feel it—to know.

<“I’m here.”>

<“You saved me.”>

<“And I love you more than words will ever say.”>

The world held its breath as the sun dipped just a little lower, casting long shadows across the arena. The guillotine gleamed in the light, cold and still. And in the hush, I felt the thrum of thousands of hearts around us, all waiting.

Then—

*Clap.*

Madam Sheila rose first, the sound of her applause echoing like the first drop of rain before a storm.

*Clap* *Clap*

The Earl joined her, his measured applause striking like a judge’s gavel.

And then—

*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP*

Like a contagion, the sound of palms meeting palms spread swiftly, igniting a wildfire of approval. The entire arena erupted into chaos as people, who had kept their sentiments restrained, now unbridledly poured forth their thoughts.

““WHOOOOAAA!!!””

““Valor of Ocean Flower!!””

““Kill him!!””

““Get revenge for us too!””

““He took my daughter!””

““He killed my father!””

““He ruined my life!””

““Valor of Ocean Flower!!””

A thousand voices, once muffled by decorum or disbelief, now surged forth in a flood of fury, gratitude, and desperate vindication. I could feel the cries vibrating in my ribs, hear their pain echoing mine.

And standing at the eye of that storm was my sister—trembling, breathless, and beautiful in her strength.

The host, always ready to fuel the flame, raised his voice over the roar.

“Whoaaa! What a moment, everyone! What burning truth! The Valor of Ocean Flower, revealing her heart for her beloved sister—her voice has stirred the soul of Zieghart itself!”

““Valor of Ocean Flower!!””

““Kill him!!!””

““Thank you for saving my daughter!!””

Their voices climbed into the skies. In that moment, Celes wasn’t just my sister.

She was their hero.

And mine.

“Thank you for your impassioned words, the Valor of Ocean Flower.”

The host intoned, his voice still riding the waves of the crowd’s thunderous applause.

“And now, let’s hear some words… from her younger sister!”

A soft gasp escaped my lips.

Sis Celes turned to me with a radiant, unburdened smile—a smile so light, so unfamiliar, it almost startled me. For a moment, it didn’t feel like the face of the older sister who’d bled and suffered and fought for three years straight. It felt like the girl she used to be before everything was stolen from us. It was as if she had released the burdens she carried for so long.

She gently placed the magic tool into my hands. It was warm from her touch.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening instinctively around it. My heart drummed like a terrified animal in my chest.

<“Don’t mess this up.”>

<“Don’t betray that smile.”>

Raising the crystal to my lips, I took a breath—and tried to find my voice.

“To be honest… I was surprised at her.”

““Hahaha!””

Laughter bubbled across the arena like a ripple in sunlight. It loosened something in me—just a little. My shoulders eased, and I took another breath.

“I’ve always known she cared about me, but…”

I continued, my voice gentler now.

“I didn’t understand just how much until now. Her love isn’t loud. It doesn’t scream or cry in front of others. It’s quiet. It hides behind clenched fists and sleepless nights. Behind long missions and missing meals. Behind lies like ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I’m strong.’ She carried it all… without ever asking me to see it.”

I looked down at my lap, the edge of my dress crumpled in my hands. My knuckles were white.

“But I want to. I want to see her pain. I want to hold it with her. We promised… not to carry our sadness alone anymore.”

I looked up again. Sis Celes was watching me, unmoving, her eyes shimmering.

“We’ll carry our burdens together. Cry together. Laugh together. Heal together.”

The tears in my throat threatened to climb free. My voice trembled slightly, but I held firm.

“And even now—today—I don’t want her to carry this alone, either. Ending his life shouldn’t be her burden to bear by herself.”

I paused, the moment swelling in my chest like something sacred.

“Because… today’s my seventeenth birthday.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

My gaze found hers—those soft blue eyes, stunned for a breath—and I smiled. Not to perform. Not for the crowd. But because I meant it.

“I want a birthday gift from you, Sis.”

My voice grew steadier, stronger, as I stood up, holding the tool to my chest like a vow.

“He… the one who shattered our childhood.”

“He, who haunted our dreams.”

Another step.

“He, who gave us nothing but grief, fear, and silence.”

My voice rang clear across the arena.

“Would you give me his death… as my birthday present?”

I held out the magic tool toward her.

Without a moment’s pause, Sis Celes rose and took it. Her smile was unwavering—beautiful and proud, like sunlight after a storm.

“Yes,” she said. “Whatever could make you happy. Whatever you ask for. Any gifts. I will gladly fulfill any wishes you ask for. Let’s end him together.”

