Eighteen. That was the age the boy first shouldered the cross and stood on the battlefield. Even in the face of the terror of the blood-spattered front lines, he gripped his sword, reciting his oath as a Paladin. His pious devotion and burning passion led him to the glorious position of the young Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights at the age of twenty, in just two years. Until then, he never doubted that this terrible war was entirely God's will. That was, until the muddy quagmire of war swallowed them whole.

As the crusade dragged on, hunger gnawed away at faith. The Knights, their supplies cut off, soon devolved into a pack of starving wolves led by the cross. "God wills it." That one holy phrase became a perfect indulgence for breaking into village granaries and looting gold.

Gottfried shuddered at the sight of his compatriots chewing on blood-stained bread, but he forced himself to remain silent. 'It is an unavoidable sacrifice to continue the crusade.' He closed his eyes, deceiving himself. But the true tragedy began on the day they reclaimed the Holy Land they had so longed for.

Looting and massacre. Instead of a divine blessing, the Holy Land was submerged in the screams of those labeled heretics and red flames. In the streets turned to ash, the blood of the innocent flowed like a river. "Stop! What are you doing!" he shouted until his throat was raw, but his voice did not reach the ears of the Knights, who were already possessed by the madness of victory and pillage.

With his back to the burning Holy Land, he looked down at his own blood-stained hands. 'Is this... truly what God desired?' Amidst the horrific scene, the great tower of faith that had firmly supported his inner self collapsed without a sound.

Late one night, some time later. Through the pitch-black darkness, Gottfried pushed open the heavy doors of the empty cathedral. To confess the terrible sins that weighed him down.