“To mark the closure of our dark pasts.”

In that moment, I couldn’t speak. My throat clenched, and the sting of tears welled behind my eyes. I stared at her—this sister who had once seemed unreachable, buried under grief, always shielding me, always suffering in silence. Yet now she stood so open, so proud… still giving, even when there was nothing left to give.

She wasn’t just protecting me anymore. She was walking beside me. And her smile—oh, that smile—it wasn’t born from obligation or pain. It came from love. Her love for me.

I clutched my chest, trying to hold the feeling in, trying not to cry in front of everyone. But I knew, right then, no matter how broken the past had been… we were healing. Together.

And that truth—more than anything—felt like a miracle.

A hush still held the arena. For a moment, I wondered if the whole world had stopped breathing with me.

Then—

*Clap* *Clap*

Madam Sheila stood again, her applause ringing like a bell through the stunned silence. The Earl joined her, then Ray, Rei—and then the crowd erupted.

*CLAP!* *CLAP!* *CLAP!*

““WHOOOAAAA!!””

““The sisters! The sisters!!””

““Happy birthday!!””

““End him!!””

The cheers crashed like waves from every corner of the arena. Some were crying. Some were chanting her name. Others shouted mine. Flags waved, fists pumped into the air, and a firework of emotion exploded across the sky of that ancient stone colosseum.

The host’s voice returned, exuberant, feeding the flames.

“Whoaaa!! What a heart-rending, heartwarming moment between sisters! In this, we see that even heroes are human! They cry, they ache, they love! They have stories! Families! Wounds that run deeper than swords!”

The crowd screamed louder.

And through it all, I stood beside my sister—our hands slowly entwining, fingers locked tight.

“Then, without further delay, please step forward together.”

Our fingers found each other instinctively. One glance was all it took. In silent unity, we nodded and stepped forward, hand in hand. The hem of our dresses rippled gently as we descended the grand stone stairs of the arena, flanked on both sides by armored knights.

Curiously, every single one of them was a woman, their stern gazes cast outward, shielding us from the surging crowd. I caught the Earl’s barely-suppressed smirk from the stands and realized—this entire presentation had been planned to the smallest detail. Him. And the King. Of course.

But even knowing that, I didn’t mind.

Crimson and light-blue silk caught the moonlight with each graceful step—our mother’s dresses, now fitted to our bodies, embracing us like memory. Around our necks glimmered the intricate necklaces passed down from Father, threads of gold cradling star-like gems against our bare skin. We were painted in legacy, draped in sentiment… and yet, tonight, we were the executioners.

And all eyes were on us.

A hush spread across the stands, rippling through the crowd like the first breath before a storm.

There, at the heart of the arena, knelt the man who had once held dominion over my every nightmare.

Ronan.

Bound. Muffled. Powerless.

He thrashed against chains, his muffled cries stifled by the gag forced into his mouth. His wide, bloodshot eyes darted from side to side, searching for mercy in a place where none remained.

“Mmmmmf! Mmmmmm!!”

No one moved. No one helped. He was nothing now—just a symbol of everything that had been taken from us and from those we stood for.

A knight stepped forward, solemn and silent, offering a sword. Its blade shimmered like frost under moonlight.

“Hold this sword… and cut the rope,” she said.

Sis Celes accepted it with a steady hand. The rope that held the guillotine's blade was moved—now stretched between us and him. They wanted us to see his face. They wanted him to see ours.

The host’s voice rang out, calm yet reverent.

“Do you have any last words for him?”

We turned to each other. A flicker of something passed through Sis’s eyes—something ancient and final. I gave a slight nod, and we faced forward.

The host stepped behind us and raised the magic tool, letting the arena hear us one last time.

“Mmmmm! MMMMMMM!!”

His muffled screams throbbed like pathetic music beneath our words.

Our smiles were serene, deliberate—and cold. Not forced. Not theatrical. They came from a place of truth, rooted in pain and rebirth.

“Ronan,” Sis Celes began, her voice was soft as velvet, cold as steel—polished by grief, sharpened by rage, “wail.”

“Wail for the children who never got to grow up because of you,” I followed, my voice softer, but trembling with suppressed fire.

Sis Celes added. “Wail for the parents who died trying to protect them.”

“Wail, Ronan,” I repeated, leaning forward, every word slicing into the air, “so that the families of the dead can hear you.”

“So that the souls you tormented can find peace,” she said.

“MMMMMM!!” He thrashed, tears spilling, his body heaving with desperate energy.

Our hands met on the sword’s hilt—her fingers firm and calloused, mine smaller, trembling, yet burning with resolve.

“Struggle,” Sis Celes whispered, “with every last breath.”

“Fear,” I added, “every heartbeat you still have.”

Then, in perfect unison, we said.

““Your screams shall become the requiem for their souls.””

The crowd had stopped breathing.

With a fluid motion, our hands moved together. The blade lifted skyward, catching the moonlight one final time. The host stepped away, lips tight, eyes wide.

And then—

*Slash*

The rope snapped. The guillotine fell.

*Psshh!*

Ronan’s head hit the platform with a sickening finality, his eyes frozen in horror. Blood bloomed like a flower across the stone floor, and droplets stained the lower hems of our dresses, soaking into the silk like ink on paper.

We didn’t flinch.

We stood over his lifeless body for a heartbeat longer, then looked at each other. Her eyes mirrored mine. Tired and wet, yet bright and free.

The sword slipped from our grip and clattered to the stone.

Then—we embraced.

I buried my face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her skin, trembling in her warmth. She held me like she had the night I first cried in her arms—only this time, there was no helplessness. Only relief… and love.

*CLAP!* *CLAP!* *CLAP!*

Thunderous applause crashed through the arena like a dam breaking. Waves of cheers followed, shouts turning into sobs.

Among the crowd, I saw them—nobles and commoners, mothers and fathers, survivors and widows. They clutched each other, crying and shouting, weeping for justice, for their children, for their friends.

We had done what they couldn’t. We gave them closure.

“Their final words… were our voice,” someone cried out.

“We finally heard it—retribution!”

“Valor of Ocean Flower! And her sister!”

““Thank you! Thank you!””

But I didn’t listen. Not fully.

All I could feel was her arms around me. All I could hear was the sound of her heart.

The world could wait. Let them cheer. Let them grieve. Let them speak our names to the wind.

In this moment, we said goodbye to the ghosts.

“And now…”

The host declared, his voice echoing across the hushed arena

“We proceed to the next agenda—an official announcement from His Majesty, the King.”

The cheers had barely faded when the trumpets blared once more. The arena quieted like a held breath. We had just returned to our seats, our dresses still stained with the blood of a tyrant, when a heavy aura swept over the space.

All eyes turned toward the royal balcony.

There, standing tall beneath a canopy of silk banners and golden light, King Leon Zieghart stepped forward. Clad in resplendent white and obsidian armor, he exuded the authority of one who had long borne the weight of a nation. His gaze swept over the tens of thousands gathered—his people, now silent, alert, as though their souls sensed something monumental.

His voice rang out, clear and commanding, every word cutting through the night like a sword.

“Ronan’s execution marks the end of one menace—a shadow that had long festered within our kingdom’s heart.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“But make no mistake,” he continued, his tone sharpening, “his death is not the end. It is only the prologue to a far greater storm. Ronan was no isolated villain. He was a spoke in a wheel—a wheel powered by those who move in darkness, who weave webs across borders, who dare threaten the sanctity of our homes, our peace, our very future.”

The tension became palpable. Even the wind seemed to still.

“His allies are vast. Many hide in plain sight. Others sit upon foreign thrones.”

Gasps rippled across the stands. The nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Even Sis Celes tensed beside me, her fingers curling slightly over the fabric of her skirt. A pulse of dread traveled through my chest.

“To remain idle,” the King said slowly, “is to invite death through silence. To turn a blind eye… is to let our kingdom rot from within, until one day, we wake to find our children gone, our cities burned, our history erased.”

The arena now felt like a powder keg.

“I, Leon Zieghart,” he thundered, “as sovereign of this kingdom, as guardian of its people, and as the sword and shield of our future—make this decree before all of you tonight.”

A tense silence.

Even the stars above seemed to dim.

Then he declared it—like thunder striking the earth:

“The Zieghart Kingdom hereby declares war against the Herrschaft Empire.”

A collective gasp rose like a roar.

Screams, murmurs, gasps—shock flooded the crowd. Some stood from their seats, others froze, pale and wide-eyed. The nobles whispered urgently, eyes darting in panic. Families clutched each other tighter. The arena, moments ago unified in justice, now teetered on the edge of chaos.

War.

The declaration shook the arena.

But to us, it rang hollow.

Let kingdoms rage. Let empires fall.

None of it mattered.

Because somewhere out there… our little brother still waits.

Or suffers. Or fades.

We don’t know.

And until we do—until we find him—

Our war wasn’t over.